Dr. Hossam Badrawi Official Website
In an era where science is accelerating and technology has advanced to reveal to us the secrets of the cell and the galaxy, the question of the place of faith becomes pressing.
Is there still room for faith in a world governed by numbers and equations? Is faith the opposite of reason, or is it a partner in the journey to seek the truth?
Faith is defined as believing in what cannot be proven—something without direct, testable scientific evidence.
It is trust in what cannot be seen and certainty in what cannot be touched.
But does that mean it is the opposite of the mind? I don’t know, and I don’t think so.
The boundaries of science and the realm of faith require thought. Science has answered many questions:
How was the universe born?
How does the brain work?
How do we communicate via light?
What is the nature of energy?
And many more…
But there are questions science cannot answer:
Why are we here?
Does life have meaning?
What comes after death?
This is where faith begins—not because it rejects reason, but because it transcends it.
Nonetheless, we must admit that the space for faith often expands among those with little scientific knowledge, where the need for reassurance outweighs the mind’s ability to analyze.
But as the human intellect matures and knowledge accumulates, the questions faith used to answer begin to find scientific explanations for nearly everything. This changes the nature of faith without eliminating it. Faith then becomes more conscious and leans more toward philosophical contemplation than blind submission.
In Islamic philosophy, Ibn Rushd (Averroes) affirmed that truth does not contradict truth, and that reason and revelation are complementary. Al-Ghazali, on the other hand, emphasized the limits of reason and the heart’s capacity to perceive what logic cannot.
The first verse revealed in the Qur’an was a call to reason:
“Read in the name of your Lord who created.”
The Qur’an is filled with verses honoring knowledge and scholars:
“Say, ‘My Lord, increase me in knowledge.’”
“Allah will raise those of you who have believed and those who were given knowledge in degrees.”
“Say, ‘Are those who know equal to those who do not know?’ Only those with understanding will remember.”
In Christian thought, Thomas Aquinas believed that both faith and reason are gifts from God. They do not contradict each other; rather, each has its own realm.
Reason brings you to the edge of the sea, and faith urges you to dive into it.
The philosopher Kierkegaard went even further, saying that true faith is only born when a person stands at the edge of the abyss—and jumps with trust, without seeing the ground beneath.
It is an existential decision that transcends proof.
This differs from Eastern philosophies, where Hinduism and Buddhism do not separate intellectual and spiritual experience.
They see meditation as a path to truth, and faith not as a constraint but as a means to deeper understanding of existence.
I believe there is a necessary balance. We need neither to replace reason with faith nor the other way around.
Reason asks and explains; faith enlightens.
Reason leads us to the limits of the world; faith gives us hope beyond it.
In conclusion, faith is not ignorance but a conscious choice.
It is not weakness but a spiritual strength that drives a person toward meaning—especially when scientific explanation fails to soothe the anxious soul.
From this perspective, faith does not contradict reason—it completes it. Just as the eye has limits, the mind also has a horizon where it stops… and there begins the other light, until a scientific explanation eventually emerges.
This leads me to a fundamental existential question that has accompanied us since the dawn of awareness:
Who are we?
What is our relationship with what we think, what we feel, and what awaits us after our eyes close forever?
My reflection has led me to a triad that forms the core of the human experience:
Cognitive capacity, consciousness, and what lies before and after life.
Not from a purely scientific perspective, but from a philosophical view that contemplates the human being as they ask about themselves, their origin, and their destiny.
Cognitive capacity is the mental energy by which we interact with the world: we think, analyze, remember, and create.
It is the tool that built civilizations, shaped language, and laid the foundations for science and art.
But this tool does not function in a vacuum—it operates in a hidden realm we call consciousness.
Consciousness is not just thinking—it is the awareness of existence, the sense of time, the attention of the self as it thinks.
Does the mind create consciousness?
Or is consciousness the stage on which the mind performs?
Here we enter the realm of philosophy, where the answer cannot be measured by an equation but drawn out through deep contemplation.
The human being is distinguished by their unique ability to observe themselves.
When one says, “I think,” then they exist.
But does this “I” die with the body? Or does it continue in another realm of existence beyond the senses?
In near-death experiences, many describe an out-of-body sensation.
Are these hallucinations of a dying brain? Or evidence that consciousness does not extinguish when the heart stops?
Science has not settled this, but the questions multiply, and the soul yearns for knowledge.
Here we arrive at the integrated triad:
- Cognitive capacity: the power of the mind while it dwells in the body.
- Consciousness: the mirror through which we see the world and ourselves—where connections form, relations interweave.
- What lies after death: the ultimate test of the self—does it die with us? Or continue a journey in a realm we have yet to comprehend?
The truth is, the conclusion remains open.
We may die—but the question does not.
Perhaps we exist not to answer, but to keep asking.
Perhaps the essence of being human is not measured by what we know, but by our endless quest for understanding.
If the mind is a tool, and consciousness is the field in which it works, then death is the open-ended question that invites us to redefine the meaning of life.
Are we a spark from a universal consciousness?
Are we a thought in a greater mind?
Or a fleeting moment of presence—then we fade?
These are questions that don’t demand certainty, but the courage to reflect—and the curiosity to seek.
And perhaps, all that is before life, during life, and after death is recorded in a “written book”—meaning that everything in this universe, and we are less than a speck within it, is a digital record:
A continuous sequence of edits, deletions, additions, and revisions.
One that incorporates mercy, forgiveness, and grace—to restore balance.
