Life in Balance: The Moderate Path in Islamic Tradition

Islamic tradition strongly recalls the principle of balance: never go too far to the right nor too far to the left. The Qur’an invites human beings to follow the ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm, the straight path, which coincides neither with the darkness of excess nor with the glare of ostentatious light, but with a posture of humility, awareness, and moderation. Balance is not neutrality, but constant discernment.

In the contemporary context, Islam sometimes appears transformed into a spectacular symbol: a “luxurious moon” illuminating cities through lavish architecture and immaculate outward signs. Yet, this apparent light contrasts with a reality marked by deep inequalities, where children without food or shoes embody an evident ethical contradiction. These opposites find no justification in authentic spirituality. When attention is truly directed toward the ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm, there is no need for noise, ostentation, or symbolic excess. Extremes, by their nature, are fragile: they produce momentary exaltation but generate destruction in the long term. In this sense, the contemporary city—with its lights, distractions, and spectacles—often stands in tension with the path toward God.

The distractions of the modern world can be understood as deaf chimerae: they seem to offer listening and meaning, but in reality they quickly turn elsewhere, continuing to dazzle other passersby. They do not accompany the individual, but consume them. For this reason, the fundamental call is directed to interiority: to look into one’s own heart and personally define which is the most just path. God has endowed human beings with intellect (ʿaql) precisely to discern, not to delegate judgment completely to external structures or social automatisms.

The path is not without falls. Falling off the path is part of the human experience; rising again is an act of spiritual responsibility. No one is perfect, but prolonged disorientation makes return more difficult. There are moments when the desire arises to abandon everything and flee; however, such thoughts are not absolute and do not merit blind trust. They must be observed, understood, and put into perspective.

In this dynamic, Sheytan represents the force of deviation: not so much through explicit negation, but through subtle confusion. He undermines inner security until it becomes unstable, inducing doubt about one’s own perception and choice. Islam, however, is neither a passing fashion nor an intermittent identity. Choosing it implies a continuous existential commitment: not a day yes and a day no, but throughout the entire span of life.

The greatest challenge does not consist in adhering to an algorithm, a single sura, or a visible symbol such as the hijab, but in remaining faithful to one’s inner choice. Islam, in this perspective, is a profound extension of being: a force that breaks deviations, unmasks deceptive intersections, and constantly calls back to the center. Not to the margin, not to excess, but to that point of balance in which the path toward God remains possible.