This weekend, I visited Mount Nemrut in Adıyaman.

Although the word Nemrut is defined in our national dictionaries as “arrogant” or “cruel,” I learned that in the local dialect it means “king.” With its commanding height over the entire region and the magnificent tomb-sanctuary at its peak, the mountain truly deserves that title twice over.

When I heard the story of King Antiochus I of Commagene, the ruler buried there, who once tried to create his own religion uniting gods and humans, I found myself wondering:

If someone today who identifies as religious were to hear this story, would they ever consider that all religions might have begun in a similar way? And if not, why not?

These questions echoed in my mind as the mountain wind whispered between the colossal stone statues.

Later, I learned that many of these ancient treasures were sold to other countries during the final years of the Ottoman Empire. It didn’t feel like mere ignorance of historical value to me. Perhaps, people simply didn’t want others to hear the story of a king who once created his own faith.

Then I recalled the museums I’ve visited abroad. I realized that none of them truly captured the right atmosphere, the aura. Anatolia itself, I believe, is the greatest and most magnificent museum on Earth. And museum lovers, too, deserve the right to experience every culture within its own soil. The business side of it, management, ownership, and trade, can always be resolved through, international agreements.

But the story of that king and his invented faith can only be truly felt there: at dawn, in the cold air after hours of driving, climbing a steep path among the crowds, sweating as you balance on the edge of a cliff, until you finally reach those mighty statues of gods and watch, despite everything, the sun rise once more.