Preface

This book is called Nūr — Light — because light is the beginning of all things: that by which the visible becomes visible, that in whose absence nothing can be known, that which binds meaning to matter, and truth to the trembling heart.

In Arabic, nūr is more than light — it is guidance, clarity, disclosure. It is what the Qur’an calls the Light of the heavens and the earth:

اللَّهُ نُورُ السَّمَاوَاتِ وَالْأَرْضِ
Allāhu nūru as-samāwāti wal-arḍ.
“God is the Light of the heavens and the earth.
The likeness of His Light is as a niche wherein is a lamp,
the lamp enclosed in glass, the glass as if it were a shining star,
lit from a blessed tree — an olive neither of the East nor of the West —
whose oil would almost glow, even if untouched by fire.
Light upon light.
God guides to His Light whom He wills.”
(Qur’an 24:35)

Those whom He wills are not always known by name, nor by title, nor by lineage or degree. Yet light reaches them, and they, in turn, are asked to carry it — not for their own sake, but for the sake of those still searching.

These pages do not claim revelation. But neither are they invention. If they carry any worth, it is only as echo — the echo of something remembered, or forgotten, or perhaps yet to be fully understood. If they contain any light, it is borrowed — and entrusted — for a time.

The Qur’an has placed a seal upon the prophets, peace be upon them all. But the work of witnessing continues — not as prophecy, nor command, but as a burden some are unable to put down: a responsibility that does not ask permission to arrive.

When understanding comes, it comes not as conquest, but as remembrance — what Plato called anamnesis, what Ibn Sīnā described as the illumination of the mind by the ʿaql al-faʿʿāl, what Ibn ʿArabī named kashf: the lifting of the veil by divine light within the heart.

The impulse behind this book is neither scholarly nor rhetorical. It is a response — to a world disfigured by fragmentation, to truths severed from each other, to beauty buried beneath noise. The laws of nature and the cries of the oppressed are not separate. Their source is one. Their meaning is one. To know either truly is to be answerable to both.

If there is one people whose dignity continues to illuminate the age of confusion, it is the people of Palestine — their steadfastness a reminder that moral clarity and intellectual rigor arise from the same light.

The essays in this book are arranged chronologically, tracing a path of unfolding insight. But for those drawn to the heart of its intention — for those seeking the source of its light — you may wish to read first two later pieces: “By Heart and Soul” and “Light, Energy, Information, Life.”

The first reveals the hidden current beneath the words — the impulse that cannot be explained, only remembered. It is an inward turning, a return to the feeling that gives rise to thought.

The second contemplates light not only as symbol, but as substance: that which moves as energy, speaks as information, and awakens as life. It is not a theory, but a unifying presence — the signature of meaning woven into the fabric of existence.

Together, these essays form a lens through which the rest may be more clearly seen. They do not conclude the book’s argument; they illuminate its origin.

This work is published in twenty-four languages under a Creative Commons Attribution–ShareAlike license. It is offered at cost, that it may reach libraries and remain there — preserved, accessible, free to quote, free to build upon. For knowledge, like light, multiplies when it is shared.

If these words move you, let them move outward: support the people of Palestine, through the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) or any organization that sustains their enduring light.

May this book serve as a small lamp in a dark time — not the voice of an author, but the bearing of a trust, the trace of a message that came not by choice, but by light.