In this section, the author offers an in-depth analysis of one of the most pressing spiritual problems of our time — the crisis of the soul. He portrays it not merely as a personal or individual issue, but as a sign of inner decay across society and civilization as a whole. According to the author, modern humans possess hearts, but they no longer hear them. The soul exists, but the connection is broken. The result is a life that appears normal on the outside but is hollow and aimless within.

He illustrates this crisis with a vivid metaphor:

“We live as human beings, yet we have not learned how to exist as beings of soul. Our spiritual field has dried up; the energy of the soul has weakened. We’ve learned to survive in the shadow of our ego.”

In this way, the crisis is not merely a loss of belief, but a loss of meaning and inner alignment.

The author also reflects on the condition of youth — their detachment from meaning, coldness toward faith, pursuit of superficial pleasures, and directionless education. He doesn’t blame them but highlights that their state reflects a systemic spiritual vacuum in society.

“Today’s youth carry a soul congested with toxic noise — information and emotion overload. They’ve grown up without knowing what it means to breathe in the spirit,” he writes.

One of the key insights in the chapter is that preserving the soul is a form of preserving faith. The soul is not just a spiritual idea but a subtle inner channel connecting one to the Divine.

At the end, the author outlines paths to awaken the soul:
 – learning to listen with the heart
 – embracing silence and solitude
 – seeking to know Allah not merely through external duties, but through inner peace

Thus, this chapter does not simply describe a problem — it offers a spiritual roadmap toward recovery and reconnection.

This chapter serves as the conceptual foundation for the entire book. The author explores the notion of “ақиқат” (truth) not as a static dogma but as a living reality, one that can be discovered through belief, reflection, intuition, and the traditional worldview of the Kazakh people. In this framework, truth is not merely theoretical — it is the alignment between heart, reason, word, and deed.

A central focus of the chapter is the semantic deconstruction of the Kazakh word “дәстүр” (tradition). The author divides this word into two meaningful components:

• “Дәс” (des) — the inner moral essence or spiritual code of tradition, a reflection of deep ethical grounding;
• “Түр” (tur) — the external form or ritual expression.

The author asserts:

“The path to truth lies not through ‘tur’ (ritual form), but through ‘des’ (inner essence).”

This conceptual model is used to challenge superficial approaches to religion. A faith based solely on outward observance, detached from sincere moral content, cannot lead to truth. True spirituality, according to the author, arises from sincerity, internal order, and an intuitive connection to the Divine.

The text also explores the relationship between intellect and heart:

“Reason is the edge of illusion; the heart is the dwelling place of truth.”

This idea reflects Sufi influence, in which the heart is regarded as the primary vessel of divine knowledge. The chapter gracefully weaves together Islamic theology, philosophical reasoning, and Turkic metaphysics.

There is also a mention of the author's model of the “eight categories of sharia”, which attempts to systematize religious practice across multiple dimensions — legal, ethical, spiritual, and cultural. This model reinforces the idea that sharia is not merely a legal framework, but a structured path toward inner harmony.

Overall, this chapter is not simply a theoretical preface, but a spiritual roadmap. It encourages the reader to begin the quest for truth within — through the purification of speech, intention, and the heart itself.

In this chapter, the author examines the tensions between religious belief and national tradition in today’s society. He argues that spirituality has lost its essence and has increasingly become reduced to external rituals. Through a historical analysis of Islam, the prophetic legacy, and how the Kazakh people uniquely embraced the faith, the author identifies key reasons why contemporary religious practice has weakened.

One of the core conceptual distinctions in the chapter is between the Kazakh words “dіn” (religion) and “senіm” (faith). The author explains:

“Religion is law. Faith is action. To follow religion without action is empty talk. And to live by faith without sharia is to go astray.”

This implies that religion should not be treated merely as a set of rules — rather, it is a value system rooted in intention, morality, and personal practice. Faith is not abstract belief but a lived discipline.

Drawing from the Sufi teachings of Ahmad Yasawi, the author quotes:

“Sharia is the head, tariqat is the neck, and haqiqat is the heart.”

In his view, many modern believers possess the “head” — the formal aspect — but fail to reach the “heart,” the inner spiritual depth. This critique highlights a loss of sincerity and over-reliance on ritual.

The author also provides an example of how religiosity can be superficial:

“Wearing a robe, growing a beard, and reciting Arabic prayers does not make someone a true believer. These are just outer forms of religion. A real Muslim is one whose heart holds modesty, whose words carry kindness, and whose actions are clean.”

The chapter also includes a historical reflection: while Islam originated in Arabia, it adapted differently in each culture it reached. Among Kazakhs, the faith was not diluted but harmonized with national customs and worldview. Today, however, there is a tendency to revert to mere form and appearance, losing the inner dimension.

The author identifies several factors undermining the foundations of faith:
 – Fanaticism rooted in ignorance
 – Preaching without deep understanding
 – A lack of sincere inner work and personal reflection

He concludes that society today is full of those who act knowledgeable, but sincere God-conscious individuals (taqwa) have become rare.

In this chapter, the author explores the traditional Kazakh system of customs not as folklore or domestic habit, but as a practical embodiment of spiritual order formed in harmony with Islam. Tradition is portrayed not as a collection of rituals, but as a living structure that governs the relationship between a person’s conscience, ancestral roots, and the Divine.

The chapter includes vivid examples:

“When a Kazakh hosts a guest, it is not mere politeness — it is done with sacred intention. It is not simply food on the table, but a moment of giving bata (a spiritual blessing). Food is nourishment not only for the body, but for the soul.”

In this worldview, everyday actions — hospitality, greeting, sharing meals — are understood as forms of spiritual communication. The guest is a reflection of divine presence, and generosity becomes a form of reverence. Such traditional values reflect an inner worldview often lost in the mechanized pace of modern life.

Customs such as sәlem salu (the respectful bowing of a woman as greeting), süyek beru (sharing meat to affirm kinship), jasau (preparing a dowry), and zhylu zhinau (collective assistance to those in need) are presented not simply as cultural artifacts but as ethical and sacred practices. Each ritual is rooted in intent, blessing, and moral obligation.

The author writes:

“Tradition (dәstүr) is the path to the heart. Religion (din) is the path to action. When the two are separated — national life loses strength.”

He challenges those who pit religion against tradition, arguing that such opposition stems from limited understanding and shallow interpretation. Historically, Islam and Kazakh tradition have developed in deep connection. In the Kazakh worldview, Islam was never just adopted in Arab form — it was internalized as a spiritual essence through the lens of cultural identity.

The chapter also warns against religious practice that ignores or erases cultural roots. Here, tradition is not an obstacle to faith — it is a condition for conscious religiosity. A tradition without faith is a shell; faith without tradition is a tree without roots.

In this chapter, the author explores the concept of “boundary” (meje) in Islam — not only in the legal sense, but also as a profound spiritual principle. Islamic jurisprudence (sharia) is built on clear distinctions between the lawful (halal) and the forbidden (haram), between what is recommended and what is discouraged. However, the author argues that these boundaries are more than legal categories — they are inner moral and spiritual markers.

One of the central insights:

“The boundaries set by Allah are testing grounds. On one side lies intention (niyet), on the other — desire (napsi, or ego). The boundary is the scale that weighs both.”

This framing shows that religious limits are not restrictions in the traditional sense, but refinements of the self, guiding the believer through moments of ethical and spiritual trial. Obedience to these limits, the author emphasizes, should stem not from fear, but from love, awareness, and reverence.

The chapter breaks down key classical terms:

• Haram — not just “forbidden,” but anything that pollutes the heart or distances one from clarity;
• Halal — not just “permissible,” but that which aligns with sincere intention and spiritual purity;
• Makruh, mubah — morally ambiguous or neutral acts, requiring not only legal judgment but inner discernment.

The author writes:

“Halal is not simply ‘allowed to eat’; it is what matches the intention. Haram is not only ‘prohibited’ — it is what darkens the heart.”

He cautions that blurring these boundaries in the modern world leads to moral confusion, loss of spiritual direction, and weakened faith. Clear spiritual boundaries, therefore, are not meant to suppress freedom, but to preserve clarity of conscience and connection with the Divine.

Ultimately, this chapter portrays the true believer not as someone who blindly follows religious rules, but as one who feels the spiritual weight of each act, who understands why certain things bring light — and others, imbalance.

In this chapter, the author presents commerce not merely as an economic activity but as a spiritual trial and a form of devotion. Drawing parallels between Islamic sharia and traditional Kazakh norms, he argues that material gain must be inseparable from moral integrity and spiritual awareness.

The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) is quoted:

“An honest trader will be with the prophets in Paradise,”
 emphasizing that earning a living, when done with sincerity and within divine boundaries, can become an act of worship.

The author adds:

“A Kazakh trader honored his word. Breaking an oath in a transaction was akin to offending the spirits of one’s ancestors.”

This reflects a worldview in which a verbal agreement was sacred, binding not just economically but spiritually — a covenant of trust.

Key topics explored in the chapter include:
 – The etiquette of lending and debt in Islamic tradition
 – Fairness in weights and measures as a symbol of justice
 – The prohibition of riba (usury or unjust profit) as a form of oppression
– Misrepresentation in trade as a moral wrongdoing, not just fraud

Modern financial practices, including interest-based credit and complex banking contracts, are critically examined. The author argues that many of these systems contradict the ethical foundations of Islam and calls for a return to transparent, trust-based commerce.

He writes:

“The riba prohibited in the Quran is not just about interest — it is about unfair advantage. Allah is not against profit; He is against injustice.”

Here, Islamic economics is shown not as anti-profit, but as a model for fairness and social responsibility. In the author’s view, commerce should be a mirror of personal ethics and societal trust.

In this chapter, the author treats food not merely as physical sustenance, but as a medium of spiritual influence. Every meal, he suggests, carries energy and affects the heart and mind. Thus, the source of the food, the manner in which it is acquired, the intention behind eating, and the etiquette of consumption all fall under the domain of spiritual discipline.

While the chapter reviews Islamic dietary laws — including what is halal (permissible) and haram (forbidden) — the author emphasizes that sharia goes beyond a list of allowed and prohibited items. It considers the moral and intentional context: how food is earned, shared, and respected.

A striking example from Kazakh tradition:

“If a Kazakh began eating without saying ‘Bismillah’, it was seen as arrogance. Since food is a gift from Allah, to eat without acknowledging the Giver was viewed as spiritual blindness.”

The Kazakh saying “You are not above the food” is interpreted here as a reminder that food is a sacred trust (amanat) from God — and how we treat it reflects our level of awareness and gratitude.

Key points explored in the chapter include:
 – Halal and haram not just as labels, but based on source and sincerity
 – Supplications before and after meals
 – Shared eating as a gesture of communal bonding
 – Avoiding food waste as a sign of respect for divine provision
 – Excess and carelessness as symptoms of ingratitude

The author critiques modern food culture — fast consumption, overeating, and indifference to ingredients — as spiritual erosion in daily life. He encourages a return to intentionality, modesty, and sacred etiquette at the table.

In this chapter, the author presents the Islamic practice of circumcision (sünnet) not merely as a medical or hygienic procedure, but as a ritual of deep spiritual and national significance. Sünnet is not only a requirement of sharia — it marks the transition of a boy into spiritual readiness and moral responsibility.

The author writes:

“Circumcision purifies not the body, but the spirit. It is the child’s first invisible promise to the Creator.”

Thus, the ritual is framed as a spiritual seal, a moment of covenant between the child and God — symbolizing entry into a life of faith and dignity.

He critiques the modern tendency to treat sünnet primarily as a festive event, where its educational and sacred purpose is often lost. In Kazakh society, it is widely celebrated, but children are rarely taught its inner meaning or spiritual implications.

The chapter explores:
 – Circumcision as both a religious obligation and ethnic rite of passage
 – Preparing the child emotionally and mentally enhances the experience
 – Physical pain reflects spiritual growth
 – Modern medicine eases the process but cannot replace its symbolism
 – Blessings, advice, and prayer impart a lifelong spiritual code

The author calls for re-contextualizing the ritual, shifting the focus from form and celebration to its role in shaping character and instilling sacred values.

In this chapter, the author examines the status of marriage in Islam and the foundations of Kazakh family culture as a spiritual, social, and cultural institution. Marriage is framed not simply as a legal agreement, but as a sacred covenant involving accountability before the Creator and a promise to future generations.

The author writes:

“Marriage is not a physical bond but a union of souls. Husband and wife are not bound to each other, but to shared faith and commitment.”

This interpretation elevates the spiritual over the formal. Islamic elements of marriage — mahr (bridal gift), niyet (intention), sharttar (conditions), and kuә (witnesses) — are discussed not as legalities, but as rituals carrying deep moral and spiritual meaning.

Topics such as divorce (talaq), widowhood, and mutual rights and obligations are explored not only in legal terms but as moral and emotional responsibilities within a spiritual partnership.

The chapter also discusses Kazakh matrimonial traditions: quda tүsu (betrothal), қалың мал (bride price), jasau (dowry preparation), and sәlem salu (a gesture of respect). These are interpreted as instruments of social cohesion and spiritual continuity.

Example:

“Bride price is not a purchase — it is an expression of gratitude and responsibility. The dowry is not just goods — it is a symbol of care and future commitment.”

In this chapter, the author examines the traditional custom of blood revenge in light of Islamic justice. He contrasts the cultural code of retaliation with the spiritual values of sharia, showing how human law and divine mercy may follow different paths.

He writes:

“Where blood has been spilled, compensation becomes the measure. But repentance and forgiveness — that is the path of Allah.”

This highlights the distinction between law and faith, punishment and purification. Islam permits compensation (qun), but elevates forgiveness as the nobler choice. In Kazakh tradition, revenge was often viewed as restoring honor — but not always as achieving true justice.

Referencing historical figures like Tole Bi, Kaz Dauysty Kazbek Bi, and Ayteke Bi, the author stresses that real justice lies where wisdom and mercy meet.

Key insights from the chapter include:
 – The difference between retribution and divine justice
 – Compensation (qun) as a means of restoring societal balance
– Limits of punishment under spiritual law
– Forgiveness as strength, not weakness
– Revenge as a continuation of pain, not its resolution

In this chapter, the author examines the Kazakh tradition of “sұrap alu” (asking) not as mere politeness, but as a spiritually rooted practice based on consent, inner etiquette, and respect for others’ will. It is not driven by need, but by intentional humility and gratitude.

The author writes:

“What is asked for, comes from courtesy; what is taken without asking, comes from shamelessness.”
 Thus, asking is framed as part of a spiritual discipline, not a social weakness.

The chapter unfolds in multiple dimensions:

1. Historical and cultural context:
   In Kazakh tradition, asking — whether for a gift, blessing, advice, or permission — is a sign of refinement. It nurtures social harmony and respect for personal boundaries.
2. Sharia perspective:
   Islam discourages begging, but the author distinguishes between humiliating dependence and dignified requesting. Spiritually grounded asking, when done with restraint and sincerity, is not condemned.
3. Psychological significance:
   Asking cultivates patience, humility, and restraint. It is a practice of inner discipline, where the value lies not just in receiving, but in the intention and the process itself.
4. Social function:
   Asking reinforces community bonds and reduces ego, fostering a culture of mutual trust and acknowledgment rather than entitlement.

The author concludes:

“He who asks with sincerity receives with blessing. If granted — it is provision; if not — it is a lesson in patience.”

In this chapter, the author examines the words of the Quran not as ordinary linguistic units, but as spiritual, energetic, and structural codes of creation. The Quran, he argues, is not a static text but a living system, where every letter, word, and sound carries vibration, rhythm, and information beyond time and space.

He writes:

“Nothing in the Quran is accidental. Every word and letter is a fixed pulse. Sound is command; meaning is its execution.”

This frames Quranic language as wave-based carriers of truth, impacting not just the intellect but the spiritual fabric of the human being.

One example is the word “nur” (light). Commonly translated as radiance, the author interprets it as an informational particle — a bearer of divine frequency. In the Kazakh phrase “nūr zhausyn” (“may light pour upon you”), he finds not just poetry, but a transmission of energy and balance.

Another key term: “kalima” (word).

“Each kalima is a code — a directional force for consciousness and a marker of fate.”

He also explores the phonetic structure of the name Allah:

• A for openness,
• L for connection,
• H for release or transformation.
  Thus, the name itself becomes a resonance between soul and the Divine.

Even the disjointed letters at the beginning of certain surahs (e.g., Alif-Lam-Mim) are seen as portals into higher planes of existence. To read the Quran is not merely to vocalize it — it is to engage with divine frequency.

The author concludes that Quranic words influence not only thought, but the cellular and energetic structure of the individual. This is not metaphor — it is metaphysical reality.