When We Become What We Hate
We were told not to. We were told, not just in scripture but in the quiet place within ourselves, not to answer mockery with mockery, not to let hatred make us forget justice. But we do. And every time we do, something in us shifts. We think we are defending ourselves—our truth, our honor, our people. But somewhere along the way, we start to sound like them, move like them, even feel like them. And that is where the real loss begins.
The Qur’an speaks with a clarity we try to unhear. “Do not let the hatred of a people cause you to transgress.” (Qur’an 5:8) It’s one of those verses that does not flatter us. It doesn’t praise resilience or justify retaliation. It confronts us. Because when we’re hurt, when we’re cornered, we want permission. Permission to bite back, to humiliate, to undo what they did by doing it back to them. But the Qur’an says no. It says justice. Not vengeance. Not resemblance.
Mockery is a good example. The Qur’an warns, “Let not a people ridicule another people—perhaps they are better than them.” (Qur’an 49:11) That’s not a neutral moral reminder. That’s a trapdoor. When we mock, we invert the very measure we were called to: we think we are above, but maybe they are above. That ‘maybe’ hangs there like a judgment on us. Because mockery doesn’t come from a place of strength. It comes from fear, pride, or inferiority. It’s the tool of those without truth. So why, when we have truth, do we use it?
We say it’s instinct. But I don’t believe that. Our deeper instinct is not to retaliate. It’s to survive without becoming like the thing that tried to end us. Becoming like the enemy is not survival—it’s spiritual death with a heartbeat.
The problem is not moral theory. The problem is that resemblance happens slowly. You start mocking them on Twitter. You throw around their words. You say you’re exposing hypocrisy, but it’s not long before your soul is shaped by what you hate. You become loud. Defensive. You start believing that anyone who criticizes you is the enemy. You trust no one. And suddenly the difference between you and them is a matter of branding, not substance.
This is not about being passive. The Prophet ﷺ defended himself. He strategized, resisted, and even called out his opponents. But he never let their disease enter him. His tongue did not rot with the stench of theirs. That is the difference.
The Qur’an doesn’t ask us not to fight. It asks us not to become. “Repel evil with that which is better.” (Qur’an 41:34) That’s not a strategy. It’s a metaphysical rule. The soul takes on the shape of its acts. If you meet ugliness with ugliness, you take on its form. But if you meet it with something better, you become that better. And in that way, the battle is already won.
Some people say this is idealism. I say it’s survival. We’re in a time where anger is fashionable, cruelty is masked as courage, and the algorithm rewards imitation of the worst. But our scripture doesn’t. It calls us back to the inner border: the place where we are still ourselves, even under fire.
If we are not careful, we will defeat our enemies and live on as copies of them.
And no one wins that way.
-Dr. AL Finch