Prof. Mehmet Görmez: Today, for Muslims, morality is a matter of survival
We conducted an extensive interview with the former President of Religious Affairs, Prof. Dr. Mehmet Görmez, centered on Islamic civilization and the challenges Muslims face in the modern era. From the Gaza massacre to young people’s search for meaning, and from the pursuit of universal justice to the moral crisis of Islamic societies and potential solutions, we are pleased to present this enlightening conversation for your consideration.
Kritik Bakış
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Question 1: Professor, how do you evaluate the capacity of Islamic thought to respond to the issues of our time? In recent years, discussions about the need to renew the language of religion have intensified. You also touched upon this issue in an interview. What exactly do you mean by renewing the language of religion, and how can this renewal be balanced with traditional values?
Answer: In order to give a positive or negative answer to the first question, we must first distinguish Islamic thought from Islam itself. For Islam is the name of the final and perfect religion; a universal religion that promises salah in this world and felah in the hereafter. Three essential attributes of Islam must never be forgotten: Ālemiyyah, Khālidiyyah, and Khātamiyyah—that is, Islam is universal, eternal, and the final religion. Islamic thought, on the other hand, is the corpus of ideas that Muslims have produced based on Islam at various stages of history. Regrettably, I must state that the knowledge, ideas, and values produced by today’s Muslims in response to contemporary issues—based on Islam—are not at the level of responsibility that Islam places upon us. In order for Muslims of every era to fulfill this task, four conditions must be met: to correctly understand the foundational sources of Islam—the Qur’an and the Sunnah—and to generate knowledge, thought, and values by presenting them in a way that resonates with the spirit of the age; to update and carry forward the historical accumulation of thought; to correctly interpret contemporary transformations within the framework of Sunnatullah and respond appropriately to their challenges; and to transform their being and lifestyle into a moral existence without ever losing their ethical superiority. Unfortunately, for the past two centuries, Muslims have largely failed to meet these conditions due to both internal and external factors.
The language of religion is also a significant part of this issue. When I refer to the language of religion, I mean two things: First, religion itself has conveyed divine truths through human language; this language must always be re-read. Second, we express religion and the thought we derive from it through a language, and this language too must be constantly renewed. The first requires reinterpretation, and the second requires reexpression. Today, in expressing our thoughts, we have even drifted away from the religion’s own language of wisdom. Language is the human dimension of religion. It is difficult to express the infinite through the finite. If God has conveyed the infinite through the finite language of human beings, He has thereby accepted polysemy. This polysemy offers us the possibility of continuous renewal.
The term for renewal in the language of religion is tajdīd. Tajdīd is not the invention of something new; rather, it is the strengthening of what is ancient and the granting of continuity to it. Meaning and truth do not change; only the language and expression of them do. As al-Ghazālī says, “He who seeks meaning and truth only in words is deluded.”
Question 2: In particular, in your work titled Basic Concepts of Islam, you draw attention to the issue of conceptual pollution. Similarly, you have warned about the danger of “anarchy of interpretation” in religious discourse. In your opinion, which concepts are the most misunderstood in today’s world? In this context, do you find the ongoing debates around concepts such as jihad, ijtihad, sunnah, hadith, tradition, reason, and revelation to be fruitful? How do you evaluate the work of scholars in the Islamic world on these issues?
Answer: As information about religion increases, true knowledge decreases. And as knowledge diminishes, wisdom is lost. Nearly all of Islam’s fundamental concepts are undergoing a narrowing of meaning, and in some cases, a complete shift in meaning. As thought contracts, so do the concepts. There is even a concept called “engineering ignorance.” Engineering ignorance refers to keeping people ignorant through the very means of knowledge and education. Ignorance is not the opposite of knowledge. Simply loading people with information does not make them truly knowledgeable. Being filled with data does not save one from ignorance. We live in a time when access to information is faster than ever, yet we remain without real knowledge in this sea of information.
So, what is needed for this? We need Furqān. We need Furqān alongside the Qur’an. Furqān is the ability to distinguish between true and false knowledge. It means having a methodology—a more holistic conception—that allows one to differentiate between right and wrong.
In fact, the Qur’an’s greatest revolution was accomplished through concepts. The Qur’an transformed Arabic—from a language that expressed the desert, camels, dates, and the Hijaz—into a language that encompasses all realms. The languages used by all Muslims—Turkish, Persian, Urdu, Malay—underwent a linguistic revolution. Today, there is hardly a single concept that has not been subject to misunderstanding. Take, for example, the terms you mentioned: jihad is a concept whose definitional power has been taken from us. It has either been reduced to an internal struggle of the self in isolation, or to warfare with weapons devoid of method and direction. Ijtihad, once a movement of collective reasoning that continuously renewed Islamic thought, has been narrowed to a set of juristic deductions made in the early centuries. Sunnah, once the comprehensive example of the Prophet in all aspects of life, has been confined to a few ritual acts. Reason, formerly a source of knowledge that responded to revelation and helped organize both religion and worldly life in harmony with it, has been pushed into a position opposing revelation. Revelation, once a divine guide that brought humanity from darkness into light, has come to be understood merely as a source of inspiration revealed to the Prophet’s heart in specific areas of life. These examples can easily be multiplied.
I find some of the debates around the set of fundamental Islamic concepts meaningless, while others are productive. I do not support changing concepts that have been agreed upon across all eras by stepping outside established methodology. However, I do believe that each concept can have different expansions or dimensions relevant to different times. For example, the most fundamental concept in Islam is tawḥīd. When we compare three books on tawḥīd written in different periods, we can see how core concepts have evolved. One is Kitāb al-Tawḥīd by Imām al-Māturīdī, the second is Kitāb al-Tawḥīd by Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Wahhāb, and the third is Tawḥīd by Ismail Raji al-Faruqi. Comparing these three works helps illustrate my point: the first served as a source for Islamic theology (kalām), the second laid the foundations of a Salafi ideology, and the third presents to us the civilization of tawḥīd—it explores the worldview of tawḥīd.
Question 3: Throughout history, Islamic civilization has synthesized with various cultures (Greek, Indian, Persian). Today, in the age of globalization, the Islamic world’s openness to cultural synthesis causes confusion on many issues, while its retreat into its own essence leads to a conservative stagnation. How can this 200-year-old dilemma be overcome? How can Islam speak to the understanding of the age? (For instance, your master’s thesis focused on Musa Jarullah Bigiev and his reformist ideas. How have Bigiev’s ideas influenced your approach to Islamic thought? What lessons can we draw from his legacy for today?)
Answer: First of all, Islam does not begin with the revelation of the Qur’an. It begins with the first human and the first prophet. The message of all prophets is encompassed within the message of Islam. It considers the entire realm of existence, the universe, and human history. Wherever it is found, wisdom is seen as a lost right that must be reclaimed. We can clearly see this in the initial translation movements and in the establishment of the civilizations of Andalusia and Māwarāʾ al-Nahr. This openness is partly due to the self-confidence that Muslims had when encountering other civilizations. In order to talk about presenting Islam to the understanding of the age, we must first determine whether the perception of the age is open—or perhaps whether it has even experienced a death of perception—and then aim to revive that perception.
There are two types of reasoning in this matter: the “accused mind” and the “witness mind.” The accused mind always sees itself on trial, has lost its self-confidence, and is defensive. The witness mind, on the other hand, perceives itself, as expressed in the Qur’an, as a witness to humanity.
The first type of mind has produced a body of literature over the past two centuries, which I call the “literature of backwardness.” It is preoccupied with a defeatist attitude toward the West, constantly asking, “Why did they progress while we fell behind?” The witness mind, too, has produced a body of literature. This literature can be defined by three concepts: tajdīd (renewal), islāḥ (reform), and iḥyāʾ (revival). Yet this literature has also suffered from significant contradictions within itself.
Musa Jarullah, whom you referred to as a reformist in your question, strongly rejected the term “reform” and reexamined the entire body of literature surrounding it. In one of his books, he writes: “Islam does not age such that it needs to be renewed; it is our ideas, our thoughts—even our jurisprudence, theology, and methodology—that age and are always in need of renewal. Islam does not become ill that it should be reformed; rather, it is our essence, our soul, our life, our lifestyle, and our morality that are afflicted with disease. These are what need to be reformed first. Islam does not die that it should be revived; it is our spirit, our perception, and our essence that undergo a kind of death. These are what we must revive.”
Musa Jarullah’s forty years of life in exile—so to speak—were spent producing ideas and thought along arduous paths, and he was a man of action who implemented these ideas in the first Muslim country he encountered. The marks he left on the Muslims of Russia, the Kazan Turks, the Indian subcontinent, Afghanistan, Japan, Turkestan, Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Berlin, and Egypt provide valuable guidance for anyone engaged in the process of intellectual and ideological development. Of course, there are ideas of his with which I do not agree. Everlasting truths cannot be built upon mortal personalities.
In this regard, I attach great importance to the Jadidism movement initiated particularly by Mūsā Jārullāh and, more broadly, by the scholars of the Northern Turks living in the Idil-Ural region from the 18th century onward—a movement that was continued by many scholars and thinkers such as Shahabuddin Marjani, Rizaeddin Fakhreddin, and Abdunnasir Kursavi, who is known as the second Ibn Khaldun.
Question 4: How would you define the fundamental existential crisis of human beings in today’s world? Does Islam offer adequate solutions to the tension between modern man’s lifestyle and his beliefs, or between his personal struggles and his world of meaning? What kind of balance should be established between faith and freedom, and between morality and politics? How do you evaluate the discussions and efforts carried out in this context in Türkiye and the Islamic world?
Answer: Today, the fundamental existential crisis of human beings is a crisis of meaning. This crisis of meaning has also given rise to a profound moral crisis. The only power capable of enabling humanity to overcome this crisis exists in Islam—because Islam is the religion of fitrah (primordial nature). According to Islam, the essence and truth of a human being do not lie in their physical nature (ṭabīʿah), but in their fitrah. When Allah created the human being, He implanted two forms of programming: one we call fitrah, the other ṭabīʿah. With His name Khāliq (the Creator), He created the ṭabīʿah and placed it in the body; and with His name Fāṭir (the Originator), He created the fitrah and inscribed it into the soul. Ṭabīʿah includes human faculties such as intellect, intelligence, emotions, sight, and hearing. Fitrah, on the other hand, is the memory of values embedded in the human soul. A person can only attain true happiness by transferring the values stored in this memory into their lived experience. The goal of Islam is to unite a person’s ṭabīʿah with their fitrah, thereby enabling them to become a complete and perfected being.
The relationship between faith and freedom depends on how we define freedom. There are three types of freedom: physical and bodily freedom, political and civil freedom, and moral and conscientious freedom.
Physical and bodily freedom is the ability to use one’s body and limbs as one wishes, without any barriers or coercion. This is the simplest form of freedom.
A person who possesses all the rights they are born with or acquire later in life is called free; this form of freedom is known as political and civil freedom. Political freedom is related to this and consists of the rights and powers that ensure civil liberty.
The third type of freedom is moral and conscientious freedom, which refers to freedom of will. It is the kind of freedom where a person does not submit to the desires of the ego. Freedom of thought, freedom of conscience, and intellectual freedom are nothing but expressions of this freedom of will. In short, without moral and conscientious freedom, there can be no political and civil freedom. And without these two, there can be no physical and bodily freedom. That is why there are many people in the streets who think they are free, but in reality, they are not. Likewise, there are many people in prisons and dungeons who are, in fact, truly free. Is there anyone as free as Prophet Joseph, even though he was in a well and in prison? And is there any being as captive as Pharaoh, even though he lived in a palace?
Therefore, freedom of will stands above all other forms of freedom. For in order to preserve all freedoms, one needs a free and powerful will. This is also the most fundamental path to overcoming the crisis of meaning and the moral crisis.
As for the relationship between morality and politics, from the Islamic point of view, there are two elements that give meaning to politics: Morality and justice. We may also add mercy to this, because the justice of Islam is a justice enveloped by mercy. Today, for Muslims, morality is not a matter of perfection—it is a matter of survival. There is no public action that requires morality as much as politics does. The political crisis in the Islamic world can also be described as a crisis of intellect and a crisis of will. The crisis of intellect is a crisis of truthfulness, for truthfulness is the highest form of morality for the intellect. The crisis of will is a crisis of trust, for trust is the highest form of morality for the will. The separation of religion from the world and from politics is a proposal of secular ideology and is unacceptable from the Islamic perspective. However, the separation of religion from morality means the separation of religion not only from the world and politics, but ultimately from its own essence.
Question 5: During your tenure as President of Religious Affairs, you played an important role in critical moments such as the July 15 coup attempt. How do you evaluate the role of religious institutions in such social crises? How can religion serve as a lever to strengthen social solidarity? Do the unifying values of Islam, along with its principles of justice and morality, provide adequate solutions in the fight against divisive tendencies such as sectarianism and ethnic nationalism?
Answer: In modern times, religious institutions have undergone significant changes in both nature and function. Sometimes these institutions foster unity, while at other times they contribute to division. The duty of religious institutions is not limited to leading prayers, organizing acts of worship, or managing religious services. First and foremost, there is no clergy class in Islam—every believer is responsible for their own faith. However, religious institutions have been deemed necessary for the organization of religious services. In Islam, the entire earth is considered a mosque; worship can be performed anywhere. The purpose of congregational worship is to strengthen unity, togetherness, and solidarity. Moreover, it serves to keep the concept of the ummah alive. There is an important distinction between society and the ummah: society is a group that comes together based on mutual benefit and interest, while the ummah is a community that unites around shared beliefs and noble moral values.
The message I sent to all Diyanet personnel on the night of July 15 also contains the answer to your question. In that message, I stated that the duty of religious institutions is not merely to lead prayers and manage worship. It is also our responsibility to awaken the spirit of unity and solidarity during times of national hardship, to protect the nation from treachery, and to establish peace, justice, righteousness, and brotherhood—without making any concessions regarding national unity. However, when religious institutions become tools of politics, they are deprived of their great power and become ineffective in preventing the divisions and polarizations you referred to in your question.
Islam is a religion of tawḥīd (oneness). There is an unbreakable bond between tawḥīd and waḥdah (unity). From the very beginning, Islam resolved issues related to differences in language, race, and gender. It declared that superiority lies only in taqwā (God-consciousness). The famous words of the Messenger of Allah in his Farewell Sermon have always served as guidance for all humanity: “O people, you are all from Adam, and Adam is from the earth. An Arab has no superiority over a non-Arab, nor does a white person over a black person. Superiority is only in taqwā.” (1)
Question 6: In today’s world, especially in major cities, a phenomenon known as “anonymous religiosity” has emerged—religiosity that is visible on social media but disconnected internally. Can we say that religious communities (cemaat) are no longer as appealing or effective for individuals in this regard? In this context, do you think the Diyanet organization and faculties of theology are sufficient in terms of religious perception, education, and offering solutions?
Answer: A person—or a young person—can construct their religious and spiritual life in two ways: one is through identity-based values, that is, through socialization—by affiliating with family, mosque, religious communities (cemaat), or Sufi orders (ṭarīqah); the other is through self and personality-based values, meaning an individualized process of reading, researching, choosing one’s own sources of religious knowledge, living and experiencing. In other words, a person or a youth builds their spiritual life in two ways: one through community and social integration, and the other through personal efforts. In fact, both are methods that religion itself recommends. There is a spiritual journey that proceeds from identity to selfhood, and another that progresses from selfhood and individuality toward forming a sense of identity.
To move from identity to selfhood, one needs to become part of a community and undergo socialization; this requires a sense of belonging to society and the ummah. To move from selfhood to identity, however, the individual must directly construct their own spirituality. It appears that the changes and transformations surrounding young people today are leading them toward this second path. I call this individual spirituality.
Today’s youth want to build their own individual spirituality, but they struggle to do it alone. At this point, they face two major challenges: first, the inability of traditional social institutions—such as family, mosque, school, Sufi orders (ṭarīqahs), religious communities (cemaat), associations, and foundations—to establish a form of spirituality that satisfies young people and encourages socialized religiosity; and second, the lack or complete absence of mechanisms that can help them build individual spirituality. The resulting confusion and spiritual searching often lead young people into problematic directions: Into the arms of certain theology graduates experiencing religious crises; following religious figures who promote marginal, caricatured narratives of religion; becoming consumers of the secular personal development industry; or—like some youth in the West—falling into the networks of violent movements such as ISIS.
This situation brings with it an issue of spiritual security. By spiritual security, I mean a crisis of meaning that emerges in societies—a crisis of trust, a breakdown in confidence. The problem of spiritual security involves instilling doubt in the minds and hearts, leading to a collapse in confidence toward spiritual values. It is to cast doubt upon the unshakable foundations of religion, its self-evident principles, and its noble truths. It is to reduce the spiritual domain to a subject of gossip, to turn it into a field of contention and dispute. It is to devalue the spiritual sphere by transforming it into a tool of ideology and polarization, of hatred and hostility. It is to erode the sanctity and innocence of religion—especially its unifying nature. At its core, this is a moral issue. When people declare one another unbelievers (takfīr) or drive one another away in the name of spiritual discipline, that is a spiritual security problem. Likewise, the erosion of our shared values and the manipulation of our sensitivities in ways that leave irreparable wounds in our spirituality also represent a spiritual security issue. Therefore, both official and civil religious institutions, as well as theological faculties that produce advanced religious knowledge, must seriously reassess themselves in this regard.
Question 7: In your book The Youth’s Quest for Meaning, you highlight the spiritual emptiness experienced by young people in the modern world. Especially in the face of the individualism and consumer culture of the digital age, how should we guide the youth? Younger generations increasingly use new platforms such as social media to access religious knowledge, which leads to information pollution and confusion. On the other hand, it is often said that religion and religiosity are losing their appeal among youth, resulting in a crisis marked by concepts such as deism, atheism, and nihilism—ultimately indicating an indifference to religion and spiritual values. Do you agree with this view? What kind of response can Islam offer to the youth’s search for meaning today?
Answer: It is clear that we are witnessing profound changes and transformations in almost every aspect concerning youth. It is also true that the relationship between youth and religion has reached a new turning point. But is youth truly distancing itself from religion? And if so, is this “distancing” evolving into a complete rupture? If it is, on what grounds can we make such a claim? Is this supposed rupture, as widely discussed in recent years, actually leading to deism, atheism, or agnosticism? Furthermore, is it turning into an Islamophobic form of opposition to Islam? Or, contrary to all these interpretations, in a world dominated by crises of meaning, could this instead be understood as a search for meaning by the youth? Could this transformation not be viewed as a process of questioning and inquiry? And could this very questioning not lead young people toward a faith based on verification (taḥqīqī īmān)? More importantly, is it possible to turn this questioning into a form of divine mercy? And if so, what are the paths, methods, and principles for doing so?
We lack comprehensive data, based on large-scale research, that could provide clear answers to these questions. However, I can offer a few thoughts based on the limited quantitative and qualitative studies available, some master’s and doctoral theses, as well as my own experiences—both during my official duties and through the work of our institute—engaging with youth, speaking with them, and responding to their challenging questions.
In fact, a large part of the issue in the relationship between youth and religion concerns us adults. It relates to the world we have prepared for them. It is about flawed systems of upbringing and education. It is about the structure of the family and the shortcomings of parental behavior. It concerns us as educators, as teachers. It is about the loss of integrity and example in those who are supposed to be role models. Perhaps the greatest problem is that we, in this regard, have not been as successful as our parents were. We have not been as dedicated as the previous generation in passing down our beliefs and values to the next.
Ultimately, regardless of the reasons, I do not interpret the changes and transformations we are experiencing in the context of youth and religion as a departure from or a break with religion, nor as a wave of deism, atheism, or agnosticism, or as a triumph of the philosophical atheism that prevailed at the beginning of the century. Rather, I see it as a new search for meaning and a new process of questioning among young people. When they cannot find answers to these questions, I interpret it as a cooling off, a lack of interest, or an effort to resolve a crisis of meaning and overcome a spiritual depression. I see these questions and inquiries as new objections—not necessarily to religion itself, but to our understanding of religion and to certain narratives and practices that emerge from it. As I stated in response to the previous question, I consider this a crisis stemming from a disconnection from collective spirituality, an attempt to build one’s own individual spirituality, or the frustration of being unable to do so.
Question 8: You have spoken about the dominance of “visual perception” over modern consciousness. In an image-centered world, how can Islamic teachings help restore the balance between heart and intellect? What kind of framework does Islamic ethics offer for addressing the moral dilemmas brought about by new technologies such as artificial intelligence and genetic engineering?
Answer: It can be said that humanity is now surrounded by a new Virtual Screen Civilization. Undoubtedly, we cannot deny the benefits this civilization has brought to humanity, such as easier access to information and enhanced communication. However, just as it has brought certain gains, it has also taken much away. This civilization turns all its members into passive spectators. Its primary point of engagement is not the intellect, but the eye. Its primary action is not thinking, but looking—not observing, but watching. In this civilization, the eye is no longer a tool for contemplation and perception; it has become an instrument of desire, craving, and lust. Unfortunately, this transformation brings with it selfishness, insatiability, desensitization, and violence. In this civilization, people form their relationships with themselves, with others, and with the world not through truth, but through image and appearance. It establishes the dominance of visual perception in human life. And this dominance of visual perception weakens intellectual comprehension and subjects the perception of the heart to a kind of death.
When visual perception becomes dominant, a person comes to perceive every truth through image alone. With such an incomplete form of perception, it becomes nearly impossible for a person to know their Lord, to believe in Him, or to establish a meaningful relationship with Him. Visual perception also transforms morality. Moreover, the dominance of visual perception subjects the human being to a kind of death of awareness. Today, the greatest danger and the greatest death confronting humanity is this death of perception.
First and foremost, I must state that we cannot counter the dominance of visual perception with a religious discourse built solely on reward and sin, commands and prohibitions, or ḥalāl and ḥarām. We cannot put an end to this dominance with abstract directives and bans alone. Nor can we resist it with a perspective that fails to see morality as the intellect of religious rulings (aḥkām). We cannot overcome it with a moral system that has lost its philosophy of values, where the hierarchy of values is distorted, and where ultimate values are confused with instrumental ones. Nor can we confront the dominance of visual perception with a religious language that is itself imprisoned by visual cues. And we certainly cannot tackle this challenge with digital preachers or virtual congregations produced by this industry.
In my work, I propose two types of ethics to counter this phenomenon: one is the ethics of will, the other is the ethics of modesty (ḥayāʼ). As I have previously stated, the ethics of will is about true freedom. The concept of ḥayāʼ in the ethics of modesty is not merely a simple feeling of shame—it represents an entire moral outlook on life. The fundamental principles and aims of this moral framework can be outlined as follows: To seek ways of returning from a society of spectacle and display to a society of knowledge, thought, and contemplation; to liberate the human being from the dominance of visual perception and guide them toward a more holistic understanding; to emphasize that the appearance of things does not represent their reality; to redirect the act of seeing and looking from pleasure and amusement to understanding and reflection; to transform the act of looking from merely a function of the eyes into a perceptive gaze (naẓar) accompanied by intellect, and into insight (baṣar or baṣīrah) accompanied by the heart; to elevate the spectator to the level of observer (mushāhid), and mere watching to the level of contemplation (mushāhadah); to distinguish between passive viewing and meaningful observation; to raise the voyeuristic viewer, who has fallen into immoral curiosity, to the level of witness (shāhid), meaning someone who embodies exemplary morality; and to elevate the self-exposing individual, who sees broadcasting themselves as a skill, to the level of the observed (mashhūd)—instilling in them the awareness that they are constantly watched by their Creator. In short, to shift one’s gaze from a focus on physical appearances (ashyāʼī) to one that reflects divine names (asmāʼī). An ashyāʼī gaze is a material gaze—it is a worldly gaze. It sees objects merely as objects and fails to perceive the exalted Divine Names (asmāʼ) that they carry. The asmāʼī gaze, on the other hand, is a spiritual gaze—a gaze of the malakūt (the spiritual realm). It sees the Divine Names carried by all things. More precisely, the asmāʼī gaze sees objects as signs, signs as verses (āyāt), and verses as trusts (amānāt). One who possesses an ashyāʼī gaze does not know modesty, nor does he feel it. He views objects as property—something to possess and control. However, one who possesses an asmāʼī gaze feels modesty by remembering the Divine Names that objects bear, and their ultimate Owner.
Question 9: In the context of Islamic renewal, do you think that aesthetics and the arts have been neglected in Islamic societies? How can Islamic aesthetics be revitalized today? Is it possible to envision a new Muslim society that incorporates the possibilities of modern life and distinguishes urban Islam from rural religiosity? Through which means and on what foundation can this be achieved? What should civil religious communities, educational institutions, and the public sector prioritize in this regard, and what kind of vision and strategy should they pursue?
Answer: Today, our position in the field of Islamic arts—and more broadly, in the realm of art and aesthetics—demands serious questioning and a thorough explanation. As a civilization that has produced refined and high-quality works in nearly every field of art—from architecture to music, from literature to ebru (marbling), and from calligraphy to miniature painting—and as a people who placed aesthetics at the forefront of their cultural expressions, the current output we are presenting calls for substantial critique.
As in almost every other matter, the sole source of Muslims’ fundamental perspective in the field of art is Islam itself. The fact that all of creation has been “created in the best of forms” (aḥsani taqwīm), as expressed through the phrases used by the Almighty when describing His own being and existence, is a manifestation of His attributes of power (qudrah) and beauty (jamāl).
While we are on the topic, I would like to point out a fundamental difference between the concept of ḥusn and the concept of aisthesis/aesthetics. Ḥusn denotes what is beautiful, true, and good. Aisthesis, on the other hand, refers only to sensation and perception. In the concept of ḥusn, beauty can exist independently of sensation, whereas in aisthesis, beauty seems inevitably tied to sensory perception. In aisthesis, beauty without a perceiver—without human perception—is meaningless. Or to put it more strikingly: beauty only comes into being, is realized, and exists through the presence of one who perceives it. In the concept of ḥusn, however, beauty is always inherently good—even if a person is unaware of it, does not see it, or is not present to witness it.
Exploring the higher forms of art, above all, signifies being truly open to divine wisdom. It means not looking at the universe merely from a superficial perspective, but striving to grasp its depth and essence. Through His attributes of Jamāl (beauty) and Badīʿ (uniqueness/creativity), the Almighty reveals to us the deepest meanings of existence. Without a doubt, each of the ninety-nine names known as the Asma al-Ḥusnā—the Most Beautiful Names of God—represents a distinct aspect of the Divine will that must not be overlooked in shaping a life of balance, moderation, aesthetic harmony, and alignment with reality.
In Islamic arts, the overarching framework illustrates how the sense of beauty manifests concretely in material arts and, likewise, deepens into language and literature. The artistic structures highlighted by the Muslim world—without neglecting their own local contexts—actually reflect each community’s conception of God and civilization. It is often said that the conquest of Istanbul should be sought not so much in Fatih’s cannons as in Sinan’s domes. Indeed, when we closely examine our artistic heritage—often today perceived merely as historical decoration—it is impossible not to see the love inherently present in each piece, the longing to transcend what exists, and the desire to draw closer to the Divine.
Whenever we speak of grand memories and a venerable heritage, the inevitable question that confronts us is this: why are we no longer able to reproduce these achievements today with the same purity and substance? A nation that, throughout history, has consistently demonstrated the ability to build civilizations in various contexts now finds itself trapped in a chaotic state. Rather than fostering development, it has succumbed to a discourse that is more about spectacle than substance, more about display than depth.
Muslim art points to a catalog created through the eye of the heart and perceived with a gaze of reflection. Islamic depth is expressed through the language, culture, and actions produced across various compartments of life—within the framework of what is good, beautiful, and true.
Today, the sense of the hereafter conveyed through mosque architecture can only be achieved through artistic endeavor. The emotions infused in Itrî’s tekbir and Sinan’s Selimiye Mosque consistently reflect artistic manifestations of a God-centered sentiment.
In truth, al-Farabi was not mistaken in seeking the balance of a society within its music. The delicate harmony between the rhythm of music and the rhythm of society has today been utterly disrupted. Grotesque architectural models, artistic pursuits that cater to base desires, monumental works that invite chaos rather than tranquility… These are matters that must be addressed. The issue has become so grave that even the most ordinary discussion today can swiftly escalate into a mode of tension, dominated by hurtful, heart-breaking exchanges that do little more than inflame conflict. Instead of using eloquence to end conflict, we now ignite new battles and tensions through so-called masterful polemics.
In the various domains of art, forging unmatched connections with the Divine and gaining the opportunity to see through His gaze are among the indispensable qualities of Islamic art.
Question 10: In one of your talks, you drew a parallel between Gaza and Granada, highlighting the Islamic world’s indifference toward the Palestinian issue. What are the main reasons behind the Islamic world’s inability to unite in the face of such crises? How can an intellectual awakening be triggered in this context?
Answer: While witnessing the tragedies in Gaza—a site of the greatest genocide in recent history—as a human being and as a believer, I asked the same question many others have: Why can’t two billion Muslims save two million of their brothers and sisters? This question inevitably took me back to the fall of the eight-century-old Andalusian civilization, and led me to reflect on why, just as in Gaza today, the Muslim world of that era failed to respond to the cries of the last stronghold of al-Andalus—Granada. I saw that history is, in a sense, repeating itself. Just as division, fragmentation, and internal betrayal deprived Muslims of their responsibility back then, we are again failing for the same reasons today. Back then, Istanbul and the Ottoman Empire justified their inaction due to their weakness in naval power; today’s Istanbul cites the lack of air defense capabilities. The North African states of that time were not only divided among themselves but also collaborated with the enemy; today, small oil-rich states likewise rely on the support of oppressors for their survival. While the massacres continue, Trump’s tribute-collecting visits have horrified us all. Just as Safavid Iran was in conflict with the Ottomans back then, today’s Iran unfortunately plays a role in sectarian conflicts in Iraq, Syria, and Yemen. The resemblance between Cem Sultan—held captive in Rome—and today’s leaders, who are prisoners of their political seats, underscores once again how mercilessly history repeats itself.
Of course, intellectual awakening is always important. However, what Gaza has revealed is that today we are in need of a human, moral, and conscientious awakening—one that will ensure true freedom and independence in thought and ideas.
Question 11: The Syrian revolution and the resistance in Gaza have shown that Islam still remains the most alive and resilient force against tyrannical regimes. Especially in the West, hundreds of millions of people from various religions and ideologies have been protesting for Gaza for years, standing up against their own governments. Can this universal conscience evolve into a global front of justice and compassion, beyond institutional religiosity? In the face of war and corruption policies pursued by the economic, political, and military powers threatening the entire world and humanity, is it possible to establish a new universal front of humanity based on the Abrahamic-Hanif tradition, leaning on this conscientious current? What role can the Islamic world and Muslim movements play in this context?
Answer: Humanity lost many things during this process, but there were also significant gains. This state or coalition of states engaged in terror, brutality, and atrocities not only in Gaza and Beirut, but also within the minds, hearts, and souls of all humanity. This time, the fire did not only burn where it fell; it scorched every mind and heart that bore witness. The entire world bore witness to the savagery that unfolded. The cries of Gazan mothers and women, reaching to the heavens, were heard by all mothers and women around the globe. Children everywhere witnessed the lifeless bodies of their peers gathered from the corners of schools and hospitals, orphanages, and refugee camps in Gaza.
For this reason, Gaza has shown us how people of conscience—regardless of language or religion—can unite around the values that make us truly human. Over the past year, we witnessed voices from Europe, North and Latin America, and other parts of the world echoing sentiments identical to ours. These individuals are not Muslim; they do not view the issue from our perspective, yet they recognize the same brutality, the same injustice, the same deception. For example, certain Irish and Spanish politicians, Romanian content creators, French lawyers who have filed legal action against Israel, Spanish and Irish Catholics who see themselves as victims of the global system—even many young people in the United States—have all cried out against this oppression to the entire world.
This period witnessed the cries of young people with a natural sense of conscience, raising their voices against oppression on university campuses. During a peaceful protest, an American student shouted: “We know that our leaders will not do anything against Israel. That’s why we have to do it ourselves.” A 26-year-old young woman from Türkiye, Ayşenur Ezgi Eygi, who had gone to study in the United States, was martyred in the West Bank in a treacherous attack after choosing to follow the voice of her conscience.
Especially in Western societies, people who have not yet embraced Islam in word or in heart but whose consciences remain alive began to take action. There were individuals so deeply moved by their conscience that they set themselves on fire in front of the Senate applauding the killer Netanyahu. Many others, like a well-known Canadian scientist, stood on the side of truth, saying, “I swear, they will kill us with shame. They will make us destroy ourselves out of humiliation.”
A truly remarkable development in human history has taken place. With immense courage and strong self-confidence, the government of South Africa—comprised of victims of apartheid, including Christians, Muslims, and Black communities—brought the genocide case to the International Court of Justice (ICJ), despite Europe and America having committed the greatest sins and atrocities. This became a powerful lesson for all humanity. It served as a signal flare for a new level in which formerly colonized peoples, empowered by postcolonial thought, now seek justice for their rights. Undoubtedly, this is a loss for Israel and its supporters—but a great gain for humanity.
South African Foreign Minister Naledi Pandor (a Muslim, a woman, wearing a headscarf, and Black) stated that they had received threats from the United States due to their application to The Hague. She reported that some American politicians were saying, “If we allow this to be done to Israel, then we’ll be next.” With great self-confidence, she delivered a historic statement that marks the beginning of a new era—one that demonstrates how Gaza has become a turning point and has brought about significant changes: “Yes, of course, you will be next.”
However, this collective conscience was not strong enough to halt absolute evil or bring the perpetrators to account. Yet, it ignited a new flame of hope for humanity. I believe it is a matter worthy of deep reflection and self-criticism that the Islamic world and Muslim movements, instead of aligning with this awakened human conscience, chose to act independently. Moreover, during this year-long process, Muslims have split into three groups: 1) Those who sided with evil, 2) Those who remained silent and tried to manage the situation passively, and 3) Those who kept the issue on the agenda through speech and limited themselves to sending humanitarian aid.
During this period, the gap between the people and their rulers in the Islamic world deepened. Muslim societies waited and hoped for political action before taking initiative themselves. Populations that expected everything from their leaders, leaders who silenced their people, and states waiting for intervention from dominant powers emerged. However, I must reiterate once more that we cannot place all the blame and responsibility solely on governments, nor can we spend our time merely lamenting betrayals and cursing traitors.
Every believer is individually responsible before God and cannot delegate this responsibility to others. On the Day of Judgment, no realpolitik excuse will save any politician.
Question 12: How do you assess the role of interfaith dialogue in countering the rise of Islamophobia and strengthening mutual understanding in Western societies? You previously mentioned that groups like ISIS misrepresent Islam. How can authentic narratives of Islam reclaim the global discourse about the religion?
Answer: During my tenure at the Presidency of Religious Affairs, when Pope Francis visited me between November 28-30, 2014, I asked him the following question: “You are the first pope elected from Latin America. There is a growing Islamophobia across the Western world, even a widespread hatred and hostility toward Islam. Do you have a plan or project to prevent this?” In response, he said, “Of course we do; we have our interfaith dialogue project.”
I responded, “This is a project the Church developed after World War II to explain its own doctrine. Moreover, the project is aimed at resolving internal disagreements among Christians. Applying it to Islam and Muslims is unacceptable. None of the interfaith dialogue meetings held since the 1990s have produced any tangible benefit. On the contrary, they have led to negative perceptions within the Islamic world. The word ‘dialogue’ has come to embody many misunderstandings in our context.” He then asked, “Do you have a proposal?” I replied, “Yes. There is a need for a new perspective and understanding based on universal principles. Today, humanity needs a new Covenant of Compassion. And the place to sign this covenant is Jerusalem. Therefore, drawing from Islamic references and considering the histories of the three Abrahamic religions, we have prepared a document titled Universal Jerusalem Criteria, which focuses on an ethics of coexistence rooted in respect for humanity, faith, the sacred, thought, culture, and civilization. Based on this document, we can develop a new form of cooperation. Let us form a joint commission to explore the methodology of this new relationship model within these criteria. Without falling into the errors of dialogue or theological comparison, let us remain true to ourselves and seek solutions to the fundamental problems of humanity—such as hunger, poverty, ignorance, oppression, and human rights violations—based on essential religious principles, ethics, and sincerity.”
The Universal Jerusalem Criteria document consists of 25 articles encompassing many universal principles—from the inviolability of human life to the sanctity of private life, from fairness, justice, equality, and equal opportunity to ethics, compassion, and mercy, and from a civilization-centered reconstruction of the world that nurtures a culture of coexistence to respect for diverse identities.
Question 13: Looking to the future, what is your vision for the Islamic Thought Institute in terms of a global Islamic intellectual renaissance and its contributions to humanity?
Answer: Undoubtedly, our hopes are high; however, it would not be appropriate to express such an ambitious vision that exceeds the boundaries of an institute. Nevertheless, I can say that we set out with a clear awareness of the major crisis areas of our civilization—crises in thought, crises in morality—and with a consciousness of the global challenges we face. Our six-year intellectual and scholarly journey has demonstrated that a great deal can be achieved with a small institution. In addition, the document addresses universal principles such as the awareness of moral responsibility in shared living spaces, a culture of mutual support, the innocence of children, and the rights of women. It also draws attention to dangers that threaten the culture of coexistence and the very existence of humanity, including violence against women, all forms of violence, sectarian fanaticism, and the exploitation of religion.
Our motto is “To Let the River Flow Again.” It is to make a small contribution to the resurgence of the river of Islamic civilization that, under the light of divine revelation, sprang from Hira and quickly spread to give life to all of humanity. It is to let it flow in its natural course—to purify and be purified—without bending it to the left or right, without imprisoning it in the narrow molds of a single rationality or a single interpretation, without distancing it from its essence under the guise of “refinement,” or obstructing its flow by freezing it.
In this context, we have confined ourselves to five core areas in both our academic work and research:
Methodology in Islamic thought, methodology in Islamic sciences, unity of the sciences in Islamic thought, Maqasid as an independent methodology and science, and ethics and aesthetics.
We also have five guiding mottos: renewal in thought, revival in knowledge, unity in science, reform in methodology, and reconstruction in ethics.
By renewal in thought (fikirde tecdit), we do not mean to merely preserve or aesthetically present inherited thought patterns. Rather, we aim to revive and activate the tradition of creativity and construction (ibda and inşa) of our predecessors. It is not about renewing the religion, but about renewing thought. It is about reestablishing the link between renewal (tecdit) and independent reasoning (ijtihad).
By revival in knowledge (ilimde ihya), we mean the revival of Islamic sciences based on revelation. Each discipline must address contemporary people and ensure the continuity of Islamic civilization. It is about reconstructing today’s jurisprudence (fiqh) and theology (kalam), ensuring continuity in these sciences without losing their traditional roots.
By unity in science (bilimde tevhid), we mean reestablishing the relationship between Islamic sciences, human sciences, and natural sciences. It means avoiding classifying sciences strictly into religious and non-religious, or into sharʿī (religiously sanctioned) and non-sharʿī sciences. Instead, it is about viewing sciences from the perspective of the concept of unity (tawḥīd).
By reform in methodology (usūlde ıslah), we mean a holistic new methodology that integrates takwīn (creation) and tanzīl (revelation), reason and transmitted knowledge (naql), the universal and the local, the immutable and the variable, the ancient and the new, producing knowledge and thought through this comprehensive methodology.
By reconstruction in ethics (ahlakta yeniden inşa), we mean placing ethics at the center of all sciences and reconsidering it not merely as a science of behavior but as an existential matter of survival. It involves deriving values, distinguishing between ultimate and instrumental values, reconstructing the hierarchy of values, and rebuilding ethics as the intellect of religious rulings and the purpose of matters of creed.
Our institute’s relationships with similar scholarly institutions in our cultural region increase our hopes. Our work with graduate students in our country also fills us all with optimism for the future.
Question 14: Thank you, professor, for sincerely answering our many questions, each containing numerous sub-questions, and for dedicating so much time to us.
Answer: Thank you as well. I hope this will remain a beneficial and fruitful dialogue in the world of our readers.
Notes:
1] Ibn Hanbal, V, 411.
*Mehmet Görmez was born in 1959 in the Nizip district of Gaziantep. He completed his primary education in Nizip and his secondary education at Gaziantep Imam Hatip High School. In 1983, he enrolled in the Faculty of Theology at Ankara University, graduating in 1987. That same year, he began his master’s studies in the Hadith Department of the Basic Islamic Sciences Division. In 1988, with a scholarship granted by the Ministry of National Education of the Republic of Turkey, he conducted research at Cairo University for one year. He began his doctoral studies in 1990 and completed them in 1995 with a dissertation titled The Problem of Methodology in the Understanding and Interpretation of Sunnah and Hadith. From 1995 to 1997, he served on the Faculty of Theology at Ahmet Yesevi University in Kazakhstan. Görmez became an assistant professor in 1998 and an associate professor in 1999. Between 2001 and 2003, he lectured at the Faculty of Education of Hacettepe University. While a faculty member at Ankara University’s Faculty of Theology, on 13 August 2003 he was appointed Deputy President of the Presidency of Religious Affairs (Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı). He was granted the title of professor in 2006, and on 11 November 2010—after Ali Bardakoğlu voluntarily resigned—he was appointed President of the Presidency of Religious Affairs. He retired from that post on 31 July 2017.
After his retirement, Görmez founded and became president of the Islamic Thought Institute and the International Foundation for Islamic Thought.