Hymns of Beginning

I write this introduction to you not merely to present the idea of a book, but to place in your hands the biography of a long and intimate relationship between myself and a text that took shape gradually—a text I lived for years through reading, revision, questioning, and struggle before I dared to name it: "Hymns of the Universe: The Symphony of Conscious Existence in the Holy Qur'an and Modern Science."

The story began with a small article I wrote about ten years ago on my Facebook page. Back then, I was trying to capture a fleeting glimpse of the meaning of "the universe's glorification," as if I were laying the first stone in a long wall whose extent I did not know. That article still stands as witness to the first seed that grew into a book, and here is its link for those who wish to see: https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1K6b8fKA3J/. Since that day, I have been following the thread, fearing it would break, rejoicing when it strengthened and led me to a broader question and a deeper meaning.

I am a consultant anesthesiologist, and I have learned from operating rooms what I did not learn from many books: that the moment before the loss of consciousness and after it is not merely a physiological event; it is a window overlooking the mystery of the human being in this world. Those quiet moments, when the noise fades and the rhythm harmonizes, reminded me that consciousness is not a passing word in the dictionary of philosophy, but a living experience in which body and soul, science and faith, the soft sound of the monitoring device, and the echoes of ancient questions in my chest all intertwine.

There, among devices, probabilities, and reassuring gestures to the patient, I began to write in the margins of my mind what would later become chapters: from the glorification of the atom, to the devout submission of the galaxy, to the prostration of shadows, the pulsation of mountains and their fear, to the universe's emotions that are not seen with the naked eye but are spelled out by the heart when contemplation lengthens and vision becomes clear.

The path was neither straight nor swift. Every chapter in this book passed over a slow fire: I would review it, set it aside, return to it after weeks of reading in an ancient interpretation or a modern research paper in brain sciences, then step back lest enthusiasm overpower me and I mix evidence with interpretation. I wanted a language that does justice to the Qur'anic text and listens well to contemporary science without frivolity or exaggeration, a language that preserves the dignity of certainty and the right of questioning.

When I wrote about "the universe's glorification," I did not want to resort to easy metaphors, but sought to place the reader before arguments, texts, and sensory experiences that make glorification perceptible to both mind and heart. When I addressed "Qunūt" (devout submission), I did not want it to be a linguistic ritual, but a comprehensive system of creatures' obedience to God's laws, narrowing the distance between science that reads the order of the world and faith that reads its meaning.

As for "prostration," I followed it in the traces of shadows, in the crumbling of mountains, and in the falling of stones from fear of God—not to present emotional scenes only, but to train the reader in the practice of practical contemplation that places the phenomenon in the hand of the text, and places the text in the light of the phenomenon, then entrusts both to the moral responsibility befitting a knowledgeable human being.

Because the universe is not silent, I had to listen to its nations: birds, insects, and animals; to read the hoopoe, the bee, and Solomon's ant as the Qur'an read them: rational beings in their measure, carrying systems of communication and management that we do not mock when our language fails to comprehend them, but distinguish between ignorance and humility.

The examples of the prophets, for me, were nothing but lessons in "human communication with existence," from the glorification of mountains with David to the beloved miracles in the life of our Prophet ﷺ; these are pages that teach us that the world is neither neutral nor mute, but close to the human hand when intention is pure and balance is upright.

Part of the journey required extending bridges toward modern sciences, not to force them into a faith context, but to present them as they are, engaging in dialogue. I read in quantum physics, biological texts, brain sciences, and theories of consciousness, and contemplated hypotheses that tempt one to depart from the conventional; sometimes "panpsychism" entices us that consciousness is a quality distributed throughout the fabric of existence, and sometimes "Integrated Information Theory" invites us to measure what cannot be measured.

I did not present these schools as final alternatives, but as windows for thinking, because I believe that a good question makes a good reader, and a good reader ultimately creates a society capable of disagreement without enmity.

Since the era places us before a new question about artificial intelligence, I stood with the reader on the threshold of "artificial consciousness": Can a machine develop perceptual awareness that measures itself and seeks domination? I explained the matter from within: the history of neural networks, the limits of deep learning, the illusion of intentional autonomy, design ethics, and human responsibility when placing part of one's destiny in the hand of a machine that excels at prediction but not at wisdom.

I did not want the book to frighten or reassure without evidence; I wanted it to cultivate a vigilant ethical sense, putting technology in its place, and reminding that human value cannot be reduced to computational capacity.

After years of rewriting, the book acquired an internal architecture I loved to be clear, not losing the reader in formal ornamentation, but helping them walk step by step: introductions that open questions and define terms, arguments and texts and scientific evidence subject to examination, practical conclusions summarizing "the idea, the evidence, and the impact," then a return to the meaning for which we began the journey: for the reader to read the universe in a way that reconciles science with faith, preserving the integrity of the mind and the light of the heart.

I did not write to prove that I possess the truth, but to invite companionship with a truth greater than all of us, a truth we approach when we ask well, look long, and humble ourselves before what we do not know.

I do not deny that I was extremely careful about a solid, warm Arabic style, fascinated by the beauty of expression when it serves precision, and repelled when balance is disturbed. I rewrote pages many times and suspended entire chapters until I read more and dialogued more. I sought the observations of early readers from different specializations, and whenever they found a place of ambiguity, I returned to it to remove it or acknowledge it.

I want a reader who does not feel that the book preaches from above, nor that it drags them to a dry collection of knowledge; rather, I want them to feel that the text takes their hand on an extended journey: from the atom to the galaxy, from sleep to wakefulness to anesthesia, from the question of glorification to the responsibility of mercy.

Today, I knock on your door seeking a partner in this journey: a discerning reader who listens well to the spirit of the text and helps publish and present it to people in the most beautiful form possible. I believe that the Arab reader deserves this kind of title that neither closes the door on science nor drops moral purposes from its account, and that our library has room for texts that teach us how to look, not just what to see.

I conclude with what I began: This is a text written by one hand but made by many hands; the hand of experience in operating rooms, the hand of leisurely reading in the depths of books, the hand of doubt when it intensifies and returns me to further verification, and the hand of hope that never ceases. If there is any good in the book, it is God's favor, and if there is any deficiency, it is from me.

I hope you will allow this voice to reach a reader who yearns for a noble reconciliation between science and faith, and to remember that the universe surrounding us is not silent or cold, but alive—glorifying, submitting, and humbling itself—and that the human being is charged with listening well.

With gratitude for your time and attention,

Your brother

Dr Jameel Alsoqayya
Consultant Anesthesiologist at Ministry of Health Hospitals, Saudi Arabia

📧 Email: jsoqayya@gmail.com

📱 Phone/WhatsApp: 00966556728649