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- Herausgeber: IVP Academic
- Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016
For Westerners the Qur'an is a deeply foreign book. Christians who venture within this sacred scripture of Islam encounter a world where echoes of biblical figures and themes resound. But the Qur'an speaks in accents and forms that defy our expectations. For it captures an oral recitation of an open-ended drama, one rooted in seventh-century Arabia. Its context of people, events and ideas strikes us not only as poetically allusive but as enigmatic. And yet the Qur'an and its contested interpretations scroll in shadowed text between the headlines of our daily news. In The Qur'an in Context Mark Anderson offers a gateway into the original world and worldview of the Qur'an. With keen attention to the Qur'an's character, reception and theology, he opens up a hermeneutical space for Christians and others to engage its fabric of religious claims. The Qur'an's theology, anthropology, soteriology, spirituality as well as its portrayal of Jesus are all carefully examined. Finally, the Qur'an's claim to be the Bible's sequel is probed and evaluated. Forthright in Christian conviction and yet sympathetically open to dialogue, The Qur'an in Context is a reliable guide for those who want to explore the holy book of Islam in its varied facets.
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TheQur’aninCONTEXT
A CHRISTIAN EXPLORATION
To the memory of
CHARLES J. ADAMS
1924–2011
and
HARVIE M. CONN
1933–1999
without whose inspiration and guidancethis book would not have been written
Truth has no special time of its own.
Its hour is now, always, and indeed then most truly
when it seems most unsuitable to actual circumstances.
ALBERT SCHWEITZER
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
JALAL AL-DIN RUMI
Contents
Preface
A book such as this—intended for both students and scholars as well as an interested lay public—demands writing that is thorough and precise while still being broadly accessible. To that end I have omitted all but essential diacritical marks in my transcriptions of Arabic. This should make things easier for non-Arabists without hindering Arabists. Like the Arabic they represent, my transcriptions have no uppercase letters except in the word Allah and in names of persons, places and so on. English loanwords from Arabic (hadith, jihad, sharia, sura, etc.) do not appear in italics, but they are listed in the glossary along with all the other Arabic terms used. The glossary and maps should assist readers unfamiliar with Muhammad’s world. Translations from the Qur’an are my own unless otherwise noted. Full citations of Qur’an translations are given on the first occasion, after which I cite them simply by the translator’s name. All quotations of the Bible are from the New Revised Standard Version unless otherwise noted. I abbreviate Encyclopaedia of Islam as EI2 and Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān as EQ.1 Since I write specifically for non-Muslims, I give dates only according to the Western calendar.
Regardless of the target audience, anyone writing about Islam must consider how Muslims will hear what is said. In that respect, I should explain my use of the term “the qur’anic author.” Most Western scholars now limit themselves to personifications of the Muslim scripture, such as “the Qur’an says” or “in the mind of the Qur’an,” in order to avoid offending Muslims, who believe the Qur’an is authored by God alone. Why, then, when I value courtesy and intend no offense, do I speak of the qur’anic author? My purpose is simply to connect the text of the Qur’an with its first hearers. Referring to the Muslim scripture as if it had no author makes it much harder to recognize the choices that made it speak so powerfully to its original audience. A scripture is best understood only when we consider those choices in relation to the full palette of possible options. This is vital to my analysis, since I view the Qur’an as authentic and effective communication.2
On hearing that I was writing this book, various individuals offered advice on how to approach my task. As it happened, some of the advice was diametrically opposite, with some people urging me to stress points of agreement between the Bible and Qur’an, and others to focus on points of difference. These contrary concerns puzzled and troubled me since they seemed equally partial, unbalanced and controlling. Our two scriptures bear both clear similarities and differences. What, I wondered, could possibly justify my editing either one out or even just downplaying one of them? Since the Qur’an has its own literary integrity as a scripture, does not faithful scholarship rather respect that integrity and allow it to speak for itself? Focusing on either similarity or difference without acknowledging the other seems subversive to me. Hence I have avoided both alternatives, viewing them as equally driven by fear—namely, the fear that a holistic approach to the Qur’an is simply unsuited to our current situation. With Schweitzer, I protest that Truth’s hour is now, always.
Between us Christians and Muslims make up more than 50 percent of the world’s population, with that number projected to exceed 60 percent by 2050.3 I believe we will all pay an exorbitant toll if we do not put heart and soul into seeking a peaceable relationship. Since both our communities are founded on a sacred text, it is urgent that we listen carefully to each other’s scripture. To be understood, we must seek first to understand. And that includes understanding points of disagreement, some of which are essential to who we are. But to hear our partners in dialogue truly, we must also meet them in Rumi’s judgment-free field, as I have sought to do in this study. I leave it to you, my reader, to decide how well I have succeeded in that respect.
Acknowledgments
I picture my book like a river whose broad mouth gives no indication that it has been fed by innumerable streams and enriched by the earth across which it has so freely flowed. With its waters irretrievably intermingled, it appears self-sufficient. But in fact, a river is in one sense all debt. For though it clearly has a life of its own, it nevertheless carries nothing it did not receive. Likewise, this book would not be what it is without a host of people—scholars, family, friends and others. While I cannot possibly acknowledge them all, I must at least name a few.
Though I know only a handful of them personally, I am very conscious of the many scholars who have contributed to this book. My debt to Robert Hoyland—for his work on pre-Islamic Arabia, early non-Muslim sources and the Islamic origins narrative—will be abundantly evident to readers. Jean Bottéro, Patricia Crone, Reuven Firestone, Greg Fisher and Sidney Griffith are among the many others who have contributed vitally to my understanding of Muhammad’s world. Mahmoud Ayoub, Rick Brown, Fred Donner, Yohanan Friedmann, William Graham, Toshihiko Izutsu, John Kaltner, Daniel Madigan, David Marshall, Angelika Neuwirth, Gordon Nickel, Iain Provan and Gabriel Reynolds are among those who have most strengthened my grasp of the Qur’an. For key biblical insights, I am also grateful to Andy Crouch, John Goldingay, Vern Poythress, Lamin Saneh, John Stackhouse and N. T. Wright. Some of these scholars are also among the many who graciously answered queries I put to them during the course of my writing.
Astute criticisms of the master’s thesis from which this book grew were offered by Christopher Melchert and Andrew Rippin. My good friend Andy coupled his incisive criticism of every section of the book (scrutinizing multiple revisions of some parts!) with unfailing enthusiasm for my work, helping to energize it from start to finish. To say that his countless contributions have greatly improved the book is a huge understatement. My special thanks go to him and his family. Two other friends, Neil and Kevin, also read key parts of the manuscript and offered helpful suggestions. But despite all the help I have received, it goes without saying that I alone am responsible for any errors remaining.
I cannot begin to say how grateful I am to my dear wife, Cathy, for her steadfast love and support throughout this long process. This is her book no less than mine. Our four children offered continual encouragement, as did my four siblings. I am especially thankful to my mother, whose prayers, I believe, brought this book to completion, even though she unfortunately did not live to hold it in her hands. Jim Houston’s friendship in the latter stages of this book has been a real inspiration and help. Also, I am grateful to Roger and Alayne, Joan and Keith, Sid and Lyn, and Sally for allowing me temporarily to turn their home or cottage into a writing den, without which I might never have found my way through the wilds of Muhammad’s world (part one)! Friends Tom and Shirley, Marsha and Lane, Rick and Linda, the good folk at Rivendell and all my dear friends at L’Arche have generously supported this project in other ways. I am also grateful to the University of British Columbia and Regent College libraries and especially Vancouver Public Library’s interlibrary loans department. I am especially indebted to Tom Wright for his invaluable help, affording me the chance to offer my book to IVP and giving me the courage to see it through to completion. Last but not least, my editor, Dan Reid, has been every writer’s dream. For his wisdom, encouragement, gentleness (writers can be thin skinned!) and patience, I am deeply grateful. Neither do I take the rest of the team at IVP for granted: I have only praise for all of their dealings with me.
Maps
THE LATE ANTIQUE MIDDLE EAST
The Middle East in 602 CE. Before the War of 602–628, the boundary between the empires (as shown here) had remained fairly stable for centuries, with territory captured by one empire being recovered by its rival soon afterward. But owing to an ongoing civil war in the Byzantine realm, early military successes of Khusrau II seemingly raised the prospect of a Sasanian triumph that would end their centuries-old rivalry once and for all. Reports of this war’s devastation preceded Muhammad’s prophetic career and continued through most of its duration, thus providing the backdrop to most of the qur’anic recitations. (Please note: The absence of both a Byzantine border on Arabia’s northwestern edge and a Sasanian border on Arabia’s northeastern edge indicates that the boundaries were not clearly fixed there.)
The Middle East in 622 CE. Having already taken Armenia, Syria and Palestine, the Sasanians penetrated Anatolia to Chalcedon in 615, but most likely withdrew to Anatolia’s eastern edge in 616. By 619 they had occupied Egypt, the Byzantines’ “breadbasket.” At the time of the hijra (622), Heraclius was raising an army for his counteroffensive. But the Persians would yet lay siege to Constantinople itself before Heraclius was finally able to defeat his Persian nemesis and restore equilibrium between the empires in 628. Four years later Muslim armies swept out of Arabia to conquer the Middle East. (Please note: The absence of a Sasanian border on both Arabia’s northwestern and northeastern edges indicates that the boundaries were not clearly fixed there.)
Early Manuscript
The world’s oldest Qur’an Manuscript (Mingana 1572a). Written in an early form of Hijazi script, this manuscript’s two parchment leaves contain parts of Suras 18 to 20. Radiocarbon analysis conducted at Oxford University has dated its parchment to the period between 568 and 645 CE with 95.4% accuracy. This means the manuscript was likely produced during Muhammad’s lifetime or the first two decades after his death in 632. Till its discovery in the University of Birmingham’s Mingana Collection in 2015, the manuscript had been misbound with leaves of a Hijazi script Qur’an from the late seventh century.
One
Approaching the Qur’an
Any scripture with well over a billion believers on an increasingly small planet demands to be read by the rest of us. Even more, the Qur’an demands to be read by Christians, since it claims to complete our Bible and even improve on it. But most non-Muslims get no more than a few pages into the Qur’an before finding themselves hopelessly lost. In fact, Westerners who make it through all 286 verses of the Qur’an’s second chapter, or sura, deserve a pat on the back, because it is anything but reader friendly to us a world away and well over a millennium removed in time.
Our first challenge then is simply to understand the Qur’an, which is not “a written, premeditated corpus of prophetical sayings,” but rather “the transcript of an orally performed, open-ended drama.”1 The Qur’an’s every word is centered in Muhammad’s struggle for “God’s Cause”2 in his native Arabia. As Angelika Neuwirth says, we must read the Muslim scripture as a series of texts growing out of “lively scenes from the emergence of a community” under its prophet.3 Examples of her point abound. For example, Sura 93 urges Muhammad not to give up but to believe God will provide for him. By contrast, Q 8:67-71 speaks of the prophet’s having enslaved captives taken in battle and addresses the issue of his followers’ love of booty. We thus see that at one point Muhammad struggled to endure in faith, and at another he and his community, or umma, engaged in warfare and believed booty and slavery were regulated by divine command. In that sense the Qur’an represents an immense cache of historical data.
But despite the centrality of Muhammad’s story to its recitations, they include only glimmers of it. For while the Qur’an pays considerable attention to narratives from the past, it is quite averse to supplying current narrative—and that despite the fact that Muhammad’s recitations came to him in the midst of some very stormy events. Instead of recounting those events, the Qur’an “merely refers to them; and in doing so, it has a tendency not to name names.”4 The qur’anic author5 often speaks as “I” or “we” or alternates between the two (e.g., Q 90:1-4) and addresses “you” in singular and plural (e.g., Q 94:1-4) but without identifying anyone. That leaves us piecing together the story behind the recitations as best we can from the mention of an unnamed town or other fragmentary details. For example, the Qur’an speaks of a “sacred precinct” (Q 5:1) and Christians (nasara). But which sacred precinct, and what kind of Christians?
These and a host of other questions find their answer only in the Qur’an’s metahistory or narrative context. Being well known to those who first heard its recitations, however, most of that background information is left unstated, making the Qur’an singularly unhelpful as a historical source when taken on its own. Neither are its suras ordered chronologically.6 All this makes the Qur’an “an extremely enigmatic and allusive document,”7 one requiring readers to bring to the text some knowledge of Muhammad’s historical context and prophetic career.
The Qur’an and Its Interpretation
According to the Qur’an, God, its implied speaker throughout, had revealed his Word in other languages for other peoples and was now putting it into Arabic for the Arabs (Q 12:1-2; 13:37; 20:11). The qur’anic monologues were delivered orally by Muhammad in the early seventh century CE and eventually collected and transcribed. The Qur’an denounced Arab polytheism and announced God’s imminent judgment. As we will see, we can reasonably assume that Muhammad’s pagan hearers had some awareness of biblical monotheism, since Christianity and Judaism offered the only other live options, religiously speaking. But, rejecting those options, the Qur’an called its hearers to its unique version of monotheism, for it clearly takes issue with both Christianity and Judaism on various points. Hence the Qur’an addressed a primarily pagan audience, but in a milieu that included Jews and Christians.
The Qur’an called the Muslim8 community into being, established it in faith and empowered it to defeat its opponents. Its later (i.e., Medinan) suras often addressed Jews and Christians, though they did not constitute the core of its audience. Despite the obvious similarities between the Bible and the Qur’an, there are also major differences, most of which directly relate to the fact that the latter originated in a largely pagan milieu.
As is true of the Bible, the Qur’an is often interpreted by its adherents as a timeless book that speaks to current-day circumstances. This has allowed Muslims to contextualize it, whether in the eleventh or the twenty-first century. But however normal this may be, it becomes problematic when we detach the text from its original context. For any other meanings we see in a scripture must be grounded in its original and primary meaning—what its first audience understood when they heard or read it. As Paul Ricoeur put it, “If it is true that there is always more than one way of construing a text, it is not true that all interpretations are equal.”9 Otherwise, we can make a scripture mean whatever we want and thus render it meaningless.10 The Qur’an’s primary meaning does not “reside” in the mind of the author, nor in that of the audience, nor yet in the text itself, but rather emerges in the complex relationship between the text and its first hearers in their particular context. A scripture’s original meaning acts as arbiter, then, either grounding or calling into question other meanings later readers find in it. This underscores the vital importance of rightly appreciating the Qur’an’s historical setting, since, as interpreters, we do not create but rather discover the text’s original meaning.
Historically, polemical reasons kept Western scholars from appreciating the Qur’an’s very distinctive character and originality. Until well into the twentieth century, in fact, the obvious but unstated goal of many was to lampoon the Qur’an as a very bad copy of the biblical original and Muhammad as a buffoon for making it.11 That approach has since given way to a stress by many on the sameness of the Bible and Qur’an, often to validate Islam as another “Abrahamic” pathway to God. Sometimes this includes Christianizing the Qur’an to the point of seeing the Trinity in it and making its portrait of Jesus reminiscent of that of the Gospels.
I strive to avoid both traps here. As a Christian seeking peace with my Muslim brothers and sisters, I take their scripture seriously and have no interest whatsoever in mocking it. I aim to highlight the Qur’an’s uniqueness and do not wish to belittle the Muslim prophet or present the Qur’an as a “copy” of anything. I do consider it vital, however, that we acknowledge the many historical factors influencing its origins. And since the Qur’an implicitly calls for a response from us, my goal is to respond “Christianly,” with both grace and truth (Jn 1:17).
Qur’anic Context and Interpretation
As we understand most of the texts we encounter daily almost automatically, as easily as we speak, we sometimes forget that “there is no meaning without context.”12 But the more complex or emotionally loaded the topic, or the more a writer’s language, history and culture diverge from ours, the harder we must work at keeping the text grounded in its context. That is precisely the situation when we interpret a sacred scripture from a remote time, place and culture. And if we must work hard to understand any ancient scripture, we must work harder still to comprehend one with as few contextual markers as the Qur’an has. Its allusiveness made it essential for the Muslim community to keep alive traditions explaining its context. But for political, polemical and legal reasons, those traditions became corrupted and embellished long before they were recorded in writing, greatly complicating matters for Qur’an interpreters ever since.
In response, some twentieth-century scholars in the West rejected the traditional Islamic origins narrative, at least on the matter of the Qur’an’s milieu. Besides challenging tradition, most of them also denied the authenticity of pre-Islamic poetry, those being the two great pillars on which qur’anic interpretation had been built. While the revisionists never set out to deny the importance of context in qur’anic interpretation, the level of uncertainty their challenges produced made context of little use. Indeed, so widely varied are their answers to the question of milieu that Patricia Crone likens the situation to one in which we encounter Jesus’ quotations from the Jewish scriptures in the Gospels but do not know whether he was Jewish, or whether the Tanakh was native to his tradition or imported from outside. Also, suppose the Gospels’ geographical markers were so few and so vague that scholars disputed whether Jesus lived in Palestine, Mesopotamia or Greece. Such uncertainty would render the Gospels’ meaning exceedingly elusive, which is precisely the situation we now face in qur’anic studies.13
To understand the Muslim scripture truly, we must hear it as the uniquely speech-centered, event-birthed communication it was. Attempting to do so without reference to its original context is actually rather comical, unless we think Muhammad’s first hearers were somehow able to do that. Even those who dismiss its original context as irretrievable cannot help but approach the Qur’an with some working hypothesis of what it was—whether or not they are conscious of doing so—because every interpretation of the Qur’an goes back to a particular reading of its context. And since we agree on how to interpret the Qur’an only to the extent that we agree on the story behind it, the debate over qur’anic milieu and narrative is vital to our hermeneutic.14
The Goals of This Book
With all this in mind, I aim to do three things in this book:
Establish the Qur’an’s original context as the key to its original meaning
Inform readers unfamiliar with the Qur’an of its teachings and show how they relate to those of the Bible, giving special emphasis to Jesus’ place in the Qur’an
Offer an initial response to the Qur’an’s truth claims and encourage open dialogue between Christians and Muslims on our respective faiths
Because everything about a scripture answers to its narrative, cultural and historical context, part one focuses on that external context.15 To begin, we must decide who Muhammad was, who his first hearers were and what aspects of their situation significantly shaped their understanding of the Qur’an. Chapter two briefly recounts the traditional Islamic origins narrative and considers the Western debate surrounding it as well as the scholarly consensus that seems to be forming on it. Chapter three zooms out to look at key aspects of the larger world in which Muhammad lived, while chapter four zooms in to consider key qur’anic characteristics that, rightly understood, corroborate the traditional view of Muhammad’s pagan Hijazi origins. All these issues are vital to a sound understanding of the Qur’an.
Most Christians want to start with what the Qur’an says about Jesus, who naturally stands at the heart of Christian-Muslim dialogue. But that is not the right place to begin, for doing so assumes that all of the Qur’an’s other theological components are equivalent to those of the Bible, which is not at all the case. We must begin with the qur’anic worldview, the conceptual framework within which all of its ideas find their place, for a scripture is not a catalog of isolated theological components, and we cannot accurately compare and contrast Jesus in the two scriptures without seeing his place in the integrated whole of each scripture’s theology and spirituality.
Part two then focuses on the qur’anic worldview.16 The topics covered here include God’s ontological and ethical being, in chapters five and six; humankind’s creation, fall and reprieve, in chapters seven through nine; sin and salvation, in chapter ten; and prophethood, scripture and revelation, in chapter eleven. Chapters twelve and thirteen focus on qur’anic spirituality, respectively its devotional and social aspects and its political aspect. And with all these topics, the depth of my coverage varies primarily in relation to a topic’s relevance to Jesus. I seek to approach the Qur’an in a way that is appreciative of widely held Muslim interpretations of it but yet is not limited to them when they seem anachronistic, the product of later theological concerns. I also show where the teachings of the Qur’an and Bible are similar and where different. This is vital because the Qur’an often suggests more agreement with the Bible than actually exists, and when doctrines seem more similar than they actually are, such similarity obstructs understanding.17 The Qur’an’s worldview provides the frame within which to view its portrayal of Jesus, while comparing it to the biblical worldview ensures our accuracy on the dimensions of that frame.
Part three focuses on the qur’anic portrait of Jesus, again showing how the qur’anic author’s presentation is like and unlike that of the biblical writers. Chapter fourteen considers Jesus’ origins and person, and chapter fifteen his words and works. Both of these topics are vital to a true appraisal of how the qur’anic author simultaneously honors and marginalizes Jesus. Although most Muslims believe the Qur’an denies Jesus’ crucifixion, they also acknowledge that the Qur’an speaks plainly of his death and resurrection in Q 19:33. Hence, chapter sixteen assesses how best to make sense of the qur’anic data on Jesus’ death, resurrection and place in the future, focusing especially on Q 4:157-58. Chapter seventeen concludes this part of our study with an examination of the Qur’an’s presentation of Jesus’ community and scripture, also addressing the common Muslim claim that the biblical text has been corrupted.
Finally, part four takes into account the overall meaning of the Qur’an presented in parts two and three, offers an initial Christian response to the Qur’an’s truth claims and hopefully makes a positive contribution to the ongoing dialogue between Christians and Muslims. I include this out of a concern to take the Qur’an seriously, especially its most urgent claims.18 Chapter eighteen considers the Qur’an’s uniqueness as an Arab scripture. And since every sequel is read in relation to its precursors, chapter nineteen assesses the Qur’an’s claim to be the Bible’s sequel by briefly surveying three central biblical motifs diachronically and looking for them in the Qur’an. Chapter twenty then summarizes the comparative and contrastive points on worldview and the portrait of Jesus, from parts two and three, and concludes by raising three vital issues I see as particularly relevant to Christian-Muslim dialogue.
Three Provisos
Three points are important to note about my approach in parts two and three. First, I mainly leave Muslim interpretations of the Qur’an to other studies. Readers seeking a “standard” Muslim reading of the text must look elsewhere for that. I engage with the text of the Qur’an itself, touching on Muslim interpretations primarily where they differ sharply from mine. I aspire to biblical scholar N. T. Wright’s approach to textual study. Avoiding both the objectivity of the positivist and the subjectivity of the phenomenalist, Wright advocates a form of “critical realism” by which we access a text’s meaning “along the spiraling path of appropriate dialogue or conversation” between student and text.19With that in mind, I ask my readers simply to come explore the Qur’an with me and see whether my interpretation of it makes sense.20
Second, my basic criterion for asking the questions of the Qur’an that I do is how vital an issue appears to have been to the qur’anic author. I avoid assuming that the concerns of the Bible and Qur’an are the same, making issues central that are of only peripheral qur’anic concern.21 But since many of the questions I put to the Qur’an are not questions Muslims typically ask of their scripture, many of my conclusions will also be new to them.
Third, to avoid making my treatment of biblical theology either too unwieldy or too nebulous to nonspecialists, I approach it from a single Christian perspective, one that is evangelical and Reformed. While I recognize that Reformed Christianity has much to learn from other Christian traditions, I find its theological framework most helpful. And I think most of what I say about the Bible will be accepted by a majority of Christians from all quarters.22
Truth and Grace in Dialogue
My goal of encouraging dialogue should need little justification from a Christian perspective. The psalmist says how pleased God is when brothers and sisters live together peaceably, and the New Testament calls us to do all we can to be at peace with everyone (Ps 133:1-3; Rom 12:18; Heb 12:14). In our global village, that demands dialogue.
But true dialogue does not deny or minimize difference. Rather, it begins with an honest acknowledgment of difference no less than similarity. Without that, we cannot be truly heard and understood. Using the term neighbor in its broadest sense, Jesus commands us to treat our neighbor as we want her to treat us (Mt 7:12; cf. Lk 10:25-37). Paul also counsels us to do good to everyone, Christian or not (Gal 6:10). So we lovingly speak what we hold to be true and graciously listen as our Muslim brother or sister does likewise. And we remain ready, as Peter charges us, to offer a defense to anyone who seeks the reason for our hope, doing so with gentleness and reverence (1 Pet 3:15-16). So our truth telling is to be marked always by kindness and honor for our partner in dialogue—as a Thou, not an It, in Martin Buber’s terms.
While the Qur’an’s attitude to Christians is somewhat mixed,23 it sometimes calls for open, irenic discussion with them. Q 29:46, for example, counsels Muslims: “Do not dispute with the People of the Book except in the best manner—apart from those of them who have done wrong. Say, ‘We believe in what has been sent down to us and in what has been sent down to you. Our God and your God are one and we have submitted to him.’”
And Q 3:64 tells Muslims to say to Christians and Jews, “O people of the Scripture, come to a word that is common between you and us: ‘We serve only God, and we associate nothing with Him.’” The verse continues, “If they turn away, say, ‘Bear witness that we surrender.’”24 Even of the Muslim community’s enemies, whoever they are, Q 8:61-62 tells Muslims, “If they incline to peace, you should incline to it and trust God. He is the Hearer and the Knower. And if they wish to deceive you, God is sufficient for you.”
Sadly, neither side has lived up to the standards our scriptures have set for us here. From early on, our shared history has been marked by hostility and misunderstanding. This raises the question, If we in the world’s two largest faith communities cannot dialogue amicably about our respective understandings of Jesus, for example, how can we realistically hope to have the kind of relationship that sets us on the path to peace?
While most Muslims reject the West’s religious pluralism, some go so far as to oppose any public discussion of the Qur’an’s truth claims by non-Muslims and seem to make conversion to Islam a prerequisite to that. This is ultimately counterproductive. For how can anyone’s beliefs be promoted by so sheltering them from objections? Surely truth is strong enough to withstand unjustified criticism. This makes non-Muslims wonder whether such rigor in controlling public discussion masks an underlying fear that their truth is not in fact true but only communally constituted as such.
Thus I seek a middle way between secular pluralism and Muslim protectionism, making every effort to take seriously the Qur’an’s truth claims while still being respectful of my Muslim brothers and sisters. This approach will doubtless yield more questions than answers, but it seeks to foster dialogue in an atmosphere of honesty, humility and sympathetic understanding—that is, of friendship. And what could be more urgently needed between Christians and Muslims now than that friendship that lovingly speaks the truth?
Part I
Qur’anic Context
Two
Muhammad and the Origins of Islam
Muslims implicitly accept the traditional narrative of Islamic origins by which an Arab trader-turned-prophet named Muhammad preached reformed monotheism to his people in Mecca (Makka) and Medina (Madina) during the early seventh century CE. For centuries Western scholars generally accepted the traditional narrative also. In the modern period, however, some have elected to dispense with all or much of it because it is largely based on conflicting Muslim traditions dated some two centuries after the events recounted. Though variously motivated, all such revisionism has rendered the Qur’an’s milieu an open question and thus made its meaning exceedingly flexible depending on the milieu and narrative ascribed to it. Yet the early non-Muslim evidence for the emergence of Islam confirms the traditional Muslim account in broad outline. Hence a consensus seems to be forming around the view that Islam emerged in Arabia by a process initiated by Muhammad and the recitations found in the Qur’an, but a process within the world of Late Antiquity more protracted and uneven than the traditional view allows. While there is clear textual evidence that the Qur’an underwent sustained editing during the seventh century, that evidence in no way undermines the traditional understanding that Islam began as a reformation of pagan polytheism and existing monotheism.
The Traditional Origins Narrative
Muslims implicitly accept the traditional Islamic origins narrative, forming the backdrop against which they read the Qur’an.1 Putting all questions of historical accuracy aside for now, we note that that narrative begins with Muhammad’s birth in 570 CE in Mecca (Makka),2 a town with two claims to fame: it was a key player in Western Arabia’s overland trade route and was home to a then-pagan shrine, the Kaʿba, making it rival a Christian pilgrimage site in Sanaʿa. Orphaned as a child, Muhammad grew up to accompany his uncle on trading expeditions to Syria and earn a reputation for intelligence, character and diplomacy. After managing a wealthy widow’s trading operations, Muhammad married her. And besides a business partnership and a son who died in infancy, Khadija eventually gave him four daughters as well as the moral support he so needed as a fledgling prophet.
Muhammad received his prophetic call in 610. In an experience that straddled dreaming and wakefulness, the Seen and Unseen, earth and sky, the angel Gabriel appeared, commanding him to “Recite!” (iqra). When Muhammad submitted, Gabriel inscribed the first recitation on his heart. Thus began the Qur’an, or “Recitation,” a series of divine revelations presented as the sequel to the biblical scriptures. Though Muhammad initially questioned his sanity and feared people would label him possessed, he eventually went public, calling his fellow Meccans to forsake their idolatry for the God of Abraham. Besides denouncing their religion, Muhammad warned of imminent judgment if they did not forsake their immorality and submit to God and his prophet, the meaning of the Arabic word islam being “submission.” Being rightly related to God in this dual sense made one a muslim, or “submitter.”3
Though some believed, Muhammad’s fears proved well founded, as most people rejected his prophetic claims, accusing him of being a mere poet and possessed. As Muhammad’s band of followers grew, the Meccans increasingly persecuted them. So he sent some of them to seek refuge in Ethiopia. During this period God favored Muhammad with his famed Night Journey to heaven. But relocating his entire community took on new urgency when a powerful and supportive uncle and Khadija both died. About a year later he married the young ʿAisha, who would become his favorite wife. (In all he is said to have had twelve wives.) A year or so later, in 622, the leaders of Yathrib—later called Medina (Madina)—a few hundred miles north of Mecca, welcomed him as their arbiter and ruler, as the town was divided between its constituent tribes, some of which were Jewish. The hijra, Muhammad’s emigration to Yathrib with some seventy followers, signaled the birth of his community, or umma, as a sovereign geopolitical entity.
The constitution Muhammad drew up as the basis for his rule of Yathrib referred to its Jewish signatories as “believers,” signifying that they could remain Jews. But even so, it required them to submit to Muhammad’s theocratic rule. When the revelation came declaring war on Mecca and conscripting all able-bodied “believers” to take up arms (Q 22:39-40), the Jews resisted, in violation of their agreement. Then revelations came that changed the direction of prayer from Jerusalem to Mecca and urged the Muslims to be wary of the Jews, ultimately calling for their exile or slaughter. While the war relieved tensions between Yathrib’s natives and its Meccan immigrants by enabling the latter to live off their battle spoils, the Jews were not the only ones who hated it. The revelations also decried as “hypocrites” or “imposters” others who accepted Muhammad’s prophethood but were reluctant to support his war effort for “God’s Cause.” Such revelations helped ensure that most of his followers gave him their loyal support.
Muhammad’s war against Mecca continued through much of his Medinan period. Muslim attacks on Mecca’s caravans undermined confidence in its trade and ate into its profits. Each successful raid increased not only the Muslims’ booty but also their prestige and power in the eyes of surrounding tribes. Whenever the Muslims won battles in which the odds were against them, they took it as proof of God’s favor on them. Whenever they lost to the Meccans, a revelation came fingering traitorous Jews or hypocrites. And Muhammad’s wisdom and generosity in handling prisoners and booty earned him the respect of followers, both actual and potential.
Despite his many challenges, Muhammad proved as able a politician and a military strategist as he was a religious leader. He built a powerful tribal coalition and used it to secure a peace treaty with the Meccans in 628, one that included permission for his followers to perform a pilgrimage to the Kaʿba the following year. That event proved a great moral victory, boosting Muhammad’s support among the tribes and prompting him to summon emperors and kings far and wide to submit to his rule. When the Meccans breached the peace treaty’s terms in 630, he advanced on the city, capturing it with little resistance. On entering Mecca, his followers cleansed the Kaʿba of its idols and executed Muhammad’s most vocal Meccan foes.
Muhammad spent his final years consolidating his power until he ruled the entire peninsula, including Sasanian-allied Yemen. He also led or sent his armies north to begin the conquest of Byzantine Palestine. Muhammad died in Medina in 632, after making a pilgrimage to Mecca during which he recited his final qur’anic message. It proclaimed, “Today I have perfected your religion for you and completed my blessing upon you and chosen for your religion submission (islam)” (Q 5:3). His farewell sermon also assured his followers that no prophet would come after him and that, together with the Qur’an, his example would be sufficient to keep them from going astray.
With respect to his example, the hadith present Muhammad as observing or exceeding the Arabs’ ethical norms, the only exceptions being those cases where a special revelation allowed him to break the rule. For example, Q 33:50 is understood to have permitted him to exceed the normal limit of four wives. In the strangest case of all, the Qur’an authorized Muhammad’s marriage to his adopted son Zayd’s wife by prohibiting adoption wholesale (Q 33:4-5, 37). Rescinding Zayd’s adoption precluded the charge of incest in Muhammad’s marrying the wife Zayd would divorce for him. As the hadith evidence, this deeply disturbed many of Muhammad’s followers at the time. But whatever ethical struggles they had with it, they ultimately accepted God’s right to do as he pleases and Muhammad’s being “a good example for those who hope for God and the Last Day” (Q 33:21 Jones).
The Islamic Origins Debate
For well over a millennium Western scholars interpreted the Qur’an with this traditional origins narrative in mind, rejecting only the latter’s miraculous and blatantly polemical elements. Beyond that they were largely uncritical, thus making the Islamic origins narrative seem solidly founded. But as qur’anic studies began catching up to biblical criticism in the late nineteenth century, scholars came to view the traditional origins narrative more critically, resulting in a growing divide between tradition-guided and more skeptical scholars. Everyone agreed on the hadith’s historical unreliability—just not its extent or how to deal with it.4
Although united in their rejection of Muhammad’s collective legacy or some key part of it,5 revisionists are variously motivated by polemics, ecumenism, evangelism or secular rationalism. Some skeptics argue that we know almost nothing about Islam’s origins, dismissing the traditional sources as so polluted that the origins narrative they gave rise to tells us nothing true, only what later generations wanted to believe about Islam’s origins. Others are happy to co-opt the traditional narrative while reversing key elements to establish their own distinct vision of Islamic origins. Until the present, however, no revisionist has been able to construct a compelling new origins narrative.
The best-known polemicist-revisionist, the pseudonymous Christoph Luxenberg, argues the Qur’an originated as a Syro-Aramaic lectionary.6 Some of Luxenberg’s colleagues even question Muhammad’s existence.7 By contrast, ecumenically minded revisionists like Geoffrey Parrinder (d. 2005) and Giulio Basetti-Sani (d. 2001) view the Bible and Qur’an as complementary, attacking only a heretical, tritheistic version of Christianity, which they claim was present in Muhammad’s Arabia. They thus transform the Muslim prophet from a “heretic” into a champion of Christian orthodoxy and discover an underlying unity between Christianity and Islam.8 And some Christians put this to evangelistic use.
Best represented by John Wansbrough (d. 2002), secular revisionists usually work with a linear model of religious development, hypothesizing that the Qur’an is the product of a lengthy evolutionary process that occurred among monotheists in the Fertile Crescent, not pagans in remote Arabia.9 In keeping with this, G. R. Hawting postulates that the Qur’an uses “idolatry” only figuratively, to attack not actual polytheism—as the hadith maintain—but rather just retrograde Iraqi monotheism.10 By the 1980s a sharp division had developed between such radical revisionists and those unprepared to radically revise the traditional origins narrative, with each side vehemently accusing the other of ignoring the obvious.
One problem with most revisionism is that, in its criticism of tradition, it is remarkably uncritical of its own underlying rationalistic hostility to tradition. Inherent in the historical method is the premise that tradition does not mediate history, making the historian duty-bound “if possible, to see through tradition to the history that might (or indeed might not) exist behind it.”11 Evangelical revisionists often stress how much wider the time gap is between Jesus and the New Testament documents, on the one hand, and Muhammad and the hadith, on the other. What they fail to mention is that a far larger gap exists between the earliest Old Testament texts and the events they recount. So if we reject the Muslim tradition’s authenticity wholesale on that ground, we must reject the Old Testament’s historicity too. Rather than take so uncritical an approach, we need to remain open to testimony of all kinds—including that of tradition.
Despite their inability to construct a compelling alternative origins narrative, however, the revisionists have done us all a great service especially in two respects:
They have reminded us that Islam emerged by a process that was protracted and uneven, and occurred within the world of Late Antiquity.
They have driven us to more rigorous scrutiny of historical sources, a broader search for data and more honesty about the remaining holes in our knowledge.
Toward a More Critical Approach
While some fine scholars still position themselves on the revisionist side of the origins debate, a scholarly consensus seems gradually to be forming on the other side, as scholars increasingly realize that such broad criticism of the Muslim tradition is unwarranted.12 These scholars refuse that “empirical fundamentalism”13 that summarily damns all of the hadith simply due to either their oral and relatively late origins or their Muslim bias—as if other sources are unbiased.14 Instead, they scrutinize all the available data—the qur’anic data included15—to determine which elements in the traditional narrative best accord with early non-Muslim and Muslim sources, including the Qur’an. They also refuse to pronounce on what did not exist based on missing evidence. They thus base their historical verdict on the preponderance of the evidence, believing that they have much to lose by embracing radical revisionism, regardless of the apparent freedom it offers.
Despite numerous hadith discrepancies, Muslims agree on Muhammad’s pagan origins, the location of the two cities in which he lived, all the major challenges he faced, the milestones that marked his prophetic career, the scripture he was given, the kind of community he founded and its relations to the other two monotheistic communities. Given the major divisions that occurred within the umma early on, this unanimity is not to be taken lightly. Muslims disagree on such things as who Muhammad’s first male convert was and when various battles—such as the Battle of Badr—occurred. But as Maxime Rodinson says, “Such disputes can only take place because everyone agrees the battle did take place.”16 “In broad outline,” Andrew Rippin concurs, “all these sources present the same story, but matters of chronology and detail are always problematic.”17 And Gregor Schoeler writes that, when carefully analyzed, the traditions “sometimes confirm the outlines of what Muslim believers had accepted as fact all along.” And when they do, “scholarly honesty requires us to declare that Muslim tradition is not always as unreliable as many Western scholars have assumed.”18
What early non-Muslim evidence supports the general contours of the traditional origins narrative? Since Muhammad was unknown outside the Arabian Peninsula before the Muslim conquest, the earliest non-Muslim evidence we have for Islam dates to that time.19 The limits of the present study allow me to mention only a few sources. As early as 633 Jerusalem’s patriarch Sophronius (d. ca. 639) wrote of the Arabs’ unprovoked military aggression, their hostility to the cross (i.e., Christianity), their destruction of churches and their capture of Bethlehem.20 On their conquest of Jerusalem in 637, he said the Arabs were preparing to build a mosque on the temple site. Muslim sources likewise tell of a mosque built there by ʿUmar in 638.21 Another document from the same time refers to a “people of the desert overrunning another’s lands as though they were their own.”22 These witnesses confirm the unprovoked advance of the Arab armies in Palestine at the very time when Muslim tradition says it happened. Two early Coptic documents describe the Arabs’ conquest of Egypt in mixed terms, telling of their massacres, plunder and enslavement of prisoners, alongside their fasting, prayer and respect for church property.23 Ishoʿyahb III of Adiabene (d. 659), an Assyrian church leader, says of the conquest that Christians were required “to give up half of their possessions to keep their faith” and laments the loss of those who chose to sacrifice their faith to keep their worldly wealth.24
An Armenian chronicle believed to be from the 660s says a merchant named Muhammad—together with some Jewish refugees—had awakened the Arabs to the reality of Abraham’s God. It depicts Muhammad as a military leader who urged the Arabs to take possession of Palestine since God had given it to them as Abraham’s descendants through Ishmael. It says that, having led his followers to attack Palestine, Muhammad “had not fallen short of his promise to them” when they returned home rich in slaves and other booty.25 In the 680s a Mesopotamian monk wrote that the Saracens (Arabs) follow Muhammad’s “tradition” strictly,26 while another said that anyone in their community who publicly opposed his commandments risked execution.27 We thus have every reason to believe that “Muhammad’s commandments” were central to their religious piety, centered in such practices as prayer, fasting and territorial expansion by military conquest in God’s name—especially when the Qur’an and hadith so abundantly confirm it. Further, Jacob, bishop of Edessa (d. 708), attests that the Muslims in Alexandria prayed toward the Kaʿba just as Jews prayed toward Jerusalem.28
There is then sufficient early non-Muslim evidence for us to accept that a trader named Muhammad presented himself as a prophet in early seventh-century Arabia, calling his people to abandon their polytheism and embrace his version of monotheism. On moving from Mecca to Medina, he assumed theocratic rule and led his followers to conquer in God’s name. We have no reason to doubt that Muhammad’s background was pagan, a fact the Qur’an and hadith substantiate in numerous ways.29 At least this much of the traditional origins narrative we should accept.30 Most scholars also accept that a large cache of ancient Qur’an manuscripts discovered in Sanaʿa in the early 1970s and the Tübingen Qur’an establish that the Qur’an’s written text was undergoing editing during the late seventh century, which also accords with Muslim tradition.31
However, with abundant evidence for the development of Islamic thought and practice since the ninth century, when written records became normative, we have no reason to doubt that similar development took place in Islam’s first two centuries, before a more literate Arab culture documented it. This means that early Islam was more fluid then than once thought, which is another reason why we must assess the hadith critically. Hence we are rightly skeptical about such things as the glorification of Muhammad, Mecca and the early umma (in Islam’s supposed golden age), and the vilification of Medina’s Jews as presented by the sira, or biographical literature on Muhammad.32 We should also reject the Muslim tradition’s polemical material on Christianity as well as its claim that the whole of Arabia converted to Islam during Muhammad’s lifetime. And since the Qur’an gives ample evidence of Muhammad’s never having done any miracles, we are fully justified in discounting that entire hadith element as a later accretion designed to strengthen Muslim piety and polemics.33
Recent studies have also discovered a number of key points about both the composition and the transmission of the qur’anic text. Computerized analysis has revealed that a very high 52 percent of the qur’anic text consists of repeated, oral-formulaic material, demonstrating its use of folklorist oral techniques.34 Keith E. Small also marshals evidence from the manuscript record for the Muslim authorities’ deliberate and sustained efforts to standardize the text, which fits well with the traditional accounts, though Muslims have ever since downplayed the effects of that program.35 Critical study of the text of the Qur’an is still in its early stages, with nothing remotely resembling the evidence for the New Testament’s demonstrable families of texts. But one thing is clear: no single version of the Qur’an goes right back to Muhammad, though nearly all Muslims believe their Qur’an does.36 While there was an early form of textus receptus, that text has never corresponded to one single, identifiable manuscript universally accepted by Muslims.37
To sum up, we have good reason to accept any elements in the traditional origins narrative that early non-Muslim evidence confirms or that are both universally accepted by Muslims and not patently polemical, hagiographical or otherwise anachronistic in nature. The Qur’an thus appears to constitute a largely authentic collection of the recitations given by Muhammad, an early seventh-century Arab trader-turned-prophet who originated in a polytheistic Arab milieu influenced by both Judaism and Christianity. As we shall see, the Qur’an itself amply demonstrates what William A. Graham has termed Islam’s “avowed reformation of previous monotheism and pagan polytheism,” that reformational spirit it has cultivated at a very fundamental level from its first beginnings right down to the present day.38
Three
Coming to Terms with Muhammad’s World
The Qur’an is truly understood only against the backdrop of early seventh-century Arabia. Though geographically isolated, Arabia was not insulated from major trends or events in the wider Middle East. The Byzantine and Sasanian empires used religion variously to legitimize their rule. The Byzantines also used it to pull neighboring peoples into their orbit, and their defense of orthodoxy and attacks on heterodoxy both within and without their realms could take on the character of a “holy war.” A number of times in the fifth and sixth centuries there had been considerable violence between Christians and Jews in Palestine and Yemen, at either end of the Incense Road. In Arabia’s highly politicized environment, its indigenous animistic polytheism gradually lost adherents to Christianity and Judaism but still held out in central Arabia and the Hijaz, in western Arabia. For some decades the superpowers divided most of Arabia’s northern tribes into two tribal confederations aligned with them. While this division highlighted the weaknesses inherent in their tribalism, Arabia’s a-religious poetry became a culturally uniting factor. Both natural and manmade catastrophes—one of which was a war of epic proportions that raged for over a quarter of a century—put the Arabs, no less than others in the wider Middle East, in a decidedly apocalyptic mood. This interested the Arabs in the early Meccan recitations, even if very few believed at first. In fact, a multiplicity of localized apocalyptic prophets in western and central Arabia—Muhammad being the most successful of them—precipitated a veritable “sea change” from paganism to monotheism there too.
The Qur’an is understood truly only against the backdrop of early seventh-century Arabia. Hence we must understand something of Muhammad’s world. In particular we must grasp five aspects of Arabia that significantly shaped the thinking of his audience:
its location between the empires
its indigenous spiritual tradition and values
its place in the religious contest of the day
its apocalyptic-prophetic mood
its tribalism
Surviving the Region’s Religio-political Firestorms
Arabia’s massive size—nearly that of India—and unyielding physical character were largely determinative of its inhabitants’ lives and economic prospects, an endless mix of daunting challenge and shimmering possibility. But located between the Sasanian and Byzantine empires and the latter’s ally, Ethiopia, Arabia’s tribes could hardly have escaped the superpowers’ designs and impact.1 While the rest of the peninsula’s extreme climate and sparse population made annexing it impracticable, Yemen’s fertility made it exceptional in that respect. Already in the fourth century the Arab tribes had begun abandoning their indigenous religion in favor of Judaism and Christianity. That movement accelerated as the empires’ involvement swept Yemen onto the world stage in the early sixth century and drew most of the peninsula’s northern tribes into one of two tribal confederations, respectively clients of Constantinople or Ctesiphon. Thus the empires sought to extend their influence across the peninsula. While the conflict in Yemen was resolved and the northern Arabs ceased to function as imperial clients before Muhammad began his prophetic career, the sixth century strongly imbued religion in Arabia with the geopolitical understanding of it characteristic of the surrounding empires.
It had always been normative for the political and religious spheres to overlap largely. But while ancient Rome, for example, never excluded religion from government, Roman religion was neither universal in scope nor missional in practice. By contrast, Christianity and Judaism—the two monotheistic faiths married to the governments in Palestine and Yemen in the sixth century—were both.2 This resulted in escalating Jewish-Christian hostility issuing in tragic violence in both regions. Byzantine suppression and persecution of Jews and Samaritans increased dramatically in Palestine during the century or so before Muhammad. In response to one uprising, for example, the Byzantines mounted genocidal attacks on Palestine’s Samaritans, and the Arabs bound to Byzantium actively participated in the religious violence of their imperial overlord. During the same period, the Byzantines (Ethiopia’s allies) and Sasanians both tried to pull strategic Yemen into their orbits. And partly in response to Byzantine violence in Palestine, an early sixth-century Jewish king in Yemen massacred Christians in Najran, the Yemeni city closest to Mecca. That event, to which Q 85:4-8 most likely refers, precipitated the direct intervention of the Ethiopians, followed by the Sasanians. And long afterward, the story of that massacre served as a powerful propaganda tool rallying support for the Christian cause in the Byzantine world. The key point though is that religious communities were massacred in God’s name at both ends of western Arabia’s Incense Road.
By officially subscribing to a given religion, a government embraced the notion that its supreme ruler was ordained by God to establish his rule on earth and, conversely, to defend his cause against all threats, theological ones included. Implicit also was the notion that his cause must triumph and, for the Byzantines, must also appear to triumph by ensuring that any religious minorities allowed to survive could not thrive and must endure a measure of visible humiliation. Whenever the empires saw their minorities as a threat, they persecuted them. The Byzantines also drew on the Old Testament model of a God-ordained “holy war” in their defense of orthodoxy and their struggle against heterodoxy, both inside and outside the empire. Doubtless out of sheer desperation, Heraclius (r. 610–641) took that motif farther than any emperor before him, promising anyone who died fighting the Sasanian “infidels” the honor of a martyr’s entrance into heaven.3 That war between the empires, beginning in 602 and overlapping most of Muhammad’s prophetic career, engulfed the entire eastern end of the Mediterranean, as well as Iraq and Iran. So devastating was it that when Heraclius finally crushed his archrival in 628, both empires were thoroughly spent, a fact of which Muhammad’s armies took full advantage beginning in 630.4
Though Arabia’s tribes were divided by dialect, religion, politics and unending blood feuds, a kind of “secular” poetry emerged as the great unifying force between them and became their greatest cultural achievement. That the formalized language of poetry overcame such fragmentation to forge a common identity and “provide the basis for a homogeneous memory”5 is simply spectacular. And the existence of so large a body of literature from Muhammad’s Arabia is immensely important to qur’anic interpretation, despite its a-religious character. For putting the tribe’s life, ethos and solidarity into words—conveying everything from individual and tribal panegyric to gossip and lampoon—early Arabic poetry serves Qur’an interpreters as a virtual “archeological site, with. . . a palpable stratigraphy.”6 Such poetry was as vital to the average Arab in Muhammad’s day as poetry is negligible to the average American today. Though some scholars doubt its authenticity, a growing body of evidence—epigraphic, narrative and linguistic—makes the issue one of “minor contamination rather than. . . major fabrication.”7
Yemen’s alternate embrace of the two great rival religions made for an incendiary contest there, one that sent sparks flying all across the peninsula. For a time in the sixth century, Ethiopian-allied Yemen controlled the Hijaz as far north as Yathrib. But by the time Muhammad took up his prophetic mantle, the Hijaz had already enjoyed decades of independence from (by then Sasanian-allied) Yemen. Since religious conversion involved political alignment, the polytheistic tribes in central Arabia and the Hijaz—Muhammad’s tribe, the Quraysh, among them—likely represented fiercely independent holdouts against monotheism’s steady advance. Resistant to outside interference of all kinds, they were not about to be swallowed up by either foreign religious alternative, Judaism or Christianity. This gave Mecca, Ta’if and other regional cultic centers a base from which to draw pagan pilgrims.
Spirituality and Hedonism at the End of Time
Arabia’s indigenous religion is more accurately described as animistic polytheism, since it did not separate the material from the spiritual realm—qur’anically, “the Seen and the Unseen”—believing that everything existed in both. They thus considered animals, rocks, rivers and stars, no less than humans, to have spirits. They also believed the world was inhabited by various other spirit beings, including angels, demons, jinn—somewhere between angels and demons—and others, ranging from the benign and playful to the treacherously evil.
