Every civilization produces its own distinctive way of seeing life and humanity. This perspective is not confined to abstract principles or beliefs alone; rather, it constitutes a comprehensive universe of meaning that is nourished by a world of values, engages with everyday life, and permeates institutions, spaces and social relations. From conceptions of education and visions of law to the architecture of cities and the forms of human interaction, this universe becomes visible and livable only through the forms that carry it. Forms are the mode of speech of a civilization; in other words, they are the language a civilization uses in daily life. For this reason, the issue is not merely what we think, but rather through which forms our thinking is brought to life. A civilization remains alive as long as it can produce forms nourished by its own values. When this capacity for production comes to a halt, what remains is the preservation of aesthetic elements from the past, the exhibition of memories or the nostalgic representation of a historical grandeur. Yet civilization is not something to be kept alive in a museum; it is a dynamic structure that must be continually regenerated in the street, the school, the institution, the city and the mind.
Life demands forms. When societies are unable to generate their own forms, the spheres of life are filled by the language and values of other civilizations. This is not merely a matter of architectural taste or cultural preference. The ways in which individuals perceive themselves, society, and the world are also shaped through these forms. Over time, what counts as “natural” behavior, which attitudes are deemed “reasonable,” and which ideas are considered “scientific” are defined within this dominant language. The question of language, therefore, is directly a question of power and the determination of direction.
In this context, the question of the city and the question of the university are, in fact, directly questions of civilization. A vision of civilization cannot survive without urbanization, without bringing its own forms into contact with space. Likewise, scientific and intellectual production is not an abstract activity; it gains meaning in proportion to the relationship it establishes with history, culture, and a world of values. Societies that cannot produce culture, reducing it instead to something merely preserved, transforming their relationship with the past from a living continuity into a touristic representation. This, in turn, signals that new production has come to a halt.
Over the past three centuries, the Western civilization that has been globally influential has established this coherence in a highly conscious manner. The knowledge, art, literature, political theory and scientific methods it has produced have formed a powerful, interconnected network that reinforces itself within a shared language. This network has encompassed not only Western societies but the rest of the world as well, gradually generating a sense of “naturalness” and “necessity.” Productions that fall outside this language, meanwhile, have often been coded as secondary, inadequate, or lacking universality.
In Türkiye as well, knowledge production for many years largely took place through this mainstream language, and universities became the primary institutions that carried it. Universities, intellectual circles and cultural intermediaries often – without full awareness – became part of a network that reproduced a Western-centered perspective. On the one hand, this provided international legitimacy and circulation; on the other, it created an invisible distance between academia and society. As a result, academic language gradually came to be perceived by large segments of society as alien, condescending and exclusionary. The tension that emerged in this context formed the historical ground for social polarization, center-periphery tensions, and the emergence of echo chambers. While the mainstream sought to preserve its representational power and institutional advantages, the periphery remained passive, and at times even silent, for a long period. The polarizations and echo chambers we frequently lament today are rooted precisely in this historical accumulation.
Over the past 20 years, significant fractures have occurred within this structure. The periphery has moved closer to the center, access to public services has expanded, and diverse social groups have become more visible in the public sphere. However, this structural transformation has not yet evolved into the construction of a comprehensive new language that encompasses all domains. This is because the building of a language requires not only discourse, but also a sustained and wide-ranging effort carried out through knowledge production, institutional practices and the forms of everyday life. Without participation in the process of producing knowledge and without sustained intellectual labor, differences articulated at the level of rhetoric alone cannot generate lasting counterparts.
It is precisely at this point that a historic responsibility falls upon universities. Universities are not merely institutions that provide professional training; they are public actors that shape society, produce meaning, and construct language. Yet today our universities in Türkiye are confronted with three fundamental problems: the inability to sustain high-quality knowledge production, the weakness of their relationship with society, and the fragility of the connection between the knowledge they produce and our own civilizational values.
An increase in publication numbers alone does not resolve these problems. What is essential is the accumulation of knowledge, its integration into a coherent whole, and its ability to find resonance within society. The organic ties that universities establish with the cities they are located in, with the country’s real problems, and with societal demands must be built not only in the realms of economy and industry, but across a broad spectrum ranging from literature and architecture to sociology and the arts. Otherwise, the university will continue to be perceived as an inward-looking structure, alien to society.
Even more important is the question of the language within which knowledge is produced. The absolutization of Western-centered conceptual frameworks as universal standards has created a distance of trust between academia and broad segments of society. Yet our historical accumulation, intellectual tradition, and cultural memory offer strong possibilities for the construction of a new language. We must approach this inheritance not as a set of “dead forms,” but as an open-ended ground that is conducive to renewal and reproduction. In other words, rather than either rejecting this inheritance in its entirety or sanctifying it without question, it is possible to carry it into the present through a process of critical examination. In this regard, Kemal Tahir’s call “not to evade responsibility,” Alev Alatlı’s approach that brings together ideas and institutions, texts and the formation of human beings, and Turgut Cansever’s architectural vision that unites history, geography, and an ontology of being, all constitute concrete efforts aimed at sustaining this continuity. These efforts show us that a new language is not constructed by denying the past, but by examining it carefully, engaging it critically, and reconnecting it with the needs of the present.
Today, the crises and uncertainties experienced at the global level affect all segments of society in similar ways. For this reason, “coming together” is no longer a matter of choice, but a necessity. The dismantling of echo chambers is possible only through the establishment of a shared linguistic ground on which different groups can listen to one another. This ground must be based neither on rhetorical bombast nor on an imitative notion of universality.
Within this framework, the role of universities cannot be assessed solely through the relationships they establish with the state, the market, or global academic circles. At least as important – and perhaps even more critical – is the dimension of genuine, sustained and mutually reinforcing relationships that universities build with the civic sphere. This is because a new language finds its true resonance not only through formal institutions or academic texts, but within the everyday practices, productions and interactions of the civic sphere itself.
The civic sphere is the space in which a society breathes, where diverse voices, experiences and searches for meaning can emerge organically. Associations, foundations, local initiatives, professional organizations, cultural and artistic circles, platforms of thought, and voluntary structures are arenas in which social experience accumulates and where issues that often remain outside the official language can be articulated. However, when this sphere becomes disconnected from universities and academic production, it can turn into a fragmented, discontinuous structure with limited impact. Likewise, when universities fail to engage with the civic sphere, they become confined to an inward-looking language that abstracts itself from social reality.
The construction of a new language requires precisely the meeting of these two spheres – academia and the civic sphere – not by excluding one another, but by transforming one another in the process. The dynamic relationship that universities establish with the civic sphere enables knowledge to acquire a quality that is not only produced but also shared, debated, and capable of engaging with life. When academic knowledge comes into contact with the practical experience of the civic sphere, it sheds its abstraction; when the demands and accumulated experience of the civic sphere pass through an academic filter, they gain durability and depth.
This mutual interaction also significantly enhances the dynamism and richness of the civic sphere itself. The concepts, perspectives and critical frameworks carried by the new language contribute to steering debates in the civic sphere away from superficial reactions and toward approaches that are deeper, more coherent, and more inclusive. At the same time, the civic sphere transforms universities from institutions shaped solely by central policies or global academic trends into living structures that remain in constant contact with social reality. Strengthening this relationship also plays a critical role in overcoming social polarization. The bridges built between universities and the civic sphere create shared spaces and shared linguistic possibilities in which different social groups can come together. In this way, echo chambers are weakened; instead of narratives that render one another invisible, exclusionary or suppressive, a public ground that listens, understands, and is capable of deliberation gains strength. It is precisely on this ground that a new language comes alive and generates social legitimacy.
In conclusion, it is possible to construct a new language that maintains continuity with the past, draws nourishment from the historical accumulation of these lands, and is also capable of speaking to the world. The realization of this possibility depends to a large extent on the genuine relationships that universities establish with themselves, with society, and with historical inheritance. As universities assume this responsibility, not only will academic production be strengthened, but social trust, public coexistence and a shared vision for the future can also be rebuilt. Such a convergence would constitute not merely an intellectual enrichment but would also pave the way for a lasting transformation that enhances social resilience, strengthens a shared vision of the future, and places politics on a healthier foundation.
