By: Dr Ade Abdul Hak, S.Ag., S.S., M.Hum., CiQnR

What, in essence, does a library mean in the tradition of Islamic scholarship? Is it merely a space for storing collections, or does it hold something more profound? For the classical Muslim scholars, the library was never just a reading room or a repository of books. It was a contemplative sanctuary—where the soul could reflect, where reason and revelation entered into dialogue, and where one’s being could realign itself with purpose. Unsurprisingly, they referred to the library as a mihrab of knowledge—a place where the intellect bows in pursuit of meaning.

The term mihrab need not refer only to a physical niche in a mosque. It can also manifest as a digital space—a glowing screen before us, a virtual interface where we access, engage with, and reflect upon knowledge. What truly matters is not the form of the mihrab, but its direction and intention: does the space draw us closer to wisdom and insight, or merely inundate us with noise and trivia?

It is in this spirit that I began to formulate the idea of Prophetic Librarianship—an approach to librarianship that is not only technical, but also value-oriented, liberating, and spiritually aware. I believe that libraries within Islamic academic environments must evolve. They should become living spaces that support humanity, justice, and spiritual connectedness—not merely spaces of collection, but places of contemplation and transformation.

My earliest inspiration came from the thoughts of Imam al-Ghazali. In al-Munqidh min al-Ḍalāl (Deliverance from Error), he recounts his long journey—from philosophy and scholasticism to a return to authentic, spiritual knowledge. Al-Ghazali made me realise that knowledge devoid of sincerity and divine purpose is little more than dazzling emptiness.

Shaykh Abdul Qadir al-Jilani, in Sirr al-Asrār (The Secret of Secrets), similarly reminds us that true knowledge arises only when one harmonises shari’ah and ma’rifah. Knowledge that remains trapped in the intellect without touching the heart becomes mere memorisation. But knowledge felt inwardly, practised with humility, and oriented toward the common good—that is ḥikmah, wisdom. I firmly believe the library can become fertile ground for such wisdom to take root and grow.

From these two masters, I have learned that Islamic knowledge is anchored in an integrative epistemology—where intellect, revelation, and spiritual experience form a coherent whole. The ideal library, therefore, must embody this spirit. It must not be neutral; it must take a principled stand—for humanity, enlightenment, and integrity of thought.

This vision was sharpened further as I studied the work of Sa’id Nursi. In his interpretation of the Qur’anic concept imām mubīn, he describes how all realities are recorded in a divine system—structured, indexed, and purposeful. From this, he developed the concept of divine collective knowledge: knowledge not as isolated data, but as a sacred network of meanings sourced from the Divine.

In today’s era of Big Data and Artificial Intelligence, I find Nursi’s insights strikingly prescient. We now inhabit a world flooded with infinite data that captures nearly every aspect of existence. But unlike Nursi’s divine system, today’s digital systems are often cold, indifferent, and devoid of ethical direction. Herein lies the urgent need for libraries not merely as data warehouses, but as custodians of meaning. And this is precisely where the prophetic librarian has a vital role—to rekindle the soul of knowledge in the midst of algorithmic overwhelm.

This idea finds powerful resonance in the works of Kuntowijoyo and A.M. Ahimsa-Putra. Through his theory of Islamic Scientification, Kuntowijoyo urged that the social sciences be reconstructed through the consciousness of revelation and the historical experience of the Muslim community—so that knowledge is not merely descriptive, but also transformative. Ahimsa extended this further with his concept of prophetic anthropology, combining cultural awareness, social critique, and spiritual insight. Together, they showed me that liberating knowledge must emerge from lived struggle and be guided by a moral vision.

From these foundations, I formulated the core of Prophetic Librarianship: a paradigm rooted in prophetic values, aiming for humanisation, liberation, and transcendence. Within such a framework, information is not simply retrieved but deeply internalised. Reading is not just consumed but absorbed with meaning.

To anchor this vision, I set out four key philosophical assumptions. First, that knowledge originates from divine revelation—so the librarian becomes not only a curator of content, but a guardian of value. Second, that human beings are the main agents of transformation—and librarians must serve the process of humanisation, not objectification. Third, that the library is transformational by nature—a space that takes a stance for justice, learning, and truth. And fourth, that true knowledge ultimately draws us closer to God, rather than distracting us from Him.

In a world accelerating with automation, saturated by information, and often adrift from meaning, the prophetic librarian stands as a custodian of the soul of knowledge. A facilitator of wisdom, a cultivator of conscience, and a spiritual companion for seekers.

I believe wholeheartedly that each time we enter a library—be it physical or digital—we are, in truth, stepping into a mihrab of knowledge. A sacred space where the soul reaches for light, and the intellect finds its bearing. It is in this sanctuary that the thoughts of al-Ghazali, Shaykh Abdul Qadir, Sa’id Nursi, Kuntowijoyo, Ahimsa-Putra, and my own small offering, meet. Together, they do not merely shape a reading room, but breathe life into a house of enlightenment and a path to spiritual awakening—something our times deeply yearn for.