Exploring Spirituality in Islam: From Submission to Peace

In the first part of our exploration of Islam, we entered the cave of Hira in the Arabian desert, tracing the initial revelation believed to have been received by Muhammad. We followed the journey through Mecca and Medina, the Quran, the ummah, and the five pillars of Islam, asking, "What can humans submit to?"

The second part took us into the world after Muhammad's death, examining the lives of Abu Bakr, Umar, Uthman, Ali, Hussein, and the events of Karbala. We explored the Sunni and Shia divide, the Umayyad and Abbasid dynasties, and the rise of empires and civilizations. We also looked at how faith transformed into community and power, leading to the creation of a global knowledge civilization, as seen through the works of Al-Khwarizmi in mathematics, Ibn Sina in medicine, and Ibn Rushd in philosophy. We questioned, "What happens when faith in submission to God meets human power?"

Now, we arrive at the third and final part of our journey. It is time to return from the empire to the individual. We will explore the transition from the caliph's palace to the human heart, from law and institutions to spirituality, and from power to love. We will revisit the Quran to listen for voices on justice, freedom, mercy, life, and human diversity. We will engage with Sufis to understand what it means to love God beyond fear. After traversing colonialism, modernization, secularism, religious politics, women's rights, jihad, extremism, and even the AI of the 21st century, we will ultimately return to the thoughts of Dasok Yu Yong-mo from Korea.

At the end of this long journey, we pose the final question of our trilogy on Islam.

Does submission to God ultimately make humans more peaceful?
 
To understand Islam, one must return to the Quran. The Quran consists of 114 surahs, but it is not a single historical narrative from beginning to end. It contains teachings and stories about creation and judgment, prophets and humanity, faith and disbelief, justice and mercy, family and community, war and peace, poverty and wealth, death and the afterlife, unfolding in different times and contexts.

At its core lies one belief: Tawhid, the oneness of God.

Allah is one, and nothing can be placed alongside Him. Therefore, neither humans, money, power, nations, tribes, nor leaders can be absolute. This is not merely a theological assertion but a warning against human arrogance. Humans constantly elevate something to the place of God, absolutizing kings, nations, money, and their own thoughts. Today, there is a risk of absolutizing technology, science, and even human intelligence.

Tawhid speaks against all these human idols.

The absolute is not human.

At this point, the monotheistic faith of Islam enters the realm of spirituality.
 
Reading only the verses of war in the Quran may make it seem like a book of war, while selecting only the verses of mercy may present it as a book of compassion. Understanding scripture involves examining the entire context and the history of interpretation, not just isolating the sentences one wishes to see.

Among these, there is a particularly noteworthy verse for today's world. Quran 5:8 teaches that hatred towards certain people should not lead to unjust actions, and that acting justly is closer to piety.

It is relatively easy to be fair to friends. It is not difficult to be just to those who love us. But can we be just to those who hate us? Can we apply the same justice to our enemies? Can we remember that the opponent is human even in war?

If justice applies only to my side, it is not justice but partisanship. In this regard, this verse from the Quran directly confronts the truth, justice, and freedom that we have held onto in our exploration of "Spiritual Asia."

Justice is not a principle that applies only to those I like.

It becomes a principle only when it applies to enemies as well.

Another important verse is Quran 2:256, which states, "There is no compulsion in religion." However, it is essential to recognize that there have been differing views within traditional Islamic commentary and jurisprudence regarding the historical application of this verse and its relationship with other verses.

Nevertheless, this statement poses fundamental questions about the relationship between faith and coercion. While one can force a person's body, can one compel faith in their heart? If faith begins within a person, a fundamental tension must arise between coercion and belief.

This is a crucial question for today's religions. If I have the freedom of faith, then others must also have the freedom to believe in different religions, and from the perspective of modern universal freedom, the freedom not to believe in any religion must also be respected.

My freedom cannot be the only freedom.

Freedom becomes a principle only when it acknowledges the freedom of others.
 
Quran 49:13 is also worth reflecting on in today's multicultural and multi-religious world. It explains that humans were created as male and female and made into various nations and tribes so that they may know one another.

There is a remarkable paradox here. Humans easily make differences a reason for conflict. They fight because of different skin colors, ethnicities, languages, and religions, turning each other into enemies.

However, this verse does not call for the elimination of differences.

It calls for understanding one another.

True peace does not require everyone to become the same. We must be able to live together in our differences.

This aligns with the reason for exploring numerous religions in "Spiritual Asia." There is no need to turn Hinduism into Buddhism, Buddhism into Christianity, Christianity into Islam, or Islam into Confucianism.

Eliminating differences is not unity. Recognizing differences while striving for mutual understanding is unity.
 
Here, we must clarify a specific point in this manuscript: Quran 5:32.

Describing this verse simply as relating to the people of Israel may lead to misunderstandings about the modern state of Israel or its citizens. The original expression refers to "Bani Israel," or the "Children of Israel." This does not refer to the modern nation-state of Israel but speaks of norms given to the descendants of Israel in the Quranic and ancient religious context. Moreover, this verse follows the story of the murder of Adam's two sons, known in Islamic tradition as Habil and Qabil.

In this context, the Quran states that unjustly killing one life is akin to killing all of humanity, while saving one life is akin to saving all of humanity.

Thus, while it is important to be cautious about expanding this verse as a modern human rights clause declared by Islam, it is also clear that it powerfully expresses the weight of a single life.

Here, we consider one of the most fundamental criteria of religion.

Does religion save lives or take them?

The moment one kills in the name of God, humanity falls into the most terrifying contradiction. It destroys life in the name of the God who created life. Any religion that sanctifies violence must ask itself the most stringent questions.

Is this truly God's will, or is it merely human desire cloaked in the name of God?

Most surahs of the Quran begin with the phrase "In the name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful." Among the important names for Allah are "Ar-Rahman" and "Ar-Rahim," which embody mercy and compassion.

Yet, why do humans who believe in a merciful God fight each other?

This question is not unique to Islam. Why did Christians, who believe in the loving Jesus, engage in religious wars? Why has violence occurred in Buddhist societies that emphasize compassion? Why does class discrimination and oppression exist in Confucian societies that advocate benevolence?

The issue lies not only in what religion teaches.
It is about how humans live out those teachings.

Scripture can change humans, but humans can also use scripture to suit their desires.

Thus, the ultimate testing ground for all religions is not the text.

It is humanity.
 
As Islamic civilization expanded through empires, jurisprudence, philosophy, and science, another current deepened: Sufism. Sufism should not be thought of as a separate religion from Islam. It refers to various spiritual and mystical traditions that developed within Islam.

While external laws and rituals are important, is that enough? One can pray five times a day while being filled with greed, fast during Ramadan while being indifferent to the suffering of the poor, and pilgrimage to Mecca while harboring hatred for neighbors.

If so, how deep must faith go? It must reach the heart.

Sufis sought that path. They aimed to go beyond outward submission to God, seeking to love God deeply within their hearts, emptying their desires, and drawing closer to Him.

The path of Islam has moved from the outside in.

A key figure in early Sufi tradition is the 8th-century female mystic Rabi'a al-Adawiyya. The essence of the spirituality attributed to her is profound. It is not for the reward of heaven or fear of hell, but solely for the love of God that one loves God.

The motivation for faith rises above reward and fear to love.

Do we do good because it leads to heaven? Do we avoid evil because it leads to punishment? Or do we choose good simply because it is right?

When we ask not what God will give us, but how we will love God, religion transitions from transaction to spirituality.

The 11th-century Al-Ghazali is also a significant figure in Islamic intellectual history. Well-versed in jurisprudence and theology, and having deeply studied philosophy, he pondered whether one could reach inner conviction through knowledge and fame alone. He sought to connect external knowledge with internal spirituality.

Knowing and living are different.

Explaining God logically is different from transforming oneself before God. Becoming a scholar of religion does not automatically make one a spiritual person, just as reading the Bible does not automatically make one loving, nor does knowing the Quran make one compassionate.

Al-Ghazali's concern ultimately converges on one question.

Has knowledge changed me?

We encounter again the question posed in the story of Judaism. What is knowledge for? It must lead from knowledge to wisdom.
 
Then, in the 13th century, Jalal ad-Din Rumi emerged. Today, Rumi is one of the most widely read poets beyond the Islamic world, but he should not be viewed merely as a modern "healing poet" transcending religion. His thoughts and poetry are deeply rooted in the Quran, Muhammad, Islamic faith, and Sufi tradition.

Yet, his language transcends boundaries. He constantly sings of the relationship between the lover and the beloved, humanity and God, the self and the transcendent. For Rumi, love is not a sentimental emotion. It is an event of breaking the self, a force that moves humanity away from the self-centered "I" towards a greater existence.

Thus, the term "submission" that began in the first part of our exploration gains new meaning here.

It is not about submitting to the strong. It is about letting go of the self in the face of love. When submission meets love, it becomes spirituality.
 
One of the most misunderstood terms related to Islam in the modern world is "jihad." Jihad is often directly translated as "holy war," but its meaning and historical usage are much more complex. Essentially, it means to strive and struggle, and in Islamic tradition, it has been used in various contexts, from moral and spiritual struggles to armed conflict to protect faith.

Therefore, equating jihad solely with terrorism is inaccurate, just as it is incorrect to erase the fact that jihad has been used in the context of armed struggle in Islamic history.

We must see both light and shadow. That is fundamental, principled, and common sense.

From the perspective of today's spirituality, a more important question is: Who is the most difficult opponent to fight? Is it others, or is it the greed, hatred, arrogance, and violence within oneself?

One can conquer the world while losing to oneself.

Thus, the most challenging battle may indeed be the battle within oneself.
 
With the advent of modernity, the Islamic world experienced a tremendous shock. The European Industrial Revolution, advancements in science and technology, military power, and capitalism transformed the global order, and many Islamic regions fell under colonial rule or strong political influence from European powers.

"Why have we fallen behind?"

This question shook the intellectuals of the Islamic world. Some argued for the active adoption of Western science and systems, while others called for a return to the original spirit of Islam, and still others sought to harmonize Islam with modernity.

After the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, the emergence of nation-states brought new questions regarding the relationship between secularism and Islamic political thought. What role should religion play in the state? How should Sharia relate to modern law? Can democracy coexist with Islam? How can religious tradition and individual freedom be harmonized?

These questions remain unresolved.

When discussing Islam and women, simplistic conclusions can be dangerous. The Islamic world is not a monolithic society. The histories, laws, social status of women, and cultures of Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Iran, Central Asia, and North Africa differ significantly.

Some perspectives highlight the aspects of the historical context of 7th-century Arabia, where the Quran codified certain legal rights for women, such as property rights and inheritance, while others seek to critique and reinterpret some aspects of Islamic law and practice from the perspective of contemporary universal gender equality standards.

Here, too, it is essential to distinguish between scripture and human interpretation. What is the essence of religion? What is the culture of a specific era? What are practices that have been solidified in the name of religion by a male-dominated society?

These questions are not unique to Islam. Similar inquiries can be posed to Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, and Confucianism.

Respecting tradition does not mean repeating everything from the past. A living tradition must be able to question itself.

Entering the 21st century, Islam has often been associated with images of terrorism and extremism. However, equating the vast Muslim population and 1400 years of Islamic civilization with violent extremist groups is neither factual nor sensible.

At the same time, we must not ignore the reality that violence has occurred in the name of religion.

The important thing is to make distinctions.

We must differentiate between the religion of Islam and movements that politically exploit Islam, between the ordinary Muslim's faith and violent extremism, and between legitimate criticism and hatred towards religion.

The foundation of journalism lies in making distinctions.

The moment everything is lumped together, facts disappear, and prejudice begins.
 
Now, we return to the initial question. The term "Islam" is connected to the meaning of entrusting oneself to God and submission, sharing a linguistic root with "salam," or peace.

However, just because the linguistic roots are the same does not guarantee peace in reality.

One can claim to submit to God while blindly submitting to human power, or call their revenge justice while speaking of God's justice, or take away another's freedom in the name of God.

So, where is true submission proven?

It is in how one treats those weaker than oneself. It is in how one interacts with those of different faiths. It is in how one responds to critics. It is in how one uses power when one has it.

The Quran's admonition not to forsake justice due to animosity and its assertion that various nations and tribes exist to know one another intersect with this question.

Peace does not merely mean the absence of enemies. It is the ability to apply justice even to those we consider enemies.

And humanity now possesses another immense power: AI.

Currently, there is no basis to claim that AI possesses faith or spirituality in the same way that religious humans do. However, humans who create AI are not free from moral choices. Whose data will be used? Who will benefit? Who will be monitored? What biases will be learned or reduced? To what extent will life-and-death decisions in war be entrusted to machines? How will human jobs and dignity be protected?

The issues of the AI era are technological problems, but ultimately they are human problems.

Here, the questions of Islam from 1400 years ago resurface. Are humans the absolute masters of the power they possess?
Or are they beings who must be accountable for that power?

We cannot equate Tawhid with the ethics of technology in the AI era. However, we can derive a question from that spirit.

Will humans make their creations into idols?

Just because AI can process more information and make faster judgments than humans does not mean it should be absolutized, nor should the humans who created AI be considered absolute. Human intelligence can err, human desires can be dangerous, and human power can corrupt.

Therefore, what is needed in the AI era is not just stronger intelligence. It is wisdom to determine where that intelligence will be applied.

Thus, human-centered AI (HAI) is crucial. Technology must exist for the benefit of humanity and must not infringe upon human dignity and rights.

However, we must take a step further.

If humanity itself is consumed by greed and hatred, is "human-centered" sufficient? Is AI that more efficiently satisfies human desires truly for the benefit of humanity?

Thus, we can consider the direction of spirituality-centered AI (SAI).

This does not mean inputting the doctrines of a specific religion into AI. It is not about creating Christian AI, Buddhist AI, or Islamic AI. It is about embedding values greater than humanity, such as the dignity of life, moderation and responsibility, sharing and peace, and accountability to future generations and nature, into the direction of technology.

Not everything that can be done should be done. Not everything that can be possessed should be possessed. Not everyone who can win should destroy their opponent.

The stronger one becomes, the more moderation is needed. That is spirituality.
 
In the final part of the Islamic trilogy, we again encounter Dasok Yu Yong-mo. Dasok studied Christianity deeply but also engaged with Buddhist, Confucian, and Taoist thought, seeking to connect Eastern and Western spirituality in the language of Koreans.

He distinguished between "jena" and "eolna" within humanity. Jena is the self that clings to desire, possession, honor, and power, placing itself at the center of the world, while eolna is the true self that rises towards greater truth and life, transcending such self-centeredness.

We should not equate the Allah of Islam with Dasok's "Hana" theologically, nor should we conflate the divine love of Sufism with Dasok's eolna as the same religious concept.

However, different paths can meet in one question.

Can humans transcend themselves?

Muhammad urged humility before God. Sufis sought to empty the self and love God, while Rumi sang of the breaking of the narrow self in love. Dasok called for rising to eolna beyond jena.

They are not the same religion. They do not speak the same doctrine.

However, they can begin a dialogue on the point that humans should not absolutize their desires and arrogance.

This is the unity that "Spiritual Asia" seeks. It is not a unity that eliminates differences but a unity that acknowledges differences while delving into deeper human questions.
 
Now, we return to the three words we have held onto from the beginning.

Truth, justice, freedom.

Truth is not distorting facts, justice is applying the same standards to both my side and the other side, and freedom is recognizing not only my freedom but also the freedom of others.

When these three coexist, peace becomes possible.

Peace without truth can become a false silence, peace without justice can become the maintenance of oppression, and peace without freedom can become forced submission.

Therefore, true peace does not merely mean the absence of conflict. It is an order where truth, justice, and freedom coexist.

Now, let us reflect on the Islamic trilogy.

In the first part, we encountered Muhammad, Hira, Mecca, Medina, the Quran, and the five pillars, asking, "What can humans submit to?"

In the second part, we followed the caliphs and Ali, Hussein and Karbala, Sunni and Shia, Umayyad and Abbasid, and the knowledge civilization of Baghdad, asking, "What happens when faith in submission to God meets human power?"

In the third part, we returned to the Quran to examine issues of justice, freedom, diversity, and life, traversing Sufism, Rabi'a, Al-Ghazali, Rumi, modern Islam, women's rights, extremism, and the AI era.

Now, we pose the final question.

"Does submission to God ultimately make humans more peaceful?"

The answer will not be given solely in the words of scripture. One does not automatically become a peaceful person by bearing the name of Islam, nor does one become a loving person by being a Christian, nor does one become a compassionate person by being a Buddhist, nor does one become a virtuous person by reading Confucian texts.

The truth of religion is revealed not in names but in life.

If one bows five times a day while ruling over others, what does that prayer mean? If one fasts during Ramadan while being indifferent to the hungry neighbor, what does that fasting mean? If one makes a pilgrimage to Mecca while harboring hatred for those of different faiths, what does that pilgrimage mean? If one recites the Quran while forsaking justice, what does that recitation mean?

Ultimately, everything returns to humanity.

Can the act of bowing before God lead to humility before others? Can believing in God's mercy lead to showing mercy to the weak? Can believing in God's justice lead to being just even to enemies? Can confessing that God is one lead to seeing different humans as one humanity?

Only then can submission lead to peace.

Abraham departed. Moses walked towards freedom. Jesus spoke of love. Muhammad urged humanity to lay down their arrogance before one God. And the Sufis sought to enter the human heart, moving beyond fear of God to the depths of love.

Yet, 21st-century humanity stands before immense powers once again: the power of money, the power of the state, the power of military might, the power of science, and the new intelligence of AI.

Power is growing. But is humanity becoming wiser? Information is increasing. But is humanity becoming more truthful? Weapons are becoming stronger. But is humanity becoming more peaceful? AI is becoming smarter. But is humanity becoming more humane?

Thus, the long journey of spirituality in Southwest Asia, which began with the story of Judaism, passed through Christianity, and arrived at Islam, ultimately converges into one sentence.

From knowledge to wisdom, from wealth to sharing, from power to responsibility, from arrogance to humility, from intelligence to spirituality.

And Islam adds one final word to this.
From submission to peace.

This submission must not be blind obedience to human power. It must be moderation that does not absolutize one's desires and arrogance. In Dasok's words, it should be a path that rises to eolna rather than endlessly nurturing jena, and the AI we create must not be a machine that infinitely amplifies human greed but a tool that protects humanity, life, culture, and nature.

This is the final destination that "Spiritual Asia" has reached through the long path of Islam.

The story that began in the cave of Hira has traveled through Mecca and Medina, Damascus and Baghdad, and entered the tranquil heart of Sufism, passing through the love of Rabi'a, the reflections of Al-Ghazali, and the spirituality of Rumi, ultimately standing before humanity in the age of AI.

In the first part of the Islamic story, we asked,

What can humans submit to?

In the second part, we asked,

What happens when faith in submission to God meets human power?

And in the third part, we finally ask,

Does submission to God ultimately make humans more peaceful?

The answer will not lie solely in the letters of the Quran. It will not be found in the height of mosques, the number of believers, or the power of states.

It will lie in how one human treats another.

Is one just to those of different faiths? Does one recognize the dignity of those who hate them? When one has power, do they protect the weak? When one has wealth, do they share? When one has knowledge, do they save lives?

And can one speak of God while loving humanity?

The long journey of Islam, which began in the desert, ultimately returns to the human heart. If one confesses that God is one while endlessly dividing humanity, then the journey is not yet complete. Only when one can lay down the desire to rule over others by lowering oneself before God can submission become humility, humility become mercy, and mercy become peace.

From arrogance to humility, from power to responsibility, from law to spirituality, from jena to eolna, and finally from submission to peace.

This is the final path of the Islamic trilogy.

And perhaps it is the path humanity must walk again today.



* This article has been translated by AI.

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