Ali K. Lashari

As Pakistan celebrates 79 years of freedom, it is worth asking a deeper question: What does freedom really mean?

Freedom is not merely the ability to celebrate, raise a flag, or speak without fear. True freedom also means having the courage to think, question, learn, disagree respectfully, and search for truth.

More than 2,400 years ago, the great Greek philosopher Socrates devoted his life to these very principles.

Socrates did not write books himself. His ideas are known largely through the writings of his students, particularly Plato. He spent his life asking people questions about justice, knowledge, morality, truth and what it means to live a good life. His famous philosophical approach—questioning assumptions rather than simply accepting them—is known today as the Socratic Method.

Socrates famously challenged people who considered themselves wise. His philosophy was based on intellectual humility: the recognition that we must first understand the limits of our own knowledge.

He is associated with the profound statement:

“I know that I know nothing.”

In 399 BC, Socrates was put on trial in Athens. The formal accusations included impiety toward the city’s gods, introducing new divine ideas, and corrupting the youth. His questioning and influence over young Athenians had made him controversial. He was eventually sentenced to death.

When his friends offered him an opportunity to escape, Socrates refused. He chose to remain faithful to his principles and his understanding of justice. He eventually drank hemlock and died.

His death did not end his philosophy.

Instead, it made his questions immortal.

What does Socrates have to do with Pakistan today?

Perhaps more than we realize.

Pakistan today needs a generation of young people who do not simply follow every voice they hear. We need young people who ask questions, verify information, respect differences, value knowledge, and think critically.

In an age of social media, misinformation, political polarization and emotional debate, the lesson of Socrates is especially relevant. We should not teach our youth merely what to think; we should teach them how to think.

Questioning should not automatically be treated as rebellion.

A young person who asks difficult questions about education, governance, justice, culture, science, history or society is not necessarily working against the country. On the contrary, responsible questioning can be an expression of patriotism—because a nation cannot progress without citizens who care enough to ask how it can become better.

Pakistan’s Independence Day should therefore be more than a celebration of the past. It should be a commitment to the future.

Our freedom must produce knowledge.

Our knowledge must produce responsibility.

Our responsibility must produce a better society.

The youth of Pakistan are not merely the future of the country; they are already part of its present. They must be given the space to learn, research, create, question and contribute.

The real tribute to the sacrifices that created Pakistan is not only to remember 1947. It is to build a Pakistan where knowledge is respected, justice is valued, disagreement is handled with dignity, and every young person has the confidence to seek truth.

Socrates reminds us that a society becomes stronger when its citizens examine their lives and their institutions rather than accepting everything blindly.

So, let us give our young generation a different message:

Do not be afraid to ask questions.

Do not stop learning.

Do not confuse criticism with hatred.

Do not confuse disagreement with disloyalty.

And never stop searching for truth.

Because the greatest form of independence is not simply being free from external control.

It is becoming intellectually free.

And perhaps that is the kind of freedom that Pakistan’s youth need most today.

May our freedom be guided by knowledge, our knowledge by wisdom, and our wisdom by responsibility!

Read: The Pursuit of Happiness

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Ali K. Lashari is an Archaeologist & Cultural Heritage Advocate 

The post Socrates and the Freedom of Thought first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Noor Muhammad Marri Advocate | Islamabad

When the Berlin Wall collapsed, a distinct sense of triumphalism swept through Western academic and political circles. Francis Fukuyama famously synthesized this optimism in his 1992 thesis, The End of History and the Last Man, suggesting that ideological evolution had reached its absolute zenith in Western liberal democracy. The core presumption was straightforward: human society had finally discovered its ultimate governing framework. The age of great power rivalry, grand ideological struggle, and systemic war was supposedly behind us. Market capitalism and individualistic rights-based democracy were projected to gradually blanket the globe, creating a frictionless, harmonious world.

As an advocate interacting daily with the mechanics of law, and as a mediator dedicated to resolving human conflicts in Islamabad, I view this premise with deep skepticism. Far from ending war or ushering in lasting peace, the aggressive expansion of liberal ideology has frequently exacerbated global volatility, destabilized organic social structures, and generated intense cultural backlash. History did not end; it merely broke free from the temporary confines of the Cold War. The persistent realities of human nature, religious identity, cultural sovereignty, and geopolitical power quickly shattered the liberal illusion.

Liberalism’s most profound intellectual error lies in its dogmatic assumption of universalism. It posits that its specific framework of individualism, secularism, and free-market capitalism is not merely one cultural paradigm among many, but the single universal destination for all human civilizations. From a legal and mediation perspective, no single framework can successfully resolve disputes if it ignores the deep-rooted values, customs, and religious traditions of the parties involved. Mediation succeeds because it meets people where they are, respecting their specific identities and moral obligations. Liberalism, conversely, functions with an ideological rigidity that demands societies abandon their historical and organic structures in favor of an abstract, Western-centric model.

When liberal universalism is elevated to foreign policy, it transforms into a form of ideological imperialism. Believing itself to be the ultimate moral good, liberal hegemony feels entitled—and often obligated—to remake other nations in its own image. The consequences of this overreach are written across the political landscape of the 21st century. The post-Cold War attempts at “democracy promotion,” regime change, and nation-building in the Middle East and South Asia did not yield stable liberal societies; instead, they produced power vacuums, civil wars, and widespread human suffering. Rather than eliminating conflict as predicted, liberal interventionism replaced ordered authority with chaos.

Beyond its geopolitical missteps, liberalism harbors severe domestic flaws. At the center of liberal philosophy is the atomized individual—a creature stripped of unchosen obligations, communal duties, and traditional ties, elevated above the collective good. While protecting individual rights against state tyranny is a vital legal necessity, liberalism’s obsession with hyper-individualism systematically erodes the very institutions that hold human societies together: the family, the community, moral codes, and national solidarity. Society is reduced to a mere collection of isolated consumers negotiating contracts, rather than a living community bound by shared history, reciprocal duty, and mutual care.

In my legal and mediation practice in Islamabad, I frequently observe that stable, lasting resolutions depend on relational bonds—family integrity, social respect, and communal accountability. A legal ethos driven entirely by individual rights often turns social life into an adversarial arena. When every interpersonal dispute is viewed through the single lens of competing rights rather than mutual obligations, social cohesion weakens, giving way to alienation, institutional distrust, and societal polarization.

Fukuyama’s thesis suggested that economic interdependence and international institutions would render traditional war obsolete. Liberal economic doctrine assumed that free trade would bind nations so closely that the rational cost of war would become prohibitively high. This view fundamentally misinterprets what drives human behavior and sovereign states. As international relations theorist John Mearsheimer convincingly argues, when liberal ideology collides with nationalism or balance-of-power realism, nationalism and realism almost always prevail. Nations do not act merely as economic calculators; they are driven by identity, historical memory, security concerns, and regional pride.

The modern geopolitical landscape confirms this reality. The resurgence of major power competition between global superpowers has returned traditional geopolitics to center stage. Territorial disputes, resource competition, and military expansion remain active features of international relations. Armed conflicts around the globe demonstrate that ideological convergence has failed to suppress state interests. Far from moving toward a peaceful, borderless world, the international system remains fundamentally anarchic. States continue to prioritize security, sovereignty, and strategic balance over liberal institutional norms. Fukuyama’s “End of History” overlooked a fundamental legal and political reality: power, not abstract moral consensus, remains the ultimate arbiter in global affairs.

In non-Western societies, the aggressive promotion of liberal secularism creates profound legal and social friction. Liberalism demands a strict separation of public law from traditional, religious, and moral frameworks. In doing so, it frequently seeks to replace centuries of organic jurisprudence with standardized, secular codes. In contexts like Pakistan, law is not merely a secular contract between citizens and the state; it is deeply interwoven with religious values, customary practice, and moral duty. Imposing top-down liberal mandates under the guise of modernization frequently leads to severe cultural alienation. It creates a disconnect between the legal elite—who often adopt liberal frameworks—and the broader population, whose daily lives are anchored in traditional, spiritual values.

As a mediator, I know that an imposed agreement which violates the core beliefs of either party is inherently fragile. True legal harmony cannot be achieved by disenfranchising a society’s cultural inheritance. Law must reflect the living ethos of its people, rather than attempting to forcibly reshape them to fit an imported ideological model.

The belief that war would cease under a global liberal order was not merely naive; it was dangerous. It led Western states to frame complex geopolitical disputes in binary moral terms—good versus evil, progress versus backwardness. By turning foreign policy into a moral crusade rather than a diplomatic negotiation, liberalism often makes compromise impossible, prolonging conflict rather than resolving it.

What the world requires today is not a dogmatic push toward a single ideological endpoint, but a pragmatic shift toward restraint, mutual respect, and diplomatic realism. International law and diplomacy must accept that different civilizations will organize their political, moral, and legal systems according to their own histories and values. Respect for national sovereignty must supersede the impulse to intervene in the internal affairs of other nations under the banner of ideological export. Conflict resolution on both global and local levels must be rooted in realistic assessments of security, tradition, and mutual interest, rather than moral grandstanding.

History has not ended, nor will it. The future belongs to a multipolar world where diverse civilizations, sovereign states, and legal traditions must learn to coexist peacefully. Abandoning the flawed delusions of liberal universalism is the essential first step toward building a realistic, stable, and truly peaceful global order.

Read: Traditional Thinking – Foundation of Human Progress

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Noor Muhammad, Advocate and Mediator, Islamabad

The post Philosophy: New Freedom, An Old Cage first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Noor Muhammad Marri Advocate | Islamabad

Friedrich Nietzsche’s book Beyond Good and Evil, published in 1886, stands as one of those works in the history of Western philosophy that thoroughly shakes a person to their core. Nietzsche wrote this book during an era when Europe was actively searching for new moral systems to replace traditional religion amid the rise of science and progress. Yet, rather than offering a ready-made, convenient system, he delivered a striking blow to the very foundations of traditional philosophy, ethics, and values.

Reading Friedrich Nietzsche’s *Beyond Good and Evil* for the first time forces a person to stop and think, fundamentally disrupting long-held, established assumptions. He emerged at a moment when Europe was taking immense pride in science, materialism, and rationalism, and while traditional religious constraints were gradually loosening. But instead of handing humanity a neat, beautiful new moral framework, Nietzsche used a hammer to shatter the philosophical foundation on which centuries of thought had been built. The text does not read like a conventional book with neatly structured chapters; rather, it feels like a raw, intense collection of sharp insights where he engages in a direct showdown with almost every major thinker who came before him.

What immediately catches your attention is Nietzsche’s deep distrust of those philosophers who claimed to be completely neutral and devoted solely to the pursuit of “objective truth.” Thinkers like Kant and Plato always framed their theories as the product of pure reason and logic, but Nietzsche strips away that illusion. In his view, no mind is truly neutral. Whatever a philosopher writes is ultimately a hidden confession of their own personality, inner anxieties, personal prejudices, and psychological inclinations. We do not observe the world as it actually is; we see it entirely through our own perspective. This means that “absolute truth” is merely a mirage—a comforting illusion humans chase to feel secure.

When he turns his attention to morality, the reflection becomes even more complex and thought-provoking. Looking back through history, he argues that we have confused and blended two completely distinct types of moral thinking. On one side stands what he calls Master Morality. This developed within ancient, aristocratic, and powerful societies where people valued physical strength, self-reliance, nobility, and distinction. For them, being “good” simply meant being strong, capable, and vibrant, whereas being “bad” meant being weak, passive, or pitiable—there was no concept of sin attached to it, just an unimpressive state of being.

In stark contrast, Slave Morality emerged as a byproduct of the oppressed and the subjugated. Because they lacked the means to challenge the powerful directly, a quiet, simmering bitterness and resentment (ressentiment) took root within them. Driven by this resentment, they flipped the entire scale of values upside down. They rebranded the traits of the strong—such as pride, ambition, and the drive for dominance—as inherently “evil.” Simultaneously, they transformed their own weaknesses—such as humility, passivity, and patience—into supreme moral virtues, labeling them as “good.” Nietzsche views this as a masterclass in psychological inversion that ultimately conquered Western civilization, teaching people to prioritize comfort, safety, and conformity over genuine human greatness.

This perspective naturally pushes us to question why we do anything at all. Nietzsche posits that at the core of every living organism lies a fundamental driving force: the **Will to Power**. This is not merely a drive to survive or a simple desire to be happy; it is a relentless, restless impulse to expand, overcome obstacles, and imprint one’s presence upon reality. Even when people preach humility or erect vast legal and moral structures, they are still, in their own subtle way, attempting to exercise influence over the world and those around them.

Where does this leave an individual navigating the modern world? Honestly, it can feel deeply disorienting. Once you trace these ideas to their roots, you realize that many of our deeply held beliefs are not truly our own—we simply absorbed them passively from our surroundings without much thought. Here, Nietzsche introduces the concept of Free Spirits—individuals who possess the quiet strength to sit with uncertainty and solitude without panicking or fleeing back to the safety of the herd. This does not mean becoming cruel or abandoning the distinction between right and wrong; rather, it demands the courage to define your own path and cultivate your own values without succumbing to societal pressure.

Living this way requires far more self-discipline than blindly following a set of pre-packaged rules, because when you stumble, you cannot shift the blame onto anyone else. Society naturally prefers people to be predictable and uniform to maintain order, but true human evolution only occurs when someone dares to challenge the existing framework. Ultimately, reading this book does not offer neat answers or a clear roadmap for life; instead, it leaves you face-to-face with uncomfortable questions that force you to re-examine the very foundations of what you believe.

Read: Tracing the Arc of Cosmic Existence

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Noor Muhammad, Advocate and Mediator, Islamabad

The post A Radical Challenge to Modern Ethics first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Noor Muhammad Marri advocate |Islamabad

“To view the universe solely through the prism of absolute beauty or unyielding suffering is to isolate two fragments of a single, vast, and unfolding reality.”

Throughout the history of human thought, scholars, jurists, and philosophers have wrestled with a fundamental conundrum: what is the true moral and structural nature of the cosmos? When we examine our world—marked so vividly by both exquisite natural order and profound human suffering—how do we construct a coherent, deeply felt narrative of our shared existence?

Philosophical tradition generally divides this deep inquiry into three prominent worldviews: the idealist vision of a perfect universe, the heavy pessimism of Arthur Schopenhauer, and the dynamic perspective of process metaphysics.

The first vision, rooted in classical rationalism and spiritual traditions, holds that the universe is inherently good, purposeful, and perfect. In this view, what we perceive as evil or discord is merely a limitation of our own finite perception, akin to misinterpreting a single dark brushstroke on a vast, magnificent canvas. Evil possesses no independent substance of its own; rather, it is simply the absence of light, much as cold is merely the absence of heat. For those of us engaged in the practice of justice and mediation, this idealist foundation offers an enduring anchor, suggesting that fairness and moral law are not arbitrary human constructs, but quiet alignments with a pre-existing cosmic order. Yet, when we stand face-to-face with raw human tragedy, pure idealism can feel distant and unpersuasive, failing to honor the weight of real grief.

Standing in sharp, unyielding contrast is the penetrating vision of Arthur Schopenhauer. Rejecting any notion of a benevolent cosmic architect, Schopenhauer argued that the underlying reality of the universe is a blind, insatiable, and irrational force he termed the Will. In his philosophy, every living entity is caught in a relentless struggle for survival, driven by desires that can never be permanently satisfied. Existence becomes a continuous pendulum swing between the pain of unfulfilled want and the empty stagnation of boredom. For Schopenhauer, suffering is not an illusion or a temporary shadow; it is the fundamental baseline of conscious life. Yet, even within this dark portrait of existence, he offered a profound moral rescue. He recognized that through art, deep contemplation, and above all, genuine compassion—the realization that another’s suffering is identical to our own—we can pierce the illusion of individual isolation and soften the cruel demands of the Will.

Between these two extremes lies a third perspective, process metaphysics, which reframes reality not as a finished masterpiece or a hopeless tragedy, but as an ongoing journey. This view suggests that the universe is actively unfolding, incomplete, and still in the delicate process of perfecting itself. Here, good and bad naturally coexist because creation itself remains unfinished. Imperfection is not a permanent curse, nor is it an illusion to be ignored; it is the necessary friction of an evolving universe. Goodness becomes the organizing force that consciously works to bring harmony out of lingering chaos, turning existential struggle into the very engine of moral and spiritual maturation.

When we bring these three distinct threads together, they cease to contradict one another and instead reveal themselves as sequential dimensions of a single cosmic narrative. Schopenhauer captures our raw starting point: the unrefined, instinctive drive of nature left to itself. Process metaphysics describes our present lived reality: the dynamic arena where human consciousness wrestles with that raw nature, gradually crafting ethics, legal systems, and compassionate institutions to tame the friction of existence. Finally, the idealist vision provides our horizon: the ultimate state of balance and wholeness toward which we are continually striving.

This unified synthesis carries profound personal significance for how we navigate our responsibilities in the world. If the universe were already complete and perfect, our moral efforts would be unnecessary; if it were irredeemably dark and broken, our struggles would be futile. It is precisely because the world is imperfect yet capable of growth that our individual actions carry genuine weight. Every dispute we mend, every act of empathy we offer, and every small measure of order we introduce into chaos actively participates in this cosmic evolution. We acknowledge the reality of human suffering, yet we choose to labor steadily against it—guiding our developing universe, step by step, toward its ideal horizon.

Read: The Architecture of Domination

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Noor Muhammad Marri, Advocate and Mediator, Islamabad

The post Tracing the Arc of Cosmic Existence first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By: Raphic Burdo

In a small workshop near the edge of a quiet town, an old carpenter once built a door that would not open. It was not defective in the usual sense. The wood was strong, the frame precise, the lock functional. Yet every time it was installed, it behaved like a wall. Visitors would push, hesitate, and eventually turn away, assuming it was meant to remain shut. The carpenter observed this without surprise. The problem, he said, was not the door. It was the hinge.

A door does not become a passage by virtue of its material. It becomes a passage because of a small, almost invisible mechanism that determines whether it yields or resists movement. Without the hinge, the most elegant structure is only a barrier disguised as possibility. Human lives operate on a similar architecture. Two people may possess the same intelligence, education, or opportunity. One moves through life as though doors are openings. The other experiences the same world as a sequence of sealed barriers. The difference is rarely external. It is a mental hinge.

Some minds are “No”-hinged: they pivot quickly toward limitation, risk, and closure. Others are “Yes”-hinged: they acknowledge constraint but orient themselves toward possibility. Civilization itself appears to advance through the accumulation of such “Yes” moments, when individuals refused to accept the apparent finality of impossibility. Human beings are not naturally engineered for boldness. They are engineered for survival. For most of evolutionary history, caution was not a personality trait but a biological necessity. A rustle in the grass might have been wind, or a predator. Those who assumed danger survived more often than those who assumed opportunity.

Modern behavioral science confirms this inherited asymmetry. Daniel Kahneman, describing cognitive bias in decision-making, famously observed: “Losses loom larger than gains.” The emotional weight of losing something is typically stronger than the pleasure of gaining something of equal value. This imbalance produces a structural bias toward avoidance. When applied to life decisions, the consequences are profound. A potential entrepreneur sees not just opportunity but bankruptcy. A researcher sees not discovery but wasted years. A writer sees not creation but rejection.

William James captured a deeper layer of this mechanism when he wrote: “Believe that life is worth living, and your belief will help create the fact.” Belief is not passive. It actively shapes perception and behavior. If one believes outcomes are predetermined by risk, action diminishes before it begins. Viktor Frankl, reflecting on human behavior under extreme suffering, observed that even when external conditions are fixed, internal orientation is not: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude.” In environments of constraint, attitude becomes the hinge itself. Layered on top of evolutionary fear is another cognitive trap: status quo bias. Humans tend to prefer existing conditions even when alternatives are objectively better. Change is experienced not as opportunity but as disruption. Finally, there is learned helplessness. Repeated exposure to failure or lack of control conditions individuals to stop trying. The absence of results is misinterpreted as absence of possibility. The result of these combined forces is predictable. Most people, when confronted with uncertainty, default to “No.” Not because they are incapable, but because their mental system prioritizes safety over expansion.

“No” becomes the language of psychological economy: conserve energy, reduce risk, avoid loss. Yet civilizations do not advance on conservation alone. If “No” is the language of survival, “Yes” is the language of creation. Psychologically, “Yes” does not mean naïveté. It means agency, the belief that action matters. Carol Dweck’s research on mindset distinguishes between fixed and growth orientations. A fixed mindset assumes ability is static. A growth mindset assumes it can be developed. The latter does not deny limitation; it treats limitation as material to work with rather than final judgment. Angela Duckworth, studying long-term achievement, identified “grit” as a combination of passion and sustained effort. In her framework, persistence is not emotional intensity but directional endurance. Nassim Nicholas Taleb extends this further with the concept of antifragility: systems that do not merely withstand stress but improve because of it. In such systems, uncertainty is not an enemy but a training mechanism. Within this framework, “Yes” is not agreement. It is engagement. A “Yes”-hinged individual does not say, “This will work.” They say, “Let us find out what would make this work.” This shift transforms uncertainty from threat into laboratory.

Consider a simple contrast:

• The “No”-hinged investor sees volatility as danger.
• The “Yes”-hinged investor sees volatility as information.
• The “No”-hinged employee sees constraints as blockage.
• The “Yes”-hinged employee sees constraints as design parameters.
• The “No”-hinged thinker asks, “Why is this impossible?”
• The “Yes”-hinged thinker asks, “What conditions would make it possible?”

Over time, this orientation compounds. Small experiments accumulate into expertise. Small risks accumulate into knowledge. Small attempts accumulate into breakthroughs. As Goethe reportedly observed: “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.” The emphasis is not on success, but on initiation. The critical point is that “Yes” does not eliminate risk. It repositions it. Risk becomes something to be understood, managed, and sometimes embraced. This is why innovation clusters around “Yes”-hinged minds: they are willing to enter domains where outcomes are not yet known.

Civilization can be read as a sequence of refusals to accept finality. The Wright brothers faced widespread skepticism in the early 20th century. Many experts believed powered flight was impossible. Yet they approached the problem as engineers rather than skeptics, asking not whether flight could happen, but how control could be achieved in the air. Marie Curie entered scientific territory that was poorly understood and physically dangerous. Her work with radiation required not only intellectual curiosity but willingness to inhabit uncertainty. Her persistence redefined physics and medicine. Abraham Lincoln operated in a political environment fractured by civil war. His leadership was not the absence of doubt but the discipline of decision under extreme ambiguity. His famous words during crisis capture the ethos of possibility under pressure: “The best way to predict the future is to create it.”

Steve Jobs, reflecting on innovation, emphasized selective acceptance of possibility. His philosophy was not openness to everything, but focus on what mattered. The idea that “people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do” reflects a “Yes” oriented toward vision rather than approval. The Apollo Program represents perhaps the most literal embodiment of “Yes”-hinged thinking. When President John F. Kennedy declared the goal of reaching the Moon, the technological path did not yet exist. Yet the commitment preceded capability, forcing capability into existence. Thomas Edison, often misunderstood as purely technical, articulated a more nuanced principle of persistence: “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.” Failure was not negation; it was iteration. Each of these examples shares a structural pattern: refusal to treat current limitations as final boundaries. They did not deny constraints. They reorganized thinking around them.

Yet “Yes”-hinged thinking does not imply constant agreement. In fact, many of history’s most successful individuals were highly selective in their refusals. Warren Buffett’s success is often attributed not to what he invested in, but to what he refused. His principle of focus reflects disciplined exclusion rather than indiscriminate inclusion. Peter Drucker emphasized effectiveness through prioritization. His insight that “there is nothing so useless as doing efficiently that which should not be done at all” reframes productivity as selection rather than activity. Marcus Aurelius, writing from the Roman throne, repeatedly emphasized control over attention. Stoic discipline is, at its core, the management of internal assent. What deserves a “Yes” and what must receive a firm “No.” This reveals an important correction: successful people are not “Yes” to everything. They are “Yes” to the right things. The hinge metaphor becomes clearer here. A hinge does not open indiscriminately. It determines directionality. It enables movement where movement matters. Strategic refusal is therefore part of possibility thinking. Every meaningful “Yes” requires a thousand invisible “No”s supporting it.

Civilizations do not fail because people lack intelligence. They fail because imagination becomes constrained. When “No” becomes the default response, systems stabilize but cease evolving. When “Yes” becomes structured and disciplined, systems begin to expand beyond prior limits. The central insight of this essay is not that optimism guarantees success. It does not. Many who attempt fail. Many who believe do not achieve their goals. The deeper truth is asymmetry: without “Yes,” nothing begins. Without beginning, nothing can succeed. A life governed by “No” is optimized for safety. A life governed by disciplined “Yes” is optimized for possibility. Over time, this difference compounds. Careers diverge. Institutions diverge. Nations diverge. Destiny, in this sense, is not a single decision but a pattern of small mental pivots repeated over time. Every time a person asks, “Why not?” instead of “Why?” the hinge shifts slightly. And over decades, those shifts determine not only what a person achieves, but what kind of world they inhabit.

In the end, the most important doors are not external. They are internal structures of perception. Some minds remain closed rooms, no matter how many opportunities stand outside. Others become passageways. And between those two states lies the smallest of mechanisms, the hinge upon which an entire life quietly turns.

Read: Shah Latif -The Poet of Life

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Raphic Burdo is a student of Literature, Psychology, Public Policy and Entrepreneurship. He writes on the subjects where all four intersect.

The post The Hinge between Yes and No first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand

THE BUILD UP

In ‘The Gita’, Lord Krishna gives us theory of   ‘Karma’, according to which, man has complete authority over his action, but no control over its fall out. In fact, there are three phases of an action. The planning, the action, the reaction. It is very rare that the focus is placed on the areas which precede action. Today, I wish to focus on this region of human thought which leads to action.

How we decide upon an action? ‘Karma’ theory in fact places the entire responsibility on man. He has a discerning mind which is always at work. It is this mind which finally comes to a conclusion which leads to action. What are the components of the process of human thought? According to Lord Krishna, such decisions are subject to human nature which is determined by ‘Sattva’, ‘Rajasa’ and ‘Tamsa’, the three ‘gunas’ which determine the nature of man, according to which he acts.  In this way, the responsibility falls on man, after all he has been given a free will, and it is his decision how he reacts to a given situation.

It is said that it is human actions which make history. In our lives, we move forward only when we act. In a way, at first we think and decide, and then take an action. It can be said that every action is taken to satisfy an enquiry. Some question remains to be answered. Some question which needs physical reaction.

It may be going too far in complex reasoning but I can hazard to say that there is no action, only reaction.

What we call our action which, should represent our duty, is in fact our reaction to a situation. How much we understand that build-up of emotions, reasons and feelings? Is our understanding of these forces correct? We can be over reacting to the stimuli. Is it right to act? And is it right to keep silent, and let things happen? These are our conscious decisions taken after a lot of scanning within our mind. In fact, there is a situation brewing. And, this situation demands our reaction. So, our action in response to that emotional build up is our reaction to that situation.

We can call it action.

Lord Krishna now says once you have acted, you have no control over the fall out. The reason behind this assertion seems to be that like text, your action is also open to a multiple of interpretations and appreciations. A thousand people will respond in thousand and one ways. And it is not in your hands to limit the reverberations of your actions. Our voice affects the cosmos which appears to be silent. Our actions create, not reactions, but deep vibrations, which are seismographic in nature.

The Build-Up

Whatever man does, who is behind his actions? If his fate is pre-written, and things are just revealed as he moves forward, it means, his actions too are predestined. How far is he responsible for his actions? According to Karma theory, there are two things which lead man to decide upon an action: his nature and the divine that sits within his heart. Whenever we do something wrong, if we know it is wrong, it means there is some mechanism within us which tells us what is right and what is wrong. That inbuilt mechanism is the divine, seated in our hearts, where our motives are tested. Now, it depends on the nature of man, the ‘gunas’ of ‘rajas’ and ‘tamsa’, which over power the ‘sattva’ element, and force him towards evil. Lord Krishna wants man to control his mind, through ‘Karma yoga’.

Conclusion

I think the idea of action is fundamentally fluid and unstable. Actually, there is no action, only reaction, to an emerging situation. If at all any action takes place, it is in the mind of man, where chemicals get into an operational warfare, supporting or opposing a line of action.

Read: Man is never an individual entity

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Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, based in Chandigarh, is an Indian poet and scholar credited with 170 plus books of English literature, philosophy and spirituality. He won great Serbian Award Charter of Morava and his name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. He was honored with Seneca Award LAUDIS CHARTA by Academy of Arts & Philosophical Sciences, Bari, Italy 2024. He is Founder President of the International Academy of Ethics and conferred Doctor of Philosophy (Honoris Causa) by University of Engineering & Management, (UEM) Jaipur. Email anandjs55@yahoo.com 

The post Cause and Effect — A New Dance first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Noor Muhammad Marri, Advocate | Islamabad

The ancient philosopher Heraclitus once said, “War is the father of all.” Centuries have passed, yet human history still appears to move under the shadow of this harsh reality. Modern morality may reject war, intellectuals may condemn violence, and religions may preach peace, but the structure of civilization itself often emerged from conflict, conquest, resistance, and consolidation.

Usually people present history in moral language, but history itself moves through power. Empires did not expand through sermons; they expanded through armies. Borders were not drawn by philosophers; they were drawn by victories and defeats. Even civilizations that later became symbols of law, culture, and refinement were born in periods of bloodshed and struggle.

In the subcontinent too, it is often argued that the philosophy of Mahatma Gandhi defeated the United Kingdom. But such explanations ignore the larger global reality. The real turning point was World War II, which exhausted Britain economically, militarily, and psychologically. The empire no longer possessed the strength to maintain direct colonial control over vast territories. Anti-colonial movements certainly played their role, but global power equations had already shifted. History often changes not only because people desire freedom, but because empires lose the capacity to continue domination.

War, however, is only the first phase. After destruction comes consolidation. After conquest comes amalgamation. Civilizations are not created merely by military victories; they are shaped when different cultures, values, traditions, and populations begin interacting under new political realities. Almost every great civilization emerged from this process.

The Mongol conquests began with extraordinary violence, yet they later connected vast regions of Asia and Europe, opening routes for trade, diplomacy, and intellectual exchange. Muslim empires in the subcontinent were not merely military occupations; over centuries they produced blended cultures, languages, architecture, customs, music, and administrative systems. Even modern European nation-states such as Germany and Italy emerged after prolonged wars and political consolidation.

If we carefully observe human history, civilization and interaction among nations often took place under the shadows of swords. The Silk Road flourished because powerful empires secured routes through military authority. Conquest was followed by trade; trade was followed by cultural exchange; and cultural exchange slowly produced new social realities. Armies opened roads, but afterward came scholars, merchants, saints, poets, and craftsmen.

Yet force alone never sustains a civilization. The sword may establish authority, but legitimacy preserves it. Every empire that relied only upon violence ultimately collapsed under its own weight. Durable civilizations emerged where power transformed itself into law, administration, economic integration, and cultural accommodation. History therefore is not merely a story of war, but of what societies build after war.

Modern states still behave according to this old logic, though they hide it beneath sophisticated language such as development, democracy, security, or globalization. Behind many political slogans remains the same struggle for power, influence, resources, and strategic control. Human civilization may speak the language of peace, yet the structure of international politics continues to move through competition and conflict.

Thus, when Heraclitus declared that war is the father of all, he was not glorifying bloodshed alone. He was pointing toward a painful truth about human history: conflict has repeatedly acted as the force that breaks old structures, creates new realities, and pushes societies into transformation. The real question for humanity is not whether conflict exists, but whether mankind can transform the aftermath of conflict into justice, coexistence, and civilization rather than endless domination.

Read: From Divine Kings to People’s Voice

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Noor Muhammad Marri Advocate & Mediator is based in Islamabad

The post The real question for humanity first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand | India

Albert Camus, while discussing the Myth of Sisyphus suggests that “the struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy” suggesting that the struggle is futile, repetitive, and ultimately meaningless, yielding no lasting results, and a man who expects nothing from this struggle is a happy man.

What Camus says may not be the ultimate truth. He is trying to interpret a myth according to his own circumstances, which are time-bound, and he too, is not absolutely a free agent. He is also a by-product of his circumstances. So many of his contemporaries did not think of life the way he thought. Suicide was a highly personal decision.  If that fateful moment had passed, Camus might have lived on, may be to revise his own writings, because, as time passes, we evolve in our perceptions. I find it difficult to agree with Camus that the boulder that he is carrying is the futile tasks which fill his mind, and he is happy that he is busy with these meaningless tasks, i.e. his struggle against nothingness. This is what Camus calls absurd.

The Boulder: The Weary Weight of ‘Karma’

The myth focuses on the rock which Sisyphus is trying to climb, while I think the main issue with the tragic fate of Sisyphus is the boulder. Sisyphus is a representation of Adam, who was also cursed and thrown out of Eden, for reasons too obvious. The trek upwards signifies the spiritual elevation, a reaching out to gods, to heaven. But he rolls down the hill, and starts again. This signifies the various incarnations which man has to live through. The boulder that he is carrying is the collective weight of his ‘Karma’. Our actions are being added to the total mass of our fate, and we carry our cross on our back in the form of the boulder.

When we think of the ‘mass of karma’, it touches on the idea of human history, the dump of good and bad actions, that humanity has done, it has to carry like its cross on its back and move up.   Millions lie dead on the way. The weight proves too heavy, and too unmanageable, but it has to be carried up.  We cannot disown our past, we cannot disown our history. Once an action has been taken, we have to suffer its fall out.  The boulder, it appears, is representing that dump of history, the junk heap of past ‘karma’ which is responsible for throwing our steps out of balance. What adds insult to injury is our passion for the past, in which we always choose to live.  The entire educational world is busy digging the graves. Talking of the past is beneficial only to an extent. But an overdose of history only bamboozles us who represent Sisyphus in modern times.  The boulder that Sisyphus is carrying is the burden of the past, the obsession with history, from which he cannot free himself, and it causes his fall, and he has to start afresh.

Reinventing Sisyphus

Shall we remain trapped in the image of Sisyphus? Is it our final destiny? Is there no evolution of human perception? Is there no other archetype to explain human condition? Mythology can only describe man’s existential status, but it cannot trap it. It is not that we cannot transcend the boundaries set by Greek myths. Men who scripted mythology looked back at what had been, and they wrote about it. If they are brought to life today, and asked to write the story of Sisyphus, the story will never be the same. Thus, what is needed today is Neo mythology which responds to the modern times.

Today, machines, AI will come to Sisyphus’s help, and he would be in a position to scale the rock, fortified by the power of the machines. We think machines are man-made. And therefore, artificial. If men are made by God, then, whatever they create has a godly connect. Machines do not exist outside the atmosphere in which men live. Can a motorbike run without the air, we need to breathe in? So, they are based on the elements which govern our lives too. Only their physics is different. And Gods have evolved their own vision in order to accept people with advanced technology. How could Sisyphus remain immune from the cutting edge of technology? I have no intention to deny what has been held sacred by the myths.  Camus too is right in his own right.  But I hazard a guess here. If Camus were to revisit this world today, in the times of AI, he might revise The Myth of Sisyphus.

Read: Man is never an individual entity

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Dr. Jernail S. Anand, with 200 plus books [19 epics] to his credit, is an authoritative voice in the contemporary world literature. Founding President of the International Academy of Ethics, and Laureate of Charter of Morava [Serbia], Seneca [Italy], Franz Kafka [Germany, Ukraine, Czech Rep], Maxim Gorky [Russia] Soka Ikeda [Japan] and Mahakavi Bharati [India] awards, his name is inscribed on the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. He is an Honorary Member of the Serbian Writers Association, Belgrade, a Member of the Honorary International Boule and Honorary Academic Senator of International Academy of Rome, and an Academic Member of the Academy of Arts and Philosophical Sciences, Bari [Italy]. 

The post Reinventing Sisyphus: Subverting the Myth first appeared on Sindh Courier.

• Nietzsche’s challenge is to ensure that these choices are made consciously, with an awareness of what is gained and what may be lost.

Noor Muhammad Marri Advocate | Islamabad

I share a very important thesis on liberalism and equality, which will create more questions rather than fewer answers. It is not an attempt to settle the debate, but to disturb its comfort, to probe beneath what is often taken for granted, and to expose the tensions hidden within the moral language of modern politics. What appears as a settled truth—that all human beings are equal—may, under closer examination, reveal itself as a historical construct shaped by struggle, power, and interpretation. It is within this spirit of inquiry that one must turn to the unsettling thought of Friedrich Friedrich Nietzsche, who stands not merely as a critic of liberalism, but as a challenger of its very moral foundation.

Nietzsche does not approach liberalism as a political theorist in the conventional sense. He approaches it as a genealogist of morals, questioning not how systems function, but why their underlying values came into being. European liberalism, shaped through the works of John Locke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, rests upon the assumption that all individuals possess equal moral worth. From this assumption flows the entire architecture of modern politics: rights, democracy, and the rule of law. Yet Nietzsche looks at this structure with suspicion. He does not deny its historical success, but he questions its origin and its cost.

The first fracture appears in the idea of natural equality. Nietzsche rejects it outright. For him, life itself is defined by difference. Individuals are not equal in their capacities, their drives, or their potential. Some possess a greater intensity of will, a deeper creativity, a stronger capacity to shape values. Others do not. To impose equality upon such a landscape is, in Nietzsche’s eyes, to deny reality. Liberalism, by insisting on equality, does not recognize difference; it attempts to neutralize it. It constructs a moral order in which hierarchy becomes suspect and excellence must justify itself before the tribunal of the average.

This critique deepens when Nietzsche turns to the origins of morality itself. In On the Genealogy of Morality, he presents the distinction between master morality and slave morality. Master morality arises from those who affirm their own strength and vitality. It is a morality of creation, where values emerge from power and self-confidence. Slave morality, by contrast, arises from those who lack such power. Unable to dominate in the physical or political sense, they turn to the moral realm, redefining values in a way that condemns strength and elevates weakness. What was once considered noble becomes “evil,” and what was once seen as weakness becomes “good.”

It is within this inversion that Nietzsche locates the roots of liberal equality. Equality, in this framework, is not an objective truth but a moral strategy. It is the means through which the weak restrain the strong, ensuring that no individual rises too far above the rest. The language of rights and fairness, which liberalism treats as universal, becomes in Nietzsche’s analysis a historical product of resentment. This does not make it false in a simple sense, but it strips it of its claim to neutrality. It reveals it as an expression of power, albeit a different kind of power—one that operates through moral persuasion rather than physical force.

The political consequences of this moral transformation are most visible in democracy. Nietzsche views democracy with deep skepticism, not because it fails to function, but because of what it promotes. By giving equal weight to all voices, it elevates quantity over quality. The judgment of the many becomes the standard, and the exceptional individual finds himself constrained by the expectations of the majority. In such a system, mediocrity becomes dominant, not because it is superior, but because it is common. Nietzsche fears that this leads to the emergence of what he calls the “last man,” a figure who seeks comfort, security, and equality, but who lacks the ambition and courage that define higher forms of life.

At the center of Nietzsche’s thought is the idea of the Will to Power, which he understands as the fundamental drive of all living beings. This is not merely a desire for domination, but a deeper impulse toward growth, expansion, and self-overcoming. Life, in this sense, is a process of striving, of pushing beyond limits, of creating new values. Equality, however, imposes constraints on this process. By seeking to limit difference and reduce hierarchy, it restrains the very force that drives human development. Liberalism, therefore, appears not as a celebration of life, but as a system that prioritizes stability over vitality, comfort over creativity, and uniformity over excellence.

Yet Nietzsche’s critique does not come without risk. To reject equality is to open the possibility of hierarchy in its most uncompromising form. It raises questions that liberalism seeks to answer but perhaps cannot fully resolve. If individuals are unequal, how should society treat them? Can dignity survive without equality? Does the recognition of difference inevitably lead to domination? Nietzsche does not provide clear answers, and perhaps deliberately so. His purpose is not to construct a new political system, but to expose the assumptions underlying the existing one.

What makes his critique enduring is its ability to unsettle certainty. Liberalism presents equality as self-evident, as a moral truth beyond question. Nietzsche refuses this certainty. He forces us to ask whether equality is a principle grounded in justice or a compromise shaped by historical necessity. He challenges us to consider whether the pursuit of equality may come at the cost of excellence, whether the protection of the many requires the limitation of the few, and whether a society committed to fairness can also cultivate greatness.

These questions do not lead to simple conclusions. They create tension, and it is within this tension that Nietzsche’s thought operates. He does not ask us to abandon equality, but he does ask us to see it differently—to recognize its origins, its functions, and its consequences. In doing so, he transforms the debate over liberalism into a deeper inquiry about the nature of morality itself.

In the end, the strength of Nietzsche’s thesis lies not in providing answers, but in compelling us to confront the complexity of the questions. Liberalism and equality remain powerful and necessary ideas, but they are no longer beyond scrutiny. They must be defended not as unquestionable truths, but as choices—choices that carry both benefits and costs. Nietzsche’s challenge is to ensure that these choices are made consciously, with an awareness of what is gained and what may be lost.

Read: Fragmentation empowers feudal dominance

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Noor Muhammad Marri is an Advocate and Mediator, based in Islamabad

The post Nietzsche Thesis on Liberalism and Equality first appeared on Sindh Courier.

• Looking back at the past is good to put you in a trance, for some time, but if you are young and have a passion for future growth, can you afford to escape into a world which does not exist now?

Dr. Jernail S Anand | India

The human society apparently has two divisions of people. One, who have seen this world and are in the advanced stage of life, and the other, who have just begun the journey.

The older lot want the new lot to be like them, and like things they liked, and they should struggle and learn the joy of hard work and honesty which a way of life in the distant past.  In a way, it is a drag back syndrome. They live in their past, which to them, looks glamorous, for the simple reason that distance lends charm to things. Now, that they have left it behind, even pain has lost its substance. Nothing gives us more feeling of pleasant joy, when you revisit the days of your harder times, which you had to suffer, and which are over now.  And these old timers want to tell these stories of suffering and joy to their younger ones, and wish they gather some guidance from the roads they have mapped.

Look at the routine of a man who has retired from active service. If they are living with their sons and daughters and even grandchildren, they are telling them stories and anecdotes from their own life. We should not forget that two persons, born at the same time, can wear similar clothes, or acquire similar habits, equal weight and equal height, and they may have the same features too, but what no two people can have in common are dreams. They are essentially different from each other and this reality is often overlooked by our old guard.

The Drag back Syndrome

What we call generation gap is actually the result of this drag back syndrome. We want to cling to time, and wish that it does not pass, or if we could draw it back, so that we remain relevant. I have always believed that past is a mental construct. Anything that loses its significance for the present, becomes past. And things which have flung into past, are simply things which had lost relevance for the present. Technically, past means things which have lived their utility and cannot be called back. Wisdom lies in not dragging forth things from the past. The old generation wants the things of their early years to be revived, and those who take interest in ‘their’ past, are considered to possess ‘good taste’.

Love for culture is a common feature of our life. There are departments of Culture in educational institutions which bring up the old times. Culture, thus, simply means you are looking back into the past. And if we keep looking into the past, when shall we move forward, and when shall be plan for the future? No institution has a department for the Future of Mankind. Looking back at the past is good to put you in a trance, for some time, but if you are young and have a passion for future growth, can you afford to escape into a world which does not exist now? No doubt, there was something which was good, and bringing that into focus is quite understandable. But asking them to inculcate those times into their behaviour and thought patterns is putting the cart before the horses.

Academics and the Drag back syndrome

A scholar is an academic, who studies pain like a theory paper. And his solutions too are academic. The ordinary people, with real problems, and persistent suffering, feel lost because scholars write for marks leading to degrees and libraries, and not for solving the problems of ordinary people. Studying life like a discipline is one thing, giving solutions to life’s problems is quite another. The academics look at human problems from a distance. They have nothing to offer to a rickshaw puller whose young daughter goes to college, and feels threatened by goons when she is coming back on a cycle. Neither Jane Austen, nor Dickens can come to their help. Rather than making young scholars work on the Elizabethan times in Chaucer’s work, we need to create literature with a futuristic bias, and address the problems of our present society, and suggest means how it can boldly move into the times ahead. Going back into the past turns you into an academic ivory tower luxuriating in its own light.

A scholar is far removed from the life that ordinary people live. This gap needs to be abridged and whatever is taught in University departments, should be brought into relevance for modern times.  A simple example is here. We give Graduate and Postgraduate degrees at the Convocation. Do we get an undertaking from the student that he will use his knowledge for the wellbeing of the society, and that he will never divert his knowledge towards the destruction of the living species?  Never. That is the gap between studies and life. By creating students who are morally ambiguous towards the present and the future, we are creating a corps of educated people, who, like unthinking machines can destroy the moral fiber of the society. Else, how can we account for the ‘cheat and deceit’ syndrome getting acceptance in the world? Who is responsible for the bank and cyber frauds? This is education without a moral commitment.

Read: Third Dimension Thinking: Beyond Dualities

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Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, based in Chandigarh, is an Indian poet and scholar credited with 170 plus books of English literature, philosophy and spirituality. He won great Serbian Award Charter of Morava and his name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. He was honored with Seneca Award LAUDIS CHARTA by Academy of Arts & Philosophical Sciences, Bari, Italy 2024. He is Founder President of the International Academy of Ethics and conferred Doctor of Philosophy (Honoris Causa) by University of Engineering & Management, (UEM) Jaipur. Email anandjs55@yahoo.com 

Bibliography:

https://sites.google.com/view/bibliography-dr-jernal-singh/home

The post Divided Humanity: Drag Back Syndrome first appeared on Sindh Courier.