I remember the first time I realized how strange this feeling was. I am a Muslim, and somehow, I like pigs. Not in the way people might misunderstand. Not for food, not for rebellion but in the way one feels curious about a creature that is constantly misunderstood. A creature that never asked to be what it is, yet carries the weight of human judgment everywhere it goes.
Pigs did not choose their bodies.
They did not choose their names.
They did not choose to be forbidden.
They were born, breathed their first breath, and lived because God allowed them to exist.
Growing up, I heard people speak of pigs with disgust. Not just caution, but contempt. As if avoiding pigs made us cleaner, and hating them made us better. Sometimes it felt as though the pig was not only haram but humiliated.
One day, that made me stop and think.
Did God really create a living being only to be despised?
We believe that God forms every creature with purpose. That nothing is random, nothing is flawed, nothing is wasted. God chose the shape of the pig, its instincts, its nature just as He chose mine and yours. The pig did not sin by being a pig.
So when we mock it, curse it, or lower it, who are we truly speaking against?
The rule in our faith is clear: we do not eat pigs.
But the rule never told us to hate them.
Somewhere along the way, obedience turned into arrogance. Boundaries became excuses to look down. And I realized something uncomfortable: feeling “pure” can quietly become a reason to wound others creatures, people, even hearts.
That is when I began to think of it as a philosophy.
The pig reminds me that what looks low in human eyes may not be low in God’s sight. That being clean does not give me permission to be cruel. That faith is not proven by how far I distance myself from something, but by how gently I move through the world.
God does not ask me to raise myself above His creations.
He asks me to humble myself among them.
And strangely enough, a pig taught me that.
Not about food.
Not about rules.
But about mercy, humility, and remembering my place as a servant, not a judge.
Comments
Post a Comment