Humanity Before Religion: An Islamic Examination By Abdullah Bello

“Before being deeply religious, be deeply human.”.

There exists in our times a number of slogans that have attained something of the status of revelation. They are uttered so eloquently and received with so little scrutiny that they are often mistaken for profound moral truths. We hear them, nod almost instinctively in agreement as though we have encountered some timeless wisdom. Their appeal lies not so much in the depth of their meaning. One needs only to scratch beneath the surface to discover what is truly at play. From here, we discover that some statements owe not their perceived profundity the depth they possess but to the shallowness with which we examine them. This slogan, I contend, is one of them.

I am a Muslim, one who strives, however imperfectly, to live by the teachings of Islam. It is precisely because I am a Muslim that I find myself unable to accept this slogan. This is not because I oppose being humane to my fellow human beings. I do not. I reject it only because I believe it rests upon a false premise. And it is that premise I hope to examine.

What Does It Mean?

The statement, “Humanity before religion,” has been employed in so many different contexts that one cannot help but ask what it is actually intended to mean. Before we can discuss whether humanity ought to come before religion, we must first understand what humanity itself is.

Does humanity simply mean treating people with kindness and justice regardless of religion, race or ethnicity?

Or does it require something more?

More importantly, who gets to decide what humanity is?

These questions lie at the very heart of the discussion, for unless humanity has first been defined, the statement “Humanity before religion” tells us very little about what it actually means.

Suppose, however, that we arrive at a definition. We must then ask what exactly it means to place humanity before religion.

Imagine I am on my way to the mosque to perform an obligatory prayer. Along the road, I encounter a woman who has been involved in a terrible accident. She is bleeding profusely and fighting for her life. There is no one else around to help but me. I stop and render assistance. I remain with her until she is stable, and in doing so I delay my prayer. Also, in the process of saving her, I touch a woman to whom I am not related.

An observer who is not Muslim might be tempted to describe this as putting humanity before religion. After all, I delayed an obligation owed to my Lord in order to save the life of another human being.

Such a conclusion is only reasonable if one begins with the assumption that Islam and humanity are two competing moral authorities and that one must, at least temporarily, give way for the other in order for me to become compassionate.

No Muslim scholar would describe what I have done as placing humanity above religion. I did not suspend religion in order to become compassionate, for compassion itself was precisely what my religion required of me at that moment.

God says:

“Because of that, We decreed upon the Children of Israel that whoever kills a soul unless for a soul or for corruption committed in the land—it is as if he had slain all mankind. And whoever saves one life—it is as though he had saved all mankind. Our messengers certainly came to them with clear proofs, yet many of them, even after that, continued to commit excesses throughout the land.” (Qur’an 5:32)»

From this, we appreciate the weight the Qur’an affords to the sanctity of human life. Why, then, would I not save a life when it lies within my capacity to do so, especially when the prayer I have delayed may still be observed later?

Afterall, the Prophet instructed that when food has already been served and one is hungry, he should eat before commencing the prayer so that he may stand before his Lord with a heart that is present rather than one distracted by hunger.

If the commencement of prayer may be delayed so that one may worship with greater attentiveness, then how much more so when a human life hangs in the balance? Therefore, saving that person is not placing humanity before religion. It is religion itself that commands me to do so.

Having said this, I think we may extend the line of questioning elsewhere.

If I see a thirsty dog collapsing beneath the scorching sun and I stop to draw water for it, have I chosen humanity over religion?

If I slaughter an animal and ensure that my hungry non-Muslim neighbour receives a portion before one of my own relatives who is already well provided for, have I placed humanity before religion?

If I testify truthfully in favour of a Christian against a Muslim because the Christian is in the right, have I chosen humanity over religion?

If I restrain a Muslim from oppressing a non-Muslim; if I defend the honour of one outside my faith when he is slandered unjustly; if I remove from the road that which may harm Muslim and non-Muslim alike; if I deal honestly in business with those who reject my faith; if I honour my non-Muslim relatives; if I forgive one who wronged me though he believes not as I do, have I, at any of these points, placed humanity before religion?

No, I have not. What I have done is merely obey my religion.

The Prophet demonstrated, through some of the most memorable narrations in our tradition, just how far the believer’s humanity is meant to extend.

Regarding mercy to Animals and Humans

The Prophet said:

“While a dog was going around a well and was about to die of thirst, a prostitute from among the Children of Israel saw it. She removed her shoe, drew water with it, and gave the dog water to drink. So God forgave her because of that.”

In another narration, he informed us of a woman whose fate was the very opposite.

“A woman was punished because of a cat which she had confined until it died. She entered the Fire because of it. She neither fed it nor gave it water while it was confined, nor did she leave it free to eat from the vermin of the earth.”

One woman was forgiven because she gave water to a thirsty dog. The other was condemned because she denied food and freedom to a cat under her care.

This is particularly intriguing when we remember that Muslims are not permitted to keep dogs except under specific circumstances. Even then, the Sharia regulates the manner in which they are kept. Yet none of this diminished the virtue of showing kindness to the dog in distress.

If mercy towards an animal can become the cause of one’s salvation or one’s destruction in the Hereafter, then what does that tell us about mercy towards our fellow human beings?

Perhaps it is for this reason that the Prophet said elsewhere:

“The merciful are shown mercy by the Most Merciful. Show mercy to those on the earth and the One above the heavens will show mercy to you.”

Mercy, therefore, is not a virtue absent from our faith, nor is it something our religion must borrow from elsewhere. It is among the very means by which a servant earns the mercy of his Lord.

Moving on, Mujāhid reported:

We were with Abdullah ibn Amr while his servant prepared to distribute a sheep.

Abdullah said, “Young man, when you are finished, then begin with our Jewish neighbor.”

A man said, “Jewish?

May Allah correct you!” Abdullah said,

“I heard the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, enjoining good treatment of our neighbors so often that we feared he would make them our heirs.”

This narration is particularly interesting. The fact that the neighbour happened to be Jewish did not diminish his right to kindness. Abdullah ibn Amr did not ask whether he shared his faith before insisting that he be given a share. Rather, his concern arose precisely because he had been taught by the Prophet that the rights of the neighbour are not suspended by religious difference.

One cannot read this narration and conclude that Islam teaches benevolence only towards those who share our faith.

Furthermore, the Prophet also said:

“He is not a believer whose neighbour is not safe from his harm.”

A person whose neighbours, whoever they might be, live in fear of him has failed in a matter that the Prophet connected to faith itself.

Regarding Justice

God says:

“O you who believe! Stand firmly for justice as witnesses for God , even if it be against yourselves, your parents or close relatives. Whether one is rich or poor, God is more worthy of both. So do not follow your own desires lest you deviate. And if you distort your testimony or refuse to give it, then surely God is All-Aware of what you do.” (Qur’an 4:135)

Justice, according to the Qur’an, is not contingent upon family ties or religious affiliation. It is an act of worship. To testify truthfully against myself, against my parents or even against my fellow Muslim when they are clearly in the wrong is not to place humanity before religion. It is to submit to religion itself, for this is precisely what God has commanded.

Regarding kindness to disbelieving parents and relatives

Furthermore, when a believer’s own parents call him to shirk, the gravest of all sins, one might naturally assume that the Qur’an would recommend severing ties with them. This is however not the case.

The Quran prohibits obedience in this matter certainly, but it never permits cruelty. The Muslim must refuse the call to disbelief, yet he is not relieved of the kindness he owes those through whom he was brought into this world.

Allah says:

“But if they strive to make you associate with Me that of which you have no knowledge, then do not obey them. Yet accompany them in this world with kindness. And follow the way of those who turn to Me in devotion. Then to Me you will all return, and I will inform you of what you used to do.” (Qur’an 31:15)

The believer must be uncompromising in the matters of faith yet he must also be unwavering in matters of character. He refuses when asked to reject the greatest truth, but his refusal is not accompanied by harshness or contempt. His commitment to God never becomes an excuse for abandoning the courtesy and compassion he owes his parents.

“Indeed, Allah commands justice, excellence, and generosity to relatives, and He forbids immorality, wrongdoing and oppression. He admonishes you so that you may take heed.” (Qur’an 16:90)

Proponents of the slogan often speak as though these virtues are values that a religious person must borrow from somewhere else. And a religious person only becomes noble or human when he adopts them.

Perhaps that may be true of other worldviews. It is certainly not true of Islam.

The believer does not become just because he temporarily sets religion aside and lets humanity take the wheel. He becomes just because Allah has commanded him to be so.

This becomes even clearer when the Qur’an addresses those who do not share our faith.

God says:

“Allah does not forbid you from showing kindness and dealing justly with those who have not fought you because of religion nor driven you from your homes. Indeed, Allah loves those who act justly.” (Qur’an 60:8)

“O you who believe! Stand firm for Allah as witnesses in justice, and do not let the hatred of a people lead you to be unjust. Be just; that is nearer to righteousness. And fear Allah. Surely Allah is All-Aware of what you do.” (Qur’an 5:8)God

It is easy to be just towards those we love. It is far harder to be just towards those we dislike. Yet the Qur’an refuses to allow personal hatred to become a licence for injustice. This is revelation preaching what many today call humanity.

History itself offers examples of Muslims who understood these teachings exactly as they were intended.

During the violence that engulfed Plateau State in Nigeria, Imam Abdullahi Abubakar sheltered more than two hundred Christians inside his mosque and home while armed men demanded that he surrender them. He refused and instead placed himself between an armed mob and those under his protection, fully aware that his decision could cost him his own life.

The actions of the mob were not Islam, nor should they ever be confused with it.

But neither should the Imam’s courage be dismissed as though it were merely his private humanity overcoming his religion.

He did not protect those Christians despite Islam. He protected them because of Islam.

For one cannot sincerely submit to Allah while standing idly by as the innocent are slaughtered.

It is precisely here that I find the slogan difficult to reconcile with the Islamic worldview.

It assumes that humanity and religion are two independent moral authorities. That religion concerns itself only with rituals while humanity concerns itself with people. Yet what is called humanity has, for over fourteen centuries, been woven into the very fabric of our faith itself.

These are not foreign ideals that Islam later adopted. They are among the very things revelation came to establish.

I say, therefore, that my humanity is not prior to my religion. It is my religion that taught me what humanity is.

Is Humanity Conformity?

Up to this point, I have proceeded upon the assumption that when we speak of humanity we mean mercy, compassion and justice. If that is indeed what is meant, then I believe I have already shown that there is no need to place it before religion, for my religion already commands it.

The reality, however, is that this is not always how the slogan is employed.

Oftentimes, I have come across this slogan invoked in a context where what is being called to is not compassion, but compromise.

It is invoked when a Muslim participates in the religious celebrations of another faith. Or when a Muslim celebrates Pride Month or publicly affirms beliefs regarding sexuality and gender that his religion explicitly rejects. Or when a Muslim abandons the boundaries his religion has placed upon interactions between men and women because he fears being perceived as old-fashioned, intolerant or extreme.

In summary, when a Muslim softens or altogether abandons what his religion teaches because he wishes to avoid offending the moral sensibilities of those around him, he is said to have placed humanity before religion.

I cannot help but wonder whether this notion is truly an appeal to kindness, or whether it merely functions as a measure of social acceptability.

The answer, I think, becomes rather apparent when we observe who is praised and who is condemned.

The Muslim who remains committed to the teachings of his religion is often regarded as intolerant or extreme. And the one who compromises those very same teachings is celebrated as progressive, and, perhaps most tellingly, human.

It is in precisely these contexts that we hear statements in the lines of,

“I like your kind of Muslim.”

If a Muslim is applauded only after abandoning those aspects of his faith that distinguish it from the surrounding milieu, then it becomes rather difficult to avoid the conclusion that this slogan has nothing to do with humanity.

So we must ask once again: What exactly is humanity?

Does it require supporting every worldview?

Does it require that I remain silent about what my religion teaches simply to avoid being thought intolerant?

Does it require abandoning certain religious convictions so as not to offend others?

Does it require celebrating Pride Month?

Does it require celebrating Christmas despite its theological foundation resting upon beliefs my religion explicitly rejects?

Must I pretend that all religions are equally true when my own religion teaches otherwise?

What exactly is this humanity that I am expected to place before my religion?

If this is what humanity has come to mean, then we are no longer using the word in the sense we ordinarily understand it. We are no longer speaking about compassion or justice towards others but about conformity.

Islam commands me to treat every human being with dignity. It commands me to honour my neighbour, whether Muslim or non-Muslim. It commands me to protect the innocent. It commands me to fulfil my promises. It commands me to feed the hungry. It commands me to uphold justice, even when it is against my own interests. It commands me to maintain the ties of kinship, even with relatives who reject my faith. It commands me to accompany my non-Muslim parents with kindness, even if they call me towards disbelief.

All of this my religion has already commanded.

What it does not command is that I surrender part of it in order to be considered tolerant.

I can oppose injustice committed against you while still believing you are mistaken in matters of faith.

I can show you compassion without accepting every religious claim you make.

I can disagree with your beliefs without denying your humanity.

None of this is a deficiency in my humanity. It is fidelity to what I believe Allah has revealed.

So I ask once more:

What exactly is this humanity that I am expected to place before my religion?

If by humanity you mean mercy, compassion, justice, honesty, generosity and excellence of character, then I have no need to place it before my religion, for my religion has already commanded every one of these.

If, however, by humanity you mean that I must soften what God has revealed whenever it conflicts with your expectations; that I must conceal parts of my faith so as not to offend you; that I must celebrate what my religion prohibits or affirm what it rejects so you may feel tolerated, then we are speaking about something altogether different from humanity. It is something else entirely.

My religion does not stand in the way of my humanity. It is the very reason I strive to possess it.

Whatever good I have to offer my fellow man, I offer not despite my religion, but because of it. I have given what my Lord has commanded of me, and I shall gladly give all of these to every human being, for my religion commands nothing less.

Compromise, however, is one thing I cannot and will not give.

For this has far less to do with becoming humane. What is required of me is that I become less faithful.

God says:

“And if you obey most of those upon the earth, they will lead you away from the path of Allah. They follow nothing but conjecture, and they do nothing but guess.” (Qur’an 6:116)

I shall not abandon what I believe God has revealed merely to be thought more humane. That is a price I am not willing to pay.

Conclusion

To be deeply religious—at least as a Muslim—is to strive to be deeply human.

I tell you, the height of my humanity is reached not when I set my religion aside, but when I adhere to it most ardently.

And so I cannot accept the notion that I must place humanity before religion. My religion is what teaches me humanity.
It is because I strive to be deeply religious that I strive to be deeply human.

And on this slogan, God knows best.