Question: Today, people do not reflect sufficiently on death and the life beyond it. Even when they do, they often fail to draw the necessary lessons from it. What would you advise us on this matter?

Answer: In the past, when people gathered together, they would dwell on subjects that brought them closer to God and would discuss them thoughtfully. Death stood at the forefront of these topics. Those who lived with their hearts turned toward the Hereafter reminded one another of death and encouraged each other to prepare for eternal life. Today, however, because people’s attention has turned toward the world and worldly interests and needs have taken priority, the realities of the Hereafter have largely been forgotten. As environments that invited people to reflect on the Divine have diminished, influences that call people toward ego-centeredness and destructive impulses have multiplied. Seriousness and dignity have given way to a life shaped by frivolity and entertainment. When people come together, they are no longer able to enliven their conversations with the remembrance of God or give true vitality to their gatherings.

Unfortunately, modern science does not necessarily instill a spirit in people or strengthen faith; on the contrary, it can sometimes make individuals more arrogant and spiritually reckless. If the findings of science are not interpreted through meanings that direct our gaze toward God, and if they are not evaluated from a sound perspective, they may instead lead humanity into heedlessness and misguidance.

The Thickening Veil of Heedlessness

What I have said does not apply only to those absorbed entirely in worldly life. Sadly, even among those who pray in mosques or circumambulate the Ka‘ba, the number of people whose connection with God is truly strong is not great. In our time, the veil of heedlessness has grown so thick that tearing through it to reach God no longer seems easy. In periods when religion was lived more deeply, even a simple reminder from a trusted person was enough to awaken and alert people. Words about death and the Hereafter would immediately shake them; they would come to their senses at once. A brief piece of sincere guidance was sufficient to direct them toward closeness to God.

When I recall scenes from my childhood, I remember people deeply serious in their worship, their eyes filled with tears. In those days, the carelessness and indifference toward religion that we see today were not widespread; people were not so heavily stained by sin. Feelings and thoughts were purer, hearts clearer. People possessed hearts that trembled with excitement when spiritual matters were mentioned. For this reason, death served as a powerful counselor for them.

People today possess far more knowledge about religion than their predecessors, and their information about the “book of the universe” is much broader. Yet sadly, they live far removed from seeing what earlier generations saw or feeling what they felt. Religious teachings are delivered everywhere; sermons are given in mosques, devotional gatherings are held, and programs are organized on special occasions. Yet it is difficult to speak of a living spiritual excitement in people’s hearts. Just as we lack a strong sense of responsibility, we have also lost our fear of standing before God. Personally, I have never witnessed someone whose heart nearly stopped from the weight of accountability. Modern people, unfortunately, are deceived by this temporary and fleeting life. They remain deeply unprepared for death and the life that follows, living in a profound state of heedlessness.

Two Principles That Keep the Heart Spiritually Alive

Given this situation, we must first renew ourselves and become more sensitive in matters of faith. Scholars emphasize two essential principles that keep the heart spiritually alive. The first is enjoining what is right and discouraging what is wrong (amr bi’l-ma‘ruf wa nahy ‘an al-munkar). The second is engaging with subjects related to rekāʾiq—themes that cultivate spiritual refinement, tenderness of heart, and detachment from worldly excess. Among these, remembering death stands at the forefront.

Indeed, every opportunity should be used to voice what is good and to invite people toward it. Yet such a call becomes effective only when it is made by those who believe in God with a faith stronger than mathematical certainty itself, who can speak to others through the language of the heart, and who live what they proclaim. Otherwise, the words of those who claim to “speak about God” but in reality promote themselves—those who chase luxury and fantasy, seek status through knowledge, or promote themselves—will never resonate in hearts. Those who urge others toward good while failing to live by it themselves, or who claim to prevent wrongdoing while continuing in it personally, can never be convincing. People whose hearts have grown lifeless, whose spiritual excitement has faded, and who carry no sincere concern for living their faith must first question themselves and hold their own egos accountable before advising others.

For this reason, it is essential that wise and balanced scholars—individuals devoted to serving religion—be raised and properly trained. A responsibility as vital as education and spiritual formation cannot be entrusted to the unqualified. The one who teaches us how to walk must first be able to stand firmly and know how to walk himself firmly. If an insight we encounter does not first stir our own hearts, how can it influence others? If we are to stand before people without having felt our own hearts tremble, it would be better not to stand before them at all. There is no need to incur the sin of falsehood by speaking to others about matters we have neither embraced, internalized, nor truly digested ourselves.

Discussing works such as the Risale-i Nur, which address matters of faith in a persuasive and compelling manner, is also an important means of encouraging good and discouraging wrong. In the environment where I grew up, people would gather in homes or guest rooms and read religious works such as Dürretü’l-Vâizîn (Dürretü’n-Nâsihîn)[1], Tenbihü’l-Gâfilîn[2], Ahmediye[3], Muhammediye[4], and Tezkire[5]. They listened with sincere and unpretentious hearts, believed what they heard, and were deeply affected by it. Gradually, the scenes of the Hereafter would begin to appear vividly before their eyes, and within their hearts would grow a longing to meet God.

Toward the end of her life, my late aunt developed such a deep yearning for the world beyond that when she was hospitalized due to an illness, she almost pleaded with me, saying, “Hocaefendi, please take me out of here. I no longer wish to remain in this world, because I long so much for the next.” From her state and demeanor, it was not difficult to see how sincerely she spoke these words. Another acquaintance of mine spoke of death as though it were simply moving from one room of a house to another. Entering the grave, the body returning to the earth, and the beginning of the intermediate life of the grave did not frighten him at all, because they possessed an unshakable faith in God and in the Day of the Hereafter. Their faith was so pure and clear that reading only a few works on spiritual refinement was enough for them.

Today, however, minds have been so misled that what is read no longer benefits people to the same degree. Forms of knowledge that do not rest upon the foundation of divine unity, and through whose chapters no pathway opens toward God, can instead distance a person from Him. Even if you were to make people read not merely al-Qurṭubī’s Tezkire but his entire Qur’anic commentary, many would still fail to receive their share of its knowledge and wisdom. This may be described as a loss of spiritual capacity, a kind of blindness in perception.

If You Seek Counsel, Death Is Enough

One of the most important characteristics of works written on rekāʾiq is that they address death and the life beyond it from every perspective. These works lay before the reader the realms of the Hereafter in all their stages and present to human understanding the inner realities of life after death. By introducing people to the true homeland toward which they are journeying, they explain the events they will encounter there and thus help establish a balance between this world and the next. A person who is conscious of the questions that will be asked in the Hereafter, the deeds for which they will be held accountable, and the trials they will face does not become attached to the world or deceived by it. Yet today, even in faculties of theology, these subjects are not treated with their proper weight and seriousness. As a result, individuals devoted wholeheartedly to reviving the true spirit of Islam are no longer being raised.

Human beings are travelers. They come from the realm of souls to the womb, then move into childhood, youth, adulthood, and old age, and finally pass into the grave. From there they journey through the intermediate realm, the gathering place of resurrection, and the bridge, ultimately arriving at the eternal abode where they will remain forever—either Paradise or, God forbid, Hell—according to their deeds. Thus, worldly life is only a brief stop along this eternal journey. Death marks the beginning of the phase in which one gives account for a life already lived. If a person remembers death, the grave, the intermediate realm, the bridge, the scale of judgment, Paradise, and Hell, yet feels no trembling in the heart, that person must reexamine themselves once again.

Each scene related to death and the Hereafter leaves a deep impression on hearts that have not died spiritually. It drives a person toward self-examination and inner reckoning, and it diminishes the sweetness of worldly pleasures. If one of the scenes described in the Qur’an and the Prophetic tradition about the Hereafter does not awaken us, another surely will; if one fails to disperse our heedlessness, another will suffice. Can a person who truly believes that eternal happiness or eternal loss lies ahead remain immersed in heedlessness? The Qur’an and the Sunnah describe with such clarity and detail the reckoning after death and the events awaiting humanity that it is impossible not to be affected. Even the dramatized “Great Meeting” scenes shown on television were enough to make our hearts pound and our eyes fill with tears. Yet what we watched could only be a faint shadow of the realities of the Hereafter. Even that was sufficient to awaken us and become a means for renewal. The subjects of rekāʾiq that address death and the Hereafter function in the same way: if one passage does not affect us, another certainly will.

As is well known, the Messenger of God (peace and blessings be upon him) advised us with these words to visit graves: “Visit the graves, for visiting them loosens one’s attachment to the world and reminds one of the Hereafter (death).” (Tirmidhī, Janāʾiz 60; Abū Dāwūd, Janāʾiz 75, 77; Ibn Mājah, Janāʾiz 47). It is reported that companions such as ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān (may God be pleased with him) would weep uncontrollably when they visited graveyards (Tirmidhī, Zuhd 5; Ibn Mājah, Zuhd 32; Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal, al-Musnad, 1/503). Graveyards affected them deeply; they trembled before the weight of accountability. Sadly, hearts today have become so hardened that neither news of death nor visits to cemeteries leave a deep impression on us. I can say that I have encountered very few people who, upon visiting a graveyard, fall into deep reflection about their own end and engage in sincere self-reckoning.

As Bediuzzaman points out, the blessings of health and youth are two major factors that lead people into heedlessness (The Words, pp. 153–161). Those who enjoy good health often fall into the grip of the desire for an endlessly prolonged worldly life (tūl-i amal) and the illusion of permanence, and therefore keep death at a distance. They become so captivated by dreams of longevity that it seems as though death will never approach them. They look at life as if they will never die and pursue endless plans and ambitions for the future. Through their actions, they try to extract ever greater enjoyment from the world. Even deeds that outwardly appear religious may conceal a desire to satisfy the ego. For example, while attempting to convey truth and guidance to others, a person may seek to maintain personal prestige through the knowledge and wisdom they display. Even within actions that appear outwardly good and Divinely inspired, ego-driven and satanic impulses may exist like a hidden virus. When not properly understood, great blessings such as health and youth can themselves become sources of deception.

If there is anything capable of restraining such worldly pleasures and desires, it is the remembrance of death. The Prophet (peace and blessings be upon him) said, “Remember often the destroyer of pleasures—death.” (Tirmidhī, Qiyāmah 26; Nasāʾī, Janāʾiz 3; Ibn Mājah, Zuhd 31). This instruction keeps believers spiritually alert before this reality. If you do not remember death frequently today, the pleasures you taste tomorrow may turn into regret. A true believer should always be prepared for death and even feel a longing for it. When the summons of death arrives, one should be able to depart this world with relief and serenity, like a soldier joyfully released from duty. For this, the heart must first be freed from the desire for an endlessly prolonged worldly life and the illusion of permanence. One’s remaining time in this world should be tied to a higher purpose, thinking: “If there is service to be done, then it is worth living a little longer.”

Notes

[1] The work, authored by Osman Efendi of Hopa (d. 1825), is known as Dürretü’l-Vâizîn or Dürretü’n-Nâsihîn.
[2] The work belongs to Abū al-Layth al-Samarqandī (d. 983).
[3] The work belongs to Sayyid Ahmed Mürşid (Ahmedî/Mürşidî) Efendi (d. 1761).
[4] The work belongs to Yazıcıoğlu Mehmed Efendi (d. 1451).
[5] The work belongs to Imam al-Qurṭubī (d. 1273). Its full title is al-Tadhkira fī Aḥwāl al-Mawtā wa’l-Ākhirah (“The Reminder Concerning the States of the Dead and the Hereafter”).