Good Versus Evil

M. Bakri Musa

Excerpted from my Qur’an, Hadith, And Hikayat: Exercises In Critical Thinking (2021)

October 18, 2026

 

 

Is good and evil an either/or proposition, or is it more like Aristotle’s twelve virtues—fluid and arranged along a spectrum? Or could it be, as with the ancient example of the Sabbath cited in my excerpt last week, what is a sin for one person could be a virtue for another?

 

Just posing these queries forces us to confront the rigid, unthinking dogmatism that often replaces genuine intellectual inquiry. It would also give us a better appreciation of the subtleties and implications of that hadith condemning those who do not observe the Sabbath. More importantly, it sensitizes us to the real meanings of good versus evil, truth versus falsehood, beauty versus ugliness, and the praiseworthy versus the condemnable—concepts we frequently mangle with our obsession over outward forms rather than inner substance.

 

If good and bad exist on a spectrum—with one end universally condemned as evil and the other celebrated as virtuous—where a specific deed would fall depends entirely on context and circumstance. Killing is bad; there is universal agreement on that. However, killing in self-defense shifts the deed towards the necessary or even "good" end of the scale. Blindly applying a text without weighing the human situation is not piety; it is the hallmark of a closed, lazy mind.

 

Consider the famous hadith that outlines the sequence for stopping evil: first with your hand (force), then with your tongue (persuasion), and lastly within your heart (silent disapproval)—with the last being the weakest. In our contemporary Malay worldview, we tend to fixate on the brute application of the “hand,” mistaking administrative coercion, punitive policing, and state-enforced regulations with moral righteousness.

 

Consider this domestic scenario. A father catches his adolescent son smoking. If the father lunges forward, grabs the cigarette or marijuana from the boy's lips, and smashes it onto the floor, he has used his “hand.” But has he achieved anything permanent? He has only bred deep resentment. It would be far more effective to use the tongue—to counsel, guide, and converse. Here, the tongue proves vastly superior to the hand for long-term character building. It requires patience and intellectual engagement—traits we severely undervalue in our cultural upbringing.

 

Yet another example. A nurse, having witnessed countless agonizing deaths from lung cancer, pleads with her husband: “Honey, please stop smoking. I want you to be there to give away our daughter at her wedding.” Here, the wife uses her heart to power her tongue, completely bypassing the hand. This emotional appeal is infinitely more potent—and far less stressful on the marriage—than physically snatching the offending cigarette from his mouth. Her first response was a loving gesture that appeals to values, not raw dominance.

 

This dynamic plays out on the grandest stages of leadership. If you were the President of the United States facing a severe civil disturbance, would your first instinct be to send in the National Guards—the state’s blunt instrument, its “hands” as it were—or would you use the bully pulpit of your office, your “tongue,” to urge calm and address the root grievances? Franklin D. Roosevelt used the tongue masterfully during the Great Depression. Decades later, Barack Obama did the same during the Black Lives Matter civil disturbances.

 

By contrast, look at the disaster of January 6, 2021. When right-wing insurrectionists stormed the U.S. Capitol, President Trump did not use his hand to deploy the National Guard to protect the state. Instead, he used his tongue to egg on a wild, agitated mob. That failure resulted in multiple deaths and irreparable damage to America’s democratic prestige. Words can heal, but as Trump proved, a reckless tongue can be just as devastating as the sword, if not more.

 

As these examples show, a literal, unthinking application of this hadith can be inappropriate, if not downright dangerous and counterproductive. To avoid these pitfalls, we must possess a deeper knowledge of the specific situation. The more we understand the unique nuances of human behavior, the more effectively we can use hadith as meaningful, living guides rather than rigid cudgels to beat others into submission.

 

While we relate to anatomical references like the hand, tongue, and heart as individuals, society possesses its own figurative versions. The state uses its “hands”—its laws, courts, and police force—to stop citizens from doing bad. But a state cannot easily force its citizens to be virtuous; it can only use its “tongue” and “heart” to encourage and exhort. One of the primary ways a society does this is by deciding whom it confers honors and rewards.

 

By this metric, we can also tell a great deal about the moral health of a culture simply by looking at its heroes. The Mafia honors its most ruthless robbers and plunderers. Sadly, contemporary Malay society treats its corrupt kleptocrats and plunderers with similar reverence. Look no further than former Prime Minister Najib Razak. He remains widely regarded by large swaths of the Malay population with unbounded fondness, encapsulated by the shameful, adoring moniker, "Malu apa, Bossku!" (What's there to be ashamed of, my boss!).

 

We conveniently ignore or entirely forget that he is a convicted criminal and a notorious international pariah who embarrassed Malaysia on the global stage. This collective amnesia is not an accident; it is the direct result of a compromised religious elite who actively sanitized his image.

 

Our official ulama, state muftis, and religious bureaucrats—the very people institutionalized to wield the “tongue” of moral guidance—were bought off with the spoils of 1MDB. Stolen public money were laundered into corporate social responsibility funds to sponsor free Hajj trips for village elders and religious leaders, effectively rendering them silent accomplices. When our religious elite accept the patronage of kleptocrats, they trade their prophetic authority for state salaries and royal titles. They weaponize the “hand” of the state to micro-manage the private sins of ordinary citizens—policing their attire, their food, and their personal choices—while remaining completely mute in the face of gross corruption at the highest echelons of power. Our cultural conditioning of terhutang budi (paralyzing gratitude) completely overrode their fundamental Islamic duty to oppose injustice.

 

Worse, Najib still maintained his many grand royal titles despite his criminal conviction. Of all the sultans, only the Ruler of Negeri Sembilan possessed the moral courage and clarity to withdraw the royal awards he had previously bestowed upon Najib. The rest of the establishment, along with their court scholars, remained silent, paralyzed in their “hearts,” and too timid to weaponize their “tongues” against the gross delinquencies of our elite.

 

Whether we apply this hadith at the state level or within the privacy of our homes, we must remember that judging an action requires evaluating its circumstances. As parents, we wield heavy “hands” when our children are toddlers. But when our children grow into adulthood, our hands become useless; only our tongues and hearts retain any real authority.

 

To see evil, corruption, or even foolishness taking root in our families or nation is tragic. Likewise, to lock our disapproval away silently in our hearts because we are culturally conditioned to avoid confrontation (jaga air muka), or financially incentivized to look away, is not a sign of just meek virtue. It is the absolute height of moral, parental, and cultural irresponsibility.

 

Next: Leaders Role In Commanding Good And Forbidding Evil