There is a chasm between modernity and tradition, science and religion, skepticism and faith, the Devil and God. 

In the secular West, the Enlightenment Era separated church from state and removed God from the classroom. Books like The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins epitomize this trend, which Wael Hallaq calls the “theology of progress.” In the Islamic East, the mosque is not separated from the state, and God runs the classroom. The Quran epitomizes this trend.

In my education, I noticed that these two traditions do not talk to each other. I was frustrated that my American education did not build on my Islamic education. To bridge the gap, I found a scholar and mentor who connects the two traditions: Dr. Saleh Aram. 

Here, I’ll focus on his mathematical thinking (based on Western tradition) and his storytelling (based on Eastern tradition).

Dr. Saleh Aram was born and raised in Yemen. He studied in Kuwait, Lebanon, and India, earning his BA, MA, and PhD — all in mathematics. 

When Dr. Aram recently came to America, an immigration officer asked him, since he is a professor of math, what the outcome of 1 plus 1 is. Dr. Aram answered, “It depends. In the decimal system, 1 plus 1 equals 2. But in the binary system, 1 plus 1 equals 10. And in the marital system, 1 plus 1 equals 3.” The immigration officer was wowed and let him in immediately.

Dr. Aram is well-versed in the literature of both the Eastern and Western worlds. He introduced me to two brilliant books that all students should read by George Pólya, a renowned math teacher who had an illustrious career at Stanford University. Pólya published his magnum opus in two volumes: Mathematics and Plausible Reasoning and How to Solve It: A New Aspect of Mathematical Method.

Dr. Aram introduced me to the idea of mathematical thinking, characterized by rigorous, empirical, observable and verifiable arguments. Despite being a mathematician, he is also a storyteller, a raconteur. He made two profound statements about stories: (1) stories are tangible mathematical evidence, and (2) stories are understandable and shareable.

I asked Dr. Aram about strategies for dealing with professors and advisors with whom a student might have intellectual disagreements. He proposed a brilliant approach: “Ask the professor to justify their position as much as possible, and display an attitude that agrees with their justification with reservations (not categorically).” 

This way, the student maintains dignity and ground, while the professor retains the upper hand in the hierarchy of knowledge. Essentially, the student gives the professor a chance to persuade them, agreeing with reservations rather than categorically.

I also asked Dr. Aram about his views on modern dating and relationships, given his traditional background in Yemen. His answer surprised me. He said modern-day relationships are a battle, and people should plan to emerge with the most victories and least losses. 

He discouraged online dating apps and encouraged traditional methods like attending social events and becoming social as ways of meeting and connecting with people.

In fact, online dating and mating is a game where the winner takes all. When technology encroaches on any field, it monopolizes. When technology took over sales, e-commerce almost put traditional commerce out of business. Similarly, when technology encroaches on social connections, it allows the elite to dominate, making it difficult for ordinary people to find a life partner.

According to Dr. Aram, finding a life partner is one of the most important decisions in life. Navigating these new realities is indeed, as Dr. Aram puts it, a battle, and people should be ready to contend with some losses.

I found that modern is not always superior to traditional, and American scholars are not always at the top of their game. You might find a scholar in a remote and obscure country like Yemen who has a repository of knowledge not found in the halls of Harvard. 

In Dr. Aram, I found a wise man who is definitely ahead of his time in Yemen.

Abdulrahman Bindamnan is completing a Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) at the University of Minnesota. He is a contributing author at Psychology Today and a regional scholar fellow at the University of Pennsylvania.

First question: Could you finish a Ph.D. program? Answer: Absolutely yes. 

I believe that ‎anyone could finish a Ph.D. program. The arcane culture of academia should not dissuade ‎anyone from attaining the highest academic degree. There is nothing inherently difficult about ‎the Ph.D. Anyone who puts in time, energy and effort could easily attain a Ph.D.‎

Second question: Should you pursue a Ph.D. program? Answer: It depends on your mission. 

‎A Ph.D.  is a research degree that prepares researchers, teachers and professors. The Ph.D. is different than the M.D. and J.D., both ‎of which are professional, practitioner degrees. The M.D. prepares doctors to treat patients, and the ‎J.D. prepares lawyers to help clients. However, the Ph.D. prepares researchers to produce original ‎research.‎

What are some of the best practices for submitting a Ph.D. application? ‎Because the competition is so fierce in most Ph.D. programs, it is essential to prepare and ‎submit the best application dossier, to ensure the highest chances of getting admitted.‎

‎1. Apply for the professor, not the university

Unlike bachelor’s and master’s programs, the Ph.D. is an apprenticeship between the student ‎and their respective advisor. Sure, the Ph.D. entails taking classes, but most of the dissertation ‎work is done between the student and the advisor. 

The Ph.D. student must produce an original ‎piece of work that ought to pass the highest scrutiny of the dissertation committee. Therefore, ‎successful applicants always look to find professors with whom they have similar research ‎interests. In the statement of purpose, successful Ph.D. applicants demonstrate a ‎goodness of fit between their research interests and the research expertise of the faculty with ‎whom they hope to work.‎

‎2. Get stellar letters of recommendation

The reputation of the Ph.D. applicant is so important to the admission committee, who want to ‎ensure that the student made favorable impressions on previous professors. It is important to ask ‎for letters of recommendation from professors who believe in the project of the Ph.D. ‎applicant. Generic letters of recommendation, however common they might be, are absolutely ‎useless. 

Successful Ph.D. applicants get personalized letters from professors who believe in their ‎mission — professors who passionately want the Ph.D. applicant to get admitted. It is ‎better to get a letter of recommendation from a less-known professor who believes in the Ph.D. ‎applicant project rather than a generic one from a well-known professor. ‎

‎3. Have excellent academic performance

The Ph.D. applicant is applying to attain the highest academic degree there is in the ‎world of academia. Therefore, an aptitude for thinking and writing is essential. This is not to say that the GPA ought to be 4.0. Rather, students must demonstrate serious ability to ‎understand abstract thoughts and to have a wide capacity for theorization. Grades are a ‎numerical indication of such abilities. 

If the GPA of the Ph.D. applicant is low, then that ought ‎to be explained in the statement of purpose, because grades are not the only metric for academic ‎aptitude.‎

‎4. Submit a strongly written writing sample

Because the competition for Ph.D. admission is so fierce, Ph.D. applicants are hereby advised ‎to submit flawless prose. Even typos are not permitted. Successful Ph.D. applicants showcase their writing abilities in the writing sample, communicating to the admission committee that they possess the writing aptitude required to produce a lengthy Ph.D. dissertation. If the Ph.D. ‎applicant has published in academic journals, then they are advised to submit that as a writing ‎sample. but if they have not been published yet, a well-written thesis often suffices such requirements.‎

‎5. Get feedback from specialists in the field

Because the Ph.D. application is so critical, it behooves all Ph.D. applicants to solicit editorial ‎feedback from readers who have substantive expertise in the field. It is essential to measure the ‎impact of the application on professors, who often read and make decisions on such ‎statements. 

Admission committees are looking for specific components when they read an ‎application; such components are often communicated in the requirements of the Ph.D. ‎program. But to ensure that every single requirement is met, the Ph.D. applicant is well-suited ‎to get reviews from professors.‎

My story as a Ph.D. applicant

When I first arrived in the United States as an ‎immigrant at age 19, I applied to the ‎University ‎of Miami to pursue my ‎undergraduate education. Although I ‎submitted my application dossier ‎after the ‎deadline, the University of Miami accepted ‎my candidacy, largely because I had a ‎‎generous donor behind me who agreed to fund my ‎education in its entirety. 

From the ‎perspective of the administration, we international students represent money. While at the ‎University of Miami, I met many rich students with generous funders. ‎Administrations ‎were eager to accept us immediately. We ‎are good for business. ‎

When I graduated from the University of Miami with my B.A., I applied for ‎many ‎M.A. programs in Ivy League ‎schools. My application was accepted in ‎virtually every ‎program to which I ‎applied, again largely due to the money I brought and the diversity I ‎represent. 

Although I was accepted by Columbia University and many other prestigious ‎schools, ‎I eventually chose the University of ‎Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education.‎

When I graduated from Penn with an M.A. in education, I contemplated ‎Ph.D. ‎programs. From my perspective, since I had a ‎B.A. from Miami and an M.A. from Penn, I expected ‎my application dossier would be competitive. I chose the best Ph.D. education ‎schools in the ‎country. 

I was an international student, had two prestigious degrees under my belt, and always ‎‎maintained excellent academic performance. I was optimistic about my prospects of securing a fully funded Ph.D. program. However, I was rejected ‎from virtually every Ph.D. ‎program to which I ‎applied.‎

In the second application cycle, I rectified my mistake of only applying to Ivy League schools ‎and applied to schools in which my chances of admission were high. I was finally accepted at ‎the University of ‎Minnesota, with both a scholarship and a fellowship. The learned lesson from ‎my story is to apply as many times as possible to get admission. When the application is ‎rejected, get feedback from successful applicants on how to rectify the application dossier, then ‎revise and resubmit. 

Abdulrahman Bindamnan is a Ph.D. student at the University of Minnesota and a contributing author for Psychology Today.

When I started college at 19 years old, I was functionally illiterate in English because I studied my formative years in Arabic and Islamic schools in Yemen. I did not know how to write an intelligent English sentence, not because I was cognitively impaired, but because I was handicapped by a linguistic impediment. I was fully literate in the Arabic language, but when I articulated my thoughts in English, they sounded incoherent to my prospective native readers.

I needed to embrace the attitude of humility to learn rudimentary literacy skills. I was an adult, but my English skills were at a children’s level – which created incongruency in my mind. Although I have sophisticated thoughts, I often articulated them poorly. In other words, the quality of my writing was inferior to the quality of my thoughts. I had to learn the basics from the ground up, which led me to coin the term “zero-generation students,” a group of students who differ from “first-generation students.”

I have previously written about the challenges of becoming a scholar in a new language and culture, and I recently realized the solution to navigating the unruly transition is through embracing the attitude of humility. It is the humility to learn, connect and aspire to become better human beings.

When I was starting my undergraduate studies at the University of Miami, I still vividly remembered my inability to comprehend the assigned academic readings, which exceeded my reading abilities as a non-native English speaker. But through humility, I increased the repertoire of my vocabulary, and now I can read and comprehend with relative ease. Now that I have passed the language barrier, I strive to write accessible prose. 

It is ironic that some scholars, who proclaim to deeply care about underrepresented students, write in extremely opaque prose, under the pretense of the genre of academic writing. If I have an education of seven years at U.S. colleges and universities, then I should be able to read and understand the corpus of literature. Academic writing that obfuscates rather than clarifies is part of the problem that excludes marginalized students from participating in the academic discourse.

The university concerns itself with preparing the scholars and leaders of tomorrow. And in our divided world, we need scholars and leaders who exude humility. The pressing problems in our world do not need more intelligence or money. They need people who lead with humility, who can prioritize the wretched of the earth, and who selflessly help those whose lives have been marred by trauma, wars and misfortunes. 

Modernity creates fierce competition within which people vehemently attempt to climb the ladder of success, by any means necessary. Amid this social and capitalistic mess, we forget those at the bottom of the pyramid, those who do not have the basic skills to even compete in the modern system. To bring them in, we need humility.

Modernity creates subjects who are illusioned by the promise of progress that is almost never realized. We read about the next groundbreaking study, yet the conditions of our world continue unabated: The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The cycle of oppression continues undisturbed because so long as we use the same modern tools, we cannot escape the predicaments and ills of modernity. We need humility to find an exit from this impasse.

We need humility to learn how to connect with people from various backgrounds. Instead of looking at their difference as a liability or weakness, humility encourages us to look to the human within. All people around the world are looking for the same ideals – security, prosperity and happiness. Yet we modern people seem to be locked into a repeating cycle of failures. Although we may score an “A” at the frontier of science and technology, we certainly get a “D” on our ability to sympathize with others.

Therefore, the key to success in college is not to get an “A” in every class, but rather to cultivate humane virtues. After all, if we as human beings fail to regard each other with dignity, respect and humility, intelligence becomes an instrumental tool for oppression. Of course, kudos to students who strike a balance between intelligence and wisdom. However, we have reached an extreme of naked careerism that it behooves us to pause and reflect.

We are driving the planet into destruction. Social connections become more ephemeral than ever. Virtual connections can start in the split of a second…only to evaporate in the blink of an eye, as ghosting is increasingly becoming the default way of ending connections. Although the means to connect with people are almost endless, loneliness is reaching an unprecedented peak. 

A Harvard report suggests 36% of Americans suffer from “serious loneliness.” Of course, the global pandemic had exacerbated the loneliness epidemic. We do not need another technological app to address loneliness; no, we need to embrace the attitude of humility and learn how to relate to each other as human beings. We need to learn how to connect with people for the sake of human connection.

In conclusion, the time to embrace humility as a way to learn, connect and aspire is long overdue. If we do not treat each other with respect, dignity and humility, we will drive each other – and our planet – to global pandemics and social epidemics.

Abdulrahman Bindamnan is a PhD Student and an ICGC Fellow at the University of Minnesota. He is a contributing author at Psychology Today.

Following this year’s Thanksgiving season, I want to thank the Wilson Library for being my ‎favorite place at the University of Minnesota.

When we want to pray, we go to the ‎church, mosque, synagogue, tumble or a room ‎designated for prayer. When we want to dance, we go to clubs, ‎or, for those with a wild spirit, on the street. When we want to ‎engage in scholarship, we go to the most sanctuary place on earth: the library. ‎In an era where books are banned and authors are threatened, ‎I’ll reflect on how the library has played a significant role in my life.

I used to hate the library and avoided it like the plague. I even resented library goers, seeing them as ‎nerds who possessed no social skills whatsoever and as people with whom I would never ‎hang out. Even worse, ‎I saw the library as a place of first-rate boredom. Reading books in the library was never on my agenda. But all of that has changed.

When I was in high school in Yemen, I decided to take my ‎school seriously because I did not want to live there anymore. ‎The war was destroying everything, and I needed to get the hell out of the country. It was in the last year of high school that I ‎became a devout library goer, reading and studying to secure a ‎competitive scholarship to pursue higher education abroad. ‎There were limited seats for students to secure a fully-funded scholarship. The competition was fierce.

I grew up in a house of books, though that upbringing did not have any influence on my reading habits. My father was an avid and voracious reader. He had his own ‎library in our house, where he would read books with extreme ‎regularity. He was a devout man. Although he was trying to seduce me to read, I never committed to reading. But the war forced me to invest in books. I couldn’t go outside to play, so I had to find books that would intrigue my fickle attention. I soon ‎became like my father, conscripting myself to the library.

Partly due to time spent in the library and partly due to luck, I ‎secured a scholarship to pursue my higher education in the United States. Ever since, I continued my library-going tradition. I often say I have a reading ‎disorder, for which I blame the library. ‎I also welcome anyone who feeds into my addiction by recommending must-read books. Readers go about reading for different purposes. I read to learn and unlearn. I do not have the luxury to read for mere pleasure. I often find myself facing problems in my own life, and I read books to solve those problems.

Although I used to read books and articles online, I recently ‎shifted to the old-school approach, where I request books from ‎the library to conduct my research. What I discovered may sound simple, profound or both: reading physical books ‎have a particular feeling, unattained by reading on screen. ‎There is something about the shape of the book and the dignity of the place that conspire to make for a transfixing reading experience. It is all pure psychological effects because knowledge is the same, whether reading online or in the library.

Since I hail from the precarious country of Yemen, ‎where libraries are bombed, I have found the library a privilege in ‎disguise. It is a place where I can meet the great minds of the past and learn from them. Without the library, I would not be at the ‎University of Minnesota pursuing my doctorate degree. Many people like me do not even enter college, let alone graduate from one. ‎Most of my friends are high school dropouts, who are now ‎swamped by the Yemen crisis. I was lucky to leave, and the ‎library has been central to that development. ‎

Heartfelt thanks to all libraries the world over.

Abdulrahman Bindamnan is a PhD student as an Interdisciplinary Scholar for Global Social Change at the University of Minnesota. He achieved an MSEd from the University of ‎Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education and a BA from the ‎University of Miami.

Graduate school is a stressful and mystifying ‎time for most — if not all — students. Yet we ‎don’t need to reinvent the wheel because there ‎are keys that will enable your success in ‎graduate school.

What are the keys to success in graduate school?

I posed this ‎question to a number of leaders and ‎professors in U.S. higher education. The answers are drawn from notable luminaries, representing cognate disciplines that include health, ‎education, psychology, history, economics, ‎law, and religion. The diversity of ‎the contributors matches the diversity of the ‎chosen disciplines. Through their answers, the reader will get a sneak peek into the ‎collective consciousness of some of the most ‎successful scholars and leaders of our day. ‎

Julio Frenk, the current ‎president of the University of Miami (my ‎alma mater) and former dean at Harvard ‎School of Public Health, recommended three keys: (1) ‎‎“select a mentor who inspires you and takes ‎personal interest in your learning process,” (2) “use the opportunity to develop a broad view ‎of your field, but narrow the subject area of ‎possible dissertation topics early” and (3) “set ‎a hard deadline to finish the dissertation. ‎Remember that it is one more requirement of ‎the program, and resist the temptation to make ‎a definitive contribution since you will have ‎time to continue refining your ideas after you ‎graduate.”‎

Daniel A. Wagner, a ‎professor of education at the University of ‎Pennsylvania and the UNESCO chair in ‎Learning and Literacy, answered with a pithy one-liner: “As you might ‎expect, I’d say: Follow your passion, and be ‎persistent!” ‎

George Gopen, professor ‎emeritus of the practice of rhetoric at Duke ‎University and the creator of the ‎groundbreaking writing pedagogy known as ‎the Reader Expectation Approach, provided a really good answer: “While obviously ‎intellectual curiosity, disciplined work ‎methods and a hunger for ‎knowledge are all ‎essential, I would nominate an understanding ‎of self-professionalization as the key ‎ingredient lacking in far too many graduate ‎students. The ‎PhD should not be considered ‎another chance to shine as a student in a ‎classroom; and ‎the PhD thesis should not be ‎considered the candidate’s magnum opus, a ‎piece of ‎exhaustive intellectual self-‎expression. You are there to learn as much of ‎and about your ‎field as you can in the time ‎allotted; and the thesis should be considered a ‎large piece of ‎work done well enough to gain ‎entrance for you into the professional society ‎you wish to ‎join. Very few PhD theses should ‎be published. Most people outgrow their ‎thesis in 10 ‎years.‎”‎

A prolific author of ‎OpEd, an estimable American ‎historian of education and a strong advocate ‎of freedom of speech in academia, Jonathon Zimmerman provided what may seem like “pedestrian” advice: “The key to ‎success in grad school is focus. So my ‎advice, as pedestrian as it sounds, is ‎to turn ‎off all of your devices when you’re reading ‎and writing.‎”‎

Joseph E. Lowry, an associate professor of ‎Arabic and Islamic Studies at the University ‎of Pennsylvania, generously provided two pieces of advice: “I would say that you ‎have to both love (or care deeply about) and ‎be extraordinarily ‎curious about the subject ‎you study — those two qualities (yes, sorry, ‎two — but they ‎function together) will help ‎you succeed.‎”‎

Donovan Schaefer, an assistant ‎professor of religious studies at the ‎University of Pennsylvania, warned against the danger of “burning out” and how that complicates the “creativity” mindset: “If I had one piece ‎of advice, it would be to strike a balance ‎between pushing yourself to ‎work hard at ‎your research, while also giving yourself room ‎to unwind, relax and play. ‎There are health ‎benefits, of course, which are important, but I ‎also think that the ‎creative mindset necessary ‎for academic work requires that you feel a ‎sense of joy in the ‎work that you do, which ‎becomes impossible when you’re burned out.‎”‎

I hope the quotes above will ‎demystify parts of the graduate school ‎journey. Remember: we don’t get any extra ‎credits by reinventing the wheel. Like any ‎worthwhile human activity and achievement, novice students should ‎always learn from the masters. ‎

Abdulrahman Bindamnan is PhD Student at the University of Minnesota College of Education and Human Development.

A good scholar in Yemen is a bad scholar in America, and a good scholar in America is a bad scholar in Yemen. Now, of course, some may argue the two scholars can be reconciled and integrated. I claim such reconciliation often places one scholarship as superior to the other, which ironically happens on both sides: Muslim scholars who select from science what confirms their scriptures; or Western scholars who see the traditional Islamic ways of knowing as harmonious with science, thereby avoiding any sites of tensions.

A scholar is a person involved in the generation and communication of ideas. Monolingual thinkers and speakers may overlook the centrality of language and culture because they are immersed in them. Non-native English and non-Western scholars have unconventional ways to engage with a scholarship because they have different challenges, epistemologies and realities.

I was born, raised, educated, socialized, acculturated and formed in Yemen — an experience that has shaped my sensibilities in the world. To be a scholar in Yemen is neither to invent nor innovate ideas — but rather, to preserve the history of the past. Innovation is a form of deviation from the righteous path, which was set during the early days of Islam. Where I was educated in Islamic mosques in Yemen, the atmosphere encouraged strict following of scholarship and prohibited the generation of any new ideas.

However, as John Kelly (1989) concluded in his essay “To Be a Scholar,” true scholarship is about the generation and communication of innovative ideas. This definition gives the scholar the prerogative to disrupt that which has been produced in the canon. In this sense, scholarship is always moving forward. But where I was educated, true scholarship commits itself to the canon of the past, with neither addition nor revision.

As an emerging scholar in a new context, I have to remember the place from which I hailed, while at the same time reinventing myself in my newfound intellectual community. At the University of Minnesota and elsewhere, there is much discussion about diversity, but there is often negligence and ignorance of what international students bring — the ways of thinking that reflect certain biases in their language and culture.

We can presume those students are at least willing to adapt to the American ways of doing, knowing and being in the world. Yet unless we understand their ways of being, doing and knowing, we cannot help them during their transition from one culture to another. International students — who grew up in non-Western culture and spoke a non-English language — need to reimagine what it means to become a scholar. Yet how many local scholars are aware of their predicament?

It has always been understood that true scholars are those who defy easy understanding, who go beyond surface-level conceptions and who call into question all assumptions. We need to apply that scholarly understanding to the word scholar itself. Although I am trained to become a scholar in the English language and Western culture, I have yet to study the ramifications of applying my scholarship to Yemen — the place in which my scholarly sensibilities were formed. Being a scholar in the in-between area requires consistent learning, unlearning and adapting. Yet when well-trained, those scholars can bridge the gap between cultures and civilizations because they have one foot in each world.

Salman Rushdie, an internationally acclaimed writer, explains the tension with which I am grappling. Rushdie grew up in India, lived in Britain and currently resides in America. Few people know that this successful writer stumbled for over a decade (13 years) to publish his first book. “Part of the reason I was lost,” Rushdie said, “is that I had grown up in one culture and I was living in another. And I didn’t quite understand my relationship with either — either the culture that I had grown up with or the one I was living in. And I really needed to work that out for myself — in other words, to work out who I was.” After examining his life (to allude to the notion of Socrates “the unexamined life is not worth living”), Rushdie became a great writer across the globe, creating a global canon of literature.

In profound ways, I resonate with Rushdie’s stumbling start because I grew up in Yemen for 20 years and then came to the U.S. where I have been living for the past six years. I neither belong to Yemen nor to the United States, and I need to figure out the kind of scholar I am becoming.

Born and raised in Yemen, Abdulrahman Bindamnan is PhD Student at the University of Minnesota. He earned both an MSEd from the University of Pennsylvania and a BA from the University of Miami. He can be reached at binda019@umn.edu