Piraye and Seyri

Piraye is an author, whilst Seyri is the title of her book.

I first heard the title when I asked an educational consultant I admire, whilst travelling, what the best reference work in the field of ‘coaching’ was in our country. In fact, I’d finished the book before the person who’d bought it had even started it. Don’t let the word ‘early’ mislead you; I finished it in half-hourly reading sessions after every breakfast before heading off to work. Coming across such a bold recommendation and then engaging with the book’s content made my decision to write this piece inevitable.

The work is not in the format of a heavy textbook like Taylor and Crabb’s book on my desk, but rather a more easily readable piece with the flavour of a biographical novel.

PIRAYE AND SEYR

“Piraye”, of Persian origin, carries the meanings of ornament, decoration and embellishment. Conceptually, it refers to an aesthetic layer that is not inherent to the essence; it is an added layer. In this sense, it represents the visible face of the word rather than its truth. It is a display; a thin veil drawn over the truth, an artificial shell surrounding it. For this reason, it occupies a central place in the ‘truth–appearance’ distinction found in classical texts. Piraye’s connection to the essence is limited to its being the form draped over it.

‘Seyir’, on the other hand, is of Arabic origin and encompasses the meanings of walking, moving and travelling; yet it cannot be confined to these alone. It is a multi-layered process that also encompasses observation, following and comprehension. Physically, it is a journey; mentally, an evaluation; and in the Sufi sense, it fully encompasses the human being’s inner movement and spiritual evolution through ‘seyr ü sülûk’. For this reason, whilst ‘seyir’ may involve a change of location, it is, more fundamentally, a transformation of state and a deepening of understanding.

Ultimately, there is a clear contrast between the two concepts: Piraye constitutes the outer layer of existence; journey, on the other hand, is the will to transcend that layer. One constructs the appearance – which may explain why the wife to whom Nâzım Hikmet dedicated his works was also named Piraye – whilst the other walks towards the truth.

MINDFULNESS AND RUMILISATION

Mindfulness is a quest for a remedy to the stress and burnout of modern life, based on the realisation that one cannot intervene in the past nor directly determine the future. Becoming Rumi, on the other hand, is the reinterpretation and transformation within capitalist modernity of the profound Sufi tranquillity embodied by Mevlânâ.

When traced back to their roots, both concepts contain genuine and profound meanings. However, at the point we have reached today, the East’s mystical intellectual heritage—rooted in asceticism, self-discipline and profound inner transformation—has become secularised in the West, transforming into a commodity of popular culture. Mevlânâ’s teaching of divine love has been severed from its ontological context and reduced to an aesthetic ‘Rumi’ figure; whilst Buddhism’s ancient teaching of mindfulness, which aims to transcend the ego, has evolved into a tool of the capitalist system for productivity and stress management—namely, ‘McMindfulness’.

With this transformation, both approaches have lost their essential dimensions of moral responsibility, inner discipline and the quest for truth; they have been reduced to ‘spiritual accessories’ marketed in luxury retreats, mobile apps and aphoristic texts. Indeed, as Ronald Purser has pointed out, a discourse on mindfulness divorced from social transformation does little more than render the individual more functional within the capitalist system.

A similar rupture can be observed in the narrative of ‘The Journey’. Whilst initially structured as a story of inner journey and transformation, the narrative shifts away from fostering a deepening existential reckoning towards a framework that instrumentalises the will to legitimise choices. In this respect, the narrative reflects an understanding that establishes the validity of individual choice through the assertion “I chose it”, rather than a process of evolution directed towards truth.

The question “Are you the traveller or the spectator?”, placed at the centre of the text, becomes less a gateway to truth and more an intellectual justification for a pleasure-centred life. Thus, the act of watching ceases to be an internal process of transcendence; it takes the form of a movement circulating within appearance—that is, within the piraye.

BE AND IT IS – I SAY BE AND IT IS

The truth of ‘Be, and it is’ (Kün fe-yekûn), which belongs to divine power, has been turned on its head within the language of modern personal development and reduced to the claim ‘I say be, and it is’. This is not merely a change in wording; it is a complete reversal of the relationship that humanity establishes with existence.

The Boğaz Clan’s secular order resembles the metaphor of the inverted tree in Marx’s critique of Hegel. Sufism confronts the human being with their own powerlessness; it surrenders the will to truth. Here, however, the situation is exactly the opposite. The will ceases to be an instrument of perception directed towards truth; it transforms into a mechanism of demand that imagines itself to be commanding the universe. Thus, humanity begins to view its limited will as if it were boundless power.

This understanding reveals its true nature at the first sign of turmoil. For life is not shaped by mere desire alone. The equation ‘If it happened, I did it; if it didn’t, I failed’ inevitably elevates the individual to a power they do not deserve, and then exhausts them beyond what they deserve. Failure ceases to be merely a circumstance; it transforms into a sense of personal inadequacy. Thus, the individual begins to bear the burden of life alone—or, more accurately, to be unable to bear it.

The same fracture is evident in ‘Seyir’ and similar narratives. The individual legitimises their choices by saying, ‘I chose this.’ Yet there is no transformation here. There is merely the ego’s attempt to justify itself. The will does not turn towards truth; truth is shaped according to the will.

The conclusion is clear: the saying ‘I say “Be”, and it is’ does not empower the individual. On the contrary, it renders them more vulnerable. For the individual who places themselves at the centre struggles with primary reality. Therefore, this saying is not a source of strength; it is an expression of a burden that the modern individual cannot bear.

ENLIGHTENMENT: FOR WHOM AND BY WHAT STANDARDS?

The emphasis on secular rituals—New Year’s celebrations, birthday parties, spiritual conversations in stylish venues—which frequently features in texts such as “Seyir”, actually points to a narrative drawn not from indigenous wisdom but from an imported lifestyle. What emerges in this regard is a form of ‘enlightenment’ whose roots do not belong to the majority of this society.

Just as the repackaging of Mevlânâ through his ‘Rumi’ identity disconnects him from his own historical and religious context, a similar transformation is evident in the narrative of the inner journey. Spiritual depth is transformed into an aesthetic experience adorned with New Year’s lights, rather than being nourished by the inner atmosphere of Ramadan or the hopeful discipline of Sufism. Thus, the idea of transformation becomes less a quest for truth and more a decorative element of a particular lifestyle.

The resulting structure is an elitist imitation of ‘enlightenment’ that does not fully align with the cultural and spiritual codes of this region, but rather appeals to a specific socio-economic class. The sociological grounding of this structure is also clear: the area around Robert College, the work and social networks in Etiler, and the ways of life in Ulus constitute the spaces where this secular, sect-like structure is both produced and consumed. This spatial and class-based concentration also reveals the cultural map of an imported spirituality.

SELF-HELP

In her column in Şalom newspaper, Tülay Gürler reviewed Piraye’s *Kurtuluş*: “I’m only going to talk about one book now, and in this piece, believe me, I won’t be objective or anything. Do you know why? You know how sometimes you hear exactly what you want to hear from someone and it puts your mind at ease; hearing what you already know from someone else’s mouth gives you the illusion of hearing it for the first time, and it does your soul good… Piraye’s book *Seyir* gave me that same sense of comfort.” For a person to take their own hand—but to really take it—and set out on a long journey that will lead them to their own transformation is, without a doubt, a marvellous achievement.

This analysis, which begins with the concepts of ‘Mindfulness’ and ‘Becoming Rumi’, moves on to Piraye’s novel *Seyir*, and from there extends to the socio-cultural fabric of affluent neighbourhoods such as Robert College, Etiler and Ulus, is a summary of a striking portrait that strips away the mask of the modern personal development movement.

The deep-rooted and arduous philosophies of the East, which command the eradication of the ego, the discipline of the self and the assumption of moral responsibility, have been torn from their context by Western secularism and the capitalist consumerist machine, and transformed into functional ‘spiritual accessories’ that legitimise individual desires. The belief that “He says ‘Be’, and it is”—an expression of divine submission—has, within this secular sectarian structure, evolved into the narcissistic audacity of “I say ‘Be’, and it is”.

This flawed understanding of development thrives in sheltered ghettos (such as Etiler and Ulus) isolated from Turkey’s socio-economic realities. This mindset, which dismisses as ‘vulgar’ the collective, sharing-oriented and principled spiritual values inherent in the very fabric of Anatolia—such as Ramadan and the religious festivals, which remind people of their own frailty—has instead elevated to the highest status Western-style secular rituals and New Year’s celebrations centred on pleasure, based on property ownership, and imbued with the ‘my body, my choice’ ethic of American Democrats.

Ultimately, what emerges is not a journey towards truth and inner development; rather, it is an effort by a certain privileged class to justify, sanctify and market—as a form of intellectual status—their own selfish preferences, their actions that stretch moral boundaries, and their imported lifestyles, all under a spiritual guise.

Piraye is an ornament superimposed upon the essence; it is the visible surface, an elegant yet artificial layer obscuring the truth. The ‘Journey’, however, is not about remaining within this layer, but the will to transcend it; it is to walk, to see, to comprehend, and ultimately to progress towards the truth.

SELF-HELP

In her column in Şalom Gazetesi, Tülay Gürler Kurtuluş says the following about Piraye’s Seyir: “My review will not be objective; because sometimes people hear what they want to hear and feel at ease… Piraye’s book gave me that sense of ease.” This sentence also touches upon the foundation of modern ‘self-help’ literature: people often seek not the truth, but the validation of their own inner voice.

The line stretching from the discourses of ‘Staying in the Moment’ and ‘Becoming Rumi’ to Piraye’s *Seyir* demonstrates that the language of modern personal development tends, more often than not, to produce comfort rather than transformation. Although this language claims to be about an inner journey, it increasingly becomes the intellectual legitimisation of a particular lifestyle.

The Eastern tradition of self-discipline and the quest for truth, come what may, is stripped of its context within the Western secular consumerist order and reduced to a ‘spiritual accessory’. The truth of ‘He says “Be”, and it is’ evolves into a narcissistic self-centredness expressed as ‘I say “Be”, and it is’; the will is no longer a means of surrender, but a tool for absolutising desire.

Whilst collective spiritual structures such as Ramadan and Eid are pushed into the background, they are replaced by New Year’s Eve, birthdays and self-help-based gatherings—secular rituals centred on individual pleasure and status. What emerges, therefore, is not inner development, but the justification of one’s lifestyle through spiritual language.

Within this framework, ‘piraye’ is mere ornament draped over the essence; ‘seyir’, meanwhile, is the will to legitimise this layer. It is no coincidence that this version of walking, seeing and turning towards the truth often finds its expression within sheltered socio-cultural spheres.

The Boğaz tribe and the secular understanding of the tarikat appear to have found their course.