The Root of Suluk and the Moral Compass of Culture

There is a sight that is perhaps increasingly rare amidst the hustle and bustle of social change. Like in a small prayer house, where a teacher instructs a few children in reading the kitab and the Quran. On mosque verandas and at neighbourhood watch posts, people gather not to discuss who is in power, but which neighbour needs help. In the corners of the village, prayers are offered not as a spectacle, but as a simple way of nurturing hope. There are no cameras, no spotlight, let alone conversations that will become tomorrow’s news. And whether realised or not, it is from such quiet spaces that social life has all this time drawn its breath.

Ironically, the things that most often escape our sight and hearing are the most decisive. We find it easier to remember debates in the public sphere than the exemplary conduct that grows slowly and quietly. We are quicker to talk about power struggles than the silent work and spiritual discipline of culture that daily maintains society’s mutual trust.

Changing times never knock on the doors of our homes. The world moves ever faster, technology alters the way humans connect, and the measures of success gradually shift. A life that once rested on social closeness is now increasingly influenced by personal achievement. Loyalty to the community is no longer as strong as before. People more often ask what benefits can be gained rather than what values can be upheld.

In such a transformation, almost all social institutions face the same problem. The greater the influence one possesses, the greater the interests that envelop it. Political, economic, institutional, and even personal interests become parts that are difficult to separate. This is not a symptom experienced by one particular group alone. History shows that every long-lasting institution always grapples with the same issue. The strong wind does not test the branches, but tests how strong the roots are, and that is invisible. Roots always creep inward, not clustering outward; they grow ever tighter into the depths.

Therefore, the real issue does not lie in the presence or absence of interests. Interests are a part of human life. What is far more important is who leads whom. Whether values become a guide for interests, or whether interests slowly determine the direction of values.

This question feels increasingly relevant when today’s public sphere more often displays the faces of those on stage rather than those working behind the scenes. As a result, we easily conclude the state of affairs only from what is visible on the surface. Yet social life is always broader than the conversations of the elite.

In many places, the tradition of service still lives on quietly. There are still people who teach without counting the profit, who accompany the community without expecting recognition, who guard learning spaces, nurture deliberation, and maintain human relationships with a patience that almost never becomes news. They may not be present in national conversations, but it is their existence that ensures society retains its resilience.

Herein lies the difference between an organisation and a culture. An organisation can change according to the needs of the times. Leadership changes, policies shift, and orientations evolve in line with the challenges faced. But culture has a different way of living. It survives through habits, through adab, through exemplary conduct, and through values passed down from one generation to the next. As long as these values are still alive in daily actions, change does not automatically mean a loss of identity.

Unfortunately, we are often busier guarding a great name than guarding the reason why that name became great in the first place. We care for symbols but neglect to maintain their meaning. We defend an identity but forget to nurture the character that made that identity respected.

Perhaps that is why criticism is often misunderstood. Criticism is seen as a threat, whereas in a healthy intellectual tradition, criticism is precisely a sign that a sense of belonging still exists. A person who truly cares will not choose silence when they see something beginning to drift from the values they have long believed in. Conversely, criticism born of affection does not aim to demolish, but to restore direction so that it does not stray too far from its roots.

On the other hand, criticism also requires humility. It is unfair to measure the entire reality only by the dynamics visible on the surface. Behind the various debates that fill the public sphere, there is always social work taking place without a sound. Being too hasty in concluding that everything has changed is just as mistaken as assuming nothing needs to be fixed.

Perhaps the greatest challenge for the current generation is not how to keep an institution large. The more fundamental challenge is to ensure that greatness still possesses a soul. For an institution can continue to grow administratively, have a vast network, and even gain great influence. Yet all of that will mean very little if it slowly loses the moral source that once made it trusted.

Every era always tests the same thing: whether humans are still capable of upholding values when interests come and go. The answer to that question is never determined by grand speeches or important decisions alone. It is, in fact, born from the small spaces that are often ignored—from the way a teacher teaches sincerely, from a person’s willingness to listen before judging, from the habit of deliberation before deciding, and from the belief that service always has a longer lifespan than power.

Perhaps, what we most need to guard is not what is visible.