The Word in the Qur’an: When Language Becomes Harmful

How often have we believed a story simply because it was told well?

An image, a few words, and a powerful headline: within seconds, we can form an opinion about a person, an event, or a situation we actually know very little about. And when that story is shared thousands of times, its popularity can begin to feel like evidence of its truth.

But a widely shared story is not necessarily a true story.

This is one of the deepest contradictions of contemporary communication: we have access to more information than ever before, yet that does not necessarily mean that we understand reality any better.

Sometimes the opposite happens. Reality is simplified, fragmented, and interpreted. A detail is separated from its context, a testimony becomes a certainty, and an opinion is presented as fact. Slowly, the narrative takes the place of the truth.

This is precisely where the question also becomes a spiritual one.

A Qur’anic Principle That Still Speaks to the Present

In the Qur’an, words are not treated as something harmless or inconsequential. To speak is to assume responsibility.

In Al-Ahzab 33:70–71, human beings are called to speak with qawlan sadīdan — words that are upright, sound, truthful, and appropriate. Truth, therefore, concerns not only what is said, but also the way reality is represented.

This principle profoundly changes the way we should understand storytelling. Telling a story does not simply mean gathering information; it also means deciding which elements to show, which words to use, and what meaning to give to events.

And this is where distortion can begin.

One can lie by inventing something that never happened.

But one can also mislead by telling only part of the truth.

A person may be defined by their greatest mistake while everything that preceded it is forgotten. An event may be presented without the context that explains it. A statement may be authentic, yet used to suggest something its author never intended to say.

Before Sharing, Pause

Among the Qur’anic principles that are especially relevant today is the one expressed in Al-Hujurat 49:6: when news reaches you, it should be verified before you act upon it.

It is difficult not to recognize the relevance of this principle in the age of social media.

Today, we may receive a piece of news in the morning, comment on it seconds later, and forget about it the following day. In the meantime, that same information may have been shared by thousands of people.

Speed has become a virtue, while verification requires time.

Yet truth has never depended on the speed at which a story spreads.

Before asking, “How interesting is this?”, we should ask, “How true is it?”

It is a simple question, but it requires discipline.

When Emotion Replaces Verification

The stories we remember most easily are often those that provoke strong emotions: stories that make us angry, move us, frighten us, or provoke outrage.

And this is precisely why they can become dangerous when they are not verified.

A powerful emotion can create the illusion of certainty.

We may think: If this story affected me so deeply, then it must be true.

But it does not work that way.

The intensity of an emotion does not prove the truth of a fact.

In Al-Isra 17:36, the Qur’an warns against pursuing that of which one has no knowledge. It is a call to discernment: seeing, hearing, and feeling are not enough. We must seek to understand.

In a world overflowing with information, perhaps one of the most important forms of intelligence is simply being able to say:

“I don’t know yet.”

A Story Can Be True and Still Be Unjust

There is an even more delicate question.

What happens when what we tell is true, but the way we tell it is unjust?

The Qur’an repeatedly calls for justice. In An-Nisa 4:135, believers are commanded to stand firmly for justice, even when it goes against themselves or those closest to them.

This principle also applies to the way we speak about others.

It is easy to be impartial when the truth is pleasing to us.

It is much harder when it concerns someone we dislike or disagree with.

If someone we love makes a mistake, we may be tempted to look for an explanation or excuse. If the same mistake is made by someone we cannot stand, we may instead turn it into proof of their character.

The facts are the same. What changes is the person through whom we are looking at them.

And it is precisely here that our relationship with truth is put to the test.

The Dignity of the Person Who Becomes a Story

Whenever we tell the story of someone else, there is a risk that they become merely a character in our narrative.

But in reality, they are not a character.

They are a human being.

They have a life we probably do not fully know. They have motives, fears, mistakes, and parts of their story that remain invisible to us.

In Al-Hujurat 49:11–12, the Qur’an warns against ridicule, suspicion, and backbiting.

This is not merely an instruction concerning individual behaviour; it is also a principle concerning the ethics of speech: another person should not be reduced to whatever we choose to say about them.

Therefore, even when something is true, we should ask:

Does it need to be told?Is it fair to tell it in this way?Am I clarifying reality, or am I simply exposing someone to judgment?

Truth should never become an excuse for losing compassion.

The Problem with Stories That Work Too Well

There is something paradoxical about modern communication.

The simpler a story is, the easier it is to understand. The more emotional it is, the easier it is to share. The more clearly it presents a hero and a villain, the easier it becomes for the audience to choose a side.

Yet reality is rarely so orderly.

Reality contains contradictions.

A person can be wrong in one situation and right in another. Two people can experience the same event in completely different ways. A conflict can involve responsibility on several different levels.

When we remove all these nuances to make a story more effective, we risk creating a perfect narrative and a false reality.

The story works, but the truth disappears.

When Views Become the Measure

The digital world has introduced a new measure of value: views.

A piece of content that reaches one million people can automatically appear more important than something read by one hundred.

A headline designed to provoke can attract more attention than a careful analysis. A photograph taken out of context can receive more shares than a complex explanation.

Perhaps this is one of the most important principles to remember when using modern communication platforms:

We should never allow an algorithm to decide what we consider true.

Popularity measures how widely a story has spread. It does not measure its truth.

Responsibility Does Not Belong Only to the Speaker

It is easy to blame those who spread false information.

But responsibility also lies on the other side of the screen.

Every time we share something without verifying it, we become part of its circulation.

Every time we judge someone based on an incomplete story, we contribute to constructing an image that may not reflect who they really are.

And every time we believe something simply because it confirms what we already think, without looking for evidence, we surrender part of our ability to discern.

The search for truth therefore requires humility.

It means accepting that we may be wrong.

It means being willing to change our minds.

And it means distinguishing between what we know, what we think, and what we have simply heard.

Telling Without Betraying Reality

Perhaps the most difficult task for anyone who tells a story is not finding the most beautiful sentence, the most powerful headline, or the most engaging image.

It is having enough respect for reality not to alter it simply to make it more interesting.

A good story does not necessarily have to be spectacular.

But it should be faithful to the truth.

Because when we tell stories about the world, we are not simply producing content.

We are helping shape the way other people will see that world.

And that is a responsibility far greater than simply publishing something.

Perhaps, before publishing the next story, we should pause for a few seconds and ask ourselves four questions:

Is it true? Has it been verified? Is it just? Does it respect the dignity of those involved?

If the answer is unclear, perhaps the most honest thing to do is not to publish, but to wait.

Because a story can be told beautifully and still fail to reflect reality.

And in an age when everyone can tell stories, perhaps our greatest responsibility is to remain faithful to what actually happened and to continue learning in the pursuit of deeper knowledge.

“My Lord, increase me in knowledge.”— Qur’an, Taha 20:114