When belief becomes a weapon, humanity is the first casualty.

The religious mind, as I call it, has never truly evolved. It is not limited to those who follow a specific religion. You can find it among devout believers, atheists, or those who have rejected religions altogether. The religious mind is not about religion as such; it is about a way of thinking and a pattern of behavior.

At its core, the religious mind builds itself on partisanship — a “believe-and-belong” dynamic. Because I belong to this group, I will fight its enemies. Because I believe in this truth, I will destroy anyone who does not share it. Principles, ethics, and justice become irrelevant. What matters is “us versus them.”

The process follows a grim sequence. First, we dehumanize the other. Anyone outside the group becomes simply “the enemy.” Second, all means become permissible to destroy this enemy. Cheating, lying, betraying, altering facts, manipulating weaknesses — everything becomes allowed in the name of victory. Even the children of the enemy can be turned against him. Finally, memory itself is erased: bonds, shared journeys, and good deeds all vanish once the label “enemy” is attached.

The Poetry of Warning

Since childhood, I have heard a verse of poetry attributed to ʿAllāj, sometimes to Imām ʿAlī:

“If I say what I truly believe… Muslim men will consider my blood halal.

They will see my blood as lawful to shed.

And they will see the ugliest actions they commit against me as beautiful.”

This encapsulates the religious mind: once you are cast as the enemy, even cruelty becomes sanctified. The ugliest deeds appear righteous in the eyes of those convinced of their own truth.

A Canadian Experience

I witnessed this dynamic firsthand after arriving in Canada. I joined a group of devoted people — lovers of the Qur’an, seekers of spiritual life. Within that group was a man who poured his heart into service. He organized activities for children and youth, created camps, engaged with families, and tried to bring fresh ideas relevant to the Canadian context. At first, everyone loved him. Their children adored him, their families appreciated him.

But suddenly, everything changed. He was branded “the infiltrated Ikhwani.” In Sufi imagination, being labeled “Ikhwani” — a member of the Muslim Brotherhood — is the most dangerous accusation possible. It stops all thought, triggers fear, and erases reason. Overnight, the man who had been a friend, teacher, and servant became “the enemy.”

Step one was complete: dehumanization.

Step two followed: reinterpretation. All the good he had done was recast as manipulation. His proposals for adaptation were rebranded as attempts to undermine the ṭarīqa.

Step three was swift: all means became permissible.

This man, a newcomer still without Canadian citizenship, was suddenly denounced to the authorities as a terrorist. Within weeks, he was deported — his life shattered, his family left in uncertainty, his child marked by tragedy. No one in the group expressed remorse. No one questioned whether there was proof. His future, perhaps ruined forever, was dismissed as necessary.

Studying the Religious Mind

Since that day, I committed myself to studying the religious mind — not as a doctrine, but as a human sickness. I asked: how can we avoid this? How can we build healthier ways of thinking and judging?

I defended the man, since I had only seen good from him and no proof against him. For that, I too became unwelcome. My refusal to fully condemn him isolated me. Within weeks, I lost all my friends. My Canadian dream began in loneliness.

But I also gained a lesson: the religious mind repeats itself everywhere, in every group. Each time, the same sequence unfolds: dehumanization, reinterpretation, and then the justification of cruelty.

Instruments of God?

When I challenged the group’s leader, asking if the punishment was not too harsh, his answer shocked me. He said:

“Since God inspired us to do this, and enabled us to act, we are merely instruments of His plan. God wants to teach this man a lesson. Sometimes lessons come through suffering. Deportation today is better for him than continuing his dirty work. Better to suffer here than to burn in hell forever. We are helping him repent, we are helping him reach paradise. We love him — this is our care for him.”

He quoted verses about those who think they trick God, insisting that divine trickery was always for the best. Around me, brothers cried in awe of his words. None asked for proof. None asked for dialogue.

And yet, only weeks before, this same man had welcomed us into his home. His wife had cooked for us, his family had embraced us. Suddenly, all of that vanished. He was erased, reduced to a threat, condemned without trial.

A Universal Pattern

The man in my story was not a leader. He was simply seen as a competitor to the leader. But the same logic has been applied to leaders themselves: Imām ʿAlī, Imām Ḥusayn, and many others were judged and rejected in this way. The religious mind does not discriminate. It is not about role or position. It is about the sickness of a way of thinking.

And this is the essence: the religious mind does not truly think. It does not engage reason, conscience, or empathy. It collapses into blind allegiance and moral corruption. It replaces reflection with slogans, humanity with labels, and justice with partisan loyalty.

The religious mind does not think — it stinks.