South Korean daily warns of religion being invoked as justification for severe measures and the use of state coercion against religion deemed by Lee administration as undesirable


If we translated a headline in the South Korean daily Segye Ilbo 12th January it would say, “A Dangerous Moment: Undermining State Authority in the Name of Religion”. This headline does not mean that religion itself is attacking the state. Rather, it implies that religion is being invoked as justification (“in the name of religion”), to influence, pressure, or destabilize state authority.
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On 12th January 2026, a piece of news emerged from South Korea that, at first glance, might have seemed routine: the president hosted a luncheon at the Blue House (the South Korean equivalent of the White House), inviting senior leaders from various religious communities. Such meetings are not unusual in Korea, where religious organizations ‒ Buddhist, Protestant, Catholic, and others ‒ have long played visible roles in social welfare, moral discourse, and public life.


Religious affairs reporter Jeong Seong-su, authored the opinion piece. According to him, what transpired at this meeting, as reported by the press, raised deeply unsettling questions about the boundaries between religion and state power in a democratic society. As stated in the media reports, prominent religious leaders jointly identified specific religious organizations as “pseudo-religions”, characterized them as socially harmful, and formally urged the government to dissolve them and confiscate their assets. Even more alarming was the president’s reported response: an expression of sympathy with these demands, coupled with the remark that the damage caused by such groups had been “left unattended for far too long”.
If these accounts are accurate, South Korea now faces a profoundly serious constitutional and democratic dilemma ‒ one that resonates far beyond its borders.
Jeong emphasizes that in a democratic republic, religion does not stand above the state, nor does it function as a judicial authority. Religious leaders may offer moral guidance, ethical reflection, or social criticism, but they do not possess the legitimate power to declare organizations illegal, to issue verdicts, or to demand punishment. Those functions belong exclusively to the legal system, operating through established procedures, evidence, and due process.

If a particular group ‒ religious or otherwise ‒ has committed crimes, it is the responsibility of prosecutors and courts to investigate, judge, and, if necessary, punish wrongdoing. When religious figures publicly label a group a “social harm” and demand its dissolution and the seizure of its property, they step beyond moral counsel and into the realm of quasi-judicial judgment. When the head of the executive branch appears to endorse such language, the issue ceases to be an internal debate within religious circles and becomes a matter of constitutional neutrality and the rule of law.
The Segye Ilbo opinion piece points out something it finds especially troubling. It is a suggestion, reportedly voiced at this meeting, that “the public would also agree” with dissolving religious organizations deemed harmful to the state or the people. This framing implies that majority sentiment can replace constitutional safeguards, legal standards, and due process. But democracy, properly understood, is not rule by popular emotion. It is a system deliberately designed to limit power ‒ precisely to protect minorities, dissenters, and unpopular groups from the passions or fears of the majority.
South Korean history offers sobering reminders of how vague accusations such as “harmful to the state” have been weaponized. During authoritarian periods in the twentieth century, such language was repeatedly used to justify repression, censorship, and imprisonment. The lesson is clear: once abstract moral judgments begin to substitute for legal criteria, the door to abuse opens quickly.
The entanglement of religion and political power is not new in Korea. During the Japanese colonial period (1910–1945), the colonial authorities enforced participation in Shinto shrine worship as a means of ideological control and assimilation. Religion was compelled to serve the state’s demand for loyalty, resulting in deep wounds ‒ collaboration, silence, and lasting internal divisions within religious communities.

Decades later, under President Park Chung-hee (박정희) and his authoritarian Yushin regime from 1972 to 1979, emergency powers and extra-constitutional measures were normalized in the name of national crisis and unity. Once again, political power sought moral legitimacy, and religious institutions were often called upon to provide it. In such moments, religion lost its role as a critical conscience and instead became a decorative moral shield for power. History shows that when religious language bends to political authority, the damage is not temporary; it leaves long-term scars on both faith communities and society as a whole.
One of the gravest dangers religion faces when approaching state power is the temptation to designate an “enemy”. At its core, religious language derives its moral force not from punishment but from self-examination, not from exclusion but from calls to repentance and transformation. When fused with the coercive authority of the state, however, that language can instantly change character. Naming a specific group as a social evil and calling for state intervention draws religion directly into political judgment and enforcement.
At that point, religion risks no longer being seen as a guardian of conscience standing apart from power, but as an institution that reinforces the moral legitimacy of governmental coercion. This transformation undermines both religious credibility and democratic accountability.
According to religious affairs correspondent Jeong, the call for “asset recovery” is particularly fraught. While it may sound like the language of justice, confiscating property before a judicial ruling directly threatens constitutionally protected rights, including freedom of religion and property rights. Today, such measures are proposed under the label of combating “pseudo-religions”. Tomorrow, if this logic becomes normalized, there is no guarantee where the line will be drawn ‒ or who will be next. The rule of law exists precisely to protect even those we find disturbing, offensive, or wrong.

Ironically, the same meeting reportedly included denunciations of xenophobia toward migrants as a “breeding ground for fascism”, along with calls to reject hatred from society. This raises an unavoidable question: is the rhetoric that singles out specific religious organizations as a social danger, demanding their dissolution and dispossession, truly unrelated to hatred? Hatred is not merely a private emotion; it is produced and amplified through power, labels, and authority. Depending on who speaks and from what position, exclusion can easily be repackaged as justice.
In a constitutional democracy, the president’s foremost responsibility is to safeguard the legal and institutional order. Listening respectfully to concerns raised by religious communities is appropriate. Endorsing or echoing demands that blur the line between moral critique and state coercion is not. When those boundaries fade, public trust in both religion and government erodes, and the state is drawn into conflicts it should avoid.
The true danger facing South Korean society is not simply harsh criticism of a particular religious organization. It is the moment when, in the name of religion, the protections of law, freedom, and due process begin to loosen. When religion loses its critical distance from power, faith itself is compromised ‒ and the state is tempted into perilous choices.
The events of this meeting compel an uncomfortable question: are we, at this moment, standing firmly on the side of constitutional democracy? What unfolded suggests a scene that shakes that confidence ‒ and history warns us to take such moments seriously.
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Text: Knut Holdhus, editor
Featured image above: Artistic impression of President Lee Jae-myung and South Korean religious leaders. Illustration: Grok xAI, 12th January 2026.
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