As humans, we are capable of a lot. We are able to display dizzying acts of love towards one another, to exemplify kindness and friendship, mercy and compassion. Humans are witness to motherly love, to parental care, to voluntary sacrifice, and in beautifying their relationships humans can foster feelings of warmth, protection and goodwill. But just as the human is capable of such goodness so too can he inflict unimaginable cruelty. When it comes to the dark side of human potential, one of the most devastating things we can do is to dehumanise others. To dehumanise someone is to decide they do not have, nor do they deserve, the basic rights and dues we give to ourselves and anybody we favour. It is to render them sub-human, unworthy, alien and as a result, completely expendable.

The one we dehumanise, we now count as the Other. The Other consists of incomplete parts, insufficiently human and thus inadequate for a place in the world, our world. For the dehumanised, principles of morality no longer apply and any moral restraints against abuse, torture or killing are readily overcome. Dehumanisation is effacing, it is to contort another’s image and ascribe to it all the qualities one would find repugnant to have within oneselves.

All hatred, and that which is vile and callous is often imputed upon that Other. The self feels secure knowing he is not like that Other. The dehumanised Other is irrational, savage and threatening. On mental canvases the dehumanised Other is painted with broad strokes and wide brushes. There are no identifications, no fine lines, no nuances, no greys and no subtle outlines. The dehumanised is feared, mistrusted and generalised. In rallying calls against the Other, images and narratives of how alien, barbaric and inhuman the Other is are propped up.

These ideas are then repeated continuously and relentlessly until believing anything different about that Other becomes incongruous. Any sympathisers with the Other are better placed with that Other, rather than with ‘us’.

According to the Islamic paradigm, man can be inspired to perform wondrous displays of kindness, but so too can he sink into moral depravity and betray his own better sense of self.

The Qur’an in Surah al-Shams (91) draws our attention to the dichotomies which exist within the human condition:

91:7 - by the soul and how He formed it 91:8 - and inspired it [to know] its own rebellion and piety! 91:9 - The one who purifies his soul succeeds 91:10 - and the one who corrupts it fails.

The Muslim must always remember that in every interaction one has with another person, the heart can either find a replenishing of belief or the insidious risk of a corrupted intention and pride. It is not the purpose of the Muslim to throw out quotes, facts, verses and traditions and speak them as if it is an exercise in rhetoric or eloquence. The purpose is not to feel armed with a set of mentally prepared responses to be regurgitated under pressure. The Muslim is not a participant in a battle of wits, nor are they in a contest, or competitor for ‘hits’, ‘views’ and ‘likes’. The Muslim is not to be judged for oratory prowess. The Muslim is to remember that he or she does not stand before an automated machine, but a human being, just like him.

Every human is made up of the same myriad of emotions, senses, life experiences, hopes, dreams, interests, anticipations, responsibilities and beliefs as anyone else. No human exists in an empty space, void of important details but has, like the Muslim, traversed many paths, transitioned in age, landscape and experience and by the decree of Allāh1 now stands before the Muslim on what is another meaningful life encounter. If the Muslim genuinely hopes their interaction with the person will be transformative, it must begin with the Muslim seeing the individual as a complex person made up of many parts, a human, just like you.

The Muslim therefore needs to convey the message of Islam with close consideration of how complex the human being is. It is the communicationbetween the inner core of the Muslim and their addressee which is most fundamental. In the memoirs of the English writer and political commentator Harry Leslie Smith, he describes his early morning routine of going downstairs in his home and preparing himself a cup of coffee. In his brewing and stirring of the coffee, he conveys a nostalgic memory stimulated by the “clinking” of his spoon with his cup. What might seem mundane is in fact exceptional, a moment of experiential magnitude that shapes the sentiments connected to space, place and life of this 95-year-old elderly gentleman. In the “clinking” of the spoon with the cup, Smith is taken back to his childhood days as a young boy standing on a London street.

As the spoon meets the cup, it is the “clinking” of the hooves of horses on a cobblestoned road that Smith remembers, and his memory is alerted to a recollection of his parents rummaging through outdoor litter in search of food. This single sound is able to awaken such a distant memory, spanning back eight or so decades is incredibly powerful.2 The latter alerts us to the reality that man is a composite of so many intricate strands that can be provoked by any one thing at any one instance. Man, as the example of Smith illustrates, is not a simple shell, but a multi-layered creation made up of a conscious self, senses of see, hear, smell, taste and touch, a spirit, and a heart that feels and understands. Islamic character is to recognise the nature of man in all his entirety.