Becoming Like God: A Practical Guide

Some readers may flinch at a title like “Becoming Like God.” It can sound impossible—even offensive—because it seems to cross a sacred boundary.

Yet across religious history, the idea is presented in many forms, not as a claim to divinity, but as a call to divine likeness: holiness, mercy, restraint, and self-mastery.

A shared Theme Across Traditions

One of the clearest examples of a religion that explicitly engages this concept is Latter-day Saint theology. The theme is stated plainly: through exaltation, faithful people may ultimately become like God.

A Church publication describes this human “divine potential” in striking words: people are children of God “in a full and complete sense,” “divine in origin, nature, and potential.” According to their beliefs, they could become gods and creators—not only sharing divine qualities, but also gaining the power to create. We can see this as one of the strongest examples of this idea.

Other traditions express a similar aspiration in different language. In Buddhism, practitioners seek to cultivate qualities associated with the Buddha and, through discipline and insight, aim for Nirvana—freedom from this material world and the attainment of enlightenment.

This links to another lecture of Aba Al-Sadiq. You can also try to find out online about the possibility of other creators.

What Scripture, Tradition, and Discipline Teach

What about other faiths, like Christians and Muslims? The Bible speaks to the same aspiration, but in a more veiled way, through character and transformation, with the invitation:

“Be holy… for I am holy.” (Bible, Book of Leviticus, 19:2)

And Jesus presses the standard higher:

“Be perfect… as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Bible, Book of Matthew, 5:48)

The journey is not about becoming God in essence, but becoming godlike in conduct—a life shaped by the Highest.

That is why the body cannot be ignored. The soul does not bloom in a vacuum; it grows within a human vessel. Scripture ties spiritual formation to appetite. The Psalm declares:

“You are ‘gods’… sons of the Most High.” (Bible, Book of Psalm, 82:6)

and Jesus redirects attention to evidence—works, not slogans:

“Do not believe me unless I do the works of my Father.” (Bible, Book of John, 10:37)

We have to take care of these human vessels and, at the same time, find time to know God, to praise Him, and to become more holy, as the scriptures invite us to do.

When Jesus begins his ministry, he begins with chosen hunger: forty days of fasting, then temptation, then clarity (Matthew 4:1–2). Food sits close to the human heart because desire sits close to the human heart. To train one is to train the other.

The Qur’an echoes the same balance with one line that cuts through excess:

“Eat and drink, but do not waste.” (Qur’an, 7:31)

And the Prophet Mohammed gave a practical measure against overeating: one-third for food, one-third for drink, and one-third for breath.

In the lecture of Aba Al-Sadiq, these teachings become a map: lessen attachment to the body, and the spirit rises—not by rejecting the body, but by ruling it, and by doing so gaining the elevation of the soul.

Many religions speak—each in its own dialect—about a single ascent: rising toward divine likeness. Different roads, one horizon, one God. Beneath the theology lies a shared intuition: God is constant, and it is the human being who must change—until the soul begins to carry a trace of holiness. The practical steps have a huge impact if we decide to follow them.

“How can ‘rest’ apply to the Creator?” Genesis says God “rested” on the seventh day (Genesis 2:2). Yet the cosmos does not feel like a finished machine; it feels vast, living, unfolding. So the question is not whether God grows tired, but what we project onto God when we hear the word “rest.” In the lecture of Aba Al-Sadiq, this question becomes a doorway: he points to the possibility that the maker of this “matrix” is not the Absolute God Himself. Think about it. If the universe stops, it will collapse; even your own body never really rests. Even when you are sleeping, it is restoring your cells and cleaning. Through the circadian cycle, you release different hormones, such as growth hormone, and regain balance that makes sleep a necessary part of our life. It even helps reduce stress and can support a longer life.

Then the mirror turns toward us. The real battlefield is not in heaven—it is within the human self that clings to the material world. There is a lower self—nafs—that wants to consume, to take, to satisfy: the stomach, the will, the desires. The body is not evil; it is part of our test and can help our purification, but it can become an anchor when it rules the soul.

History repeats the pattern on a grand scale. Empires rise with discipline and purpose, and they decay when craving becomes culture—when rulers serve pleasure instead of people, and restraint becomes a joke. Even Rome, once radiant with roads, law, and order, is remembered not only for its glory but for the shadow of excess: banquets and spectacles that became a symbol—whether fully fair or not—of a civilization losing its inner rule before it lost its outer walls. And decline is rarely sudden. It is usually slow—transgression by transgression—as the physical self is fed and the inner self is neglected.

In the lecture, the hunger of the belly was described as “the greatest evil,” the leader that pulls other evils behind it. That may sound like hyperbole, but the warning is not new; it has roots in a book considered sacred by many. Then, when we read the sayings of the Prophet Mohammed, we find:

"A human being fills no worse vessel than his stomach. It is sufficient for a human being to eat a few mouthfuls to keep his spine straight. But if he must (fill it), then one third for food, one third for drink, and one third for air.” (Sunan Ibn Majah 3349, Book 29, Hadith 99)

Part of the food industry focuses more on flavors than on nutrition, so governments in different countries are creating rules and regulations to avoid misleading propaganda. But if human beings do not control themselves, it doesn’t matter how much you restrict propaganda or inform people about the dangers.

In a society filled with junk food, it becomes part and parcel of an always-busy consumer society—always rushing, with little time or interest in spiritual life, in others, or in God. We have seen this before. Cigarette packages carry graphic images and clear warnings, and still people keep buying them. Contradiction becomes a normal habit—exactly the kind of cognitive dissonance I explored in a previous article: knowing the harm yet choosing it anyway.

The benefits of moderation have been taught by various religions, including those presented in the lecture of Aba Al-Sadiq. The Prophet Mohammed also taught that eating little leads to an easier reckoning. The Qur’an and the Bible contain many references to the spiritual value of fasting, and in the time of Mohammed, fasting was established as an important part of the religion. Buddha reminds us of the importance of the Middle Way, avoiding both extremes.

That is why moderation is not merely “healthy.” Across religions, it is treated as spiritual training. In the lecture of Aba Al-Sadiq, the message is consistent: discipline lightens the heart. In Islam, fasting is not an accessory to faith—it is a pillar of spiritual formation. The Bible repeatedly highlights fasting as a path of humility and purification. And in Buddhism, the Middle Way warns against both indulgence and self-destruction, insisting that wisdom grows where extremes are refused.

In India, sages teach disciplined awareness. The Bhagavad Gita ties spiritual success in yoga to moderation: yoga is not for one who “eats too much or too little,” nor for one who sleeps too much or too little (Bhagavad Gita 6:16–17). It also links the practice to a “controlled mind and body,” describing meditative discipline in seclusion as a classic road to inner realization.

Indigenous traditions honor alignment with the natural order. Greek philosophers such as Plato and Socrates emphasize self-mastery and virtue. And Prophet Mohammed calls humanity to restraint, purification, and accountability.

One of the key pathways toward nearness to God is knowledge. Throughout history, knowledge has sometimes been preserved carefully within institutions or sacred spaces. Certain traditions maintain restricted teachings, accessible only through specific rites or preparation—for example, in the temples of the Latter-day Saints. In some cases, access may be limited because individuals are considered unprepared. In other cases, one may question whether access is intentionally restricted. Maybe some people just do not want to give you the knowledge because they do not want you to achieve certain goals. As Jesus said,

“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” (Bible, Book of John, 8:32)

Yet a distinctive feature of this teaching is its openness: it offers references to multiple traditions, encouraging deeper exploration rather than limiting inquiry.

When practical steps are presented—moderation in food, disciplined exercise, and control of appetite—they may appear simple. But as a physician, I have observed how deeply people become attached to their habits: their eating patterns, their sedentary routines, their resistance to change. Some patients see the doctor primarily as a provider of medication that will solve all medical issues without the need for personal transformation—as if taking a pill were sufficient. Yet the human body is far more complex.

Modern culture reinforces this attachment. We live in a world that constantly invites consumption. Restaurants promote challenges that reward excess: “Eat all you can.” “Eat for free if you consume a certain amount.” Online personalities compete in displays of speed-eating and indulgence. Excess is not merely tolerated—it is celebrated on social media.

History offers symbolic parallels. Rome is often remembered not only for its architectural and legal brilliance, but also for imagery of decadence and excess. Whether fully accurate or partly symbolic, the metaphor persists: civilizations weaken when appetite replaces discipline.

Banquets became a symbol of excess and status. Throughout history, we can see this clearly in the Roman elite: eating was not only nutrition but a social ritual. In the triclinium, diners often reclined on couches—a physical posture that signaled rank, leisure, and prestige.

As archaeologist Michael MacKinnon notes, Roman dinner parties were a way for the aristocracy to display wealth and social standing through presentation, rare ingredients, and spectacle. Meals could last for hours, so they could eat, rest, and continue eating, with guests reclining while servants served, swept away scraps, and maintained the atmosphere of luxury.

Women’s participation also reflected social boundaries. In earlier periods, Roman women often sat upright on chairs while men reclined; later, especially in imperial elite settings, some women also reclined.

This contrast—luxury meals as status displays while many others simply ate to survive—has repeated across different eras of history. And when we contrast it with our world today, the issue is not only physical illness; excess can also harm us spiritually. As Imam Ja’far Al-Sadiq said:

“Nothing harms the believer’s heart more than overeating; it produces two things: hardness of the heart and the stirring of lust.” (Al-Kafi, Al-Shaikh Al-Kulayni Vol. 6, p. 269)

In contrast, moderation is often viewed with suspicion—dismissed as restrictive, joyless, or extreme. Yet across civilizations, moderation has consistently been framed not as deprivation, but as strength.

When Moderation Fails: Chronic Overconsumption and Its Health Consequences

One important aspect to consider is that the Prophet Mohammed linked eating less with an easier reckoning. The moral and the physical were never separated in his teaching.

Modern medical research appears to echo this connection. The 2020 Lancet Commission on Dementia Prevention, Intervention, and Care identified obesity, diabetes, physical inactivity, smoking, hypertension, depression, low social contact, and limited education among major modifiable risk factors associated with dementia.

In other words, chronic excess and lifestyle imbalance are not merely spiritual concerns—they are medical ones.

When these findings are examined alongside the teachings of Aba Al-Sadiq, interesting parallels emerge. Obesity is strongly associated with overeating; physical inactivity is another major factor, and both will be analyzed later in this article. The convergence between spiritual discipline and metabolic health becomes difficult to ignore.

In addition, the teachings of Ahmed Al-Hassan explicitly prohibit smoking, which modern medicine clearly identifies as harmful. The Lancet Commission likewise lists smoking as a significant risk factor for cognitive decline. Aba Al-Sadiq has also emphasized the importance of social connection, while contemporary research identifies social isolation and low social contact as risk factors for dementia. Loneliness is not only emotional—it carries measurable biological consequences.

Further evidence appears in diabetes research. A pooled analysis published in The Lancet Diabetes & Endocrinology (2016) demonstrated that type 2 diabetes is associated with a significantly increased risk of developing dementia.

Even more striking are the findings of the DiRECT trial (Lean et al., 2018), published in The Lancet. This open-label, cluster-randomized study examined individuals diagnosed with type 2 diabetes within the previous six years and with a body-mass index between 27–45 kg/m². Participants who achieved a weight loss of approximately 15 kg showed remarkable outcomes: 46% of those in the intervention group achieved remission of diabetes, compared with only 4% in the control group.

The implication is profound: metabolic disease, often assumed to be irreversible, may in many cases be significantly improved through disciplined weight reduction.

For me, as a physician, this is particularly striking. For years I have explained to patients that lifestyle change is foundational—not optional. Yet many people expect medicine alone to resolve conditions rooted in long-term habits.

There is sometimes an assumption that religious belief belongs to the realm of myth, while medicine belongs to evidence. But when viewed carefully, the two are not always in opposition. What spiritual traditions frame as moderation and restraint, medicine increasingly describes as risk reduction and metabolic regulation.

The language differs. The warning converges.

Physical Discipline and Intellectual Elevation

To cultivate the mind and expand our understanding is, as we have seen, an essential goal in seeking harmony with the Perfect One. Some traditions speak of God “resting,” yet the universe itself does not pause: atoms vibrate, planets orbit, hearts beat, neurons fire. If even for a moment this movement ceased, we would not be here to read these words.

Plato understood this principle. In The Republic (Book III, 410c–412a), he argued that education must harmonize gymnastic training and intellectual cultivation, warning that devotion to one alone produces imbalance in the soul. Too much physical training without philosophy breeds harshness; too much intellectual refinement without bodily discipline breeds weakness. Harmony, for Plato, required both.

The principle of balance can be observed even in nature. Horses run, wolves hunt, birds migrate, swans glide, butterflies move from flower to flower. Motion is not disorder; it is structure in action. From the smallest atomic interactions to the vast movement of galaxies, the cosmos operates through regulated activity.

Modern neuroscience increasingly supports this ancient insight. Regular physical exercise has been associated with improvements in executive function, mood regulation, and cognitive performance. A landmark randomized controlled trial published in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences (Erickson et al., 2011) demonstrated that aerobic exercise training increased hippocampal volume by approximately 2% in older adults, effectively reversing one to two years of age-related loss. The hippocampus, a structure essential for memory, typically declines in late adulthood and is implicated in dementia risk.

In that study, 120 older adults without dementia were randomly assigned either to an aerobic exercise group or to a stretching control group. Magnetic resonance imaging revealed that aerobic exercise selectively increased the volume of the anterior hippocampus, accompanied by measurable improvements in memory performance.

Further research supports these findings. Meta-analyses indicate that physical activity increases levels of brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF), a protein central to neuroplasticity and neuronal survival. Systematic reviews also associate regular exercise with improved executive function and a reduced risk of cognitive decline.

While causation in complex diseases must be interpreted carefully, the convergence is striking. What Plato described as harmony between gymnastic and reason now finds measurable correlates in neurobiology.

For us, this harmony is not merely philosophical. Plato is regarded in our tradition as one of the unknown prophets, and the integration of body and intellect forms part of a prophetic lineage of wisdom. The teachings of Aba Al-Sadiq revive and illuminate these principles, showing that what appears ancient is not obsolete, but enduring.

The language of prophecy speaks of balance and self-mastery. The language of neuroscience speaks of hippocampal volume and BDNF expression. Yet both point toward the same truth: disciplined movement strengthens not only the body, but the mind.

Discipline as Devotion: Where Traditions Converge

We can see many religious traditions converging on a single discipline: lowering desire so that the inner life becomes more audible. In the speech of Aba Al-Sadiq, numerous texts and traditions are cited—so if you listen attentively, you find an ocean of knowledge.

Even if your interest is only wellbeing, the evidence is broad. Fasting and moderation have been associated with improved metabolic regulation: reducing insulin spikes, improving glucose tolerance, supporting weight loss, and lowering risk factors linked to cardiovascular disease. Some studies also suggest links between metabolic health and cognitive outcomes such as memory and dementia risk—areas we have reviewed earlier in this article.

To summarize just a few examples, we can find this pattern across many religions.

Latter-day Saints observe Fast Sunday (usually the first Sunday of each month), abstaining from food and drink for two meals and giving a fast offering to help those in need—stepping away from worldly appetite in order to remember God and serve others.

In Islam, Ramadan is a month of fasting from dawn until sunset, paired with prayer, reflection, Qur’an recitation, and a strong emphasis on charity and moral restraint. Seeking nearness to God through worship, remembrance, and self-discipline.

In Hinduism, Navratri is a nine-day season of devotion in which many people pray and fast, often simplifying the diet (commonly vegetarian/sattvic) as a form of spiritual cleansing and focus.

In Buddhism, Uposatha observances often emphasize sermons and meditation; many lay practitioners take additional precepts, including refraining from eating after noon, to support inner clarity and discipline.

If we want to understand the roots of depression, psychology also points to rumination—repetitive negative overthinking—as a factor strongly associated with depressive symptoms across studies. This is one reason many traditions value stillness, mindfulness, and training attention.

The complete picture, then, is balance across the whole human being: discipline the body, avoid the excesses of this life, and draw nearer to God not only by words but by actions—especially by abstaining from what weakens the heart and traps us in purely material concerns. When the body’s grip is loosened, the soul can rise. Light flows best where there is less resistance.

Inactivity and sedentary living can become another form of drift; many traditions respond with movement (for example, yoga in Hindu contexts) and with meditation to calm the mind. When the body is governed and the mind is steadied, we become more receptive to knowledge—and more capable of living it.

There is a saying attributed to the Prophet Mohammed that captures the spirit of this path:

“Whoever frequently glorifies and praises God, and keeps his food, drink, and sleep to little—the angels long for his company.” (Tanbih al-Khawatir, 2/116)

This world will always offer you something—another craving, another purchase, another distraction. But the clean cup is not the one that is endlessly filled; it is the one kept pure enough to hold light.

Information gives you power only if you apply it. Will you apply it?