“Beginner’s Mind” and “Ummi” Prophet

The Japanese term “shoshin” means “beginner’s mind.” The beginner’s mind is open to all possibilities. It is free from prejudice. It carries no learned clichés, no templates to fall back on, no rigid forms to lean on. It is fluid like water, accepting like the earth, and open to the sky like the night. Water, earth, and night all open to the other without losing themselves; they merge and contribute without fear of losing their own essence. Those who are unafraid of losing themselves are the ones who find what they have lost.

The most famous echo of shoshin, or “beginner’s mind,” is heard on Hira. When the truth was revealed with the command, “Read!” Muhammad al-Amin responded, “I do not know.” This statement, “I do not know,” opens the door to learning. It is reply of the beginner’s mind. It is, in fact, the beginning of seeking meaning. The mind that says, “I know” is no longer at the beginning; it has reached its end — certainly its own end. Unlike the beginner’s mind, the “professional mind” is bound by its attachments; those who cannot let go of the old cannot form new connections. And without new connections, there can be no new understanding.

Shoshin seems to align with what we call “ummi” or “unletteredness.” Yet, there are those who insist on reducing the concept of “ummi” to a mere lack of literacy. As a person learns, they also learn to trust what they know, and those who trust what they know often find new learning unnecessary and new teachers unreliable. This is how “professional dogmatism” — a kind of organized ignorance — begins. True “ummi” is to remain distant from professional dogmatism. Abu Jahl, whose title was ironically “Father of Wisdom,” could not remain “ummi, and thus became “Father of Ignorance.” Abu Jahl was ignorant; Muhammad al-Amin was “ummi”. The ummi looks at the world with pure intelligence, with an open mind. They are open to wonder and gratitude. In other words, they are amateurs; they are novices.

The universe speaks to amateurs. Creation, in the eyes of the beginner, is a source of awe and gratitude.

In Surah Al-Asr, those “who try to be sure and act righteously” ultimately “advise one another in truth and advise one another in patience.” Note the exchange in this “advising” action; it is not one-directional but a mutual exchange. Those who advise others in truth and patience are also expected to remain open to receiving advice in truth and patience from others.

Thus, ‘iman’/’assurance’ and righteous action require maintaining a “beginner’s mind” throughout life and, perhaps, even beyond. No one has the sole authority to advise; everyone is in need of guidance. Those who are open to advice accept that they may be incomplete in grasping truth and understanding existence. They admit their incompleteness. They acknowledge that they are not immune to the need for reminders of truth and patience. Everyone’s footing may slip, anyone can err, anyone can fall, anyone can be drawn into sin.

A mind open to receiving advice is in a state of ummi; it is in the “beginning” position. To assume otherwise — that some people are only givers of advice while others are fixed as receivers — creates a hierarchical structure; it defines relationships of higher and lower. In this way, the “sacred” and “untouchable” clergy come into being. Thus, truth becomes monopolized. Once monopolized, truth becomes a tool of power in the hands of elites.

Surah Al-Asr begins by witnessing the “flow of time,” the “waning of existence,” perhaps to show that no one can escape loss, no one is immune to mistakes, no one is exempt from failure. Truth may manifest in different colors, various tones, in diverse settings. It may appear differently depending on our stance before it. Just as different places can exist under the same sky without breaking or fragmenting it, truth can vary in appearance.

The guiding principle in creation is diversity; from the patterns of our fingertips to the intricacies of snowflakes, from each unique new day to the renewal of spring, this principle unfolds a breathtaking display. Though the features of our faces may resemble one another, uniqueness remains our most essential need — our identity, our honor, our dignity. Existence itself insists on and celebrates diversity, distinctiveness, originality. Days do not simply repeat; even leaves on the same branch bear their own marks. Nothing is clothed in uniformity. Nature imposes no rigid frames, no sharp edges.

So, how is it that some among us, claiming to be readers of existence, dismiss this divine preference for diversity, clinging instead to uniformity and singularity through conservative habits? Is it truly understandable?

I ask you, with your “beginner’s mind.”