Whose Slave Are You, Really?
A Reflection on Money, Slavery, and Divine Servitude
In spirituality, and particularly in Islam, money is one of the trickiest realities. It has the potential to do immense good—and yet it is also one of the greatest idols ever created by human beings. We live in a world where money buys things, opens doors, and secures futures. But we also live in a world where people are willing to betray, exploit, and dehumanize for the sake of money. In that sense, money itself has become one of the oldest and most persistent forms of enslavement in human history.
This brings us to a deeply sensitive topic: slavery in Islam.
As a little girl, I was revolted by the idea of slavery. I would read everything I could about it, and films like Roots, Amistad, and 12 Years a Slave etched their imagery into my mind. I couldn’t fathom how a human being could chain, buy, or sell another. So, naturally, when I began to read the Qur’an and encountered verses about slavery, I struggled. I wanted to skip over those parts. But I knew that wasn’t how one engages with the Qur’an—not if it’s truly a conversation.
Let’s return to the time of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). Slavery was widespread in Arabia, but unlike the racial slavery popularized through the transatlantic trade, it was not based on skin color. Slaves came from various backgrounds, including Abyssinia (Ethiopia), Arabia, and beyond. In fact, among the earliest Muslims were slaves—like Bilāl (RA)—and even some of the Prophet’s own family ties included former slaves. Sayyiduna Zayd ibn Harithah, for example, was so beloved by the Prophet ﷺ that he was adopted and given the name Zayd ibn Muhammad before adoption was later redefined in Islamic law. One of the Prophet’s wives, Mariyah al-Qibtiyyah, was gifted to him and later freed. And of course, Yusuf (AS), the Prophet Joseph, was sold into slavery despite being a Prophet himself.
Slavery in Islam was not racial, and the Prophet’s mission gradually eroded the institution by encouraging the freeing of slaves at every opportunity—making it an act of worship, a kaffārah (expiation), and a path to nearness to Allah.
But we must ask ourselves: what is slavery, really?
In essence, it is when one human being becomes the property of another—entirely under their stewardship. Not necessarily chained or beaten, but dependent. In that sense, slavery is not gone. It simply changed its form. In the modern era, the new slave master is often money—and the structures we build around it.
Look at social media. Some began their journey online out of joy, healing, or self-expression. But the moment monetization entered the picture, we began to see egos inflating, souls corrupting. The platform became a performance. Passion became product. And sincerity was sacrificed to strategy. The same transformation occurs in every domain that gets “monetized.”
This includes jobs.
Let’s be honest. A job is often a form of modern slavery. You are trading your most precious, non-renewable resource—your time—in exchange for money. Not for love, not for Allah, not for growth. For survival. For validation. For control. And in that transaction, your autonomy slips away. Some jobs dictate when you eat, when you use the restroom, when you speak, when you think. Some bosses want your presence, even if they don’t need your productivity. You become a tool in someone else’s toolbox.
This is not to shame work. Work can be noble. But the power dynamics and spiritual consequences of our workplace culture are rarely acknowledged. Many of us unconsciously transition from being slaves of Allah to slaves of our bosses, slaves of status, slaves of the paycheck.
But here’s the critical distinction: we are all slaves. The only question is—whose slave are you?
As Muslims, we are taught that we are ʿibād—slaves or servants—of Allah. It’s not a metaphor. It’s a fact. And it used to bother me. Until I realized: if I must be a slave, I would rather be the slave of al-Rahmān, the Most Merciful. The slave of al-Razzāq, the One Who provides. The slave of al-Wadūd, the Most Loving. Not the slave of a system that profits from my fatigue, or a man who doesn’t care for my soul.
In Senegal, even today, some so-called noble families still have people under their care known as jam. These relationships can be toxic—but many of them are built on trust, protection, and mutual responsibility. The master provides, and the servant responds. If abused, the master is accountable to Allah. This stewardship model helps us rethink slavery not as cruelty, but as responsibility.
The discomfort with the word “slave” often comes from being conditioned by media, not revelation. We weren’t there to see the full historical context—but we inherited trauma, bias, and ideology. The Qur’an is not the problem. The lens through which we read it is. And when something in the Qur’an disturbs you, pause. Don’t scroll past. Contemplate. Ask: is this my resistance, or is this truth?
قُلْ إِنَّ صَلَاتِي وَنُسُكِي وَمَحْيَايَ وَمَمَاتِي لِلَّهِ رَبِّ الْعَالَمِينَ
Say, “Indeed, my prayer, my rites of sacrifice, my living and my dying are for Allah, Lord of the worlds.”
— Surah Al-Anʿām (6:162)
Islam is not oppression. It is freedom—freedom acquired through complete and loving submission to the One who owns us already. Submission to Allah is not a downgrade. It is the highest status a soul can attain.
So again, we must choose: Do I want to be the slave of the Master of the universe? Or do I want to be the slave of His slave?
I choose the Master.
And that choice… is Islam.