al-Ḳurʾān(39,134 words)

Article Table of Contents

1. 1. Etymology and Synonyms

2. 2. Muḥammad and the Ḳurʾān
3. 3. History of the Ḳurʾān after 632
4. 4. Structure
5. 5. Chronology of the text
6. 6. Language and Style
7. 7. Literary forms and Major Themes
8. 8. The Ḳurʾān in Muslim Life and Thought
9. 9. Translation of the Ḳurʾān

(A.), the Muslim scripture, containing the revelations recited by Muḥammad and
preserved in a fixed, written form.

¶
1. ETYMOLOGY AND SYNONYMS

a. Derivation and Ḳurʾānic usage. The earliest attested usage of the term ḳurʾān is in
the Ḳurʾān itself, where it occurs about 70 times with a variety of meanings. Most
Western scholars have now accepted the view developed by F. Schwally ( Gesch . des
Qor ., i, 33 f.) and others that ḳurʾān is derived from the Syriac ḳeryānā , “scripture
reading, lesson”, as used in Christian liturgy (see for example the 6th century Syriac
mss., Brit. Museum, Add. 14, 432, e.g. ḳeryānā d-yōm bāʿawātā , “lection for the Day
of Supplications”, fol. 43b). See also J. Wellhausen, ZDMG, lxvii (1913), 634; J.
Horovitz, Isl ., xiii (1923), 67; Foreign vocab., 233 f.; Bell-Watt, 136 f. (for works
abbreviated in this article, see Bibl .). The majority view among Muslim authorities
has been that ḳurʾān is simply the verbal noun from ḳaraʾa , “he read” or “he recited”.
Both views find some support in the Ḳurʾān, where the verb ḳaraʾa does occur, but
not as frequently as the usual term for reading or reciting, talā . In early Kūfic
manuscripts we find ḳurān without the hamza , causing some authorities such as
Ḳatāda and Abu ʿUbayda to derive it from ḳarana , “he put together” or “he bound
together” (see Gesch. des Qor., i, 31 f.). Against this view it should be noted that the
omission of the hamza was a characteristic of Meccan speech and early Kūfic
Ḳurʾānic script, and that the term ḳurʾān is closely related to the verb ḳaraʾa in
Ḳurʾānic usage. The soundest conclusion seems to be that the term ḳurʾān originated
in the Ḳurʾān itself to represent the Syriac ḳeryānā, but was based on an Arabic
maṣdar form ( fuʿlān ) from ḳaraʾa.

The verb ḳaraʾa occurs in the Ḳurʾān 17 times, usually meaning “recite”, but
occasionally “read (aloud?)”. Where it clearly means “recite”, it is always the Ḳurʾān
that is recited, usually by Muḥammad (XVI, 98, XVII, 45, 106, etc.). But in one of the
earliest contexts it is God who recited the revelation to Muḥammad: “When we recite
it, follow its recitation” (LXXV, 18), and in one of the latest contexts (LXXIII, 20) it
is the believers (see below). Ḳaraʾa means “read” in four or five verses, always with
“book” ( kitāb ). In XVII, 93, Muḥammad is challenged by some unbelievers to
ascend to heaven and bring down a book they can read for themselves. Three passages
(XVII, 14, 71, and LXIX, 19) refer to the record books to be read at the Last
Judgment, and one (X, 94) refers to some of Muḥammad’s contemporaries—probably
Jews and Christians—as “those who have been reciting [or reading] the Book” before
him. Rudi Paret ( Übersetzung , ad locc.) is no doubt correct in seeing in the Ḳurʾān
different nuances in the meaning of ḳaraʾa, which he translates as lesen , verlesen ,
rezitieren , and vortragen . But there may not be as much variation in the Ḳurʾānic
usage of this verb as these terms suggest, since where it ¶ means “recite” it could be
interpreted “recite (the Ḳurʾān) from written notes”, and where it means “read” it
could be interpreted “read aloud”.

Most occurrences of the term ḳurʾān in the Muslim scripture date from a period of
about ten years beginning when Muḥammad began to perform the ṣalāt publicly and
ending around the time of the battle of Badr in 624. It is impossible to date the
contexts precisely or determine their exact chronological order, but the general
development of the Ḳurʾānic usage of ḳurʾān is fairly clear. (Unless otherwise
indicated, all statements on dating in this article are the present writer’s own
conclusions. In most cases these analyses tend to support the conclusions reached by
Richard Bell, who also dated individual pericopes rather than entire sūra s—see
section 5 below.)

(1) Among the earliest meanings of ḳurʾān is “act of reciting”, seen in two passages
where God addresses Muḥammad: “Ours is it to put it together and [Ours is] its
ḳurʾān. When We recite it follow its ḳurʾān” (LXXV, 17 f.), and “Observe the ṣalāt at
the sinking of the sun until the darkening of the night, and [observe] the ḳurʾān at the
dawn; surely the ḳurʾān at the dawn is well attested” (XVII, 78). This last verse
provides useful insight into the relationship between the ṣalāt and the ḳurʾān at the
time when both were just being instituted. (2) In some verses ḳurʾān means “an
individual passage recited [by Muḥammad]”. In LXXII, 1 f. the Prophet is informed
that “a number of the jinn listened, and said: ‘Verily, we have heard a ḳurʾān, a
wonder, which guides to rectitude, so we have believed in it’.” See also X, 61, XIII,
31, and cf. X, 15. (3) In a large majority of contexts, dating mostly from the late
Meccan and very early Medinan years, ḳurʾān, usually with the definite article, has a
complex meaning involving several elements. It is the “revelation” ( tanzīl ) sent
down by God upon Muḥammad (XX, 2 ff., LXXVI, 23, etc.). It is sent down at
intervals (XVII, 106, XXV, 32), and in some contexts it appears to be something in
God’s possession that is larger than what has so far been “sent down”: “What We
send down of al-ḳurʾān is a healing and mercy to the believers” (XVII, 82). In other
contexts al-ḳurʾān refers to a collection of revelations in Muḥammad’s possession,
which he is commanded to recite (XXVII, 91 f.; cf. XVI, 98, XVII, 45). Its liturgical
setting is seen in a number of passages, such as VII, 204: “So when al-ḳurʾān is
recited [by Muḥammad], listen to it and keep silent” and LXXXIV, 20 f.: “Then what
ails them, that they believe not, and when al-ḳurʾān is recited to them they do not
bow?” Specific references to other Muslims reciting parts of al-ḳurʾān occur only in
one or two Medinan passages, such as LXXIII, 20, where the believers are told to
recite during the night vigil only as much of al-ḳurʾān as is convenient or easy ( mā
tayassar) for them. (4) In a number of contexts that appear to be early Medinan,
dating from before LXXIII, 20, the ḳurʾān (sometimes without the definite article) is
said to be an Arabic version of “the Book” ( al-kitāb ): “By the clear Book. Behold
We have made it an Arabic ḳurʾān” (XLIII, 2 f.; see also XII, 1 f., XLI, 2 f., and other
verses quoted below). The closest the Ḳurʾān comes to using the term al-ḳurʾān with
its present meaning as the name of the Muslim scripture is where it is mentioned with
the Torah and the Gospel in IX, in, in a construction that suggests three parallel
scriptures. But it must be remembered that the revelation was not yet complete, and
the final scripture was not compiled until after Muḥammad’s death.

¶
b. Synonyms in the Ḳurʾān. The meaning of the term ḳurʾān and the origin of the
Muslim scripture cannot be understood fully without taking into consideration the
Ḳurʾānic usage of several other closely related terms, especially āya , kitāb , and sūra,
but also d̲h̲ikr , mat̲ h̲ānī , ḥikma , and others. Each of these terms has its own distinct,
basic meaning in the Ḳurʾān, but in some contexts their usages converge with that of
ḳurʾān.

The basic meaning of āya, like the related Hebrew ōth and the Syriac āthā , is “sign”,
in the sense of a token of some unseen reality or truth. Its derivation is uncertain. It
would most naturally come from ʾ-w-h, corresponding with the Hebrew ʾ āwāh , but
such a root does not exist in Arabic, and the Arabic form would be difficult to explain
as a borrowing from Hebrew or Syriac (see Foreign vocab., 72 f.). Āya and its plural
āyāt occur in the Ḳurʾān almost 400 times, most frequently in reference to natural
phenomena that confirm God’s power and bounty and call for gratitude from man.
These are the so-called “sign-passages”, discussed below in 7.b. In other contexts āya
refers to some extraordinary event or miracle that confirms the truth of the message of
a prophet. Then in late Meccan or possibly very early Medinan passages, probably in
response to the continuing demands for a miracle from Muḥammad, āya takes on a
new meaning—”revealed message”. And finally in a number of Medinan passages
āya comes to be used for the basic unit of revelation. Later Muslim scholars
interpreted āya in these passages to mean “verse”, but the Ḳurʾān gives no indication
as to the length of these units of revelation, except that in some contexts they are said
to be parts of the ḳurʾān, the kitāb, and possibly of a sūra.

Kitāb , literally “book, writing”, occurring 255 times in the singular and six times in
the plural ( kutub ), is among the most difficult terms in the Ḳurʾān to interpret. Only
rarely does it refer to some everyday type of writing, e.g. a letter sent by Solomon to
the Queen of Sheba (XXVII, 28 f.), and a document of manumission (XXIV, 33).
Sometimes it refers to a record of men’s deeds (XVII, 71, XVIII, 49, XXXIX, 69,
etc.), events that have been prescribed (XVII, 58, XXXV, 11, etc.), or God’s
knowledge (VI, 59, X, 61, XI, 6, etc.). The commentators tend to interpret these
passages as referring to actual celestial books, a view also adopted by most Western
writers on the topic. A. Jeffery ( The Qurʾān as scripture, in MW, XL [1950], 47-50)
saw references to the ancient Near Eastern Record Book, Book of Decrees, and
Inventory Book, while G. Widengren (Muḥammad, the apostle of God, and his
ascension, 1955, 115-22) argued that these passages referred to a single “Heavenly
Book”. There is no conclusive evidence in the Ḳurʾān for either view, and there are
serious problems with any literal interpretation of these verses, all of which could just
as well be taken as metaphorical references to God’s knowledge and decrees. A
similar interpretation is possible for those verses usually regarded as referring to the
heavenly original of the Ḳurʾān, e.g., “Indeed it is a noble ḳurʾān in a treasured kitāb
touched only by the purified” (LVI, 77-9), “Nay, it is a glorious ḳurʾān in a preserved
tablet” (LXXXV, 21 f.), and “By the clear kitāb. Behold We have made it an Arabic
ḳurʾān ... it is in the umm al-kitāb with Us” (XLIII, 1-4; cf. III, 7, and XIII, 39, which
are even more ambiguous). There is in fact no clear indication in these verses or
anywhere in the Ḳurʾān of a heavenly original or archetype of the Muslim scripture.
This concept has been read into the text by the ¶ later commentators. By far the most
frequent usage of kitāb in the Ḳurʾān is in reference to God’s revelation to
Muḥammad and to certain religious communities that existed before and during his
time, especially the Jews and Christians, who are called “the people of the Book” (ahl
al-kitāb ). This complex series of ideas involving the Ḳurʾān, the Book, Muḥammad,
and the People of the Book is discussed in more detail in section 2 below.

The term sūra , occurring in the Ḳurʾān nine times in the singular and once in the
plural ( suwar ), seems to be derived from the Syriac ṣūrṭā , sūrthā , “scripture,
scripture reading” ( Gesch . des Qor ., i, 31; Foreign vocab., 180-2). In the Ḳurʾān
sūra refers to a unit of revelation and could be translated “scripture” or “revelation”.
Several verses mention a sūra being “sent down” (IX, 64, 86, 124, 127, XLVII, 20,
etc.), in contexts that are similar to some Ḳurʾānic usages of āya , kurʾān , and kitāb.
And Muḥammad’s opponents, who are dissatisfied with what he has been reciting, are
challenged to “produce a sūra like it” (II, 23, X, 38) or “ten suwar like it” (XI, 13).
Cf. XXVIII, 49, where the challenge is to produce a kitāb from God. The Ḳurʾān
gives no indication as to how long these units of revelation were. They were most
likely only parts of the present sūras.

The Ḳurʾānic usages of ḳurʾān , āya, kitāb, and sūra converge at the following points:
(1) ḳurʾān, āya, and sūra are each used sometimes for the basic unit of revelation, a
pericope consisting most likely of several verses (e.g. X, 61, II, 106, and X, 38,
respectively), and kitāb may have the same meaning in XXVIII, 49, and a few other
places. (2) ḳurʾān (e.g. XXXIV, 31) and kitāb (e.g. II, 89, VI, 92, 155, VII, 2)
sometimes mean “a scripture”, and sūra may have this meaning in XXIV, 1. (3)
Occasionally ḳurʾān and kitāb are used for the revelation of God as a whole, only part
of which has been sent down, e.g. XVII, 82, quoted above, and XXXV, 31: “And
what We have revealed to you [Muḥammad] of the kitāb is the truth, confirming what
was before it”. (4) Usually, however, there is a distinction. Kitāb , when referring to
the revelation, usually means the “Book of God”, the revelation as a whole, while
ḳurʾān usually means that part of the revelation that has been sent down to
Muḥammad, e.g. X, 37: “This ḳurʾān is ... a distinct setting forth of the kitāb in which
there is no doubt” and XII, 1 f.: “These are the āyāt of the clear kitāb. Verily We have
sent it down as an Arabic ḳurʾān”.

Other technical terms used in the Ḳurʾān for the revelation being sent down to
Muḥammad include the following. (1) Three nouns from the verb d̲h̲akara , “to
remember, to mention”, are used for the revelation in the sense of a reminder or
warning: tad̲h̲kira in LXXIII, 19, LXXVI, 29, etc.; d̲h̲ikrā in VI, 90, XI, 120, etc.; and
d̲h̲ikr in the formula, “It is nothing but a d̲h̲ikr to the worlds”, at the end of the sūras
XXXVIII, LXVIII, LXXXI, etc., in the introductory formula to XXXVIII where it is
connected with al-ḳurʾān , and in VII, 63, 69, etc. (2) The term mat̲ h̲ānī has puzzled
Muslim commentators and given rise to several theories among Western interpreters
of the Ḳurʾān. Even if it is a derivative of the Hebrew mis̲ h̲nāh ( Koran .
Untersuchungen , 26-8) or the Syriac or Aramaic mat̲ h̲nīt̲ h̲ā (Gesch. des Qor., i, 114-
16), the term mat̲ h̲ānī must have been influenced by the Arabic t̲ h̲anā , “to double,
repeat”; cf. mat̲ h̲nā , “by twos”, in IV, 3, XXXIV, 46, and XXXV, 1. Thus it is
probably best translated as “repetitions” (Bell, Trans ., 247; Blachère, Trad ., 290).
But it refers to the revelation sent down to Muḥammad: “We have given thee seven ¶
of the mat̲ h̲ānī and the wondrous ḳurʾān” (XV, 87), and “God has sent down the best
of accounts, in agreement with itself, mat̲ h̲ānī at which the skins of those who fear
their Lord do creep” (XXXIX, 23). The commentators usually take the “seven
mat̲ h̲anī” to be the seven verses of the Fātiḥa [q.v.]. A more likely interpretation is
that this term refers to the punishment-stories (see 6.d and 7.d below), which Bell
suggested may have once formed a collection separate from the Ḳurʾān (Bell-Watt,
134f., 143f.). For the literature, see Foreign vocab., 257 f., and Paret, Kommentar ,
279 f. (3) Ḥikma , “wisdom”, probably from the Aramaic ḥek̲h̲mā , is used in several
Medinan passages for the revelation or part of it. God sends down the kitāb and the
ḥikma to Muḥammad (II, 231, IV, 113, etc.). Muḥammad recites the āyāt, and teaches
the kitāb and the ḥikma (LXII, 2). And the āyāt and the ḥikma are recited in the
Muslims’ homes (XXXIII, 34). These verses should probably be interpreted in the
light of IV, 105, where it is said that Muḥammad is to judge ( taḥkum ) mankind on
the basis of the Book sent down to him. For the literature, see Foreign vocab., in, and
Paret, Kommentar, 68. The term ḳurʾān as the name of the Muslim scripture acquired
connotations of these terms and others used for the revelation “sent down” to
Muḥammad; see also Bell-Watt, 145-7, and Paret, Kommentar, 19, on furḳān .

2. MUḤAMMAD AND THE ḲURʾĀN

The Muslim scripture and Muḥammad’s prophetic experience are so closely linked
that one cannot be fully understood without the other. The orthodox view of the
dramatic form of the Ḳurʾān is that God is the speaker throughout, Muḥammad is the
recipient, and Gabriel is the intermediary agent of revelation—regardless of who may
appear to be the speaker and addressee. An analysis of the text shows that the
situation is considerably more complex than this. In what appear to be the oldest parts
of the Ḳurʾān, the speaker and the source of the revelation are not indicated. In some
passages (XCI, 1-10, CI, CII, CIII, etc.) there is not even any indication that the
message is from a deity (on this, cf. Muir, Moḥammed , 39 ff.), and in some (LXXXI,
15-21, LXXXIV, 16-19, XCII, 14-21, etc.) Muḥammad seems to be the speaker. In
the earliest passages that mention Muḥammad’s God, he is not named but is spoken of
in the third person, usually as “my Lord”, “your Lord”, etc. (LI, 1-23, LII, 1-16,
LXXIV, 1-10, LXXX, 1-32, LXXXIV, 1-19, LXXXVIII, 1-22, XCVI, 1-8, etc.).
From LIII, 10, LXXXI, 23, and other verses it is clear that Muḥammad had visions of
God, and at least in the Meccan years it was the voice of God himself, and not some
intermediary, that Muḥammad heard. In the earliest passages to indicate the source of
the revelation, God is the speaker and the direct source, e.g., “We shall cast upon thee
[Muḥammad] a mighty word” (LXXIII, 5) and “We shall cause thee to recite without
forgetting” (LXXXVII, 6). And a number of late Meccan and early Medinan passages
speak of God reciting the āyāt, the ḳurʾān, and the kitāb to Muḥammad (II, 252, III,
108, XLV, 6, etc.).

But during the same period a series of passages have the effect of elevating God from
direct revelation. This is done in two ways: the message is said to be brought down by
certain intermediaries, and it is connected in some way with “the Book” (al-kitāb).
Both of these concepts occur in XLII, 51 ff., where it is explicitly denied that God
speaks directly to Muḥammad: “It is not fitting that God should ¶ speak to any mortal
except by inspiration ( waḥy ), or from behind a veil, or by sending a messenger to
inspire whatever He wills .... Thus have We inspired you [Muḥammad] with a spirit of
Our bidding ( rūḥan min amrinā ); you did not know [before] what the Book and faith
were”. The role of this spirit as the agent of revelation is seen more clearly in XXVI,
192 f.: “Surely it is the revelation of the Lord of all beings, brought down by the
faithful spirit ( al-rūḥ al-amīn )” and XVI, 102: “The spirit of holiness ( rūḥ al-ḳudus
) has brought it down from your Lord in truth”. Then in the fairly early Medinan
passage, II, 97, the agent of revelation for the first and only time in the Ḳurʾān is said
to be Gabriel. On the basis of this verse and a number of ḥadīt̲ h̲ accounts, the
commentators have identified the “spirit” in the earlier passages as Gabriel, and have
placed Gabriel at the very beginning of Muḥammad’s ministry as the agent of
revelation. Also, contrary to popular belief, Gabriel is never identified in the Ḳurʾān
as one of the angels, and the angels are never said to be agents of revelation (XVI, 2,
comes the closest). The angels may be the speakers in a few passages such as XIX, 64
ff. and XXXVII, 161-6, just as Muḥammad or Abraham is sometimes the speaker; but
there is no need to interpret the plural “we” as referring to the angels in the numerous
passages that also refer to God in the third person. On the “say” passages, in which
Muḥammad is sometimes the speaker, see 7.c below.

The Ḳurʾān also speaks of Muḥammad’s human informants, at first in contexts

involving accusations made against the Prophet by his opponents: “The unbelievers
say: ‘This is nothing but a fraud [Muḥammad] has devised, and others have helped
him with it’ ... ‘Tales of the ancients he has written down; they are recited to him
morning and evening’ ” (XXV, 4f.). Except for the element of fraud, the Ḳurʾān does
not deny what is reported in this passage. The response given in XVI, 103, to a similar
charge seems to concede that Muḥammad had a foreign informant : “We know very
well that they are saying: ‘It is only a mortal who is teaching him’. But the language
of him whom they suggest is foreign, and this is clear Arabic speech”. Here again the
accusation is not denied; there is simply insistence that the actual wording of the
Ḳurʾān did not come from the informant. Several Medinan passages give the
impression that Muḥammad actively sought information from the scriptures of the
Jews, since they are condemned for concealing their Book from him. Some mention
written copies that were shown to Muḥammad or his followers, e.g. VI, 91: “the Book
Moses brought ... you have put on parchments you show, but you hide much of it”.
Others such as II, 79, accuse the Jews of writing out passages of their own and then
saying “This is from God”. See also II, 77, 140, 174, III, 71, and V, 15. In these
passages it is not difficult to see Muḥammad receiving stories and other information
from various informants, including Jews and Christians, and then in moments of
inspiration reworking the material into its Ḳurʾānic form. Such a view, although
considered unorthodox today, is not inconsistent with some reports found in the
ḥadīt̲ h̲ collections and other early Muslim sources.

This raises the question of the relationship between the Ḳurʾān and the scriptures of
the Jews and Christians. Meccan and very early Medinan parts of the Ḳurʾān speak of
a single revelation or Book, sometimes called the Book of God ( kitāb Allāh ), and
specify those to whom it had been “given” previously: the prophets (II, 213), the seed
of Abraham (XXIX, 27, LVII, 25 f., etc.), the Children of Israel (XL, 53, ¶ XLV, 16),
Moses (II, 53, 87, VI, 154, etc.), John the Baptist (XIX, 12) and Jesus (XIX, 30, etc.).
In II, 101 and III, 23 (cf. III, 93) the kitāb Allāh is specifically identified with the
scriptures of the ahl al-kitāb , “people of the Book”. This expression, which occurs
over thirty times (II, 105, 109, III, 64 f., IV, 123, 153, etc.—all Medinan), is often
interpreted as “the people who have a scripture”. But it more likely means “the people
who have (previously) been given the Book of God”, since it is synonymous with the
Ḳurʾānic expressions allad̲h̲īna ūtū ’l-kitāb , “those who have been given the Book”,
in II, 101, 144, 145, 19 f., IV, 131, etc., and allad̲h̲īna ātaynāhumu ’l-kitab, “those to
whom We have given the Book”, in II, 121, VI, 20, 114, XIII, 36, etc. The often-
discussed term ummiyyūn (II, 78, III, 20, 75, LXII, 2) seems to be the antithesis of
these three expressions, thus meaning “those who have not been given the Book
previously”. And this is almost certainly the sense of the singular, ummī , which is
applied to Muḥammad in VII, 157 f. That is, instead of sending to the Arabs and the
world a missionary from among those who had already been given the Book (the ahl
al-kitāb), God chose to send a prophet, Muḥammad, from among those who
previously had not been given the Book ( al-nabī al-ummī ). There is no basis in the
Ḳurʾān for the traditional view that ummī means “illiterate” (see UMMĪ; Gesch . des
Qor . i, 14-17; Bell-Watt, 33 f.; and Blachère, Introd ., 6-12). After the so-called
“break with the Jews” in Medina around the time of the battle of Badr, the Book came
to be distinguished from the Torah and the Gospel (III, 48, V, 110, etc.) and identified
more closely with the revelation being sent down to Muḥammad (see, e.g., the
Medinan formulas, XII, 1 f., XLI, 3, XLIII, 2 f., etc.). And the expression “those who
have been given the Book” became “those who have been given a portion ( naṣīb ) of
the Book” (III, 23, 44, 51, etc.). About the same time the plural “scriptures” ( kutub )
was introduced in two credal statements in II, 285 and IV, 136 (cf. LXVI, 12, XCVIII,
3).

In late Meccan and early Medinan passages Muḥammad is said to have been
challenged to produce a book the people could read for themselves (e.g. XVII, 93),
and his followers complained that they did not have a scripture like those of the Jews
and Christians (VI, 155 ff.), The establishment of an independent, Muslim community
in Medina, distinct from the ahl al-kitāb, was marked by the granting of a separate
Islamic scripture that was to serve as a criterion (cf. furḳān ) for confirming the truth
of previous scriptures (III, 3, IV, 105, V, 48, etc.). The evidence seems to indicate that
Muḥammad began to compile a written scripture some time in the early Medinan
years, but that the responsibilities of leading the rapidly growing Muslim community
forced him to leave the task unfinished (see Bell-Watt, 141-4). That Muḥammad
participated in and directed the task of preparing a written scripture seems certain.
This is to some extent supported by the ḥadīt̲ h̲, where we are told that he dictated to
scribes and instructed them on how to arrange the revelations, sometimes inserting a
new passage into an older one (al-Buk̲h̲ārī, Faḍāʾil al-Ḳurʾān , bāb 2 f., Abū Dāwūd,
Ṣalāt , bāb 2, Ibn Saʿd, iii/2, 59). The Prophet most likely did not do the actual writing
and editing himself, especially in Medina where he had scribes to perform these
menial tasks (Gesch. des Qor., i, 46f.). But it is not unlikely that Muḥammad did
occasionally write out the revelations himself (see e.g. XXV, 4-6, quoted in part
above, and Bell-Watt, 36, on this passage). The task ¶ of preparing the written
scripture included some revision and alteration of earlier revelations (see Bell-Watt,
89-101). The Ḳurʾān itself acknowledges that changes were made in the revelation:
“For whatever āya We abrogate or cause [you, i.e. Muḥammad] to forget, We bring
[another that is] better or like it” (II, 106), and “When We substitute one āya for
another—and God knows best what He is sending down—they say : ‘You
[Muḥammad] are a mere forger’ “ (XVI, 101). A similar verse, XXII, 52, gives
another explanation for changes in the revelation: “We have never sent any messenger
or prophet before you [Muḥammad], but Satan cast [something] into his thoughts
when he was yearning [for a message from God]. But God abrogates what Satan casts
in, and then God adjusts his āyāt” . These verses seem to be responses to complaints
or accusations about changes in the revelation. The Ḳurʾān gives three explanations :
that Muḥammad sometimes forgot parts, that Satan inserted something into the
revelation, and that God simply replaced some parts with others as good or better. The
term āya in these passages came to be interpreted as “verse”, but the Ḳurʾān gives no
indication as to the length of these units of revelation that were withdrawn and
replaced by others.

In his commentary on XXII, 52, and in his Annales (i, 1192 f.), al-Ṭabarī records
several versions of a curious story in which Muḥammad is said to have recited the two
short verses, “These are the exalted ones ( al-g̲h̲arānīḳ = cranes), Whose intercession
is to be hoped for”, just after LIII, 19 f., which mention the Arabian goddesses, al-Lāt,
al-ʿUzzā, and Manāt [q.vv.]. The Ḳurays̲ h̲ [q.v.], who were in the mosque listening to
Muḥammad, then prostrated with the Muslims at the sad̲j̲da at the end of the sūra ,
and some of Muḥammad’s followers who immigrated to Abyssinia to avoid
persecution returned to Mecca. But before they arrived, Gabriel informed Muḥammad
that these two verses had been inserted into the revelation by Satan. God then
revealed XXII, 52, to comfort Muḥammad, and then LIII, 21-7, to abrogate the two
g̲h̲arānīḳ verses. Hostility between Muḥammad and the Ḳurays̲ h̲ resumed, and the
immigrants had to arrange for protection before re-entering Mecca. This story of the
“Satanic verses” has been accepted as historical by most Western writers who
mention it, since they find it unthinkable that it could have been invented (e.g. Gesch .
des Qor ., i, 101-3; Watt, Mecca, 103; A. Guillaume, Islam, 189 f.). Although there
could be some historical basis for the story, in its present form it is certainly a later,
exegetical fabrication. Sūra LIII, 1-20 and the end of the sūra are not a unity, as is
clalmed by the story; XXII, 52, is later than LIII, 21-7, and is almost certainly
Medinan (see Bell, Trans ., 316, 322); and several details of the story—the mosque,
the sad̲j̲da, and others not mentioned in the short summary above—do not belong to a
Meccan setting. Caetani ( Annali , i, 279-81) and J. Burton ( “Those are the highflying
cranes” , in JSS, xv [1970], 246-65) have argued against the historicity of the story on
other grounds, Caetani on the basis of weak isnād s. Burton concluded that the story
was invented by jurists so that XXII, 52, could serve as a Ḳurʾānic proof-text for their
abrogation theories.

3. HISTORY OF THE ḲURʾĀN AFTER 632

The history of the text and the recitation of the Ḳurʾān after the death of Muḥammad
in 632 is still far from clear. The development of the canon involved three main
stages, each of which is difficult to reconstruct and date: the collection and
arrangement ¶ of the text from oral and written sources, the establishment of the final
consonantal text, and the process by which several readings, i.e., different ways of
vocalising the text, came to be accepted as canonical or “revealed”. According to the
orthodox view, the Ḳurʾān was perfectly preserved in oral form from the beginning
and was written down during Muḥammad’s lifetime or shortly thereafter when it was
“collected” and arranged for the first time by his Companions. The complete
consonantal text is believed to have been established during the reign of the third
caliph, ʿUt̲ h̲mān (644-56), and the final vocalised text in the early 4th/10th century.
Most Western scholars have accepted the main points of this traditional view. But
there are problems here. In addition to the usual difficulties of evaluating Muslim,
sources that were regulated by the science of ḥadīt̲ h̲ , the task of reconstructing the
history of the Ḳurʾān is further complicated by the fact that the classical literature
records thousands of textual variants, which, however, are not found in any extant
manuscripts known to Western scholars. Several valuable works on the history of the
Ḳurʾān were written during the 4th/10th century (see below), but later Muslim
scholars, with just a few exceptions, have shown little interest in the problem of
reconstructing the history of the canon. The basic European works continue to be the
second edition of Th. Nöldeke’s Geschichte des Qorāns , especially Part II, Die
Sammlung des Qorāns (1919), ed. and revised by F. Schwally, and Part III, Die
Geschichte des Korantexts (1938), by G. Bergsträsser and O. Pretzl, and A. Jeffery’s
Materials for the history of the text of the Qurʾān (1937).

a. The “collection” of the Ḳurʾān. The most widely accepted story of the “first
collection” of the Ḳurʾān places an official, written copy of the entire text in the reign
of the first caliph, Abū Bakr (632-4), thus within two years of the Prophet’s death.
According to the dominant version of this story (al-Buk̲h̲ārī, Faḍāʾil al-Ḳurʾān , bāb
3; Ibn Ḥad̲j̲ar, Fatḥ al-bārī , ix, 9), ʿUmar b. al-K̲h̲aṭṭāb [q.v.] became concerned that
so many Ḳurʾān reciters ( ḳurrāʾ [q.v.]) had been killed at the battle of al-Yamāma. So
he suggested to the caliph that a complete, written text of the Ḳurʾān be prepared so
none of the revelation would be lost. Abū Bakr hesitated, saying “How dare I do
something the Prophet did not do?”, but ʿUmar convinced him of the need. Abū Bakr
then sent for Zayd b. T̲h̲ābit [q.v.], one of the Prophet’s secretaries, and said: “You are
a wise young man, and we trust you. And you used to write down the revelations for
the Prophet, so go and find [all the fragments of] the Ḳurʾān and assemble it
together”. Zayd also hesitated, saying “How dare I do something the Prophet did not
do?” But Abū Bakr convinced him of the need, and Zayd collected all the fragments
of the Ḳurʾān “whether written on palm branches or thin stones or preserved in the
hearts of men”, and he wrote it out on “sheets” ( ṣuḥuf ) of equalize and gave them to
Abū Bakr. When ʿUmar became caliph in 634 he acquired the “sheets”, and on his
death they passed to his daughter, Ḥafṣa, a widow of the Prophet.

This story makes several key points, either explicitly or by implication, that would be
of considerable significance for our understanding of the history of the Ḳurʾān if they
could be accepted : that Muḥammad did not leave a complete written text, that
nothing of the Ḳurʾān was lost, that it was preserved primarily in oral form and that
any written fragments were on crude materials, that the first ¶ official recension,
authorised by the first caliph, was also the first complete collection, etc. Muslim
tradition came to accept this story as a historical account, and these points as facts.
But there are serious problems with this account. For one thing, most of the key points
in this story are contradicted by alternative accounts in the canonical ḥadīt̲ h̲
collections and other early Muslim sources (see Wensinck, Handbook , 131; Gesch .
des Qor ., ii, 15-18; Burton, J Collection , 120-8). According to one ḥadīt̲ h̲, ʿUmar
once asked about a verse and was told that it had been in the possession of someone
who was killed at Yamāma, so he gave the command and the Ḳurʾān was collected,
and “ʿUmar was the first to collect the Ḳurʾān” ( Maṣāḥif , 10; Itḳān , i, 58). Other
accounts say that Abū Bakr began the collection and ʿUmar completed it, or that Abū
Bakr was the first to collect the Ḳurʾān on sheets ( suḥuf ), while ʿUmar was the first
to collect the Ḳurʾān into a single volume ( muṣḥaf ). Others say ʿUmar ordered the
compilation, but died before it was completed (Ibn Saʿd, iii/1, 212). In fact, each of
the first four caliphs is reported to have been the first person to collect the Ḳurʾān
(Maṣāḥif, 10; Itḳān, i, 57-9). And several alternative accounts state explicitly that no
official collection of the Ḳurʾān existed prior to ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s. Caetani ( Annali , ii/1,
713) and Schwally (Gesch. des Qor., ii, 20) have questioned the significance of the al-
Yamāma battles as an occasion for an official collection of the Ḳurʾān, pointing out
that very few men distinguished for their knowledge of the Ḳurʾān are mentioned in
the lists of those who died there (Schwally found two). Even more significant is the
fact that there is no evidence that the alleged collection under Abū Bakr was ever
accepted as authoritative. Finally, this story fails to acknowledge the role of written
copies of parts of the Ḳurʾān left by Muḥammad. These important documents for the
history of the Ḳurʾān, alluded to in the statement that Zayd “used to write down the
revelations for the Prophet”, must have played a significant role in the preparation of
an official text. There are thus sufficient grounds for rejecting the historicity of this
story, the most likely purposes of which were to obscure Muḥammad’s role in the
preparation of a written Ḳurʾān, to reduce ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s role in establishing an official
text, and to attempt to establish the priority of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text over those of the
(pre-ʿUt̲ h̲mānic) Companion codices. All three purposes would be accomplished by
establishing the belief that the first official collection of the Ḳurʾān was prepared
during the short reign of Abū Bakr and served as the basis for ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s rescension.
See Gesch. des Qor., ii, 11-27; Bell-Watt, 40-2; Blachère, Introd ., 27-34; also
Burton, Collection, 117-37 (on Burton’s view, see below).

The accounts of the collection of the Ḳurʾān under ʿUt̲ h̲mān assert that the final
consonantal text was established during the last half of his reign, or about twenty
years after Muḥammad’s death. According to the dominant version (al-Buk̲h̲ārī, loc.
cit.; Maṣāḥif, 18 f.; Itḳān, i, 58 f.; Fatḥ al-bārī , ix, 14 f.; Gesch. des Qor., ii, 47-50),
the occasion for the final collection of the Ḳurʾān was a dispute between Muslim
forces from ʿIrāḳ and Syria over the correct way of reciting it during communal
prayers while on an expedition to Armenia and Ād̲h̲arbāyd̲j̲ān. The general, Ḥud̲h̲ayfa
b. al-Yaman, reported this problem to the caliph and asked him to establish a unified
text. ʿUt̲ h̲mān obtained the “sheets” from Ḥafṣa and appointed a commission
consisting of Zayd b. T̲h̲ābit and three prominent Meccans, and instructed them to
copy the sheets into several volumes following the dialect of ¶ Ḳurays̲ h̲, the main
tribe of Mecca. When the task was finished ʿUt̲ h̲mān kept one copy in Medina and
sent others to Kūfa, Baṣra, Damascus, and, according to some accounts, Mecca
(Gesch. des Qor., ii, 112 f.), with an order that all other copies of the Ḳurʾān were to
be destroyed. This was done everywhere except in Kūfa, where Ibn Masʿūd and his
followers refused. The details differ in various versions of this story (ibid., 50-4),
mainly on the number and identity of the commissioners and the cities that received
official copies.

This second collection story stands up to critical analysis no better than the first.
Western scholars now accept the view argued by Schwally (ibid., 57-62) and others
that the Ḳurʾān is not in the dialect of the Ḳurays̲ h̲ (see 6.a below). If this is so, one of
the two main points of the story is discredited, and it is difficult to see what role the
commission might have played. Schwally also showed (54-7) that those named in the
various accounts are unlikely candidates for such a commission appointed by
ʿUt̲ h̲mān, and he gave good reasons for doubting that the caliph would have ordered
all extant copies of the Ḳurʾān to be destroyed. It also seems unlikely that differences
in the way the Ḳurʾān was recited during the daily prayers would have caused serious
dissension among Muslim forces involved in the initial conquests. These parts of the
story all hint of a later historical setting. The Ḥafṣa element seems to be simply a
device for tying the two collection stories together, while establishing an authoritative
chain of custody for an official text going back almost to the time of the death of the
Prophet, and explaining why this official text was not generally known (see Bell-
Watt, 41 f.). For several alternative accounts that give completely different reasons
and circumstances for ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s order for an authorised text, see Burton, Collection,
138-59.

We thus have before us another story whose particulars cannot be accepted. But this
does not mean necessarily that the story has no historical basis at all. The unanimity
with which an official text is attributed to ʿUt̲ h̲mān, in the face of a lack of convincing
evidence to the contrary, leads most Western scholars to accept one central point of
this story: that the Ḳurʾān we have today, at least in terms of the number and
arrangement of the sūra s and the basic structure of the consonantal text, goes back to
the time of ʿUt̲ h̲mān, under whose authority the official text was produced. This was,
however, certainly not a textus receptus ne varietur, even in terms of its consonantal
form (see below). Most Western scholars also accept one other element of the story:
that Zayd played some role in establishing the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text. Just what that role
might have been is difficult to say; alternative accounts give several possibilities (see
Burton, Collection, 117-26, 141-6, 150, 165-7, etc.). Burton contends that both
collection stories are completely fictitious and that Zayd’s prominence in the various
accounts is due solely to the fact that he had been a young secretary to the Prophet
and an early Ḳurʾān specialist who happened also to be one of the latest surviving
Companions, dying ca. 45/665 (Collection, 120-4, 228, etc.). Burton has raised
serious doubts about the role of Zayd in establishing the official text, and he has
shown that the sciences of ḥadīt̲ h̲ and fiḳh influenced the proliferation of Ḳurʾān
collection stories; but he has not demonstrated the likelihood of his main contention,
that the collection stories were fabricated by later jurists to provide support for their
abrogation theories by hiding the fact that the final text of the ¶ Ḳurʾān was produced,
not by ʿUt̲ h̲mān, but by the Prophet himself.

b. Variant readings and Companion codices. The ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text tradition was only
one of several that existed during the first four centuries A.H. The general view is that
ʿUt̲ h̲mān canonised the Medinan text tradition and that this one was most likely the
closest to the original revelation. Other text traditions, attributed to several
Companions of the Prophet, are said to have flourished in Kūfa, Baṣra and Syria. The
sources speak sometimes of various “readings” ( ḳirāʾāt , sing. ḳirāʾa ), i.e. different
ways of reading or reciting the text, sometimes of “codices” ( maṣāḥif , sing, muṣḥaf
). On the usage of these two terms, see ḲIRĀʾA and Materials , 13 f. A number of
works on the “disagreement of the codices” ( ik̲h̲tilāf al-maṣāḥif ) are said to have
been written by Muslim scholars of the first four centuries. Ibn al-Nadīm lists eleven
such works ( Fihrist , 16; tr. Dodge, 79, which is incomplete), including the K. Ik̲h̲tilāf
maṣāḥif al-S̲h̲ām wa ’l-Ḥid̲j̲āz wa ’l-ʿIrāḳ by Ibn ʿĀmir al-Yaḥṣubī (d. 118/736), K.
Ik̲h̲tilāf maṣāḥif ahl al-Madīna wa-ahl al-Kūfa wa-ahl al-Baṣra by al-Kisāʾī (d.
189/805), K. Ik̲h̲tilāf ahl al-Kūfa wa ’l-Baṣra wa ’l-S̲h̲ām fi ’l-maṣāḥif by Abū
Zakariyā al-Farrāʾ (d. 207/822), K. Ik̲h̲tilāf al-maṣāḥif wa-d̲j̲amʿ al-ḳirāʾāt by al-
Madāʾinī (d. ca. 231/845), and three works each called simply K. al-Maṣāḥif by Ibn
Abī Dāwūd (d. 316/928), Ibn al-Anbarī (d. 328/939), and Ibn As̲ h̲ta al-Iṣfahānī (d.
360/970). Of these works, most of which have not survived, the last two seem to have
been the most complete and the most highly regarded by later scholars. The shorter
and somewhat earlier work by Ibn Abī Dāwūd, son of the famous traditionist, was
edited by A. Jeffery and published with his Materials, which lists several thousand
variants taken from over thirty “main sources” (see 17 f.), including the classical
commentaries by al-Ṭabarī, al-Zamak̲h̲s̲ h̲arī, al-Bayḍāwī, and al-Rāzī, and various
works on ḳirāʾāt, s̲ h̲awād̲h̲d̲h̲ , g̲h̲arīb al-Ḳurʾān , grammar, etc., including the Maʿānī
by al-Farrāʾ (d. 207/822), the Muk̲h̲taṣar by Ibn K̲h̲ālawayh (d. 370/979), and the
Muḥtasab by Ibn D̲j̲innī (d. 392/1002) (see Bibl .). The comments made by al-Ṭabarī
(d. 311/923) on variants (e.g. on XXIII, 106) show that the text of the Ḳurʾān was not
fixed ne varietur in his day.

Most often mentioned in the sources are the “readings” or “codices” of Ibn Masʿūd,
Ubayy, and Abū Mūsā, said to have been dominant in Kūfa, Syria and Baṣra
respectively. All three codices are said to have been begun during Muḥammad’s
lifetime. ʿAbd Allāh b. Masʿūd [see IBN MASʿŪD ] (d. ca. 33/653), an early convert
who became a personal servant to Muḥammad and accompanied him on many major
occasions, is reported to have learned some seventy sūra s directly from the Prophet,
who appointed him as one of the first teachers of Ḳurʾān recitation (Ibn Saʿd, iii/1,
107). Later he was appointed to an administrative post in Kūfa by the caliph ʿUmar,
and there he became a leading authority on the Ḳurʾān and ḥadīt̲ h̲ . Ibn Masʿūd is
consistently reported to have refused to destroy his copy of the Ḳurʾān or stop
teaching it when the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic recension was made official. Also, there are reports
that many Muslims in Kūfa continued to follow his reading for some time after his
death, thus dividing the community there. Ubayy b. Kaʿb [q.v.] (d. 18/639 or 29/649
or later), a Medinan Muslim who served as a secretary for the Prophet, seems to have
been even more prominent as a Ḳurʾān specialist than Ibn Masʿūd during
Muḥammad’s lifetime. There are reports that he was responsible ¶ for retaining
verbatim certain important revelations, apparently on legal matters, which from time
to time the Prophet asked him to recite. Ubayy appears frequently and in a variety of
roles in the various collection stories. For instance, the “sheets” of Ubayy are
sometimes mentioned instead of those of Ḥafṣa, and he sometimes appears in place of
Zayd, dictating the Ḳurʾān to a corps of scribes (see Materials, 114; Burton,
Collection , 124 ff.). The accounts saying that when the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text was made
official, Ubayy destroyed his codex while Ibn Masʿūd refused to do so may be
examples of historical telescoping, meaning that the people of Syria (possibly over a
period of many years) gave up their distinctive reading (i.e. that of Ubayy), while the
people of Kūfa refused to give up theirs (i.e. that of Ibn Masʿūd). This would explain
the later dates sometimes given for Ubayy’s death and the conflicting reports
regarding his role in compiling the official text. Abū Mūsā ʿAbd Allāh al-As̲ h̲ʿarī
[q.v.] (d. 42/662 or later) was a Yemenite famed for his eloquent recitation of the
Ḳurʾān. His codex is said to have been accepted in Baṣra, where he served as
governor under ʿUmar, and there are reports that his reading continued to be
remembered and studied there for some time after ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s text was made official.
According to one account, when the messenger from ʿUt̲ h̲mān delivered the Baṣra
copy of the new standard text, Abū Mūsā said to his followers: “Whatever you find in
my codex that is not in his, do not remove it; but whatever you find missing [in mine],
write it in” ( Maṣāḥif , 13). This is consistent with other reports saying Abū Mūsā’s
codex was large and that it contained the two extra sūras of Ubayy’s codex (see
below) and other verses not found in other codices (Materials, 209-11).

In addition to these three codices, two of which are discussed in more detail below,
Jeffery classified as “primary” the codices attributed to twelve other Companions of
the Prophet: the second and fourth caliphs, ʿUmar and ʿAlī; three of Muḥammad’s
widows, Ḥafṣa bint ʿUmar, ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a bint Abī Bakr, and Umm Salama; four whose
readings seem to have been variations of the Medinan text tradition, Zayd b. T̲h̲ābit,
ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbbās, Anas b. Malik, and ʿAbd Allāh b. al-Zubayr; and three others,
Sālim the Client of Abū Ḥud̲h̲ayfa, ʿUbayd b. ʿUmayr, and Ibn ʿAmr b. al-ʿĀṣ. ʿAlī b.
Abī Ṭālib [q.v.] (d. 40/661), cousin and son-in-law of Muḥammad, is often said to
have been the first to collect the Ḳurʾān after the Prophet’s death (e.g. Fihrist, 28; tr.
Dodge, 62 f.). He is reported to have arranged the sūras in some sort of chronological
order, e.g. XCVI, LXXIV, LXVIII, LXXIII, etc., and to have given up his codex to be
burned when ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s text was made official. ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbbās [q.v.] (d. ca.
68/688), also a cousin of Muḥammad, later gained fame as the doyen of early Ḳurʾān
exegetes. He is said to have included in his codex the two extra sūras of Ubayy’s text
(see below), and several later scholars are said to have taken their readings from him.
Sālim b. Muʿḳib (d. 12/633), sometimes called Sālim b. Maʿḳil ( Gesch . des Qor ., ii,
11, 20, etc.), one of the Ḳurʾān reciters killed in the battle of Yamāma, was one of
four to whom Muḥammad is reported to have advised his followers to turn for
guidance concerning the Ḳurʾān. ʿUbayd b. ʿUmayr (d. 74/693) was an early Ḳurʾān
reciter in Mecca; his codex may have been the basis for the Meccan text tradition,
which seems not to have been as strong as those of Ḳūfa, Baṣra and Damascus (or
Syria). Compared with the large number of variants attributed to Ibn Masʿūd ¶ and
Ubayy, relatively few are mentioned in the literature for these other codices. Jeffery
also collected variants attributed to a number of Muslims of the second generation: al-
Aswad b. Yazīd, ʿAlḳama, Ḥaṭṭān, Saʿīd b. D̲j̲ubayr, Ṭalḥa, ʿIkrima, Mud̲j̲āhid, ʿAṭāʾ
b. Rabāḥ, al-Rabīʿ b. al-K̲h̲ut̲ h̲aym, al-Aʿmas̲ h̲, Ḏj̲aʿfar al-Ṣādiḳ, Ṣāliḥ b. Ḳaysān, and
al-Ḥārit̲ h̲ b. Suwayd. More variants are attributed to some of these “secondary
codices” than to most of the “primary” ones. In some cases, Jeffery was able to
determine the primary codex from which a secondary one was derived.

Ibn Masʿūd’s codex is said to have differed from the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text in several
important respects. The sources are fairly consistent in saying it did not contain the
Fātiḥa and the two charms that became sūra s I, CXIII, and CXIV of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic
text (see 4.a below). Variants in the Fātiḥa are, however, attributed to Ibn Masʿūd (
Materials , 25), and Ibn al-Nadīm reported in 377/987 that he saw a number of Ibn
Masʿūd Ḳurʾān manuscripts and that one that was about 200 years old included the
Fātiḥa ( Fihrist , 26; Dodge tr., 57 f.). Of the many variants attributed to Ibn Masʿūd
(see Gesch . des Qor ., iii, 60-83 ; Materials, 25-113), some involve only different
vowels with the same consonantal text, and some are purely orthographic, e.g. Ibn
Masʿūd is said to have written kulla mā as two words rather than one in a number of
places. But the vast majority of variants listed by Bergsträsser and Jeffery for Ibn
Masʿūd involve differences in the consonantal text that would also show up in
recitation. Of these, many may be regarded as explanatory glosses on the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic
text; but in some cases it is the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text that seems to contain an “expansion”
or “improvement”, sometimes apparently for theological reasons (see Materials, 17).
Among the most questionable of the variants attributed to Ibn Masʿūd are the “S̲h̲īʿa
readings”, e.g. in V, 67, XXIV, 35, XXVI, 215, XXXIII, 25, 33, 56, XLII, 23, XLVII,
29, LVI, 10, LIX, 7, LX, 3, LXXV, 17-19 (see ibid., 40, 65, 68, etc.). More difficult to
evaluate are the numerous “synonym variants”, as for example the following found in
Sūra XXV, where, instead of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic terms given in parentheses, Ibn Masʿūd is
reported to have read d̲j̲aʿala , “makes, brings about”, in verse 48: “and He it is Who
sends ( arsala ) the winds”; li-nuns̲ h̲ira , “give life”, in 49: “that We may give life ( li-
nuḥyiya ) thereby to a dead land”; ḳuṣūr , “castles”, in 61: “Blessed is He Who has
placed in the heavens constellations ( burūd̲j̲ )”; yatafakkara , “ponder, consider”, in
62: “for him who desires to remember ( yad̲h̲d̲h̲akkara )”; and al-d̲j̲anna , “the
Garden, Paradise”, in 75: “They will be awarded the high place ( al-g̲h̲urfa ) inasmuch
as they were steadfast”. Just as frequent are cases where an entire phrase is different,
e.g. Ibn Masʿūd’s reading in III, 39: “Then Gabriel called to him, ‘O Zachariah’ ”,
instead of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic reading, “Then the angels called to him as he stood praying
in the sanctuary”. Some variants may have significance for the early history of Islam
or the history of the Ḳurʾān, e.g. Ibn Masʿūd’s well-known reading al-ḥanīfiyya , “the
way of the Ḥanīfs” [q.v.] instead of al-islām in III, 19: “Behold, the [true] religion (
dīn ) of God is Islam”, and the fact that he is said to have included the basmala at the
beginning of Sūra IX (see 4.c below). Also, the order of the sūras in Ibn Masʿūd’s
codex is said to have differed considerably from that of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text. Two
slightly different, incomplete lists are recorded, the earlier one by Ibn al-Nadīm
(Fihrist, 26; Dodge tr., 53-7) and a later one by ¶ al-Suyūṭī ( Itḳān , i, 64). The
missing sūras in each list are included in the other, and it is possible to reconstruct a
single list. The principle of arranging the sūras in order of descending length is
followed more closely than in the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text, but there is still considerable
variation from this criterion (see Bauer, Anordnung der Suren , Table IV). Following
the assumption that the longer sūras were not put together until the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text
was compiled, some scholars have concluded that the Ibn Masʿūd lists are “post-
ʿUt̲ h̲mānic” and have little validity (e.g. Materials, 23 f.). But if most of the sūras
were written down and put into approximately their final form during Muḥammad’s
lifetime, then there would be no strong reason for rejecting the validity of these
reports outright.

Ubayy’s codex seems according to the extant evidence to have been less important
than Ibn Masʿūd’s. It appears not to have been the source of any secondary codices,
and very few unique variants are attributed to it. Most variants attributed to Ubayy are
attributed also to either Ibn Masʿūd or Ibn ʿAbbās. Probably the best known feature of
Ubayy’s codex is that it is said to have included two short sūras not in the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic
and Ibn Masʿūd texts, Sūrat al-K̲h̲alʿ, with three verses, and Sūrat al-Ḥafd, with six
(see Materials, 180 f.). The order of sūras in Ubayy’s codex is said to have differed
from that of ʿUt̲ h̲mān’s and Ibn Masʿūd’s, and again we have two slightly different
lists (Fihrist, 27; Dodge tr., 58-61; and Itḳān, i, 64). These lists are, however, less
complete and less reliable than those given for Ibn Masʿūd, and some sūras are
difficult to identify. Dodge (60) is probably correct in identifying al-nabī as Sūra
LXVI, and Jeffery (Materials, 115) is no doubt mistaken in saying it is Sūra LXV.
But Dodge is certainly wrong in reading al-dīn (one of the titles for Sūra CVII—see
Paret, Kommentar , 554) as al-tīn (the title of Sūra XCV), and in failing to recognise
Ubayy’s two famous extra sūras mentioned above. Ibn al-Nadīm states at the end of
his list in the Fihrist that Ubayy’s codex contained 116 sūras, and he reports that his
source of information, al-Faḍl b. S̲h̲ād̲h̲ān, saw a copy of an Ubayy codex in a village
near Baṣra in the middle of the 3rd century A.H.

Western scholarship has not reached a consensus on what value this mass of allegedly
pre-ʿUt̲ h̲mānic variants has for our knowledge of the history of the Ḳurʾān.
Confidence in the variants declined during the 1930s as they were being collected and
analysed. Bergsträsser (Gesch. des Qor., ii, 77-83, 92-6) still gave a fairly positive
appraisal, but Jeffery (Materials, 16) wrote: “With the increase of material one feels
less inclined to venture on such a judgment of value”, a view that came to be shared
by O. Pretzl. Then after the project to prepare a critical edition of the Ḳurʾān came to
a halt, A. Fischer ( Isl ., xxviii [1948], 5) concluded that most of the allegedly pre-
ʿUt̲ h̲mānic variants were later attempts by philologers to emend the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text.
Recently J. Burton ( Collection , 199-212, etc.) and J. Wansbrough ( Quranic studies,
44-6, 202-7, etc.) have concluded that, not just some, but all of the accounts about
Companion codices, metropolitan codices, and individual variants were fabricated by
later Muslim jurists and philologers; but they reach opposite conclusions on the
reason for this hoax. Burton argues that the Companion codices were invented in
order to provide a setting for the ʿUt̲ h̲mān collection story, which in turn was invented
to hide the fact that Muḥammad himself had already collected and edited the final
edition of the Ḳurʾān (211 f., 239 f.). Wansbrough, on the other ¶ hand, asserts that
the collection stories and the accounts of the Companion codices arose in order to
give ancient authority for a text that was not even compiled until the 3rd/9th century
or later. He claims, without providing any convincing evidence, that the text of the
Ḳurʾān was so fluid that the multiple accounts (e.g. of the punishment-stories)
represent “variant traditions” of different metropolitan centres (Kūfa, Baṣra, Medina,
etc.). Each writer has stressed a valid point, i.e., that Muḥammad played a larger role
in compiling and editing the Ḳurʾān than is admitted by the traditional accounts
(Burton), and that as late as the 3rd/9th century a consonantal textus receptus ne
varietur still had not been achieved (Wansbrough). But both writers seem to have
overstated their cases. Neither has given convincing reasons for his own hypothesis,
or for the shared assertion that the Muslim accounts should be rejected altogether.

c. Establishment of the canonical text and readings. Historically, it is better to speak

of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text and the oral tradition that accompanied it as evolving gradually
over a period of about three centuries. The process by which this text came to prevail
over its rivals and then became the foundation for several sets of accepted or
“canonical” readings is far from clear, and the issues involved are complex. They
include the difficult task of reconstructing the stages in the development of Ḳurʾānic
orthography, the relationship between the written text and the oral tradition, and the
tension between a critical evaluation of the historical evidence and the orthodox views
on the Ḳurʾān.

From the beginning there were variations in the copies of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text. Even
the official copies of the Medina standard codex ( al-imām ) sent to the main centres
are said not to have been identical. Bergsträsser ( Gesch . des Qor ., iii, 6-19) lists and
discusses a number of variations in the Medina, Damascus, Baṣra, Kūfa and Mecca
copies of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text, reported in the Muḳniʿ of Abū ʿAmr al-Dānī (d.
444/1052) and in other works. E.g. the Damascus copy is said to have had wa-bi ’l-
zubur and wa-bi ’l-kitāb instead of wa ’l-zubur and wa ’l-kitāb in III, 184, and
minkum instead of minhum in XL, 21; and the Kūfa copy is said to have had ʿamilat
instead of ʿamilat-hu in XXXVI, 35, and aw an (which occurs in the Egyptian
standard edition) instead of wa ʾan in XL, 26. These differences are of course minor,
but they do involve changes in the consonantal forms. Such variations can best be
explained as resulting from carelessness on the part of the scribes or lack of concern
for exact uniformity among the authorities.

Deficiencies in the Arabic script used in the earliest copies of the Ḳurʾān led to further
differences, in the oral tradition as well as the text tradition. During the first Islamic
century, Arabic was written in a so-called scriptio defectiva in which only the
consonants were given, and in several instances the same form was used for two or
more consonants, e.g. d and d̲h̲ , ḥ and k̲h̲ , and even very different phonemes such as
r and z, and in some positions b, t, t̲ h̲ , n, and y. Since no diacritical points or vowel
signs were included, the vocalisation was moreover left to the reader. This meant that
even when there was agreement on the consonants, some verbs could be read as active
or passive, some nouns could be read with different case endings, and some forms
could be read as either nouns or verbs. The lists compiled by Jeffery in his Materials
contain many examples of canonical and non-canonical variants based on forms that
are indistinguishable in the scriptio defectiva of early Ḳurʾān manuscripts. In most
cases the meaning is affected very little, as for example whether kabīr or kat̲ h̲īr is read
in II, 219 (the latter was read by Ibn Masʿūd and two of the Seven, Ḥamza and al-
Kisāʾī— see below), or ḥadab , “mound”, or d̲j̲adat̲ h̲ , “tomb”, is read in XXI, 96 (the
latter was read by Ibn Masʿūd and others). In some instances the alteration of a case
ending or some other slight change in the vowelling does significantly affect the
meaning (see KH ̲ A
̲ ṬṬ and Zwettler, Oral tradition, 122 ff.).

During the Umayyad period (41-132/661-750) the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text tradition became
more and more diverse, and new readings arose combining elements of the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic
and Companion oral and text traditions, especially those of Ibn Masʿūd and Ubayy.
By early ʿAbbāsid times there was such a confusion of readings that it became
impossible to distinguish ʿUt̲ h̲mānic from non-ʿUt̲ h̲mānic ones, or to recover with
confidence the “original” ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text. Some order was brought to this confusion
by the establishment of a scriptio plena, a fully vowelled and pointed text. Muslim
accounts of the introduction of this improved script are unreliable because they vary
so much and are not consistent with palaeographical evidence (Blachère, Introd ., 78-
90). A popular view is that al-Ḥad̲j̲d̲j̲ād̲j̲ was responsible for introducing vowel signs
and dots for the consonants when he was governor of ʿIrāḳ (74-95/694-714). But
Ḳurʾān manuscripts from the first three or four Islamic centuries show that a scriptio
plena came to be accepted very slowly. Dots of different colours or in different
positions (above, below, and beside the consonants) were used to indicate the three
short vowels in some fairly early manuscripts, and in some, but not all, later ones.
Strokes or dots for distinguishing consonants, as well as other signs for doubled
consonants, pauses, and even the finer points of recitation, were introduced later (see
K̲HA
̲ ṬṬ . Gesch. des Qor., iii, 19-57 and N. Abbott, Rise of the North Arabic script,
17-44; on the difficulty of dating these early manuscripts, see A. Grohmann, The
problem of dating early Qurʾāns , in Isl ., xxxiii [1958], 213-31).

By the early 4th/10th century the improved Arabic script was widely, although not
universally, accepted by Ḳurʾān scholars. One result of the general use of the more
precise script was that the differences in the texts became more pronounced, and this
caused heated disputes as to which reading was the correct one. Another result was
that it became possible for the authorities to enforce a greater measure of uniformity.
The central figure in what became the most important Ḳurʾān reform since the time of
ʿUt̲ h̲mān was Abū Bakr b. Mud̲j̲āhid (d. 324/936). His aim was to restrict the number
of acceptable readings, accept only those based on a fairly uniform consonantal text,
renounce the attempts of some scholars to achieve absolute uniformity (something
which he realised was impossible), and at least ameliorate if not bring to an end the
rivalry among scholars, each of whom claimed to possess the one correct reading.
With a stroke of genius he chose seven well-known Ḳurʾān teachers of the 2nd/8th
century and declared that their readings all had divine authority, which the others
lacked. He based this on the popular ḥadīt̲ h̲ in which the Prophet says the Ḳurʾān was
revealed to him in “seven aḥruf” (al-Buk̲h̲ārī, Faḍāʾil al-Ḳurʾān , bāb 4; Muslim,
Ṣalāt al-musāfirīn , trads. 270-4, etc.). The meaning of this expression in the ḥadīt̲ h̲ is
uncertain, the term aḥruf being the plural of ḥarf , “letter” (see Gesch. des Qor., i, 48-
51, iii, 106 f.). Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid interpreted the expression ¶ to mean “seven readings”.
His view, worked out in a book called al-Ḳirāʾāt al-sabʿa , “The Seven Readings”,
came at just the right time. It was adopted by the wazīr s Ibn Mukla and ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā
[q.vv.] and made official in the year 322/934 when the scholar Ibn Miḳsam was forced
to retract his view that the consonantal text could be read in any manner that was
grammatically correct. The following year another Ḳurʾān scholar, Ibn S̲h̲anabūd̲h̲
[q.v.], was similarly condemned and forced to renounce his view that it was
permissible to use the readings of Ibn Masʿūd and Ubayy.

Selecting several rival systems and declaring them equally authoritative was of course
the same method used elsewhere by Muslims to avert endless disputes, e.g. the four
Sunnī legal schools. But Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid’s system of seven readings was not completely
arbitrary. Strong Ḳurʾān traditions existed in Kūfa, Baṣra, Medina and Damascus; and
Mecca also had its own tradition. Kūfa stood out above the others as the leading
centre for Ḳurʾān studies and the seat of several rival traditions. So Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid
selected one reading each for Medina, Mecca, Baṣra and Damascus—those of Nāfiʿ
(d. 169/785), Ibn Kat̲ h̲īr (d. 120/737), Abū ʿAmr (d. 154/770), and Ibn ʿĀmir (d.
118/736), respectively—and three for Kūfa, those of ʿĀṣim (d. 127/744), Ḥamza (d.
156/772), and al-Kisaʾī (d. 189/804). His attempt to limit the number of canonical
readings to seven was not acceptable to all, and there was strong support for
alternative readings in most of the five cities. Eventually scholars began to speak of
the Ten readings, and even the Fourteen. The most widely accepted of these, the so-
called “three after the seven” are the readings of Abū Jaʿfar (d. 130/747), Yaʿḳūb al-
Ḥaḍramī (d. 205/820), and K̲h̲alaf (d. 229/843). Among the “four after the ten”, two
deserve special notice, the readings of the famous al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728) and
al-Aʿmas̲ h̲ (d. 148/765), of Baṣra and Kūfa respectively. For each of the Ten, two
slightly different “versions” (sing, riwāya ) came to be accepted according to scholars
of a generation or two later, e.g. the “versions” of Wars̲ h̲ (d. 197/812) and Ḳālūn (d.
220/835) foi the reading ( ḳirāʾa ) of Nāfiʿ, those of Ḥafṣ (d. 190/805) and S̲h̲uʿba (d.
194/809) for ʿĀṣim, and those of K̲h̲alaf (mentioned above) and K̲h̲allād (d. 220/835)
for Ḥamza. For complete lists and discussion of this development, see Gesch . des
Qor ., iii, 169-90, and Blachère, Introd ., 116-35.

During the 5th/11th century the exclusive authority of the Seven began to prevail, and
several works were written on them, e.g., the K. al-Taysīr by al-Dānī (d. 444/1053)
(see Bibl .), which replaced Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid’s work. The seven came to be followed
exclusively in public readings, while the others continued to be used in Ḳurʾān
commentaries and works on philology, grammar, etc. The Ḳurʾān readers ( ḳurrāʾ ),
who maintained a lively tradition, continued at least a scholarly interest in the “three
after the seven”, and further refinements were made in all of the Ten readings. Two
“ways” ( ṭuruḳ , sing. ṭarīḳ ) of reciting each “version” (riwāya) came to be accepted,
and then two more “ways” for each (ṭarīḳ, making altogether eighty “ways” of
reciting ten “readings”. See Labib as-Said, The recited Koran , Princeton 1975,
including a complete list of the eighty, 127-30; on the readings, see ḲIRĀʾA , and on
methods of reciting, TADJ̲ ̲WĪD .
At the present, only two “versions” are in general use, that of Ḥafṣ ʿan ʿĀṣim, which
for centuries has been followed in most regions and in 1924 was given a kind of
official sanction by being adopted in the ¶ Egyptian standard edition of the Ḳurʾān,
and that of Wars̲ h̲ ʿan Nāfiʿ, followed in parts of Africa other than Egypt. The latter
was used by the Yemenite scholar al-S̲h̲awkānī (d. 1250/1834), in the manuscript of
his Ḳurʾān commentary (see Bibl.), but in the printed edition the Ḥafṣ ʿan ʿĀṣim
reading was substituted. The Egyptian standard edition is now regarded as the best of
the Ḳurʾān so far available, although it was based on oral tradition and late ḳirāʾāt
literature and is not always consistent with the oldest and best sources (see G.
Bergsträsser, Koranlesung in Kairo , in Isl ., xx [1932], and O. Pretzl,
“Anmerkungen” to Orthographie und Punktierung des Korans , 1932).

The history of the text of the Ḳurʾān is yet to be written. One aspect of this task is a
thorough analysis of the relationship between the Seven or the Ten and all the other
readings, including the Companion codices. Until such an analysis is undertaken it
will not be possible to give a final evaluation of the sources. The variants found in the
“four after the ten” often involve a consonantal text that differs from that of the
majority among the Ten (i.e., the “ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text”), and they sometimes have
completely different words—see, e.g., the references to the readings of al-Ḥasan al-
Baṣrī and al-Aʿmas̲ h̲ in Materials , especially in the listings for Ibn Masʿūd and
Ubayy. A rough survey of Jeffery’s lists shows that Ibn Masʿūd’s variants agree fairly
frequently with those of two of the Seven from Kūfa, Ḥamza and al-Kisāʾī, as is to be
expected, and even more frequently with those of al-Ḥasan and al-Aʿmas̲ h̲ (the latter
was also a Kūfan reader). Ubayy’s variants agree fairly frequently with those of two
others among the Seven, Ibn Kat̲ h̲īr and Abū ʿAmr (from Mecca and Baṣra), and also
with those of al-Ḥasan and al-Aʿmas̲ h̲, but somewhat surprisingly not with those of
Ibn ʿĀmir, the only reader from Damascus among the Fourteen. This important aspect
of the history of the Ḳurʾān deserves a thorough scientific study, preferably with the
use of a computer. On the question of the completeness and authenticity of the
Ḳurʾān, see Bell-Watt, 50-6; for a clear statement and defence of the modern orthodox
position, Labib as-Said, op. cit., 19-41.

4. STRUCTURE

a. The sūra s and their names. The Ḳurʾān consists of 114 sections of widely varying
length and form called sūras, which are divided into a number of verses ( āyāt ),
ranging from three to 286 or 287. As shown above, the terms sūra and āya both occur
within the text of the Ḳurʾān, but it is not certain that either has its present meaning
there, i.e., refers to the present sūras and verses. Sūra is sometimes translated
“chapter”, but this is misleading. The first sūra, al-Fātiḥa , “The Opening” [q.v.], is a
prayer, and the last two, known as al-muʿawwid̲h̲atān , “the two [sūras] of taking
refuge”, are charms or incantations. These three serve as a kind of introduction and
two-part conclusion to the Ḳurʾān. Except for a few other very short sūras near the
end (e.g. CIX, CXI, CXII), very few treat a single topic (XII, on the story of Joseph,
and LXXI, on Noah, are notable exceptions) or otherwise appear to be structured
entities (e.g. XXVI and LV). Most of the sūras consist of several segments or
pericopes that are only loosely connected, often with little or no apparent connection
of thought. Some short sūras (e.g. CIII, CVIII) seem to be isolated fragments; and it is
not unlikely that some of the present sūras or parts of them were once joined with
others. For instance, ¶ Ubayy b. Kaʿb and other early authorities are reported to have
regarded CV and CVI as a single sūra (see Itḳān , i, 186 f.; Materials , 179;
Birkeland, The Lord guideth, 100-30).

After the Fātiḥa , the sūras are arranged roughly in order of descending length,
beginning with “The Cow” (II), with over 700 lines (60 pages) in a modern printed
copy of the Egyptian standard edition, and ending with several sūras with just two or
three lines. Actually, the sūra called “Abundance” (CVIII), mentioned above as a
possible fragment, has the distinction of being the shortest, having only ten words.
The length of the sūras was only one of several factors affecting the arrangement of
the Ḳurʾān. If the sūras were exactly in order of length, the first thirty would be: II,
IV, III, VII, VI, V, IX, XI, XVI, X, XII, XVII, XVIII, XXVI, XXVIII, XX, XXIV,
XXXIII, XXII, VIII, XXI, XL, XXXIX, XXVII, XXIII, XXXVII, XIX, XXV, XLIII,
and XXXIV. Note that Sūra VIII (which is 20th in order of length) and XIII, XIV, and
XV (not in this list) are much too short for their positions, while XXXIX, XL, and
XLIII are too long. The explanation for these last two groups is clear: XIII, XIV, and
XV begin with the “mysterious letters” al(m)r and were kept with the other alr sūras,
X-XII, while XL and XLIII begin with ḥm and were kept with the other ḥm sūra s, a
group to which XXXIX also belongs (see 4.d below). Other factors that influenced the
order of the sūras include their dates, main topics, and introductions. For instance,
LVII-LXVI are a group of Medinan sūras kept together in spite of varying lengths
(see also their introductory formulas) ; X-XV, besides being alr sūras, all feature
prophet stories and are named after prophets, except for XIII, which has almr ; and
XXXIV and XXXV begin with the same formula, as do LXV and LXVI, and several
groups of sūras with the same mysterious letters (see below); cf. also LXXIII and
LXXIV, LXXXV and LXXXVI, and others that begin with oaths. For complete lists
of the sūras and their relative lengths, see Bell-Watt, 206-12, and Bauer, Anordnung
der Suren (see Bibl ).

Muslim writers normally refer to the sūras by their names rather than their numbers.
Since the names were not established during Muḥammad’s lifetime and did not come
to be regarded as parts of the text, most sūras came to be known by more than one
name. The Egyptian standard edition has had a considerable impact in establishing
uniform names, and most of the alternative ones are no longer used. Notable
exceptions are the continued use by Indo-Pakistani writers (and also Pickthall’s
translation of the names Banī Isrāʾīl for Sūra XVII, al-malāʾika for XXXV, al-
muʾmin for XL, al-taṭfīf for LXXXIII, al-ins̲ h̲irāḥ for XCIV, al-zilzāl for XCIX, and
most also use ḥāʾmīm for XLI, al-dahr for LXXVI, and al-lahab for CXI. Flügel and
thus Bell and other European writers use al-malāʾika for XXXV, al-muʾmin for XL,
alam nas̲ h̲raḥ for XCIV, and tabbat for CXI. A complete list of the sūra names and
abbreviations found most often in the literature on the Ḳurʾān is given in Paret,
Kommentar , 551-9. Most of the sūra names do not indicate the subject-matter, as
would normally be expected of a title. Instead they are taken from a key term or
catchword that would identify the sūra for those who had them memorised, showing
that the names arose within the oral rather than the written tradition.

The sūra names used in the Egyptian standard edition can be classified as follows: (1)
Just over half of the sūras take their names from key words at or near the beginning of
the sūras. The method most often used is to name the sūra for the first rhyme-word,
i.e., the last word of the first verse. This is done in 30 sūras: XX**, XXIII, XXX,
XXXVI**, LII*, LIV, LVI, LXIX*, LXXIII-V, LXXXIII, LXXXV-VIII, LXXXIX*,
XC, XCIII*, XCVII-VIII, CI*, CII, CIII*, CV-VI, CVIII-IX and CXIII-XIV. In the
eight marked with asterisks, the first rhyme-word is also the first word of the sūra, a
method used in 14 other sūras: XXXVII, XXXVIII**, L**, LI, LIII, LV, LXVIII,
LXXVII, LXXIX, LXXX, XCI-II, XCV and C. The four marked with two asterisks
are named for their mysterious letters. A further 18 are named for other key words in
the first or second verse: VIII, XXV, XXXV, XLI, XLVII-VIII, LIX, LXIII, LXVII,
LXX-LXXII, LXXVI, LXXVIII, XCVI, XCIX, CIX and CX. (2) In about one-third
of the sūras the name is a key term or catchword that occurs elsewhere in the sūra. In
16 of these this is the only occurrence of the term in the Ḳurʾān (given here without
the definite article): Cow in II, 67-71; Table, V, 112-14; Heights, VII, 46-8; Ḥid̲j̲r,
XV, 80; Bee; XVI, 68; Cave, XVIII, 9 ff.; Poets, XXVI, 224; Ant, XXVII, 18; Spider,
XXIX, 41; Luḳmān, XXXI, 12 f.; Troops, XXXIX, 71-3; Counsel, XLII, 38;
Hobbling, XLV, 28; Sand-dunes, XLVI, 21; Apartments, XLIX, 4; and Mutual Fraud,
LXIV, 9 (some first-word and first rhyme-word names listed above are also only
occurrences). Only two of the narrative sūras are named for a key term in the sūra
that designates the single theme: Joseph (XII) and Noah (LXXI). Twelve are named
for a key term that designates one of several themes or stories: Family of ʿImrān (III),
Women (IV), Jonah (X), Hūd (XI), Abraham (XIV), Mary (XIX), Pilgrimage (XXII),
Confederates (XXXIII), Sheba (XXXIV), and three listed above—Ḥid̲j̲r, Cave, and
Luḳmān. Seven are named for other striking terms that occur also in other sūras:
Cattle (VI), Thunder (XIII), Light (XXIV), Ornaments (XLIII), Smoke (XLIV), Iron
(LVII) and Ranks (LXI). (3) The names of 14 sūras do not occur in these sūras, and
most do not occur anywhere in the Ḳurʾān. Most of these names are based on verbs
that do occur, usually near the beginning of the sūra: Night Journey (XVII),
Prostration (XXXII), Disputer (LVIII), Woman Tested (LX), Congregation (LXII),
Divorce* (LXV), Prohibition (LXVI), Veiling (LXXXI), Splitting (LXXXII),
Rending (LXXXIV), and Expanding (XCIV). The names of the other three were
chosen to indicate the function of the sūra, The Opening (I), or the main theme,
Prophets* (XXI) and Unity (of God) (CXII). Only the two terms with asterisks occur
elsewhere in the Ḳurʾān. On the names and abbreviations used for the sūras, see
Paret, Kommentar, 545-50.

b. The verses. Like the sūras, the verses vary considerably in length and style. In
some sūras, which tend to be short and early, the verses are short and often rhythmic.
Sometimes there even seems to be an element of metre (LXXIV, 1-7, XCI, 1-10; cf.
XCIX, CIV), but this is caused by the repetition of certain grammatical forms and not
by an effort to carry through a strict metre of either syllables or stresses. These short,
rhythmic verses are often also difficult to translate or interpret because of their use of
rare terms, symbolism, metaphor, and other “poetic” features. Most longer sūras, and
some short Medinan ones (e.g. LX, LXV), have longer, more prosaic verses, often
with short statements or formulas attached to the ends in order to provide the rhyme.
The one feature that all the verses have in common is that they end in an irregular
rhyme or assonance (discussed in 6.c below). Because of the rhyme the verses form
the most natural divisions of the text, and yet we cannot be certain where some verses
originally ended. Verse divisions are not indicated in the oldest manuscripts, and they
vary somewhat when they are marked, possibly reflecting differences in the early oral
tradition that go back to revisions made in the text during the Prophet’s lifetime.
There is clear evidence that the rhyme and the verse divisions were altered in some
sūra s, where passages originally in one rhyme were inserted into passages in another
rhyme (see Bell-Watt, 89 ff.). But the main reason for the variation in the verse
divisions is that the rhyme or assonance is usually formed by certain grammatical
forms and endings that occur frequently in Arabic, and thus within many of the longer
verses.

Several different systems of verse division and numbering arose within the Muslim
community. In his English translation M. Pickthall followed an Indian text tradition in
which VI, 73 of the Egyptian standard text is divided into two verses, so that 74-165
become 75-166, XVIII, 18 is divided so that 19-110 become 20-111, and XXXVI, 34
and 35 are combined so that 36-83 become 35-82. The editors of the 1976 Festival
edition (see Bibl .) adopted the Egyptian verse divisions and numbering throughout.
Even where the verse divisions are the same, there are variations in the numbering in
various Muslim editions of the Arabic text and translations, depending on whether or
not the basmala and the mysterious letters are counted. The Egyptian standard edition
counts the basmala (see below) as verse 1 only in the Fātiḥa , and is inconsistent in
counting the mysterious letters, counting them as a separate verse (verse 1) in sūras II,
III, VII, XIX, XX, XXVI, XXVIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXVI and XL-XLVI,
except that in XLII ḥm and ʿsḳ are counted as two verses. In all other cases the
mysterious letters are regarded as the beginning of verse 1. Pickthall counted these
letters as a separate verse in the same sūras as in the Egyptian edition and also in X
and XXXVIII. Some Indo-Pakistani Arabic texts and translations of the Ḳurʾān, e.g.,
those of Pir Salahaddin, M. Zafrulla Khan and M. G. Farīd, always count the basmala
as verse 1.

The Arabic text of the Ḳurʾān most widely used in the West until recently is that of
Gustav Flügel (1834), which does not follow any one Oriental text tradition. In an
effort to establish an improved text , Flügel made many changes in the verse divisions,
altering the numbering in slightly over half the sūras. The verse divisions and
numbering are the same in the Egyptian and Flügel editions only in sūras XV,
XLVIII-IX, LI-II, LIV, LIX-LXX, LXXIII, LXXV-VII, LXXIX, LXXXI-VIII, XC-
XCVII, XCIX, C, CII-V and CVII-XIV. The Flügel text never counts the basmala as
a verse, and never counts the mysterious letters as a separate verse, but always as the
beginning of verse 1. The English translations by R. Bell and A. J. Arberry follow the
Flügel numbering. The Italian translation by A. Bausani and the English by A. H.
Siddiqui follow the Egyptian numbering, as does Yusuf Ali, usually but not always.
The German translation by R. Paret and the French by R. Blachère give both
numberings, Paret giving the Egyptian first, Blachère the Flügel first. For a complete
list of the differences in these two numbering systems and a table for converting the
Flügel numbers to Egyptian, see Bell-Watt, 202 f. The standard work on the various
Islamic numbering ¶ systems is A. Spitaler, Die Verszählung des Koran nach
islamischer Überlieferung , Munich 1935.

c. The basmala. At the beginning of each sūra except IX stands the basmala, the
formula, bismi ’llāhi ’l-raḥmāni ’l-raḥīm , which can be interpreted or translated at
least three ways: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate” (e.g., Bell,
Arberry); “In the name of God, the compassionate Merciful (One)” (cf. Blachère); or
“In the name of the merciful and compassionate God” (cf. Paret). This formula occurs
one other time in the Ḳurʾān, in XXVII, 30, as the opening of Solomon’s letter to the
queen of Sheba. The elements of the basmala also occur separately: bismi ’llāh
(without the alif in bismi , as in the basmala) occurs once, in XI, 41, and the twin
attributes, al-raḥmān al-raḥīm , occur together four more times, in I, 3, II, 163, XLI, 2
and LIX, 22. It may be significant that whenever these attributes appear together,
including in I, 1 and XXVII, 30, al-raḥīm always serves as a rhymeword. Al-raḥmān ,
always with the definite article, occurs within the text 57 times altogether—i.e.
counting I, 1, but not the other occurrences of the basmala at the head of the sūras.
Al-raḥīm occurs 33 times with the definite article, and frequently without. The fact
that the last two terms of the basmala occur together elsewhere in the Ḳurʾān
following the same pattern as many other pairs of divine attributes (see 6.c below)
suggests that the first of the three interpretations given above is the best (cf. Jomier,
Le nom divin “al-Raḥmān” dans le Coran [see Bibl.]).

On the origin of the basmala and its placement at the head of the sūras there is
difference of opinion. Some Muslims believe that this formula was part of the
revelation and was included at the head of the sūras from the beginning. Textual
evidence within the Ḳurʾān, supported by other early historical evidence, suggests that
this is not the case. “Allāh” in the basmala is clearly the preferred name for God, and
al-raḥmān and al-raḥīm, according to their Ḳurʾānic usage, are either names or
epithets for God. Yet these names are conspicuously absent in earlier parts of the
Ḳurʾān, where Muḥammad’s Lord is referred to as rabb , “Lord”, and the Ḳurʾānic
formula that occurs during this early period is bi ’smi rabbika, “in the name of thy
Lord”, occuring in LVI, 74, 96, LXIX, 52, and XCVI, 1 (in this formula bi ’smi has
the alif). Then, possibly as much as two years or even more after the beginning of
Muḥammad’s public ministry, the names al-Raḥmān and Allāh were introduced into
the revelation. For a while the name al-Raḥmān was preferred; see, e.g., XIII, 30,
XXV, 60 and sixteen times in XIX. Ḳurʾānic evidence supports the testimony of early
Muslim scholars who report that the Meccans refused to accept al-Raḥmān as the
name of God, while they did know Allāh as a type of “High God” (see W. M. Watt,
Belief in a “High God”, in JSS, xvi [1971], 35-40). The next stage in this
development is seen in XVII, 110, a key verse that says Muslims may use either
name, Allāh or al-Raḥmān; but the effect of this verse was to replace al-Raḥmān with
Allāh as the primary or preferred name for God, as is seen in XIII, 16, XXXIV, 24
and many other verses that parallel the earlier al-Raḥmān contexts. After the
revelation of XVII, 110 the term al-raḥmān seldom if ever occurs in the Ḳurʾān alone,
and it loses its significance as a proper name for God, partly by being connected with
al-raḥīm and the Arabic root r-ḥ-m . Further evidence for the conclusions stated here
are given in Welch, Allāh and other supernatural beings (see Bibl.); on the foreign
origin of al-raḥmān and its ¶ use in Arabia as a proper name for God before and
during the time of Muḥammad, see Gesch . des Qor ., i, 112 f.; Horovitz, Jewish
proper names, 57-9; Foreign vocab., 140 f.; and BASMALA.

The evidence seems to indicate that the basmala came into use as a result of this
controversy over divine names, probably a short time after the revelation of XVII,
110. It is possible that the basmala was formed from existing Ḳurʾānic expressions,
i.e. bismi’llāh in XI, 41 and al-raḥmān al-raḥīm in what is now I, 3; but it seems
much more likely that the Fātiḥa and all Ḳurʾānic occurrences of these twin attributes
date from after XVII, 110. It also seems likely that the basmala was not originally
part of the Fātiḥa; note that the Ḳurʾān scholars of Medina, Baṣra, and Syria did not
count it as a verse in the Fātiḥa, and that this sūra without the basmala is often
referred to as al-ḥamd , which may have been its original title [see BASMALA ]. As
soon as the basmala came into use, Muḥammad no doubt used it to introduce each
recitation of a portion of the Ḳurʾān. Since many sūras contain passages from
different periods (see 5.c below), Muḥammad must have recited the basmala before
many segments that are now in the middle of the sūras. Only when the sūras reached
their final, written form, in some cases after Muḥammad’s death, was the basmala
placed at the beginning of each sūra as we have it today.

d. The mysterious letters. At the beginning of 29 sūras just after the basmala stands a
letter or group of letters called in Arabic fawātiḥ al-suwar , “the openers of the sūras
” , awāʾil al-suwar, “the beginnings of the sūras”, al-ḥurūf al-muḳaṭṭaʿa/āt , “the
disconnected letters”, etc., but generally referred to in European languages as “the
mysterious letters”. They are recited as letters of the alphabet, and for 14 centuries
they have intrigued and baffled Muslim scholars. Some saw them as abbreviations,
e.g. alr for al-raḥmān , alm for al-raḥīm , ḥm for al-raḥmān al-raḥīm, ṣ for ṣādi yā
muḥammad , ys for yā sayyid al-mursalīn , etc. ʿIkrima and others relate from Ibn
ʿAbbās the view that alr, ḥm, and n together stand for al-raḥmān ( Itḳān , ii, 9). Others
concluded that the letters are not abbreviations, but offered a variety of alternative
explanations, that they are sounds meant to arouse the attention of the Prophet or to
captivate his audience so they would be more attentive, mystical signs with symbolic
meaning based on the numerical value of the Arabic letters, (written) signs of
separation ( fawāṣil ) between the sūras, simply Arabic letters attesting that the
revelation is in the familiar language of the people, etc. Al-Suyūṭī (ibid., 10)
mentions, for instance, a tradition related by Ibn Isḥāḳ on the authority of Ibn ʿAbbās
in which a group of Jews tell Muḥammad that the numerical value of the letters would
indicate the number of years his community would last. At first they heard him recite
alm (1 + 30 + 40 = 71), and said it would last 71 years. Then they heard almṣ (1 + 30
+ 40 + 60) suggesting 131 years, then alr (1 + 30 + 200) or 231 years, and then almr
or 271 years. In the end they concluded that the matter was ambiguous. Al-Suyūṭī
discusses these and many other possibilities (ibid., 8-13) and concludes that the
fawātiḥ are simply mysterious letters or symbols known fully only to God. Later
Muslim scholars have tended to accept this view, although the abbreviation theory has
remained popular. A few modern Muslims have put forward new variations of
mediaeval suggestions, e.g. Hashim Amir Ali (see Bibl .) argues that all of the groups
of letters, not just some of them, are vocatives addressed to the Prophet, and ʿAlī ¶
Nāṣūḥ al-Ṭāhir (see Bibl.) proposes that the numerical value of the letters represents
the number of verses in the “original” (in most cases, Meccan) versions of the sūras
or groups of sūras concerned. Citing the same examples as al-Suyūṭī (but not always
the same values), al-Ṭāhir says, for instance, that Sūra VII, which has 205 verses and
begins with almṣ (1 + 30 + 40 + 90 = 161), originally consisted of only the first 161
verses. In other cases he has to combine various groups of sūras in order to obtain the
required number of verses. Thus, adding the in verses of XII and the “120 Meccan
verses” of XI gives him 231, the value of the letters alr which occur at the beginning
of these two sūras (and also X, XIV, and XV, which he does not mention). Sūra XIII,
with almr (1 + 30 + 40 + 200 = 271), he argues has 40 Meccan verse which when
added to the 231 of XI and XII gives the required 271. In response, it is sufficient to
note that no sūra with the letters now has the same number of verses as the value of
the letters, and in no case does al-Ṭāhir’s suggested number of original or Meccan
verses agree with the view given in the Egyptian standard edition, much less a critical
view of the chronology of the sūras involved. This theory is a prime example of the
way arbitrary speculation has been applied to these letters.
A number of Western scholars have taken up the challenge to explain these letters
since the publication of Th. Nöldeke’s Geschichte des Qorāns in 1860. Nöldeke
suggested (215 f.) that they are the initials or monograms of the owners of the
manuscripts used by Zayd when he first compiled the Ḳurʾān, e.g. alr[z] for al-
Zubayr, almr for al-Mug̲h̲īra and ḥm for ʿAbd al-Raḥmān. These monograms, he said,
got into the text by accident when later Muslims no longer knew their meaning. This
view was widely accepted for a while in Europe and was taken up again and defended
in 1901 by H. Hirschfeld ( New researches, 141-3) who however regarded each letter
as the initial of a different owner, r[z] for al-Zubayr, m for al-Mug̲h̲īra, ḥ for
Ḥud̲h̲ayfa, etc. Hirschfeld’s reason for rejecting the view that the letters went back to
Muḥammad was that if they did “he must have had an important share in the
arrangement of the sūras, and this would contradict all we know of the compilation of
the Qorân” (141). But by the time Hirschfeld’s book was published, Nöldeke had
reversed his position, on the basis of a brief but insightful discussion on the subject by
O. Loth ( Tabari’s Korancommentar , in ZDMG, xxxv [1881], 603 f.). According to
Loth, the letters occur only in “late Meccan and early Medinan sūra s” when
Muḥammad was “drawing near to Judaism”, and in some cases the beginning verses
contain an allusion to the letters (i.e. “these are the signs ( āyāt ) of the Book”). He
concluded that the letters are Cabalistic symbols standing for certain key words and
phrases in the sūras before which they stand. Loth’s arguments were sufficient to
cause Nöldeke to abandon his earlier view and conclude that the letters are part of the
revelation, having however no special meaning other than as mystical allusions to the
heavenly Book ( Orientalische Skizzen , 1892, 50 f., also stated in Ency . Brit ., 9th
ed., xvi, 597 f.). F. Schwally, in a perceptive survey of the literature up to 1919
(Gesch. des Qor., ii, 68-78), wisely rejected Loth’s abbreviation suggestions as being
too arbitrary (73), while commending him on his main argument (73-5). Schwally
could not, however, accept Nöldeke’s later view, calling it “doubtful” and insisting
that “the symbols are still somehow connected with the redaction of the sūras” (76).
Leaving open the ¶ possibility that the letters are part of the revelation, Schwally
made the following important statement: “If Muḥammad was indeed the originator of
the symbols, then he must also have been the editor of the ciphered sūra s. This would
indeed contradict earlier prevailing views, but would agree with our earlier statements
that the Prophet relied on secretaries to whom he dictated his revelations, that already
his object was to produce a special book of revelation, and that the manner in which
pieces from various periods but of similar content are strung together in certain sūras
produces the impression that this editing originates from the Prophet himself” (77).
Schwally was thus a harbinger of the work of Bell in the 1930s.

In the meanwhile, two more attempts were made to follow up on Loth’s version of the
abbreviation theory. In 1921 Hans Bauer ( Anordnung der Suren ) provided statistical
evidence for Schwally’s first point, that the letters are connected with the redaction of
the sūras, but failed to follow up on the second. Instead, he offered an unconvincing
list of catchwords for which the letters are said to be old abbreviations: ys for yasʿā ,
“he who runs”, in XXXVI, 20; ṣ for ṣāfināt , “chargers”, in XXXVIII, 31; k for
karīnuhu , “he who is at his side”, in L, 23 and 27, etc. For the groups of sūras with
the same letters he sought some “inner or outer connection among the sūra s”, and
suggested that ṭs (m) in XXVI-VIII stood for ṭūr sīnīn , “Mount Sinai”, and Moses,
and that alm stood for al-mat̲ h̲ānī (see 1.b above). Independently E. Goossens
proposed a similar view in a 1923 Isl . article (see Bibl .), that the letters are
abbreviations for discarded sūra titles: ḳ for ḳurʾān , n for al-nūn , “the fish”, or d̲h̲u
’l-nūn , one of Jonah’s titles, etc. The alr sūras, now named after individual
messengers, he said once formed a sūra-group called al-rusul, “the messengers”, and
the alm sūras formed a similar group called al-mat̲ h̲al , “the parable”. His most
innovative suggestion was that some letters are remnants of titles that were discarded
or abbreviated when some sūras were rearranged, e.g. ys (XXXVI) is the remnant of
al-yās or al-yāsīn (two names for Elias in XXXVII, 123, 130), the title of an earlier
sūra consisting of XXXVI + XXXVII, 12-182, and ṣ (XXXVIII) is the remnant of al-
ṣāffāt (the first word and title of what is now XXXVII), the title of an earlier sūra
consisting of XXXVII, 1-11 + XXXVIII. Bauer and Goossens inspired another
abbreviation theory, that of Morris Seale (see Bibl.) who suggested that the letters
served as mnemonics of the contents of the sūras involved. Seale accepted Bauer’s
Mount Sinai and Moses for ṭs(m) and Goossens’ al-rusul for alr , but preferred al-
mawʿiẓa , “admonition”, for alm and Yūnus (Jonah) for ys. The diversity of these
proposals and the fact that several alternative suggestions are often equally plausible
demonstrate the futility of this approach, which also fails to respond to some of the
textual evidence. In the end, what Schwally said of Loth’s abbreviation suggestions
applies also to those of Bauer, Goossens, and Seale.

James A. Bellamy in a 1973 JAOS article (see Bibl.) has proposed an abbreviation
theory that attempts to avoid the arbitrariness of the others. Starting with the views
recorded by the classical commentators that alr, alm, almr , ḥm , and n (letters that
occur at the beginning of all but ten of the affected sūras) are abbreviations for al-
raḥmān or al-raḥīm or both, Bellamy proposes that these letters stand for these terms
in the basmala , and that all the other mysterious letters are also abbreviations for this
formula. In order to accomplish this he suggests ¶ a number of emendations, so that ṭ
and k > ba, ṣ and ḳ > m, y > b, and ʿ > bs or s. Thus with the change of only one
letter, ṭsm , ṭs, ṭh , ys, almṣ , ṣ, and ḳ, become basm , bas , bah , bs, almm , m, and m,
all suitable abbreviations for the basmala. This leaves only ḥmʿsḳ and khyʿṣ , which
with two and four changes respectively become ḥm bsm and bah bsm. Bellamy
suggests that when the basmala was first introduced (in the “middle and late Meccan”
sūras) it was abbreviated variously by the Prophet’s scribes at the beginning of these
29 sūras, and that the later compilers, failing to recognise these abbreviations, gave
them a permanent place in the text by writing the basmala out in full just before them.
Most of Bellamy’s suggested emendations are indeed plausible, but his theory as a
whole is not consistent with some of the textual evidence (e.g. the letters are almost
certainly not Meccan, but Medinan), does not answer some crucial questions (e.g. the
relationship of the letters to their immediate contexts), and is based on several very
unlikely assumptions (e.g. that a new formula was abbreviated a dozen different ways
by unknown scribes in Mecca who died without revealing their meaning, that the
well-known scribes in Medina knew nothing about the abbreviations, etc.).

Any solution to the puzzle of the mysterious letters must provide a reasonable theory
that is consistent with all of the textual evidence, and the place to begin is the
immediate contexts of the letters, which provide some important clues. The following
list gives the sūra number, the position the sūra would have if all the sūras (except
the Fātiḥa) were arranged exactly according to length (based on Bauer, op. cit., Table
II; see also Bell-Watt, 206-12, for the length of each sūra), the letters, and the opening
formula or phrase:
¶

Two points, stressed by Schwally, Bauer, Loth and others but largely disregarded by
all the abbreviation theories, stand out in this list: the mysterious letters influenced the
final arrangement of the Ḳurʾān, and they are closely related to the introductory
formulas and to the Book. Groups of sūra s with the same letters but with widely
varying lengths have been kept together even though this violates the principle of
arranging the sūras according to length. This suggests that separate collections of
sūras with the same letters existed at the time of the compilation of the Ḳurʾān and
that the redactors were hesitant to break them up. The most likely reason for this
hesitancy is that they regarded the letters as part of the revelation, and the groups of
sūras as going back to the Prophet. In nearly every case the letters are followed
immediately by a reference to some form of the revelation, usually a distinctive
revelation formula or oath that mentions the Book or the Ḳurʾān or both (XXIX and
XXX being obvious exceptions). In III this formula occurs in verse 2, which Schwally
( Gesch . des Qor ., ii, 75) says was probably the original beginning of the sūra. In
XIX a Book formula, “Mention in the Book Mary (Abraham, etc.)”, introduces five
other accounts (verses 16, 41, 51, etc.), but what appears to be an older formula is
retained at the beginning of the first (verse 2). The close connection between the
mysterious letters and the Book is proved by the fact that, although many sūras begin
with formulas or oaths, only one other sūra opens with the same type of revelation
formula, namely, XXXIX, which belongs with the ḥm sūra s. It begins exactly the
same as three of them (XL, XLV and XLVI), it shares the same themes, and it is
placed with them despite its length (see Bauer, Table II). Ubayy and others are in fact
said to have read ḥm at the beginning of this sūra ( Materials , 160). Revelation is
mentioned in a few other sūra introductions, but they are different, e.g. XVIII and
XXV begin with praise formulas ( al-ḥamdu li ’llāh and tabāraka ), XCVII with a wa-
mā adrāka formula (see 7a below) and LV mentions al-ḳurʾān in verse 2, but is in a
completely different style. There is also some correlation between specific formulas
and groups of sūras with the same mysterious letters, e.g. the ṭsm sūra s have the
same formula, three of the ḥm sūras have the same formula, and four with unique
letters (ys, ṣ , ḳ , and n) begin with oaths.

Whether or not Loth is correct in saying that several of the introductory formulas
contain allusions to the mysterious letters, there is other evidence that these letters are
part of the revelation and were recited as separate letters from the beginning. For one
thing, most of the groups of letters when recited as letters of the alphabet introduce
the rhyme of their respective sūras. The 17 sūras with groups of letters ending in īm ,
īn , or ūn (i.e. six with alif lām mīm , six with ḥāʾ mīm , two with ṭāʾ ¶ sīn mīm , and
one each with ṭāʾ sīn , yaʾ sīn , and nūn ) all have this rhyme, with one partial
exception. Sūra XX, on the other hand, with ṭāʾ hāʾ , has the ā rhyme (in verses 1-24);
XXXVIII, with ṣād , has the rhyme āḳ , āṣ , etc.; XI, with alif lām rāʾ , has īr , ūr in
verses 1-5; and XIII, with alif lām mīm rāʾ , and XLII, with ḥāʾ mīm, ʿayn sīn ḳāf ,
both have īn, ūn in verses 1-5, and then change to āb , ār and īl , īr, respectively. The
correspondence is not exact, and there are exceptions, but this close relationship
between the letters and the rhyme or assonance of the sūras must be more than a
coincidence.

Another striking fact that must be more than coincidental is that the mysterious letters
represent every consonantal form in Arabic, while no form occurs for more than one
letter. Thus we have y but no b, t, or t̲ h̲ ; ḥ but no d̲j̲ or k̲h̲ ; r but no z; s but no s̲ h̲ ; ṣ
but no ḍ ; ṭ but no ẓ ; ʿ but no g̲h̲ ; ḳ but no f or w; and k but no d or d̲h̲ —along with
each of the forms that represent only one letter, ʾ, l, m, n, and h (note that in Kūfic
Arabic w was written like ḳ and f, and d and d̲h̲ were written like k, except that letters
were not attached to the ends of w, d, and d̲h̲). The most reasonable explanation of the
fact that these 14 letters, and no others, occur is that they were intended to represent
the Arabic alphabet. If this is so, then the statements in the introductory formulas
saying that the revelation was being sent down as a “clear Book” ( kitāb mubīn ) in
Arabic take on new significance; other passages (XVI, 103, XXVI, 195) speak of the
revelation being in “plain Arabic speech” ( lisān ʿarabī mubīn ). The fact that the
literature on variant readings does not record differences in the way the 14
consonantal forms were recited seems to indicate that there was a strong oral tradition
supporting the mysterious letters.

A number of questions still remain, but the evidence seems to support Loth, the later
Nöldeke, Schwally, Bell, and Alan Jones (see Bibl .) in regarding the mysterious
letters as part of the revelation. Moreover, Bell seems to have been correct in seeing
the letters and the introductory formulas as part of the early Medinan revisions
adapting the sūras for inclusion in the written scripture Muḥammad was preparing. It
is not unlikely that the sūras with the letters are the ones Muḥammad prepared for the
Book. The letters are significant for understanding the history of the text, and the
chronology of the text is important for understanding the letters.

5. CHRONOLOGY OF THE TEXT

The Ḳurʾān responds constantly and often explicitly to Muḥammad’s historical

situation, giving encouragement in times of persecution, answering questions from his
followers and opponents, commenting on current events, etc. Major doctrines and
regulations for the Muslim community, which are never stated systematically in the
Ḳurʾān, are introduced gradually and in stages that are not always clear. There are
apparent contradictions and inconsistencies in the presentation of both the beliefs and
the regulations, and the latter are sometimes altered to fit new situations. Thus it is
essential to know the approximate dates or historical settings of some passages, and at
least the chronological order of others, if they are to be understood fully. This
problem was recognised by early Muslim scholars who devoted much attention to it in
the first few centuries, until a fairly rigid system of dating was established and given
the imprimatur of orthodoxy. In modern times the study of the chronology of the
Ḳurʾān has been almost exclusively a domain of ¶ Western scholars, who have not
however been able to reach a consensus on a dating system, or even on the possibility
of establishing one.

a. Historical references and allusions in the Ḳurʾān. The Ḳurʾān mentions specifically
or alludes to a number of historical events in the life of Muḥammad and his
contemporaries, but it gives no dates or other indications as to exactly when these
events occurred. In most cases, the specific occasions alluded to and the dates of the
passages involved cannot be determined. This is especially true for the period before
the Hid̲j̲ra in 622, for which there are only a few references to dateable historical
events, and even if the events could be identified with certainty this would be of little
help in dating the passages that refer to them, e.g. XXX, 2-5, mentions a military
defeat of the Byzantines, presumably their loss of Jerusalem to the Persians in 614 (cf.
also CV, believed to refer to a military expedition against Mecca in the middle years
of the 6th century). There are many allusions to Muḥammad’s personal situation in
Mecca (e.g. the persecution he suffered, accusations made by his opponents, his early
life and orphanhood) and to specific practices of the Meccans, but the passages that
contain these allusions cannot be dated with any precision. It is only in the Medinan
period that we have a number of passages that can be dated fairly precisely on the
basis of references or allusions to specific historical events that can be dated from
other sources. For instance, the battle of Badr (spring 624) and the battle of Ḥunayn
(early 630) are mentioned by name in III, 123, and IX, 25, respectively. The change of
the ḳibla [q.v.] (direction one faces when performing the ritual prayer) from Jerusalem
to Mecca in late 623 or early 624 is discussed in II, 162-50. The adoption of the
ancient pilgrimage rituals about the time of the battle of Badr is discussed in II, 158,
198, V, 95 ff., etc., where the Kaʿba, al-Ṣafā and al-Marwa (two ancient holy places in
Mecca), Mount ʿArafāt, and al-Mas̲ h̲ʿar al-Ḥarām (the sanctuary in Muzdalifa) are all
mentioned by name. Muḥammad’s adopted son, Zayd (b. Ḥārit̲ h̲a), is mentioned by
name in XXXIII, 37 in connection with an episode that occurred in the spring of 627.
And many other events are alluded to, although not by name: the battle of Uḥud (625)
in III, 155-74; the expulsion of the Jewish tribe of al-Naḍīr (625) in LIX, 2-5; the Day
of the Trench (627) in XXXIII, 9-27; the expedition to K̲h̲aybar (628) in XLVIII, 15;
the expedition to Tabūk (630) in IX, 29-35, etc. All Ḳurʾānic dating systems, Muslim
and non-Muslim, take these historical references and allusions in Medinan contexts as
their starting-point.

b. Traditional Muslim dating. During the early Islamic centuries a number of passages
in the Ḳurʾān came to be connected with stories that arose in the attempts to
reconstruct the life of the Prophet, especially for the period in Mecca before the
Hid̲j̲ra: LIII, 1-18, and LXXX, 15-29, came to be interpreted as Muḥammad’s call
visions, while XCIV came to be associated with a story about the miraculous opening
of his breast and purification of his heart, XCVI and LXXIV with his call to public
prophet-hood, XVII, 1, with his Night Journey, etc. (see, e.g., al-Ṭabarī and al-
Zamak̲h̲s̲ h̲arī, ad locc.; for the European literature, Paret, Kommentar , 460 f., 513-15,
493 and 295 f.). Other passages came to be connected with certain events in the life of
the Muslim community: XIX is said to have been recited to the Negus of Abyssinia
by Muḥammad’s followers who were forced to emigrate from Mecca to escape ¶
persecution around 615; and a written copy of XX is said to have been involved in the
conversion of ʿUmar at about the same time. Early Ḳurʾān scholars also attempted to
identify and explain vague allusions in the Ḳurʾān, e.g. they explained that the blind
man alluded to in LXXX was a certain ʿAbd Allāh b. Umm Maktūm, and that the man
involved in a divorce dispute in LVIII was Aws b. al-Ṣāmit. And episodes related to
IX, 40, XXIV, 11-20, XXXIII, 37-40, LXVI, 3-5, CXI, 1-5, and many others were
similarly explained. From these stories and explanations there arose a separate genre
of Islamic literature called asbāb al-nuzūl , “the occasions of the revelation”, the
prime example being a work of the same title by al-Wāḥidī (d. 468/1075-6). This
literature does not attempt to provide a complete system for dating the various parts of
the Ḳurʾān, and only a small proportion of the text is treated. Also, there are a number
of inconsistencies, e.g. whether XCVI or LXXIV was the “first revelation” (see Itḳān
, i, 23 f.). Some of the stories and other explanations found in this literature and in the
Ḳurʾān commentaries are obviously legendary, and in some cases the process by
which these accounts came to be attached to Ḳurʾānic passages can be reconstructed
(see, e.g., H. Birkeland, The legend of the opening of Muhammad’s breast, Oslo 1955,
and The Lord guideth, Oslo 1956, 38-55). Others probably have some historical
validity, but there is often good reason to suspect elaborate embellishment. These
accounts—historical, semi-historical, and legendary—came to be accepted, often
without discrimination, as the basis for the traditional Muslim dating of the Ḳurʾān.

The adoption of the Ḳurʾān as a primary source for Islamic law played an important
role in the establishment of a chronological order for the text. Rather than attempting
to explain away the inconsistencies in passages giving regulations for the Muslim
community, Ḳurʾān scholars and jurists came to acknowledge the differences, while
arguing that the latest verse on any subject “abrogated” all earlier verses that
contradicted it. A classic example involves the Ḳurʾānic teaching or regulation on
drinking wine, where V, 90, which has a strong statement against the practice, came
to be interpreted as a prohibition, abrogating II, 219, and IV, 43, which appear to
allow it. This theory or doctrine of abrogation ( nask̲h̲ ) has only limited support in the
Ḳurʾān itself, since the verses on which it is based, especially II, 106, involve
passages that are no longer in the Ḳurʾān. But a number of treatises on the subject
influenced the development of the traditional dating of the Ḳurʾān by establishing a
widespread belief in the chronological order of certain groups of isolated verses.
Eventually, long lists of “abrogating and abrogated (verses)” ( al-nāsik̲h̲ wa ’l-
mansūk̲h̲ ) were drawn up, as jurists and others, in efforts to support their own views,
sought out all possible inconsistencies and claimed that the “earlier” verses involved
had been abrogated. See NASKH ̲ ̲ and TAFSĪR ; Itḳān, ii, 20-7; Bell-Watt, 86-9; Burton,
Collection , 46-104.

The task of dating parts of the Ḳurʾān and determining its chronological order was
further complicated by the assumption that the present sūra s were the original units
of revelation, i.e. that except for a few verses in some sūras, each sūra was revealed
all at once or during a short period of time before the next sūra was begun. This
assumption led to the practice of designating each sūra as “Meccan” or “Medinan”
(i.e. revealed before or after the Hid̲j̲ra) and to attempts to determine the exact
chronological order of all the sūras as wholes—rather than dealing with ¶ separate
parts as in the asbāb al-nuzūl and al-nāsik̲h̲ wa ’l-mansūk̲h̲ literature. But al-Suyūṭī’s
lists of sūra s attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās (d. ca. 68/688), Ḳatāda b. Diʿāma (d. ca.
112/730), and others show that the schools of these early Ḳurʾān scholars could not
agree even on whether some sūras were “Meccan” or “Medinan”, much less on their
exact chronological order ( Itkān , i, 10 f.). Al-Bayḍāwī (d. 716/1316) classified the
sūras as “Meccan”, “Medinan”, or “disputed”, and included 17 in this last category:
XIII, XLVII, LV, LVII, LXI, LXIV, LXXXIII, XCV, XCVII-C, CII, CVII and CXII-
CXIV. The lists given by al-Suyūṭī show that there was also difference of opinion on
six others: XLIX, LXII-LXIII, LXXVII, LXXXIX and XCII. The chronological order
attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās (ibid.) came to be widely accepted, and with a few changes
was adopted by the editors of the Egyptian standard edition of the Ḳurʾān
(1322/1924), who indicated in the heading to each sūra the sūra revealed just before it
and any verses that belong to a different period. Thus the heading for XIV reads:
“Sūra of Abraham, Meccan, except verses 28 and 29 which are Medinan; it has 52
verses; it was revealed after Sūra of Noah”.

The Egyptian standard edition gives the following chronological order of the sūras,
with the verses said to date from a different period given in parentheses: XCVI,
LXVIII (17-33, 48-50 Med.), LXXIII (10 f., 20 Med.), LXXIV, I, CXI, LXXXI,
LXXXVII, XCII, LXXXIX, XCIII, XCIV, CIII, C, CVIII, CII, CVII, CIX, CV,
CXIII, CXIV, CXII, LIII, LXXX, XCVII, XCI, LXXXV, CVI, CI, LXXV, CIV,
LXXVII (48 Med.), L (38 Med.), XC, LXXXVI, LIV (54-6 Med.), XXXVIII, VII
(163-70 Med.), LXXII, XXXVI (45 Med.), XXV (68-70 Med.), XXXV, XIX (58, 71
Med.), XX (130 f. Med.), LVI (71 f. Med.), XXVI (197, 224-7 Med.), XXVII,
XXVIII (52-5 Med., 85 during Hid̲j̲ra), XVII (26, 32 f., 57, 73-80 Med.), X (40, 94-6
Med.), XI (12, 17, 114 Med.), XII (1-3, 7 Med.), XV, VI (20, 23, 91, 114, 141, 151-3
Med.), XXXVII, XXXI (27-9 Med.), XXXIV (6 Med.), XXXIX (52-4 Med.), XL (56
f. Med.), XLI, XLII (23-5, 27 Med.), XLIII (54 Med.), XLIV, XLV (14 Med.), XLVI
(10, 15, 35 Med.), LI, LXXXVIII, XVIII (28, 83-101 Med.), XVI (126-8 Med.),
LXXI, XIV (28 f. Med.), XXI, XXIII, XXXII (16-20 Med.), LII, LXVII, LXX,
LXXVIII, LXXIX, LXXXII, LXXXIV, XXX (17 Med.), XXIX (1-11 Med.),
LXXXIII—Hid̲j̲ra—II (281 later), VIII (30-6 Mec.), III, XXXIII, LX, IV, XCIX,
LVII, XLVII (13 during Hid̲j̲ra), XIII, LV, LXXVI, LXV, XCVIII, LIX, XXIV,
XXII, LXIII, LVIII, XLIX, LXVI, LXIV, LXI, LXII, XLVIII, V, IX (128 f. Mec.),
CX. Sūra II is the only one said to have an addition later in the same period. Sūras
VIII, XLVII, and IX, all Medinan, are the only ones said to have earlier verses
inserted into later sūras. Of the 86 Meccan sūras, 33 are said to have some Medinan
verses. The traditional dating seen here is based on three assumptions: (1) that the
present sūras were the original units of revelation, (2) that it is possible to determine
their chronological order, and (3) that Tradition (including the ḥadīt̲ h̲ , sīra , asbāb al-
nuzūl, al-nāsik̲h̲ wa ’l-mansūk̲h̲, and tafsīr bi ’l-maʾt̲ h̲ūr literature) provides a valid
basis for dating the sūras.

c. Modern Western dating. Since the mid-19th century, Western scholars have been
applying critical methods to the Ḳurʾān in varying degrees, and have proposed a
variety of dating systems. The one that has gained the most acceptance is that of what
might be called the Four-period School, ¶ founded by Gustav Weil in his Historisch-
kritische Einleitung in der Koran (1844, 1878). Weil reassessed the dating of the
Ḳurʾān and offered his own chronological order of the sūras using three criteria: (1)
references to historical events known from other sources, (2) the character of the
revelation as reflecting Muḥammad’s changing situation and roles, and (3) the
outward appearance or form of the revelation (1st ed., 54 f.). His most notable
contribution was his division of the “Meccan sūra s” into three groups, thus
establishing altogether four periods of revelation, with the dividing points at about the
time of the emigration to Abyssinia (ca. 615), Muḥammad’s return from al-Ṭāʾif (ca.
620), and the Hid̲j̲ra (September 622). Weil’s four-period dating system and his three
criteria were then adopted, with some changes in the order of the sūras, by Th.
Nöldeke in 1860 and F. Schwally in 1909 in their monumental Gesch . des Qor ., and
then by R. Blachère in his Introd . (1947, 1959) and translation, Le Coran (1949-50,
1966). In the 1st ed. of his translation, Blachère arranged the sūras in what he took to
be their chronological order; in the 2nd ed. the sūras were put in the traditional order
(this 2nd ed. was meant for a wider public; but Blachère may also have felt, after
deeper acquaintanceship with Bell’s work, that it was not possible to arrange the sūras
in an exact chronological order). In order to show the similarities and differences
among the three versions of this four-period system, and to facilitate a comparison of
this system with the traditional dating, the three European versions are all given
below. The few verses in some sūras that are said to date from a different period are
not indicated here, except where Blachère divided two sūras in the first edition of his
translation.
The sūras of the First or Early Meccan Period tend to be short, with short, rhythmic
verses. They often begin with a series of kāhin-style oaths, and the language is said to
be full of “poetic imagery and power”. Assuming a progressive deterioration of style,
Weil placed in the First Period the sūras he felt have the most exalted poetic style,
along with others that share the same themes and general style. The chronological
order of the sūras of the First Period according to the three versions is as follows:
Weil: 96, 74, 73, 106, 111, 53, 81, 68, 87, 92, 89, 93, 94, 103, 100, 108, 102, 107,
109, 105, 113, 114, 112, 80, 97, 91, 85, 90, 95, 101, 75, 104, 77, 86, 70, 78, 79, 82,
84, 56, 88, 52, 69, 83, 99. Nöldeke: 96, 74, 111, 106, 108, 104, 107, 102, 105, 92, 90,
94, 93, 97, 86, 91, 80, 68, 87, 95, 103, 85, 73, 101, 99, 82, 81, 53, 84, 100, 79, 77, 78,
88, 89, 75, 83, 69, 51, 52, 56, 70, 55, 112, 109, 113, 114, 1. Blachère: 961-5, 741-7,
106, 93, 94, 103, 91, 107, 86, 95, 99, 101, 100, 92, 82, 87, 80, 81, 84, 79, 88, 52, 56,
69, 77, 78, 75, 55, 97, 53, 102, 966-19, 70, 73, 76, 83, 747-55, 111, 108, 104, 90, 105,
89, 112, 109, 1, 113, 114.

The sūras of the Second or Middle Meccan Period are longer and “more prosaic”, but
still with “poetic” qualities. In style they are said to form a transition between the
sūras of the First and Third periods. The signs of God in nature and the divine
attributes such as mercy ( raḥma ) are emphasised, and God is often called the
Merciful One ( al-raḥmān ). There are vivid descriptions of paradise and the hellfire,
and here too the punishment-stories are introduced. The sūras of the Second Period
are (italics = Nöldeke only; parentheses = Blachère only): Weil: 1, 51, 36, 50, 54, 44,
19, 20, 21, 23, 25, 26, 67, 37, 38, 43, 71, 55, 15, 76.

¶
Nöldeke and Blachère: (51), 54, (68), 37, 71, 76, 44, 50, 20, 26, 15, 19, 38, 36, 43, 72,
67, 23, 21, 25, 17, 27, 18.

The sūra s of the Third or Late Meccan Period are even longer and “more prosaic”,
and Weil says the “poetic power” has been lost altogether. The revelation often takes
the form of sermons or speeches, and the prophet stories and punishment-stories are
retold in more and more detail. Nöldeke emphasises changes in vocabulary, but
similarity of form, in Late Meccan and Medinan sūras. The sūras of the Third Period
are: Weil: 7, 72, 35, 27, 28, 17, 10, 11, 12, 6, 31, 34, 39, 40, 32, 42, 45, 46, 18, 16, 14,
41, 30, 29, 13, 64. Nöldeke and Blachère: 32, 41, 45, (17), 16, 30, 11, 14, 12, 40, 28,
39, 29, 31, 42, 10, 34, 35, 7, 46, 6, 13.

The Medinan sūras and their chronological order are determined by the subject matter
of these revelations that reflect Muḥammad’s growing political power and the general
development of events in Medina after the Hid̲j̲ra. New themes and key terms are said
to help distinguish these sūras from certain Late Meccan ones. The Medinan sūras
are: Weil: 2, 98, 62, 65, 22, 4, 8, 47, 57, 3, 59, 24, 63, 33, 48, 110, 61, 60, 58, 49, 66,
9, 5. Nöldeke and Blachère: 2, 98, 64, 62, 8, 47, 3, 61, 57, 4, 65, 59, 33, 63, 24, 58,
22, 48, 66, 60, 110, 49, 9, 5.

Here we see a combination of excessive dependence on traditional Muslim dating and

on matters of form and style, e.g. in Weil’s First Period the first 34 sūras, with just a
few exceptions, are in almost exactly the same order as in the traditional Muslim
dating (cf. the Egyptian list above). Weil then closed this period with eleven sūras
that have the same “poetic style”, but are dated considerably later by Muslims (note
the exact order of LXX-LXXXIV). Nöldeke then accepted all of Weil’s First Period
sūras, and added three more (I, LI, LV) ; and Blachère accepted all of Nöldeke’s
except for two (LI, LXVIII), and added one (LXXVI)—these differences involve
mainly the dividing points between the periods. Also, the traditional stories involving
certain sūras— Muḥammad’s call (XCVI, LXXIV), an incident involving
Muḥammad’s uncle, ʿAbd al-ʿUzzā (CXI), the emigration to Abyssinia (XIX, XX),
etc.—seem to have been accepted as historical. But the Tradition, especially on the
Meccan period, is not this trustworthy. Weil, Nöldeke, and Blachère have accepted
the three assumptions of the traditional Muslim dating stated above; their four-period
system is essentially little more than a European variation of the traditional dating. On
the question of style, it is true that there were changes through the years; but there is
no reason to assume that all sūras with the same style belong to the same period. The
Four-period School have not demonstrated the validity of the historical framework or
the development of ideas and key terms assumed by their system, which has been
widely accepted in the West with much more confidence than is justified. It should be
emphasised, however, that this system is often used by others in a rigid way not
intended by its founders (Weil and Nöldeke), e.g. giving the exact chronological order
of several verses, or the exact number of occurrences of a term in each period.
Schwally in particular emphasised that the order proposed by Nöldeke was only
approximate.

Three other dating systems were proposed by Europeans within a span of ten years
around the turn of the 20th century. That of H. Grimme, presented in his Mohammed
(1892-5), ii, 25 ff., was basically a variation of Nöldeke’s, with more emphasis on ¶
stages in the development of doctrinal themes. Grimme’s analysis of groups of ideas
that occur together in the Ḳurʾān was useful, but his view of the overall sequence of
ideas (monotheism, resurrection, the Last Day, etc.) was not widely accepted, and has
since been discredited. Sir William Muir, in his The Coran : its composition and
teaching (1896), 43-7, offered an arrangement of the sūras in six periods (five
Meccan and one Medinan). His most significant and innovative suggestion was that
the first period in the composition of the Ḳurʾān comprised eighteen short sūras,
which he called “rhapsodies”, dating from before Muḥammad’s call: CIII, C, XCIX,
XCI, CVI, I, CI, XCV, CII, CIV, LXXXII, XCII, CV, LXXXIX, XC, XCIII, XCIV
and CVIII. Muir pointed out that none of these is in the form of a message from a
deity. His second period has four sūras (XCVI, CXIII, LXXIV, CXI) treating “the
opening of Muḥammad’s ministry”, presumably ca. 610. The other dividing points are
the beginning of Muḥammad’s public ministry (ca. 613), the Abyssinian emigration
(ca. 615), the Year of Sorrow (ca. 619), and the Hid̲j̲ra. Muir is no doubt correct in
dating some sūras before XCVI and LXXIV, but I and others he lists are almost
certainly later. In general, the criticisms stated above of the four-period system apply
also to Muir’s. In 1902 H. Hirschfeld, in his New researches (see Bibl .), proposed a
chronological arrangement of the Ḳurʾān based on the character or function of
individual passages. After the “first proclamation”, XCVI, 1-5, Hirschfeld’s
arrangement also has six periods, in which the revelations are classified as
“confirmatory” (LXXXVII, LXVIII, 1-33, XCII, LXIX, 40-52, etc.), “declamatory”
(LXXXI, LXXXII, LXXXIV, etc.), “narrative” (LXVIII, 34-52, LI, XXVI, 1-220,
LIV, etc.), “descriptive” (LXXIX, 27-46, LXXI, LV, etc.), “legislative” (VI, 1-73,
XCIII, 9-11, XXV, 63-72, etc.), and Medinan, grouped together but discussed
separately as those up to the battle of Badr, political speeches, revelations on
Muḥammad’s domestic affairs, and preparations for the Pilgrimage to Mecca. This
system has a number of obvious flaws, but Hirschfeld’s work was valuable for its
preliminary analysis of Ḳurʾānic literary types and its recognition of the fact that in
dating parts of the Ḳurʾān we must deal with individual pericopes rather than entire
sūras.

This insight became a guiding principle in the most elaborate attempt so far to identify
and date the original units of revelation, Richard Bell’s The Qurʾān , translated , with
a critical re-arrangement of the surahs, 2 vols. (1937-9). Over a decade earlier he
became convinced that Nöldeke’s dating was inadequate (ibid., 689 f.). Bell’s verse-
by-verse analysis of the entire Ḳurʾān led him to conclude that the sūras are far more
complex than is assumed by the traditional Muslim and European dating, that the
revelations underwent considerable revision, including expansion, replacement of
older passages with new material, changes in the rhyme, etc., that this revision
involved written documents and was done during Muḥammad’s lifetime under his
supervision, and that the material for most of the sūras was compiled, but not put into
its final form, under Muḥammad’s supervision. Bell did not present a rigid dating
system, but concluded “provisionally” (vi f.) that the composition of the Ḳurʾān fell
into three main periods: an early one from which only some sign-passages and
exhortations to worship God survive; a “Ḳurʾān period”, covering the latter part of the
Meccan period and the first year or two in ¶ Medina, during which Muḥammad’s task
was to produce a ḳurʾān , a collection of lessons for liturgical use; and a “Book
period”, beginning about the end of the year 2 A.H., during which Muḥammad began
to produce a written scripture. According to Bell, the present Ḳurʾān is not to be
divided into these three periods, since a number of sign-passages were incorporated
into the liturgical ḳurʾān, and in Medina this collection of oral materials was revised
to form part of the Book. Bell attempted to date some Medinan passages fairly
precisely—”early Medinan, revised after Badr”, “shortly after Uḥud”, “year VII”, etc.
But for most passages he gave very general and often tentative suggestions, especially
for the Meccan material, e.g. “early, revised in Mecca (?), “Meccan, with Medinan
additions”, and very often “Meccan” and “late Meccan or early Medinan”. A survey
of Bell’s provisional dating of the individual passages shows that he regarded fewer
than twenty sūra s as being probably completely Meccan: L, LIII, LV, LXIX, LXXV,
LXXIX, LXXX, LXXXII, LXXXVI, LXXXVIII-LXXXIX, XCI-XCIII, XCV-XCVI,
XCIX, CIV and CXIII, all of which are said to have material from different dates. Of
the other short sūras, some of which he regarded as possible unities, Bell said CII,
CV, CXII and CXIV seem to be Medinan; I, XCIV, CIII and CVI-CVIII could be
either Meccan or Medinan; and on C, CI, CIX and CXI he gave no opinion. He
regarded as completely Medinan the same 24 sūras said to be Medinan by Nöldeke,
but saw them as having significant amounts of material from several different dates,
thus making it impossible to put the sūras as wholes in chronological order. This
leaves exactly half of the sūras (57) which Bell regarded as having significant
amounts of material from both before and after the Hid̲j̲ra: 33 said to be mostly
Meccan, with Medinan revisions and additions—VI, VII, XII, XIII, XV, XVII, XVIII,
XXI, XXV-XXVI, XXXIV, XXXVI-XXXVIII, XLI, XLIV, LI-LII, LIV, LVI,
LXVIII, LXX-LXXIV, LXXVI-LXXVIII, LXXXI, LXXXIV, LXXXVII and XC;
and 24 said to be mostly Medinan, with some Meccan passages, or based on Meccan
material—X, XI, XIV, XVI, XIX, XX, XXIII, XXVII-XXXII, XXXV, XXXIX, XL,
XLII-XLIII, XLV-XLVI, LXVII, LXXXIII, LXXXV and XCVII. He thus
distinguished between dates of original revelation (or earliest recitation) and dates of
later editing and composition during Muḥammad’s lifetime. The fact that he indicated
breaks in the text and identified older components, e.g. Meccan passages in sūras that
were completed in Medina, does not mean he failed to recognise that some longer
sūras (e.g. XII, XIX, XXVI) and many shorter ones (e.g. LXXXVII, CIV) are
carefully composed, unified works in their final form.

Bell’s analysis of the Ḳurʾān has often been misunderstood or ignored by later writers,
partly because the extensive notes to his translation, giving the arguments for his
reconstructions, were never published. Nor has any thorough study and critique of
Bell’s work yet appeared. The review articles by J. E. Merill and W. M. Watt (see
Bibl .) and Watt’s remarks in Bell-Watt (113 f., 101-7, 137-41, etc.) are useful
introductions. Watt has expressed reservations about Bell’s hypothesis on the
disjointedness of the Ḳurʾān. Bell suggested that when some passages were being
revised Muḥammad instructed the scribes to write the new versions on the backs of
the sheets on which the verses being replaced were written, and that the later editors,
not wanting to discard ¶ any of the revelation, inserted the old verses just before or
after the new ones. E.g. II, 185, was written on the back of 184, 186 (on fasting), II,
196, on the back of 197-9 (on the Pilgrimage), XXIV, 2-9, on the back of 10-18 (on
fornication), and XVIII, 6-9 (a new introduction to the story of the Seven Sleepers),
on the back of 10-12, which was replaced by a longer version of the story in 13-21a.
In other cases the scribes simply used the backs of sheets on which older, discarded
material was written, e.g. IV, 11-14, on the back of 2-10, IV, 19-21, on the back of
15-18, and VII, 3-5, on the back of 6 9. This hypothesis provides a feasible
explanation and solution to textual problems in some cases, but not in others. It now
seems that Bell was sometimes too quick to designate a passage as “discarded”
material or a “scrap” that got into the Ḳurʾān by mistake; and he seems to have failed
to recognise some literary forms, e.g. the wa-mā adrāka formula (see 7.a below). But
it must be remembered that Bell was a pioneer in this field, and that he attempted to
locate all possible breaks in the text, acknowledging that many of his suggestions
were uncertain or tentative and that some would be proved untenable by later
research. On the whole, his dating and reconstructions have been supported by later
studies, e.g. K. Wagtendonk, Fasting in the Koran (Leiden 1968), 47-81, on II, 183 ff.
; see also Welch , Allah and other supernatural beings (see Bibl.) on the emergence of
the doctrine of ṭawhīd , and idem, in W. M. Watt and A. T. Welch, Der Islam , i
(Stuttgart 1980), 264-71, 300-3, on the origin and early development of the ṣalāt and
zakāt . Careful studies of a number of passages and topics are needed before a final
judgment of Bell’s work can be made.

There is room for disagreement on specifics, but there can now be little doubt that
Schwally was correct in concluding that passages from different dates were put
together to form the present sūras, that written documents were involved, and that this
revision was done under Muḥammad’s supervision ( Gesch . des Qor ., i, 45 ff., ii, 1
f., 77, etc.). Furthermore, Bell seems to have been right in his main conclusions,
which went beyond Schwally’s position. Most sūras have significant amounts of
material from different dates, and nearly all of the longer sūras with Meccan material
were revised or expanded in Medina, so that we can no longer speak of “middle
Meccan” or “late Meccan” sūras. We can speak with more confidence of “early
Meccan” sūras, although we cannot be certain as to which ones belong to this group.
And we can speak of “Medinan sūra s”, i.e. those that are made up completely of
Medinan material (of various dates). It is not possible to put the sūras as wholes in
chronological order, or to determine the exact order of the passages on any major
teaching—the creation, God and other supernatural beings, the nature and destiny of
man, etc. This does not mean that nothing can be said on the development of ideas in
the Kuṛʾān. On the major teachings and other subjects on which the Kuṛʾān has much
to say, it is possible to reconstruct the sequence of the main stages of development,
and sometimes the approximate dates of these stages. It now seems certain that the
most important single turning point in the development of the Muslim scripture was
not the Hid̲j̲ra, dividing the Ḳurʾān into “Meccan” and “Medinan” sūras, but a series
of events surrounding the battle of Badr and Muḥammad’s so-called “break with the
Jews”. Late Meccan and very early Medinan material is difficult to distinguish; there
are many passages that could just as well date from Muḥammad’s ¶ last year in Mecca
or his first in Medina.

6. LANGUAGE AND STYLE

a. Language of the Ḳurʾān. Most mediaeval Muslim scholars believed that the Ḳurʾān
was in the spoken language of the Prophet, the dialect of the Ḳurays̲ h̲, which was also
the language of the “Classical Arabic” poetry of Muḥammad’s day. It was assumed
that the Ḳurays̲ h̲ and the classical poets retained the pure language of the Bedouins (
al-aʿrāb ). Support for this view, more a theological doctrine than a linguistic theory,
was found in the Ḳurʾān in the statements that the revelation was in “clear Arabic
speech” ( lisān ʿarabī mubīn ) (XVI, 103, XXVI, 195; cf. XLI, 44), which came to be
interpreted as “pure Arabic”. This Ḳurays̲ h̲ dialect theory was attacked by Karl
Vollers in a series of well-documented articles beginning in 1894 and culminating in
his classic Volkssprache und Schriftsprache im alten Arabien (1906), in which he
argues that the Ḳurʾān was first recited by Muḥammad in a colloquial Arabic without
case-endings ( iʿrāb ) (thus distinguishing it from the Classical Arabic of the poets),
that the language of the Ḳurʾān as we now have it was a fabrication of later
philologists who attempted to put the revelations into Classical Arabic, and that the
original language of the Ḳurʾān survives only in a few orthographic peculiarities (e.g.
the omission of the alif in some words) and in the non-canonical readings. Voller’s
theory gave rise to much discussion of the language of the Ḳurʾān, but it found little
support outside of Germany, except for several articles by Paul Kahle (e.g. The Arabic
readers of the Koran , in JNES, viii [1949], 65-71), who presented evidence to show
that at least during the 2nd century the Ḳurʾān was indeed recited without iʿrāb, a
characteristic of colloquial Arabic. Kahle’s arguments also failed to convince others,
and the earlier refutations of Vollers’ thesis given in a lengthy review by R. Geyer (
Göttinger gelehrte Anzeigen , clxxi [1909], 10-56) and by Nöldeke [ Neue Beitfräge ,
1-5) have been generally accepted (on the views of Vollers, Kahle, Geyer, and
Nöldeke, see Zwettler, Oral tradition, 112-30). Nöldeke (loc. cit.) and Schwally (
Gesch . des Qor ., ii, 59) argued that the language of the Ḳurʾān was not the spoken
language of any tribe, but was a somewhat artificial Hochsprache that was understood
throughout the Ḥid̲j̲āz. On the other side, it has come to be generally agreed that the
Classical Arabic of the poetry of Muḥammad’s time was not the spoken language of
the poets or the dialect of any one tribe, but a literary language that was understood by
all the tribes. This language has come to be called the “poetic koinē ” or the ʿarabiyya
. In the late 1940s three European writers, H. Fleisch, R. Blachère, and C. Rabin,
reached the conclusion, apparently independently, that the language of the Ḳurʾān, far
from being the spoken dialect of the Ḳurays̲ h̲ or a Hochsprache of the entire Ḥid̲j̲āz,
was simply the “poetic koinē ” of the Classical Arabic poetry, with some adaptation to
the Meccan speech, e.g. the omission of the hamza (for references and discussion, see
C. Rabin, The beginnings of Classical Arabic, in Stud . Isl ., iv [1955]. 19-37, and
Zwettler, Oral tradition, 130-72). This view has been accepted by most Western
Arabists. One notable exception is J. Wansbrough ( Quranic studies, 85-118) who
rejects the koinē or ʿarabiyya concept, without offering any clear alternative. He
asserts that very little can be known about the text of the Ḳurʾān or about Classical
Arabic prior to the “literary stabilisation” of both in the 3rd/9th century. There is
nothing ¶ in the Ḳurʾānic usage of ʿarabī and its cognate forms to support the
suggestion of J. Fück ( ʿArabīya , Berlin 1950, 1-5) that ʿarabī in the expression
“clear Arabic speech” refers to the ʿarabiyya, the literary language of the Bedouins.

b. Foreign vocabulary. The earliest exegetes recognised and discussed freely a large
number of non-Arabic words in the Ḳurʾān, and Tradition credits Ibn ʿAbbās and his
school with having a special interest in seeking their origin and meaning. Then when
the dogma of the eternity and perfection of the Ḳurʾān was elaborated (see 8. below)
some jurists and theologians, such as al-S̲h̲āfiʿī (d. 205/820), came to believe that it
was in pure Arabic and thus denied that any of its vocabulary was borrowed from
other, languages. But prominent philologists such as Abū ʿUbayd (d. 224/838)
continued to argue that the Ḳurʾān contained foreign words. Al-Ṭabarī (d. 311/923)
and others, attempting to reconcile the two views, asserted that the alleged foreign
elements in the Ḳurʾān were simply words that Arabic and other languages had in
common. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-T̲h̲aʿālibī (d. 873/1468) explained in his Kitāb al-
Ḏj̲awāhir (Algiers 1905, i, 17) that these words came into Arabic through the ancient
Arabs’ contacts with other languages in foreign travel and commercial affairs, but that
they had been thoroughly Arabised by the time of the Prophet. Other writers seem to
have freed themselves altogether from religious considerations, e.g. al-Suyūṭī (d.
911/1505), who gave special attention to foreign loan-words in the Ḳurʾān. In his
Itḳān he has a chapter on words that are not in the language of the Ḥid̲j̲āz (i, 133-5)
and another on words that are not in the language of the Arabs (135-41). In a separate
treatise, the Mutawakkilī (ed. and tr. Wm. Y. Bell, Cairo 1924), he classifies a large
number of terms as words borrowed from Ethiopic, Persian, Greek, Indian, Syriac,
Hebrew, Nabataean, Coptic, Turkish, Negro, and Berber (for a discussion of these, see
Foreign vocab., 12-32). Jeffery indicates surprise that al-Suyūṭī was able to gather
from the older authorities so many words “whose Arabic origin to us is obvious, but
which they regarded as foreign”, and he says that some of these are simply rare
Arabic words, while others are variant forms used in the Ḳurʾān to establish the
rhyme. He then concludes that the foreign elements in the Ḳurʾānic vocabulary are of
three distant types: (1) words that are entirely non-Arabic and cannot possibly be
traced to Arabic roots, e.g. istabraḳ , (silk brocade), zand̲j̲abīl (ginger), firdaws
(paradise); (2) Semitic words that, although their triliteral root is found in Arabic,
occur in the Ḳurʾān in a sense used in another language but not in Arabic, e.g. fāṭir
(creator), ṣawāmiʿ (cloisters), darasa (to study [the scriptures] earnestly); and (3)
words that are genuinely Arabic and commonly used, but are used in the Ḳurʾān with
technical or theological meanings influenced by other languages, e.g. nūr , “light”,
used in the sense of “religion”; rūḥ , “spirit”, and especially rūḥ al-ḳudus , “the spirit
of holiness”; and kalima , “a word”, when used of Jesus (ibid., 39 f.). Jeffery then
discusses about 275 words, other than proper names, that have been regarded as
foreign, and he summarises the views of earlier European scholars as to their origin,
and sometimes gives his own views. For the Arabic and European literature on this
topic, see ibid., xixix, to which should be added two studies by L. Kopf, Religious
influences on medieval Arabic philology, in Stud. Isl., v (1956), esp. 40-5, and The
treatment of foreign words in mediaeval Arabic lexicology, in Scripta
Hierosolymitana , ix (1961), 191-205 (both reprinted ¶ in Kopf, Studies in Arabic and
Hebrew lexicography, Jerusalem 1976) and other works cited by him.

c. Rhymes and refrains. A distinctive feature of Ḳurʾānic style, closely related to its
oral nature and liturgical function, is that it is all rhymed or assonanced prose. There
is no attempt to produce the strict rhyme of Arabic poetry (see Zwettler, Oral
tradition, 103-10). Some short sūra s, and segments of longer sūras, do have a fairly
consistent rhyme if the short inflectional vowels at the ends of the verses are
disregarded. For instance, the three verses of CVIII end in -ar, the four verses of CXII
end in -ad, CV has - īl except for the last verse with - ūl , CXI has -ab except for the
last verse with -ad, and the 55 verses of LIV end in r (or rr) preceded by a short
vowel. But in most sūras there is a loose rhyme or assonance formed by common
grammatical endings and word forms. By far the most frequent assonance in the
Ḳurʾān is - ūn /- īn (considered interchangeable), which is formed by the plural
endings of nouns and verbs. And even this form, which occurs frequently in Arabic, is
often varied with words ending with one of these vowels but a different consonant.
The feminine singular endings -at and -hā occur in CIX, XLVII, XCI and XCIX; the
dual ending -ān occurs in LV; the accusative ending -an occurs in XVIII, LXXII, and
C; and the form -ā (l), a long a followed by a variable consonant, occurs in parts of
longer sūras such as II, III, XIV, XXXVIII and XL. On the various rhyme forms in
the Ḳurʾān (technically known as faʿīl , fiʿʿāl , fāʿilat , ifʿāl , tafʿīl , etc.), see Itḳān , ii,
96-105, and F. R. Müller, Untersuchungen zur Reimprosa im Koran (Bonn 1969),
who presents a systematic compilation of the evidence that peculiarities in Ḳurʾānic
style and vocabulary were brought about by the imposition of rhyme.

The whole of the Ḳurʾān is often said to be in sad̲j̲ʿ , the rhythmic, rhymed utterance
of the kāhin (soothsayer) [q.v.], which, like the Ḳurʾān, does not have a fixed metre or
proper rhyme and is thus distinct from both poetry and prose. But those who have
insisted that the Ḳurʾān is not in sad̲j̲ʿ seem on the whole to be on sounder ground
(see Gesch . des Qor ., i, 36 ff.; Blachère, Litt ., 212; Zwettler, Oral tradition, 157 ff.).
Some of the shorter sūras do have short, rhythmic, rhymed verses of the sad̲j̲ʿ type,
often beginning with oaths, e.g. XC to XCIII (see 7.a below); and parts of a few
somewhat longer sūras, e.g. the beginning of LXXV and LXXXII-LXXXV can be
described as being “sad̲j̲ʿ -like”. But most sūras have longer, prosaic verses that are
simply made to fit a loose rhyme or assonance pattern. In some a distinctive, fairly
consistent rhyme is formed by words that are integral to a context and its meaning,
giving the impression of being carefully constructed compositions, e.g. XVIII-XX.
But in others, especially some of the sūras that are completely Medinan, the rhyme is
formed by set formulas that are attached loosely to the ends of the verses, often with
little or no connection of thought with the contexts. For instance, in II, the longest
sūra in the Ḳurʾān, the rhyme in about three-fourths of the 286 verses is formed by
divine epithets, aphorisms, and other formulas that often have little relevance for the
meaning of the narrative. In verses 127-268 double divine epithets occur over 30
times, e.g. God is samīʿ ʿalīm (Hearer, Knower) occurs seven times; ʿazīz ḥakīm
(Mighty, Wise), six times; g̲h̲afūr raḥīm (Forgiving, Compassionate), six times, etc.
Theological aphorisms occur even more often, and some are repeated several times:
“God is not heedless of the things you do”, in verses 74, 140, 144, 149, ¶ etc.; “God
sees the things you do”, in 110, 233, 237, 265, etc.; “God has knowledge of
everything”, in 29, 231, 282; and “God is powerful over everything”, in 20, 106, 259
and 284, etc.
A special type of rhyme-formula that occurs in a number of sūras is the refrain, i.e. an
entire verse or more repeated verbatim at more or less regular intervals. The most
striking example is the rhetorical question, “Then which of the benefits of your Lord
will you two deny?”, which occurs as LV, 13, 16, 18 and 21 and then almost every
other verse to the end of the sūra in verse 78. A similar refrain, “Woe is that day to
those who deny it!”, occurs in LXXVII, 15, 19, 24, 28, 34, 37, 40, 45, 47 and 49. In
both of these cases the refrain has little connection with the meaning of the other
verses, and it is difficult to tell whether the latter should be read as an introduction
(see Bell, Trans ., 627 f.) or a conclusion (e.g., Arberry trans., ii, 318 f.) to the ten
segments ranging in length from two to five verses. Each of the seven punishment-
stories in XXVI ends with the two verses, “Lo, in that is a sign, but most of them have
not believed” and “But, lo, thy Lord is the Sublime, the Compassionate”, which
appear to be separate refrains, the latter being later. Four punishment-stories in LIV
end with “We have made the Ḳurʾān as the Reminder ( d̲h̲ikr ), but is there anyone
who takes heed?”, and the first three also have what appears to be an earlier refrain,
“Of what nature, then, was My punishment and My warning?” Similar formulas occur
frequently in the Ḳurʾān, but usually not as refrains. On internal rhymes and the
possibility that there are strophes within the Ḳurʾān, see Bell-Watt, 70-5.

d. Schematic form and multiple accounts. The last two examples of refrains occur in
stories that also share another characteristic of Ḳurʾānic style, schematic form, i.e. the
repetition of certain verses, or formulas that are woven into the narrative in a regular
pattern in different stories presented together as a group. A good example of one type
of schematic form occurs in XXVI, where five punishment-stories have the same five-
verse introduction, as well as the refrains mentioned above and other repeated verses.
The introduction of the first story reads: “The people of Noah denied the envoys. /
When their brother Noah said to them: ‘Will you not show piety ? / Lo, I am to you a
faithful messenger. / So show piety towards God, and obey me. / I ask you for no
reward for it; my reward rests only upon the Lord of the worlds’ “. The only
difference in the five-verse introductions of the other four accounts is the name of the
people (the tribes of ʿĀd, T̲h̲amūd, etc.) and the prophet (Hūd, Ṣāliḥ, Lot, etc.).
Another type of schematic form occurs in the Sūra VII versions of the same five
punishment-stories, where about two-thirds of the Noah story is repeated in the Hūd
story (a smaller percentage is repeated in the others), but the repeated parts are
interspersed with statements, phrases, and individual words that are distinctive to each
story. To show the first stage in the development of this group of schematic accounts,
the Noah story is given here with the elements that also occur in the Hūd story put in
italics: “We sent Noah to his people, and he said ‘O my people, serve God. There is
no god for you other than He. Verily I fear for you the punishment of a mighty day’.
Said the nobility of his people: ‘Verily we think you are in manifest error’. He said ‘O
my people, there is no error in me; I am but a messenger from the Lord of the worlds.
I deliver to you the messages of my Lord, and give you sincere advice; I have
knowledge from ¶ God which you have not. Does it astonish you that a reminder
from your Lord should come to you upon a man from among yourselves, in order that
he may warn you and that you may show piety? Perhaps mercy will be shown you’.
But they denied him; so We rescued him and those with him in the ark, and We
drowned those who denied Our signs. Verily they were a blind people.” Part of the
Noah story and other parts of the Hūd story are then repeated in the Ṣāliḥ, Lot, and
S̲h̲uʿayb stories. Other groups of parallel accounts in the Ḳurʿān have one of these two
types of schematic form. The extent of the repetition in these parallel accounts has
important implications for understanding their nature and purpose, e.g. they are not
intended as historical accounts.

These groups of punishment-stories also illustrate another feature of the Ḳurʾān: the
complex development of its multiple accounts and their changing relationships with
other accounts. Many stories are repeated in different versions in two or more sūra s,
and these multiple accounts of the same story differ not only in length and details, but
also in their purpose and their relationship to other stories. For instance, different
versions of the punishment- stories or brief references to them occur in 16 different
sūras. Longer versions of the Noah, Hūd, Ṣāliḥ, and Lot stories occur in LIV, XXVI,
VII and XI; the first three also occur in XXV, LI and LIII; they are referred to in IX,
XIV and XXIX; and they occur separately in still other sūras. There are two different
Lot punishment stories: the first occurs in LIV, XXVI and VII (mentioned above) and
also in XXVII and XXXVII; the second, involving the visit of celestial messengers,
occurs in XI and XV. Then in XXIX both appear together separated by a brief version
of an Abraham story, which also occurs in earlier, longer versions in LI, XV and XI.
On the punishment-stories, see 7.d below, Bell-Watt, 127-35, and bibliography given
there. A similar development can be seen in the creation stories: the story of (the
fallen angel?) Iblīs occurs as a complete, independent story in XV and XXXVIII and
is repeated in shorter versions in XVII and XVIII; then it occurs with an account of
the temptation and fall of Adam in VII, XX, and finally II. In the last two the Iblīs
story is reduced to a single verse, and in II these two story segments are preceded by
the only Ḳurʾānic version of a third creation story, about God consulting the angels
before creating man. A third example, of a somewhat different type, involves the two
parallel accounts of the miraculous births and childhood of John (the Baptist) and
Jesus in XIX, 2-34 and III, 38-51. In XIX the stories of John and Jesus are the first
two in a series of separate accounts; in III they are woven together as part of a longer
account that begins with the birth and early life of Mary. Among the significant
patterns seen in the development of these and other multiple accounts in the Ḳurʾān is
that the earlier groups of stories tend to be ahistorical in their arrangement, e.g. in
XXVI we have Moses, Abraham, Noah, Hūd, Ṣāliḥ, Lot, and then S̲h̲uʿayb (who
came to be identified with Jethro, the father-in-law of Moses), while the later versions
are put in “historical order”, e.g. in XI we have Noah, Hūd, Ṣāliḥ, Abraham, Lot,
S̲h̲uʿayb, and Moses. The ahistorical groups are typical of what Bell calls the Ḳurʾān
period, while the “historical” ones reflect the Book period, where we see stories
combined to form longer multi-episodic narratives that constitute the beginning of a
Muslim sacred history going back to the creation.

¶
7. LITERARY FORMS AND MAJOR THEMES

The nature and arrangement of the Ḳurʾān make it difficult to classify its literary
forms or systematise its main themes. Any attempt to classify the parts of the Ḳurʾān
according to the standard literary types—myth, legend, saga, short story, parable,
etc.—very soon founders. A few examples can be given for each of these types, but
altogether they comprise a very small percentage of the text. Also, they have been
adapted so much to conform to the style and message of the Ḳurʾān that they have
little significance as distinct types. Bell has argued that since the Ḳurʾān disclaims
that Muḥammad was a poet and since his function as a prophet was to convey
messages from God to his contemporaries, we should seek “didactic rather than poetic
or artistic forms” (Bell-Watt, 75). This is true, except that only parts of the Ḳurʾān can
be described as “didactic” in purpose. Other parts are hortatory, rhetorical, legislative,
etc., and some parts addressed to Muḥammad and his family can only be described as
personal (Bell questioned whether some of these, e.g. CXI and parts of LXVI, were
“intended for publication”). Thus it seems best to discuss the literary forms of the
Ḳurʾān in terms of its own distinctive types of material. What follows is not a
complete, systematic classification, but brief descriptions of the main literary forms
found in the Ḳurʾān, which at the same time provide summaries of some of its major
themes.

a. Oaths and related forms. An interesting variety of oaths and related forms occur in
the shorter sūras, usually at the beginning. The assumption that most (but certainly
not all) of these oaths are among the earliest parts of the Ḳurʾān seems to be justified.
Some oaths that are cryptic and difficult to interpret or translate are generally thought
to be typical of the ancient Arabian soothsayer utterances. In other cases, the oath
form has simply been used to convey Ḳurʾānic (and sometimes Biblical) themes. The
oath form that occurs most often consists of one or more verses beginning with wa,
“By”, followed by a noun in the genitive case, and ending with one or more verses
beginning with an asseverative particle, usually inna but sometimes ḳad , both
meaning “verily, surely”. A fairly typical example occurs at the beginning of XCII:
“By the night when it veils, / By the day when it shines out in splendour, / By what
created the male and the female, / Verily your course is diverse” (Bell tr.). Here the
first three verses begin with wa, and the assertion closing the oath begins with inna.
Sometimes the intervening verses between the opening wa verse and the closing inna
begin with fa- instead of wa, as in XXXVII, 1-4: “By those who dress the ranks, / By
those who scare by shouting, / By those who recite the warning, / Verily your God is
One” (Bell). The wa and the fa- in the intervening verses can be interpreted as
conjunctions (see, e.g., Arberry’s tr. of these two passages), I but this seems to
weaken the impact of the oath. Some wa/inna oaths have only two elements (e.g.
XXXVI, 2 ff., CIII, 1 ff.), while others have several, including additional inna
assertions, e.g. LI begins with a six-verse oath, the verses beginning with wa, fa-, fa-,
fa-, inna-mā , wa-inna; and C has wa, fa-, fa-, fa-, fa-, inna, wa-inna, wa-inna (other
variations occur in XLIII, XLIV, LII, LIII, etc.). A fairly typical example of a wa/ḳad
oath occurs at the beginning of XCV: “By the fig and the olive, / By Mount Sinai, /
By this land secure, / Surely We have created man most beautifully erect” (Bell)—
with wa, wa, wa, la-ḳad . The ten-verse oath at the beginning ¶ of XCI, the longest in
the Ḳurʾān is also of this type, with wa, wa, wa, wa, wa, wa, wa, fa-, ḳad , wa-ḳad (the
wa before the asseverative particles in these examples is the conjunction “and”).
Other types of oaths also occur in the Ḳurʾān, e.g. the stronger lā uḳsimu bi- , “No! I
swear by”, oath, at the beginning of LXXV: “No! I swear by the Day of
Resurrection”, also in LXXV, 2, XC, 1, and within other sūra s.

Related to the Ḳurʾānic oaths are several other formulaic usages that are typical of
soothsayer or prophetic utterances. One is the id̲h̲ā , “When”, passage, which has the
same force, if not the same meaning, as an oath. A good example occurs at the
beginning of LXXXII: “When the heaven shall be rent, / When the stars shall be
scattered, / When the seas shall be made to boil up, / When the graves shall be
ransacked, / A soul shall know what it has sent forward, and what kept back” (Bell).
The longest “when” passage is LXXXI, 1-14, culminating in “A soul shall know what
it has presented”. See also LVI, 1 ff., LXXXIV, 1 ff., XCIX, etc. Other passages,
especially at the beginning of some of the other shorter sūras, feature rhetorical
questions, such as “Have you seen him who denies the Judgment?” (CVII, 1 ff.; cf.
XCIV, CV), or a modified type of curse or threat, such as “Woe to every maligner,
scoffer, / Who gathers wealth and counts it over ...” (CIV, 1 ff.; cf. LXXXIII, 1 ff., 10
ff., CVII, 4 ff., etc. and a different type in CXI). This last example of a “Woe” ( wayl )
passage continues with another distinctive Ḳurʾānic form, consisting of at least three
verses the second of which is the rhetorical question wa-mā adrāka mā – ?, “And
what has let you know what – is?”; see XCVII, 1 ff., CI, 1 ff., CIV, 4 ff., and
LXXXVI, 1 ff., which begins with an oath.

The fact that the Ḳurʾān itself affirms that Muḥammad was accused of being a
soothsayer ( kāhin ) suggests that his contemporaries saw a similarity between what
he recited and what they heard from the soothsayers. Bell identified five passages in
the Ḳurʾān as having “kāhin-form” : XXXVII, 1-4, LI, 1-6, and C, 1-6, mentioned
above, and also LXXVII, 1-7, and LXXIX, 1-14. But most of the Ḳurʾānic oaths and
related forms are more in the nature of prophetic than soothsayer utterances.

b. Sign-passages. Meccan and early Medinan parts of the Ḳurʾān often speak of
certain phenomena of nature and human life as “signs” ( āyāt ) of God’s omnipotence
and benevolence towards man, calling for gratitude and worship of Him alone. Most
often mentioned are the creation of the heavens and the earth, the creation or
procreation of man, the shining of the sun, moon, and stars, the alteration of day and
night, the sending of the rain, and the permanence and stability of nature. Thunder,
lightning, fire, and other natural phenomena are also mentioned, as are human
understanding and relationships, the variety of languages and colours, hearing, sight,
etc. The “sign-passages” treating these themes have no distinctive form, but are
recognised by their content. An example of an early sign-passage is seen in LXXX,
24-32: “Let man look at his food; / Lo, We have poured out water in showers, / Then
have broken up the earth in cracks, / And have caused to sprout up in it grain, / And
grapes and green shoots, / And olives and palms, / And orchards luxuriant, / And
fruits and herbage—/ A provision for you and for your flocks” (Bell). See also XXIII,
17-22, 78-80, LXXVIII, 6-16. An example of a late, more structured sign-passage is
XXX, 20-5, which begins: ¶ “And of His signs is that He created you of dust; then lo,
you are mortals, all scattered abroad. / And of His signs is that He created for you of
your own species spouses that you may dwell with them, and has set love and mercy
between you. Surely in that are signs (āyāt) for those who consider. / And of His signs
is the creation of the heavens and the earth and the variety of your tongues and hues.
Surely in that are signs for all living beings”. The next three verses also begin with
“And of His signs is ...”, and the first two of these end with “Surely in that are signs
for those who—”(“hear” in verse 23; “understand” in 24). A similar sign-passage in
XVI, 10-18, begins: “It is He who sends down to you out of heaven water of which
you have to drink, ... / And thereby He brings forth for you crops, and olives, and
palms, and vines, and all manner of fruit. Surely in that is a sign ( āya ) for those who
reflect”. And a similar formula closes the next two verses. These last two examples
are typical of most sign-passages in consisting of separate sign-verses grouped
together in no particular order; but they are somewhat unusual in having set
introductory phrases and concluding formulas (cf. VI, 97-9, XIII, 2-4, XVI, 65, 67,
69, 79, XXXVI, 33, 37, 41, XLI, 37, 39, XLV, 3-5). The singular, āya, is used
occasionally in sign-passages, either with one verse treating one sign (as in XVI, 11,
quoted above; also XVI, 13, 65, 67, etc.), or with two or more verses treating a single
sign (XVI, 10 f., 68 f., etc.). The plural, āyāt, occurs much more often, usually with
two or more signs mentioned in a single verse (as in XXX, 20-2, quoted above; also
X, 6, 67, XIII, 3 f., XXX, 23 f., etc.). This analysis provides no clue as to how āya
came to mean “verse”. In many sign-passages that are otherwise like those cited
above the term “sign” does not occur (e.g. VI, 141 f., XIII, 12-15, XVI, 3-8, 80 f.,
XXX, 48-51, XXXII, 4-9). On the other hand, the term “sign” occurs many times in
contexts that are not “sign-passages”. See 1.b above and Bell-Watt, 121-7.

c. Say-passages. Scattered throughout the Ḳurʾān are a number of passages in which

the main element is a short statement or question introduced by the imperative verb,
“Say”, usually the singular, ḳul , but occasionally the plural, ḳūlū . Most say passages,
i.e. the immediate contexts in which the say-statements occur, have two main parts:
(1) a statement or question indicating the setting, and (2) the say-statement, which is
sometimes followed by a comment or two on 1 or 2. The setting statement
occasionally involves Muḥammad’s followers, but usually is a report of something
said or done by the unbelievers. One frequently occurring form is “They say: ... Say:
...”, e.g. X, 20: “They say: ‘If only a sign had been sent down to him from his Lord’.
Say: ‘The unseen belongs to God’” (see also II, 80, 91, 93, 111, 135, etc.). Sometimes
the setting statement has two or more parts, and the say-statement either has two or
more parts or is followed by one or more comments. A good example of this more
complex form is seen in X, 18: “They serve apart from God what neither injures them
nor profits them, and they say: ‘These are our intercessors with God’. Say: ‘Will you
inform God of what He knows not either in the heavens or in the earth?’ Glory be to
Him, and exalted be He far from what they associate with Him!” Here the setting
statement has two parts, involving something the unbelievers do and something they
say; and the say-statement, a rhetorical question, is followed by a praise formula (cf.
II, 80-2). In X, 68 f. a praise formula, “Glory be to Him”, and ¶ a comment on the
setting statement come between the “They say” and “Say” elements. Another
common form is “They will ask you [Muḥammad] ... Say:...”, e.g. II, 220: “They will
ask you about the orphans. Say: ‘To set right their affairs is good’.” Sometimes one
ḳul introduces a question, and a second one gives an answer, e.g. VI, 12: “Say: ‘To
whom belongs what is in the heavens and the earth?’ Say: ‘To God ...’” (also VI, 63
f., 71, etc.). Some say-statements are formulas that can be classified as maxims or
slogans, e.g. “To God belongs the East and the West” (II, 142), “The guidance of God
is the guidance” (II, 120, III, 73, VI, 71), “God guides to the truth” (X, 35), “Those
who invent falsehood about God will not prosper” (X, 69), and “Intercession belongs
to God alone” (XXXIX, 44), and some of these (e.g. the first two mentioned here)
occur elsewhere in the Ḳurʾān. On maxims and slogans, see Bell-Watt, 75-7. Others
are credal statements, e.g. II, 136: “Say ( ḳūlū ): “We believe in God and what has
been revealed to us and what was revealed to Abraham ... and what Moses and Jesus
received ... and to Him we have surrendered’” (cf. XXIX, 46). Still others are prayers,
e.g. III, 26 f.: “Say (ḳul): ‘O God, owner of sovereignty, Thou givest sovereignty to
whom Thou wilt, and seizest sovereignty from whom Thou wilt ... Thou bringest forth
the living from the dead, and the dead from the living; Thou providest for whom Thou
wilt without reckoning’.” This last example is unlike the say passages described
above, since it is not preceded by a setting statement. Thus it is best classified with a
second group of say-statements, some of which are in the first person singular and
seem to be spoken by Muḥammad, e.g. a group of four in LXXII, 20-8, beginning:
“Say: ‘I call only upon my Lord, and I do not associate with Him anyone’. / Say:
‘Surely I possess no power over you, either for hurt or for rectitude’ “ (Arberry); see
also XXXIV, 36, 39, 46-50, CIX, etc. Other isolated say-statements occur in LXVII,
23 f., 28-30, CXII-XIV, etc., the first of these being two short say-statements in the
form of the sign-passages. Say-passages and separate say-statements are often
grouped together, e.g. VI, 11-19, 56-8, 63-6, 161-4, and the groups mentioned above.

d. Narratives. If the term “narrative” is taken in the broader sense to include any story
or description of actual or fictional events, then many parts of the Ḳurʾān can be
classified as narratives. There is virtually no historical narrative, even though as
mentioned above (see 5.a) there are many references and allusions to historical events.
Most Ḳurʾānic narratives are versions of traditional stories found in other Near
Eastern cultures, which have been adapted to conform to the world-view and
teachings of the Ḳurʾān. Several versions of ancient Near Eastern myths and many
mythic motifs occur. The creation of the world in six days and the Throne from which
the universe is controlled are mentioned several times, as in VII, 54: “Verily your
Lord is God, who created the heavens and the earth in six days, then seated Himself
upon the Throne causing the night to cover the day” and the well-known “Throne
verse”, II, 255: “God, there is no god but He, the Living, the Eternal. Slumber
overtakes Him not nor sleep .... His Throne extends over the heavens and the earth,
and He is never weary of preserving them” (cf. X, 3, XXV, 59, XXXII, 4, and on the
Throne, IX, 129, XIII, 2, XX, 5, XXI, 22, etc.). But there is no six-day creation story,
and no account of what was created on each day (a partial explanation is given in
XLI, 9-12; see Paret, Kommentar , 433). The seven ¶ heavens are mentioned (XVII,
44, XXIII, 86, etc.), as is the Trumpet that signals the Last Day (VI, 73, XVIII, 99,
XX, 102, etc.), but there are no stories or complete descriptions. Brief accounts of the
fall of Iblīs (Lucifer?), the fall of man, and the naming of the animals (not so
specified) do occur (II, 30-9, VII, 11-25, XV, 28-44, XVII, 61-5, XX, 115-26, etc.).
There are several versions of the ancient Near Eastern shooting-star myth (XV, 16-18,
XXXVII, 6-10, etc.), and several accounts of Noah and the Flood (XI, 36-48, XXV,
37, XXIX, 14 f„ LIV, 9-17). which however is not a world-wide deluge.

The prophet stories, some of which are also punishment-stories, make up the largest
category of Ḳurʾānic narratives. The longest single story, which could be classified as
a “short story”, is that of Joseph, taking up nearly all 111 verses of Sūra XII. It
follows the Biblical account more closely than do most Ḳurʾānic stories, and it shows
evidence of revision, including what appear to be two introductions. There are two
parallel accounts of the births of John (the Baptist) and Jesus, III, 33-51 and XIX, 1-
36, which have some significant differences in details, reflecting the development of
ideas in the Ḳurʾān. Both accounts have elements from apocryphal Christian writings
and oral tradition, e.g. Mary’s stay in a convent or temple until the time of the
conception of Jesus, and his miracles of speaking from the cradle and forming a bird
out of clay that became alive when he breathed on it. Abraham, Moses, and Solomon
have major roles in Ḳurʾānic narrative in that there are several different stories about
each, as well as several versions of some stories. Also, there are non-Biblical stories
about each of these three: Abraham destroying the idols of his people (XXI, 51-72,
etc.) and building the Kaʿba in Mecca (II, 122-9, etc.), Moses and his servant on a
journey (XVIII, 60-82), and Solomon building the Temple with the jinn and demons
(XXXIV, 12-14, XXXVIII, 36-40) and dealing with his army of jinn, men, and birds
(XXVII, 15-21). There are also stories about Adam and Noah (mentioned above) and
Lot, Ishmael, David, Elijah, Jonah, and Job; and several others are mentioned,
including Isaac, Jacob, Elisha, Aaron (in some Moses stories), Saul, Ezra, and Haman,
who however is an associate of the Pharaoh. The heroes of these stories are generally
referred to as “messengers” ( rusul , sing, rasūl ), but sometimes as “envoys” (
mursalūn , sing, mursal ) or “prophets” ( nabiyyūn , sing. nabī ). The latter seems to
occur only in Medinan passages and is applied specifically only to Muḥammad and
certain “messengers” mentioned above from the Hebrew and Christian traditions,
while the other two terms occur earlier and have broader usages. But in later parts of
the Ḳurʾān rasūl and nabī are synonymous, although not exactly interchangeable.
Note, for instance, the consistent usage, “God and His Messenger”, but “the Prophet”,
for Muḥammad throughout XXXIII. This no doubt explains why rusul occurs in the
credal statements in II, 285 and IV, 136, which require belief in “His angels, His
books, and His messengers ( rusulihi )”, while al-nabiyyīn occurs in II, 177, which
requires belief in “the angels, the Book, and the prophets”. Among the non-Biblical
characters, the most prominent are Hūd, Ṣāliḥ, and S̲h̲uʿayb (see below), but there are
also stories about Luḳmān, an Arabian sage (XXXI, 12-19), and D̲h̲u ’l-Ḳarnayn,
generally regarded as Alexander the Great (XVIII, 83-98), and brief references to D̲h̲u
’l-Kifl and Idrīs (XIX, 56, XXI, 85, XXXVIII, 48), sometimes said to be Elijah and
Enoch. The story of the Men of the Cave (XVIII, ¶ 10-26) is usually identified with
the legend of the Seven Sleepers of Ephesus. On these stories, see the commentaries
and Paret, Kommentar , ad locc.

Several forms are used indiscriminately for introducing prophet stories and some of
the stories about non-Biblical characters, e.g. “Recite to them the story ( nabaʾ ) of ...”
(V, 27, VII, 175, X, 71, XXVI, 69; cf. XVIII, 27, XXIX, 45); “We recite to you
[Muḥammad] part of the story (nabaʾ) of ...” (XXVIII, 3; cf. Ill, 58); “Has there come
to you the story ( ḥadīt̲ h̲ ) of ... ?” (XX, 9, LI, 24, LXXIX, 15, etc.); “Has there come
to you the story ( nabāʾ ) of ... ?” (IX, 70, XIV, 9, XXXVIII, 21, etc.); and “Mention
in the Book ...” (XIX, 16, 41, 51, 54, 56). All of these are addressed to Muḥammad.
Far more frequent are two simple forms, id̲h̲ ḳāla , “(Recall) when—said”, said of
Moses (V, 20, XIV, 6, XVIII, 60, XXVII, 7, etc.), Abraham (VI, 74, XIV, 35, etc.),
Joseph (XII, 4), God (V, 110, 116, XV, 28, XVII, 61, XVIII, 50, etc.), and others, and
wa-laḳad arsalnā , “And We sent”, said of Noah (XI, 25, XXIII, 23, XXIX, 14, etc.;
cf. VII, 59), Moses (XI, 96, XIV, 5, etc.; cf. XXIII, 45), and others. Cf. walaḳad
ātaynā , “And We gave” (e.g. “And We gave Moses the Book”) in XVII, 101, XXI,
48, 51, XXXI, 12, XXXIV, 10, etc.

One special type of Ḳurʾānic narrative that made up a major part of the revelation
during the Meccan years is the punishment-story, discussed above for its use of
refrains and schematic form in some versions. Five punishment-stories stand out from
the others, those of Noah, Hūd and the tribe of ʿĀd, Ṣāliḥ and the tribe of T̲h̲amūd,
Lot, and S̲h̲uʿayb and the people of Midian. And two others are prominent in some
sūra s, the story of Moses and the drowning of Pharaoh’s army, and the story of
Arabham rejecting the idols of his people. These seven occur together in XXVI, 10-
191, and are mentioned together in XXII, 42-4. Fairly complete versions of some of
these stories also occur in VII, 59-93 (all but Abraham and Moses), XI, 25-95 (all but
Moses), XXXVII, 75-148 (only the Biblical ones), and LIV, 9-42 (all but Abraham
and S̲h̲uʿayb). Shorter versions of some of these seven and references to these and
some others (Jonah, the people of Sheba, the men of al-Rass, and the people of
Tubbaʿ) occur in IX, 70, XIV, 9, XXI, 48-77, XXIII, 23-48, XXV, 35-40, XXVII, 7-
58, L, 12-14, LI, 24-46, LIII, 50-5, LXIX, 4-10, and LXXXIX, 6-14. The “men of al-
Ḥid̲j̲r” in XV, 80-4, are probably the tribe of T̲h̲amūd; the “men of the Grove” (XV,
78 f., XXVI, 176-91, etc.) seem to be identical with the people of Midian [see
MADYAN SH ̲ U
̲ ʿAYB ]; and “the subverted (cities)” ( al-muʾtafikāt ) are most likely
Sodom and Gomorrah, the cities of Lot. Thus these three are apparently variations of
three of the seven. Most Western scholars have accepted the view of A. Sprenger (
Leben , i, 462) and J. Horovitz ( Koranische Untersuchungen , 26-8) that the term
mat̲ h̲ānī in XV, 87 and XXXIX, 23 (see 1.b above) refers to the seven most prominent
punishment-stories, since the first verse says “seven of the mat̲ h̲ānī and the mighty
ḳurʾān ” have been sent down to Muḥammad by God, and the second describes the
Book sent down to Muḥammad as having mat̲ h̲ānī “at which the skins of those who
fear their Lord do creep”. See Paret, Kommentar, 279 f., and Bell-Watt, 134 f.

The Ḳurʾān also contains some parables, the longest and clearest one being the
parable of the Blighted Garden in LXVIII, 17-33. Others include the parable of the
man with two gardens (XVIII, 32-44), the good and corrupt trees (XIV, 24-7), and the
¶ unbelieving town (XXXVI, 13-32). Several other brief parables are little more than
expanded similes, e.g. the fire at night in II, 17, the downpour in II, 19, the slave in
XVI, 75, the dumb man in XVI, 76, the water and vegetation in XVIII, 45, the light of
God in XXIV, 35, the master and his slaves in XXX, 28, and the slave with several
masters in XXXIX, 29 (see Bell-Watt, 81). These parables have no standard form;
some are introduced by the statement addressed to Muḥammad: “And coin for them a
parable” ( wa ’ḍrib lahum mat̲ h̲alan ), e.g. XVIII, 32, 45, XXXVI, 13, others by the
statement: “God has coined a parable” ( ḍaraba ’llāhu mat̲ h̲alan ), e.g. XIV, 24, XVI,
75, 76, 112, XXXIX, 29, LXVI, 10.

e. Regulations. The Ḳurʾān provides detailed regulations on some aspects of the

conduct of the Muslim community, and general instructions on others. No complete
code of conduct or list of required duties is presented; each issue is treated separately,
usually in several different places. The main religious duties are introduced in stages,
and there are inconsistencies in some of the requirements. What follows are some
examples that illustrate the nature and form of the various Ḳurʾānic regulations,
beginning with four that later became Pillars of Islam.

On the prayer ritual ( ṣalāt ): “Observe thou [Muḥammad] the Prayer ( aḳimi ’ l-ṣalāt
) at the two ends of the day and the neighbouring parts of the night” (XI, 114; cf.
XVII, 78 f.); “Remember the Prayers ( ṣalawāt ), including the middle Prayer, and
stand [in worship] to God reverently” (II, 238); “so recite what is convenient of it [the
Ḳurʾān], and observe the Prayer ( aḳīmū H-ṣalāt ), and pay the Zakāt, and lend to God
a good loan” (LXXIII, 20); “verily the Prayer has become for the believers a thing
prescribed for stated times” (IV, 103). On almsgiving ( zakāt , ṣadaḳa ): “If you give
alms ( ṣadaḳāt ) publicly it is well, but if you conceal it and give to the poor it is
better for you” (II, 271); “Observe the Prayer, pay the zakāt ( ātū ’l-zakāt ), and obey
the Messenger” (XXIV, 56); “The alms (ṣadaḳāt) are for the poor and the destitute,
for the agents employed therein, for those whose hearts are to be won over, for the
ransom of slaves, for the relief of debtors, for expenditure in the way of God, and for
the follower of the way—an ordinance ( farīḍa ) from God” (IX, 60). On fasting (
ṣiyām , ṣawm ): “O believers, fasting is prescribed for you ( kutiba ʿalaykum ) as it
was for those before you ... [during] the month of Ramaḍān ... It is allowable for you
on the night of the fast to go in to your wives ... and eat and drink until so much of the
dawn appears that a white thread may be distinguished from a black; then keep the
fast completely until night” (II, 183-7). On the Pilgrimage ( ḥad̲j̲d̲j̲ , ʿumra ): “Fulfil
the pilgrimage (ḥad̲j̲d̲j̲) and the visitation (ʿumra) unto God. ... If anyone of you is
sick or suffering from an injury to the head, then a compensation ( fidya ) by way of
fasting or almsgiving (ṣadaḳa) or pious observance” (II, 196); “Ṣafā and Marwa are
among the manifestations of God. ... It is no fault ( d̲j̲unāḥ ) if anyone makes the
circuit of them” (II, 158).

These four religious duties are required of all Muslims only in Medinan passages
dating from around the time of the battle of Badr or later. The ṣalāt is mentioned in
Meccan or early Medinan passages, but is required only of Muḥammad, with the
imperative verb in the singular, aḳimi ’l-ṣalāt (XI, 114, XVII, 78, XXIX, 45, XXX,
31, etc.). The term zakāt in Meccan passages (XVIII, 81, XIX, 13) means “purity”.
Passages that are late Meccan or early Medinan say that earlier prophets instituted the
¶ ṣalāt and the zakāt (X, 87, XIV, 40, XIX, 30 f., 54 f., XX, 14, XXI, 73, etc.), or
recommend them to the Muslims as signs of piety (II, 177, XXVII, 1-4, etc.). Then in
passages dating from the year 2 A.H. and later these two practices are required of
Muslims, with the imperative verbs in the plural, aḳīmū ’l-ṣalāt and ātū ’l-zakāt (II,
43, IV, 77, 103, IX, 11, XXII, 78, XXIV, 56, LVIII, 13, LXXIII, 20, etc.). The
Muslim fast was introduced in two or probably three stages in the Ḳurʾān (see
Wagtendonk, Fasting in the Koran , 41-127), and the pilgrimage was adopted as a
Muslim ritual probably before Badr, but was not practised as such until the last years
of Muḥammad’s life.

The form used most frequently for introducing and stressing regulations for the
Muslim community is the plural imperative verb, seen several times in the examples
given above and often elsewhere involving a variety of practices, e.g.: “O believers,
when you stand up for the Prayer, wash your faces and your hands up to the elbows,
and wipe your heads and your feet up to the ankles” (V, 6); “O believers, show piety
towards God and abandon the usury that remains if you are believers” (II, 278); “O
believers, when you contract a debt with another for a stated term, write it down” (II,
282); “Fight in the way of God those who fight you, but do not provoke hostility” (II,
190); “Contribute in the way of God; hand not yourselves over to destruction, but do
well” (II, 195). Sometimes negative commands are given, as in VI, 151: “Come, let
me repeat what your Lord has forbidden you: do not associate anything with Him ...
do not kill your children because of poverty —do not draw near indecencies ... do not
kill the person whom God has made forbidden except with justification”; cf. XVII,
22-39. The expression kutiba ʿalaykutn , “prescribed for you is”, seen in II, 183,
above on fasting, also occurs elsewhere, e.g. “O believers, retaliation in the matter of
the slain is prescribed for you, the free for the free, the slave for the slave, the female
for the female; so if anyone is forgiven anything by his [injured] brother, let him
follow it with what is reputable, and pay with kindness” (II, 178), and “Prescribed for
you, when death draws nigh to one of you, and he has goods to leave, is the making of
a testament in favour of parent and relatives reputable—a duty resting upon those who
show piety” (II, 180). And an expression having the opposite meaning, ḥurrimat
ʿalaykum , “forbidden to you is”, also occurs, e.g. in IV, 23, and V, 3. Other forms
and many other regulations occur, especially in the sūra s that are completely
Medinan. Some of these passages can be classified as commandments or divine
legislation; others are more in the nature of religious instruction or exhortation.

f. Liturgical forms. While all of the Ḳurʾān is recited in liturgical settings, only some
parts are distinctly liturgical in form. By far the most important part of the Ḳurʾān for
use in worship is the opening sūra, the Fātiḥa , a seven-verse prayer recited at least
twice in each performance of the ṣalāt. Whether or not the Fātiḥa [q.v.] was
considered to be part of the Ḳurʾān during Muḥammad’s lifetime is uncertain. Prayers
might seem out of place in a text in which God is the speaker, but others also occur,
the best example being the prayer at the end of Sūra II: “O our Lord, take us not to
task if we forget, or make a mistake; O our Lord, lay not upon us a task such as Thou
didst lay on those before us ... Pardon us and forgive us, and have mercy upon us;
Thou art our patron ; so help us against the people of unbelievers” (Bell). Some
prayers are also included within narratives, e.g. Abraham’s prayer in XIV, ¶ 35-41.
Exaltations, in which God is praised in the third person, occur more frequently; the
best known of these is the “Throne verse”, II, 255, mentioned in 7.d above for its
mythic motif. The divine epithets mentioned in 6.c above as rhyme phrases are also a
type of praise formula, which however do not give the impression of being liturgical.
Praise forms that do seem to have a liturgical purpose occur at the beginning of
several Medinan sūras. A sabbaḥa li ’llāh formula, “Magnifies God ( sabbaḥa li ’llāh
) all that is in the heavens and the earth”, occurs at the beginning of LVII, LIX, LXI,
LXII and LXIV, three of which continue with “He is the Almighty, the All-wise”.
These five sūras date mainly from the middle Medinan years, after the completion of
the sūras that begin with revelation formulas and the mysterious letters (see 4-d
above). The liturgical setting of the sabbaḥa li ’llāh sūra s is suggested by their
introductions and conclusions. One might conjecture that the Friday prayer service
was the occasion for the first recitation of these sūras (see LXII, 9-11), and possibly
also those with the revelation formulas. Other praise formulas, which may or may not
have specifically liturgical functions within the Ḳurʾān, include: the taḥmīd , i.e. al-
ḥamdu li ’llāh , “Praise be to God”, at the beginning of I, VI, XVIII, XXXIV and
XXXV, and in VII, 43, X, 10, XVII, in, etc.; the tasbīḥ , i.e. subḥāna ’llāh , “Glory be
to God”, occurring with variations in XVII, 1, 93, 108, XXVIII, 68, XXXVI, 36,
XXXVII, 180-2, XLIII, 82, etc.; and tabāraka ’llāh , “Blessed be God”, occurring
with variations in VII, 54, XXIII, 14, XXV, 1, 10, 61, XL, 64, XLIII, 85, LV, 78 and
LXVII, 1.

Others: The Ḳurʾān contains other distinctive literary forms and themes that can be
mentioned only briefly here. Especially important in Meccan parts of the Ḳurʾān are a
large number of dramatic scenes, usually involving death, the Last Judgment, the
pleasures of paradise ( al-d̲j̲anna = the garden), and the tortures of the hellfire (see the
O’Shaughnessy arts, in Bibl .). Dramatic scenes constitute the main Ḳurʾānic form for
treating these subjects, which are nowhere fully or systematically explained, and they
also occur frequently in narratives, reflecting the oral qualities of these Meccan parts
of the Ḳurʾān (see Bell-Watt, 80 f.). There are also many addresses on a variety of
topics. Most Meccan ones treat theological topics—the signs of God, messages of
earlier prophets, etc.—and thus can be classified as sermons. Early Medinan ones are
often addressed to the Jews, either as the Children of Israel or the People of the Book.
Later Medinan ones, usually addressed “O believers”, but sometimes “O children of
Adam” or “O people”, treat specific legal, political, and military matters as well as
general religious, moral, and social themes. Another special type of material found in
both Meccan and Medinan parts of the Ḳurʾān involves Muḥammad’s personal
situation. Many Meccan passages addressed to Muḥammad bring comfort and
encouragement in times of persecution, instructions on religious practices, etc. Some
Medinan ones, addressed “O Prophet”, give special marriage and divorce regulations.
Others are addressed to Muḥammad’s wives or otherwise treat his family problems
(see sūras XXIV, XXXIII, LXVI).

8. THE ḲURʾĀN IN MUSLIM LIFE AND THOUGHT

For Muslims the Ḳurʾān is much more than scripture or sacred literature in the usual
Western sense. Its primary significance for the vast majority through the centuries has
been in its oral form, the form in ¶ which it first appeared, as the “recitation” ( ḳurʾān
) chanted by Muḥammad to his followers over a period of about twenty years (on its
liturgical function during Muḥammad’s lifetime, see VII, 203-6, LXXIII, 20,
LXXXIV, 20 f., etc.). The revelations were memorised by some of Muḥammad’s
followers during his lifetime, and the oral tradition that was thus established has had a
continuous history ever since, in some ways independent of, and superior to, the
written Ḳurʾān. During the early centuries when the written Ḳurʾān was limited to the
scriptio defectiva of the period (see 3.C above), the oral tradition established itself as
the standard by which the written text was to be judged. Even when the Egyptian
“standard edition” was prepared in the early 1920s, it was the oral tradition and its
supporting ḳirāʾāt literature (rather than early Ḳurʾān mss.) that served as the
authority for determining the Written text. Through the centuries the oral tradition of
the entire Ḳurʾān has been maintained by the professional reciters ( ḳurrāʾ ) (on
Ḳurʾān reciters in Egypt, see M. Berger, Islam in Egypt today, Cambridge 1970, 11-
13, 37-43, and for the oral tradition in general, Labib al-Said, The recited Koran , see
Bibl .), while all Muslims memorise parts of the Ḳurʾān for use in the daily prayers.
Until recently, the significance of the recited Ḳurʾān has seldom been fully
appreciated in the West.

The Ḳurʾān also had a central role in the theological debates of the early centuries,
and it has continued to be one of the most controversial issues in Islamic theology.
Since the Ḳurʾān was held to consist of messages brought from God to Muḥammad by
Gabriel, and since God is the “speaker” in these messages, it was natural for Muslims
to think of it as God’s speech ( kalām ). About the time of Hārūn al-Rās̲ h̲īd,
theologians began to discuss whether or not the Ḳurʾān was created. Among those
who maintained that it was were the Muʿtazila, including some who had positions at
the court of al-Maʾmūn. Convinced by their arguments, and also thinking that
adoption of the doctrine would be politically beneficial, al-Maʾmūn in 218/833
established the miḥna [q.v.] or “inquisition”, in which most leading officials were
obliged to profess publicly that the Ḳurʾān was created. Nearly all submitted but a few
refused, notably Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d. 241/855) [q.v.]. In 234/848, shortly after the
accession of al-Mutawakkil, the miḥna was abandoned, probably because its political
results were disappointing. Up through the time of the miḥna the issue seems to have
been whether the Ḳurʾān was the actual speech of God or was created. Those who
accepted the latter view, arguing that God “has never spoken and does not speak”,
were called by their opponents the Ḏj̲ahmiyya [q.v.—see also Watt, Formative period,
143-8]. Then Ibn Ḥanbal argued that the Ḳurʾān is part of God’s knowledge ( ʿilm ),
and after the miḥna he accepted the expression “uncreated” ( g̲h̲ayr mak̲h̲lūḳ ) as a
description of the Ḳurʾān. This led to the formulation of the doctrine that it is eternal (
ḳadīm ), argued for by al-As̲ h̲ʿarī (d. 323/935) [q.v.] and others. Although this became
the standard Sunnī view (see, e.g. the 4th/10th century Ḥanafī creed called by
Wensinck Fiḳh Akbar II , art. 3), it has not been accepted by all. The Ḥanbalī
theologian Ibn Taymiyya (d. 728/1328) [q.v.], for instance, disavowed this view,
arguing that the question of the eternity or temporality of the Ḳurʾān was not an issue
before the time of Ibn Ḥanbal, and that in affirming the uncreatedness of the Ḳurʾān
the “pious ancestors”, including Ibn Ḥanbal, never meant to assert its ¶ eternity. It
should also be noted that even the expression g̲h̲ayr mak̲h̲lūḳ does not occur in
Muslim creeds until after the miḥna (see, e.g. Wensinck, Muslim Creed , 103 f., 127,
189) and that the early discussions and creeds do not mention the Ḳurʾānic expression
“preserved tablet” ( lawḥ maḥfūẓ ) [see LAWḤ ] in LXXXV, 22, and “mother of the
Book” ( umm al-kitāb ) in III, 7, which only later came to be interpreted as referring
to a heavenly archetype of the Ḳurʾān in support of the doctrine of its eternity. See W.
Madelung, The origins of the controversy concerning the creation of the Koran, in
Orientalia Hispanica , Leiden 1974, i, 504-25; W. M. Watt, Early discussions about
the Qurʾān , in MW, xl (1950), 27-40, 96-105; idem, Formative period, 178 f., 242-5,
280-5, 293; J. Bouman, The doctrine of ʿAbd al-Djabbār on the Qurʾān as the created
word of Allāh , in Verbum , the H. W. Obbink Festschrift , Utrecht 1964, 67-86; H.
Stieglecker, Die Glaubenslehren des Islam, Munich 1962, 75-89. For an outline of the
views of the various schools on the Ḳurʾān as the kalām Allāh , see KALĀM.

Parallel to the development of the doctrine of the eternity of the Ḳurʾān there also
arose the dogma of its inimitability ( iʿd̲j̲āz ) [q.v.]. From the beginning, the Ḳurʾān
had been seen as a “sign” ( āya ) or “proof” ( burhān ) of Muḥammad’s prophethood.
This belief took a more precise form in the teaching that each prophet was given a
verifying miracle ( muʿd̲j̲iza ), and that the Ḳurʾān was Muḥammad’s; the term iʿd̲j̲āz,
it should be noted, still had not received its technical meaning as late as the time of
Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (see Tor Andrae, Die Person Muhammad in Lehre und Glaube ,
Uppsala 1917, 101). Early discussion of the iʿd̲j̲āz of the Ḳurʾān centred around the
concept of taḥaddī or “challenge”, based largely on several verses of the Ḳurʾān (II,
23, X, 38, XI, 13, XVII, 88, etc.). The failure of Muḥammad’s contemporaries to take
up the challenge to produce even one sūra like those he recited was taken as proof
that it was impossible. This argument was then supplemented by the concept of ṣarfa
(lit. “turning away”), meaning that God prevented the competent from taking up the
challenge. In one of the earliest treatises devoted solely to iʿd̲j̲āz, ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā al-
Rummānī (d. 384/944) mentioned both of these arguments along with several others,
involving the eloquence of the Ḳurʾān, its prophecies of future events, its
establishment of new literary forms and style that surpass all others, etc. Ḥamd b.
Muḥammad al-K̲h̲aṭṭābī (d. 388/998) in his al-Bayān fī iʿd̲j̲āz al-Ḳurʾān (see Bibl.)
stressed the rhetorical eloquence of the Ḳurʾān, and al-Bāḳillānī (d. 403/1013) in the
most famous work on the subject (see Bibl.) rejected the ṣarfa argument and compiled
what he regarded as empirical evidence of the Ḳurʾān’s superior style. He also argued
that since Muḥammad was illiterate, he could not have read other scriptures or written
down stories told by human informants, and thus Ḳurʾānic reports of past events and
prophecies of future events are further proof of the miracle of the Ḳurʾān and its
divine source. For summaries of the development of these views see Itḳān , ii, 116-25;
Abdul Aleem, Iʿjazuʾl-Qurʾan , in IC, vii (1933), 64-82, 215-33; J. Bouman, Le
conflit autor du Coran et la solution d’al-Bāqillānī , Amsterdam 1959; H. Stieglecker,
op. cit., 371-408; and art. IʿDJ̲ Ā
̲ Z. The standard modem work on the subject is that of
Muṣṭafā Ṣādiḳ al-Rāfiʿī (see Bibl.).

The doctrines of the eternity and perfection or inimitability of the Ḳurʾān contributed
to its extensive influence throughout Islamic life and culture. ¶ It became the first
“source” ( aṣl ) of Islamic law, the S̲h̲arīʿa , which also came to be regarded as eternal
(cf. the Torah in Jewish belief). Its grammar became standard for later Arabic, which
replaced other languages across the Near East and North Africa (among Christians
and Jews as well as Muslims), and its script came to be adopted in Persian, Turkish,
Urdu, and other languages. Verses of the Ḳurʾān became the main subject of Islamic
calligraphy and one of the main decorative motifs of Islamic religious art and
architecture, as a substitute for statues and pictorial representation. At the same time,
these two doctrines have been the strongest factor working against the acceptance of
critical studies of the Ḳurʾān within the modern Muslim community. In the early
centuries, Muslim scholars studied the Ḳurʾān as literature and as a historical source,
analysing its grammar, style, poetic imagery, etc., and attempting to determine its
chronology, development of ideas, and historical settings. But the widespread
acceptance of belief in the eternity and iʿd̲j̲āz of the Ḳurʾān has made modern
Muslims loath to accept methods of historical and literary criticism that have proved
so fruitful in the study of other scriptures. To a certain extent this is understandable to
Christians, since the development of the doctrines of the eternity and iʿd̲j̲āz of the
Ḳurʾān is parallel to the development of the doctrine of the Trinity, and the closest
analogue in Christian belief to the role of the Ḳurʾān in Muslim belief is not the Bible,
but Christ. Thus the difficulty Muslims have in adopting a critical approach to the
Ḳurʾān is comparable to the difficulty many Christians have in accepting a critical
view of the life of Jesus (e.g. regarding his virgin birth and resurrection). But this
should not prevent critical analyses of the Ḳurʾān, which is after all still a literary
work of supreme importance and an invaluable historical document.

Bibliography

(besides works cited in full in the text and those in the list of standard abbreviations):
al-Muṣḥaf al-s̲ h̲arīf, or al-Ḳurʾān al-karīm, Cairo 1344/1924, the “Egyptian standard
edition” of the Ḳurʾān

ʿAbd al-Bāḳī, al-Muʿd̲j̲am al-mufahras li-alfāẓ al-Ḳurʾān al-karīm, Cairo 1364/1945,

new ed. 1388/1968, concordance to the Egyptian standard ed.

Corani textus arabicus and Concordantiae corani arabicae, ed. G. Flügel, Leipzig
1834 and 1842, often reprinted, e.g. Ridgewood, N.J., 1965.

Commentaries in Arabic: ʿAbduh and Riḍā, Tafsīr al-Ḳurʾān al-ḥakīm, 11 vols., Cairo
1325-53/1907-34, reprinted as Tafsīr al-manār, 12 vols., Cairo 1367-75/1948-56

al-Ālūsī, Rūḥ al-maʿānī fī tafsīr al-Ḳurʾān al-ʿaẓīm, 9 vols., Būlāḳ 1301-10/1883-92

al-Bayḍāwī, Anwār al-tanzīl wa-asrār al-taʾwīl, 2 vols., ed. H. O. Fleischer, Leipzig

1846-8

Ibn Kat̲ h̲īr, Tafsīr al-Ḳurʾān al-ʿaẓīm, 7 vols., Beirut 1386/1966

al-Kās̲ h̲ānī, al-Ṣāfī fī tafsīr kalām Allāh al-wāfī, Tehran 1266/1850

al-Ḳummī, Tafsīr al-Ḳummī, 2 vols., Nad̲j̲af 1386-7/1967

al-Ḳurtubī, al-Ḏj̲āmiʿ li-aḥkām al-Ḳurʾān, 20 vols., Cairo 1352-69/1933-50

Sayyid Ḳuṭb, Fī ẓilāl al-ḳurʾān, 30 vols, in 7, Cairo 137?-9/195?-9

al-Maḥallī and al-Suyūṭī, Tafsīr al-D̲j̲alālayn, Cairo 1390/1970

Mud̲j̲āhid b. D̲j̲abr, Tafsir Mud̲j̲āhid, Ḳaṭar 1396/1976

Muḳātil b. Sulaymān, al-As̲ h̲bāh wa ’l-naẓāʾir fi ’l-Ḳurʾān al-karīm, Cairo 1395/1975

al-Rāzī, Mafātīḥ, al-g̲h̲ayb al-mus̲ h̲tahir bi ’l-tafsīr al-kabīr, 8 vols., Cairo and
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al-S̲h̲awkānī, Fatḥ al-ḳadīr al-d̲j̲āmiʿ, 5 vols., Cairo 1384-5/1964-5

Sufyān al-Thawrī, Tafsīr al-Ḳurʾān al-karīm, Rampur 1385/1965

al-Suyūṭī, al-Durr ¶ al-mant̲ h̲ūr fi ’l-tafsīr bi ’l-maʾt̲ h̲ūr, 6 vols., Tehran 1377/1957

al-Ṭabarī, D̲j̲āmiʿ al-bayān fī tafsīr al-Ḳurʾān, 30 vols., in 10, Cairo 1323-9/1900-11,

Būlāḳ 1323/1905, also published as D̲j̲āmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl āyāt al-Ḳurʾān, ed.
S̲h̲ākir and S̲h̲ākir, 15 vols, up to Sūra XVI, Cairo 1374-/1954-

al-Ṭūsī, al-Tibyān fī tafsīr al-Ḳurʾān, 10 vols., Nad̲j̲af 1377-82/1957-63

al-Zamak̲h̲s̲ h̲arī. Tafsīr al-kas̲ h̲s̲ h̲āf ʿan ḥaḳāʾiḳ g̲h̲awāmiḍ al-tanzīl, 4 vols., Cairo
1373/1953-4, Beirut 1386/1966. Most of these works have appeared in other editions,
and some (e.g. al-Bayḍāwī and T. al-D̲j̲alālayn) are available in several editions. For a
more complete list, including other important early and modern tafsīr works, see
TAFSĪR.

Other works in Arabic: Abū ʿUbayda, Mad̲j̲āz al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1373-82/1954-62

al-Bāḳillānī, Iʿd̲j̲āz al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1963, English tr. of the section on poetry by G.
E. von Grunebaum, A tenth-century document of Arabic literary theory and criticism,
Chicago 1950

al-Dānī, K. al-Taysīr fi ’l-ḳirāʾāt al-sabʿ, ed. O. Pretzl, Bibl. Isl., ii, Istanbul
1349/1930

idem, al-Muḳniʿ fī maʿrifat marsūm maṣāḥif ahl al-amṣār, ed. Pretzl, Bibl. Isl., iii,
Istanbul 1351/1932, also Damascus 1359/1940

al-D̲h̲ahabī, al-Tafsīr wa ’l-mufassirūn, 3 vols., Cairo 1381/1961

al-D̲j̲aṣṣāṣ, Aḥkām al-Ḳurʾān, Istanbul 1335/1917

al-Farrāʾ, Maʿānī ’l-Ḳurʾān, 3 vols., Cairo 1374-95/1955-75

Hibat Allāh, K. al-Nāsik̲h̲ wa ’l-mansūk̲h̲, Cairo 1380/1960 and many eds.

Ibn Abī Dāwūd, K. al-Maṣāḥif, ed. A. Jeffery, publ. in Materials

Ibn al-ʿArabī, Aḥkām al-Ḳurʾān, 4 vols., Cairo 1377/1957

Ibn al-Ḏj̲azarī. al-Nas̲ h̲r fi ’l-ḳirāʾāt al-ʿas̲ h̲r, 2 vols., Cairo n.d.
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1386-9/1966-9

Ibn Ḥad̲j̲ar, Fatḥ, al-bārī, 13 vols., Cairo 1348/1939

Ibn K̲h̲ālawayh, Muk̲h̲taṣar fī s̲ h̲awād̲h̲d̲h̲ al-ḳirāʾāt, ed. G. Bergsträsser, Bibl. Isl. vi,
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Ibn Ḳutayba, Taʾwīl mus̲ h̲kil al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1373/1954

A. Jeffery (ed.), Muḳaddimatān fī ʿulūm al-Ḳurʾān (the intro. to the anonymous K. al-
Mabānī fī naẓm al-maʿānī and the introd. to Ibn ʿAṭiyya’s commentary, al-D̲j̲āmiʿ al-
muḥarrar), Cairo 1373/1954, 2nd ed. revised by ʿAbd Allāh al-Ṣāwī, Cairo
1392/1972

al-K̲h̲aṭṭābī, al-Bayān fī iʿd̲j̲āz al-Ḳurʾān, Aligarh 1372/1953

Muṣṭafā Zayd, al-Nask̲h̲ fi ’l-Ḳurʾān al-karīm, 2 vols., Cairo 1383/1963

al-Naḥḥās, K. al-Nāsik̲h̲ wa ’l-mansūk̲h̲, Cairo 1357/1938

al-Rāfiʿī Iʿd̲j̲āz al-Ḳurʾān wa ’l-balāg̲h̲at al-nabawiyya, 8th ed., Cairo 1384/1965

al-Rāg̲h̲ib al-Iṣfahānī, al-Mufradāt fī g̲h̲arīb al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1318/1900, several eds.

Labīb al-Saʿīd, al-D̲j̲amʿ al-ṣawtī al-awwal li ’l-Ḳurʾān al-karīm aw al-muṣḥaf al-

murattal bawāʿit̲ h̲uhu wa-muk̲h̲aṭṭaṭātuh, Cairo 1387/1967, an abbreviated and
revised English version: The recited Koran, Princeton: Darwin 1975

Ṣubḥī al-Ṣāliḥ, Mabāḥit̲ h̲ fī ʿulūm al-Ḳurʾān, 2nd ed., Damascus 1382/1962

al-Suyūṭī, al-Itḳān fī ʿulūm al-Ḳurʾān, here cited from the Ḥalabī 3rd ed., 2 vols.,
Cairo 1370/1951, many eds. since Calcutta 1852-4

idem, Lubāb al-nuḳūl fī asbāb al-nuzūl, 2nd ed., Cairo n.d.

al-Wāḥidī, Asbāb al-nuzūl, Cairo 1315/1897 (with Ibn Salāma’s al-Nāsik̲h̲ wa ’l-
mansūk̲h̲ on the margin), also Cairo 1389/1969

al-Zad̲j̲d̲j̲ād̲j̲, Iʿrāb al-Ḳurʾān, 3 vols., Cairo 1384/1965

al-Zand̲j̲ānī, Tarīk̲h̲ al-Ḳurʾān, 3rd ed., Beirut 1388/1969

al-Zarkas̲ h̲ī, al-Burhān fī ʿulūm al-Ḳurʾān, 4 vols., Cairo 1376/1957

al-Zurḳānī, Manāhil al-ʿirfān fī ʿulūm al-Ḳurʾān, 2 vols., Cairo 1361/1942 and

1373/1954.

General studies (in Western languages): N. ¶ Abbott, The rise of the North Arabic
script and its Ḳurʾānic development, Chicago 1939

eadem, Studies in Arabic literary papyri, ii. Qurʾānic commentary and tradition,
Chicago 1967
M. Abul Qasem, The recitation and interpretation of the Qurʾān: al-Ghazālī’s theory
(with a tr. of Book VIII of the Iḥyāʾ), Kuala Lumpur 1979

M. Allard, Une méthode nouvelle pour l’étude du Coran, in Stud. Isl., xv (1961), 5-21

idem et alii, Analyse conceptuelle du Coran sur cartes perforées, 2 vols, and cards,
The Hague 1963

J. M. S. Baljon, Modern Muslim Koran interpretation (1880-1960), Leiden 1961

E. Beck, Der ʿut̲ mānische Kodex in der Koranlesung des zweiten Jahrhunderts, in
Orientalia, n.s. xiv (1945), 355-73

idem, Studien zur Geschichte der kufischen Koranlesung in den beiden ersten
Jahrhunderten, in ibid., XVII (1948), 326-55, xix (1950), 328-50, xx (1951), 316-28,
xxii (1953), 59-78

idem, Die Zuverlässigkeit der Überlieferung von ausser ʿut̲ mānischen Varianten bei
al-Farrāʾ, in ibid., xxiii (1954), 412-35

idem, Die b. Masʿūdvarianten bei al-Farrāʾ, in ibid., xxv (1956), 353-83, xxviii
(1959), 186-205, 230-56

R. Bell, see Watt below for Bell-Watt

H. Birkeland, Old Muslim opposition against interpretation of the Koran, Oslo 1955

idem, The legend of the opening of Muhammad’s breast, Oslo 1955

idem, The Lord guideth: studies on primitive Islam, Oslo 1956

R. Blachère, Introduction au Coran, Paris 1947, 1959, 1977

J. Burton, The collection of the Qurʾān, Cambridge 1977

M. Chouémi, Le verbe dans le Coran, Paris 1966

K. Cragg, The event of the Qurʾān, London 1971

idem, The mind of the Qurʾān, London 1973

H. Gätje, Koran und Koran exegese, Zürich 1971, English ed., The Qurʾān and its
exegesis, tr. and ed. A. T. Welch, London and Berkeley 1976

I. Goldziher, Die Richtungen der islamischen Koranauslegung, Leiden 1920, 1952

H. Hirschfeld, Beiträge zur Erklärung des Ḳoran, Leipzig 1886

idem, New researches into the composition and exegesis of the Qoran, London 1902

J. Horovitz, Jewish proper names and derivatives in the Koran, in HUCA, ii (1925),
145-227, repr. Hildesheim 1964
idem, Koranische Untersuchungen, Berlin 1926

J. J. G. Jansen, The interpretation of the Koran in modern Egypt, Leiden 1974

A. Jeffery, Materials for the history of the text of the Qurʾān, Leiden 1937

idem, Index to Materials, Leiden 1951

idem, The foreign vocabulary of the Qurʾān, Baroda 1938

idem, The Qurʾān as scripture, in MW, xl (1950), 41 ff., repr. New York 1952

J. Jomier, Le commentaire coranique d́ u Manar, Paris 1954

idem, Bible et Coran, Paris 1959, English version, The Bible and the Koran, tr. Arbez,
New York 1964

D. Masson, Le Coran et la révélation judéo-chrétienne, 2 vols., Paris 1958

eadem, Monothéisme coranique et monothéisme biblique, Paris 1976

J. E. Merrill, Dr. Bell’s critical analysis of the Qurʾān, in MW, xxxvii (1947), 134-48

Y. Moubarac, Le Coran et la critique occidentale, Beirut 1972-3

Th. Nöldeke, Orientalische Skizzen, 1892, 21 ff.

idem, Neue Beiträge zur semitischen Sprachwissenschaft, Strassburg 1910

P. Nwyia, Exégèse coranique et langage mystique, Beirut 1970

R. Paret, Grenzen der Koranforschung, Stuttgart 1950

idem, Mohammed und der Koran, Stuttgart 1957

idem, Der Koran als Geschichtsquelle, in Isl., xxxvii (1961), 26-42

idem, Der Koran: Kommentar und Konkordanz, Stuttgart 1971, 1977

idem, ed., Der Koran, Wege der Forschung, cccxxvi, Darmstadt 1975

W. Rudolph, Die Abhängigkeit des Qorans von Judentum und Christentum, Stuttgart
1922

T. Sabbagh, La métaphore dans le Coran, ¶ Paris 1943

M. S. Seale, Qurʾān and Bible, London 1978

D. Sidersky, Les origines des légendes musulmanes dans le Coran, Paris 1883, 1933

J. I. Smith, An historical and semantic study of the term “islām” as seen in a

sequence of Qurʾān commentaries, Missoula, Montana 1975
H. Speyer, Die biblischen Erzählungen im Qoran, Gräfenhainichen 1931, repr.
Hildesheim 1961

J. Wansbrough, Arabic rhetoric and Qurʾānic exegesis, in BSOAS, xxxi (1968), 469-
85

idem, Majāz al-qurʾān: periphrastic exegesis, in BSOAS, xxxiii (1970), 247-66

idem, Quranic Studies: sources and methods of scriptural interpretation, Oxford

1977

W. M. Watt, Early discussions about the Qurʾān, in MW, xl (1950), 27-40, 96-105

idem, The dating of the Qurʾān: a review of Richard Bell’s theories, in JRAS (1957),
46-56

idem, Bell’s introduction to the Qurʾān: completely revised and enlarged, Edinburgh
1970

M. Zwettler, The oral tradition of classical Arabic poetry, Columbus, Ohio 1978, 97-
188.

On the mysterious letters: P. J. E. Cachia, Bayḍāwī on the fawātiḥ, in JSS, xiii (1968),
218-31

al-Suyūṭī on the fawātiḥ (Itḳān, ii, 8-13), tr. M. S. Seale, in Qurʾan and Bible, 38-46

H. Bauer, Über die Anordnung der Suren und über die geheimnisvollen Buchstaben
im Qoran, in ZDMG, lxxv (1921), 1-20*

E. Goossens, Ursprung und Bedeutung der koranischen Siglen, in Isl., xiii (1923),
191-226*

A. Jeffery, The mystic letters of the Koran, in MW, xiv (1924), 247-60

A. Yusuf Ali, The Holy Qur-an, Lahore 1934, Appendix I

ʿAlī Nāṣūḥ al-Ṭāhir, Awāʾil al-suwar fi ’l-Ḳurʾān al-karīm, 2nd ed., ʿAmmān
1373/1954, also English version, Abbreviations in the Holy Qurʾan, in Islamic
Review, xxxviii/12 (Dec. 1950), 8-12

Muhammad ʿAli, Abbreviations in the Holy Qurʾan: A new theory and its
implications, in ibid., xxxviii/5 (May 1950), 17-19

M. S. Seale, The mysterious letters in the Qurʾān, in, Akten des XXIV Intern. Orient.
Kongr., München 1957*, revised version in Qurʾan and Bible, ch. 3

A. Jones, The mystical letters of the Qurʾān, in Stud. Isl., xvi (1962), 5-11*

H. Amir Ali, The mysterious letters of the Qurʾān, in IC, xxxvi (1962), iii-iv

J. A. Bellamy, The mysterious letters of the Koran: old abbreviations of the

basmalah, in JAOS, xciii (1973), 267-85. Others are given in the text 4.d.) [* The
articles by Bauer, Goossens, Seale, and Jones are reprinted in Paret, Koran (1975),
311-85.] Recent studies on Ḳurʾānic topics: H. Ringgren, The conception of faith in
the Koran, in Oriens, iv (1951), 1-20

idem, Die Gottesfurcht im Koran, in Orientalia Suecana, iii (1954), 118-34

T. O’Shaughnessy, The development of the meaning of spirit in the Koran, Rome

1953

idem, The seven names for hell in the Qurʾān, in BSOAS, xxiv (1961), 444-69

idem, Muhammad’s thoughts on death, Leiden 1969

idem, Creation from nothing and the teaching of the Qurʾān, in ZDMG, cxx (1970)
274-80

idem, God’s throne and the biblical symbolism of the Qurʾān, in Numen, xx (1973),
202-21

Y. Moubarac, Les noms, titres et attributs de Dieu dans le Coran et leurs

correspondants en épigraphie sudsémitique, in Muséon, lxviii (1955), 93-135, 325-68

idem, Abraham dans le Coran, Paris 1958

J. Jomier, Le nom divin “al-Raḥmān” dans le Coran, in Mélanges L. Massignon, ii,

Damascus 1957, 361-81

J. M. S. Baljon, The “Amr of God” in the Koran, in AO, xxiii (1958), 7-18

S. H. al-Shamma, The ethical system underlying the Qurʾān, Tübingen 1959

H. Michaud, Jésus selon le Coran, Lausanne 1960

D. Rahbar, God of justice: a study in the ethical doctrine of the Qurʾān, Leiden 1960

T. Izutsu, ¶ God and man in the Koran, Tokyo 1964

idem, Ethico-religious concepts in the Qurʾān, Montreal 1966

D. Bakker, Man in the Qurʾān, Amsterdam 1965

E. G. Parrinder, Jesus in the Qurʾān, London 1965

J. Bowker, The problem of suffering in the Qurʾān, in Relig. Stud., iv (1968), 183-202

K. Wagtendonk, Fasting in the Koran, Leiden 1968

W. A. Bijlefeld, A prophet and more than a prophet? Some observations on the

Qurʾānic use of the terms “prophet” and “apostle”, in MW, lix (1969), 1-28

H. Räisänen, Das koranische Jesusbild, Helsinki 1971

idem, The idea of divine hardening (in the Bible and the Ḳurʾān), Helsinki 1972
Ṣoubḥī el-Ṣāleḥ, La vie future selon le Coran, Paris 1971

J. Bouman, Gott und Mensch im Koran, Darmstadt 1977

F. M. Denny, The Qurʾanic vocabulary of repentance, W. M. Watt, Conversion to

Islam at the time of the Prophet, and A. T. Welch, Allah and other supernatural
beings: the emergence of the Qurʾanic doctrine of tawḥīd, in Studies in Qurʾan and
Tafsir, Dec. 1979 suppl. to the Journal of the American Academy of Religion. For
studies on individual sūras and verses, see Paret, Kommentar, ad locc.

and for the general topic of approaches to the Ḳurʾān in Western scholarship, see
MUSTASH ̲ R
̲ IḲ.
(A.T. Welch)

9. TRANSLATION OF THE ḲURʾĀN

a. The orthodox doctrine concerning translation. In the time of Muḥammad it is

certain that nobody had considered the possibility that the Ḳurʾān might be translated
either as a whole or in part into a foreign language. It was revealed expressly as an
“Arabic Ḳurʾān” (Sūra XII, 2; XX, 113; XXXIX, 28; XLI, 3; XLII, 7; XLIII, 3), in
“clear Arabic language” (XVI, 103; XXVI, 195; cf. XLVI, 12), that the Prophet
through it might “warn the capital (i.e., Mecca) and the people in its surroundings”
(VI, 92; XLII, 7). It was not originally intended for non-Arabs. It was only as a result
of the spread of the Arabic-Islamic conquests that the sphere of influence of the
Ḳurʾān was extended to territories outside the Arabic-speaking world. The Persians
and other non-Arabs who embraced Islam were obliged, in the same way as their
genuinely Arab fellow-believers, to recite in the ritual prayer the Fātiḥa and several
other texts from the Ḳurʾān. The question thus arose whether they should be permitted
to recite the texts in question in their native language instead of in Arabic. In so far as
Muslims from the non-Arabic-speaking territories were interested in getting to know
not only the texts used in the prayers, but also other parts of the Ḳurʾān, or the whole
of the Ḳurʾān, there arose the further question whether this might be achieved with the
help of a translation.

The theologians and jurists who had to decide on this matter in general adopted a
rigorous attitude. With regard to the recitation of the Fātiḥa in the ritual prayer, the
Mālikīs, S̲h̲āfiʿīs and Ḥanbalīs insisted that the text must be spoken in Arabic. In a
case where the person praying could not recite the Fātiḥa in Arabic, he must substitute
for it another passage from the Ḳurʾān, or observe a silent pause, or repeat the name
of God for the same length of time. On the other hand it is reported that Abū Ḥanīfa
had originally declared that the recital of the Fātiḥa in Persian was permitted without
reservation; he later restricted this concession to those worshippers who were unable
to speak Arabic. This then became the general rule for the Ḥanafī school. In similar
circumstances other non-Arabic ¶ languages besides Persian might be employed.

As for the production and use of translations of the whole of the Ḳurʾān, the attitude
of the scholars was that a “translation” of the Ḳurʾān in the true sense of the word was
not possible. They based their attitude mainly on the argument that the wording of the
Ḳurʾān is a miracle ( muʿd̲j̲iza ) incapable of imitation by man. This characteristic
would be invalidated in a translation into a foreign language, since this would be
made by man. Furthermore, the scholars maintained that a translation of the Ḳurʾān
which was both literal and at the same time true to the meaning was not possible.
They conceded, however, that a so-called translation ( tard̲j̲ama ) in the sense of a
commentary ( tafsīr ) might be used, on the assumption that the text of the original
was not superseded by this. Thus manuscripts of the Ḳurʾān might be provided with
an interlinear (quasi-) translation. In more recent times this was extended to the
printing of the translation (as a commentary) beside the Arabic text. This is the
practice which remains usual for translations made by Muslims.

The question whether in the ritual prayer texts from the Ḳurʾān may be recited in a
non-Arabic language and whether the production and use of translations of the Ḳurʾān
should be permitted became once again acute when in Turkey in the nine teen-
twenties the authorities proceeded to “nationalise” the ritual prayers and to publish
Turkish translations of the Ḳurʾān not accompanied by the Arabic original.
Authoritative theologians found themselves induced once again to explain and to
justify the orthodox standpoint by reference to earlier authorities.

The first statements were mainly of a polemical and negative nature. In the course of
time, however, there prevailed a more eirenical judgement on the matter. Thus the
Ḥanafī scholar of al-Azhar, Muḥammad Muṣṭafā al-Marāg̲h̲ī, in a thorough
investigation first published in 1932, adopted the attitude that for a Muslim without a
knowledge of Arabic the recital of the Ḳurʾānic texts prescribed for the prayer in an
appropriate translation was absolutely obligatory ( wād̲j̲ib ). The important thing in
the prayer is the meaning of the text, not the character of the iʿd̲j̲āz . The true sense is,
however, transmitted through a translation. Furthermore, it is not realistic to require
the great mass of Muslims from the non-Arabic-speaking territories to learn Arabic on
account of the Ḳurʾān. It is much more desirable and indispensable (according to
Maḥmūd S̲h̲altūt, even obligatory) for them to use translations, quite apart from their
use in the prayer. The thesis that the Ḳurʾān in translation ceases to be the Word of
God ( kalām Allāh ) is, according to Marāg̲h̲ī, valid only with reservations. The
translation does not simply represent human speech ( kalām al-nās ), for although it
does not contain the Word of God literally, yet its content consists of the meaning of
God’s Word.

Bibliography

S̲h̲āfiʿī, al-Risāla fī uṣūl al-fiḳh (= Kitāb al-Umm, i), Būlāḳ 1321, 8 f.

ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, b. al-Ḳāsim, al-Mudawwana al-kubrā, Cairo 1324, i, 68-71

Sarak̲h̲sī, Kitāb al-Mabsūṭ, i, Cairo 1324, 36 f.

Ibn Ḳudāma, al-Mug̲h̲nī, Cairo 1367, i, 486 f.

S̲h̲āṭibī, al-Muwāfaḳāt, Cairo [1340], ii, 66-8

al-Fiḳh ʿala ’l-mad̲h̲āhib al-arbaʿa 2, i, Cairo 1931, 188

A. Querry, Droit musulman. Recueil de lois concernant les musulmans schyites, i,

Paris 1871, 70, 73

Buk̲h̲ārī, Tawḥīd, 51
Ibn Ḥad̲j̲ar al-ʿAsḳalānī, Fatḥ al-bārī, Cairo 1319-29, ¶ vi, 68, ix, 8

Ibn Ḳutayba, Taʾwīl mus̲ h̲kil al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1373, 15 f.

Zamak̲h̲s̲ h̲arī, al-Kas̲ h̲s̲ h̲āf on Sūra XLIV, 44

Suyūṭī, Kitāb al-Itḳān, Cairo 1317, i, 111

R. Brunschvig, Kemâl Pâshâzâde et le persan, in Mélanges Henri Massé, 1963, 48-

64, at 54-9.

M. M. Moreno, È lecito ai Musulmani tradurre il Corano?, in OM, v (1925), 532-43

[Muhammad Shakir], On the translation of the Koran into foreign languages, in MW,
xvi (1926), 161-5

Muḥammad Ras̲ h̲īd Riḍā, Tafsīr al-Manār, ix, Cairo 1347, 314-53

J. Jomier, Le commentaire coranique du Manâr, Paris 1954, 338-47

W. G. Shellabear, Can a Moslem translate the Koran?, in MW, xxi (1931), 287-303

Muḥammad al-K̲h̲iḍr Ḥusayn, Naḳl maʿānī ’l-ḳurʾān, in Nūr al-Islām, ii (1350), 122-
32

Maḥmūd Abū Daḳīḳa, Kalima fī tard̲j̲amat al-ḳurʾān al-karīm, ibid, iii (1351), 29-35

Ibrāhīm al-Ḏj̲ibālī, al-Kalām fī tard̲j̲amat al-ḳurʾān, ibid., iii (1351), 57-65

Muḥammad Muṣṭafā al-Marāg̲h̲ī, Baḥt̲ h̲ fī tard̲j̲amat al-ḳurʾān al-karīm wa-aḥkāmihā,

in Mad̲j̲allat al-Azhar, vii (1355), 77-112

Maḥmūd S̲h̲altūt, Tard̲j̲amat al-ḳurʾān wa-nuṣūṣ al-ʿulamāʾ fīhā, ibid., vii (1355),
123-34

A. L. Tibawi, Is the Qurʾān translatable?, in MW, lii (1962), 4-16

J. J. G. Jansen, The interpretation of the Koran in modern Egypt, Leiden 1974, 10 f.

(R. Paret)

b. Translations into specific languages. The Ḳurʾān has been translated into most of
the languages of Asia and Europe, and into some African ones. A Persian translation
is said to have been made during the time of the Orthodox Caliphs by Salman al-
Fārisī, a Companion of the Prophet; one into Berber in 127/744-5; and a Sindhi one in
270/883-4; but none of these survives.

Bibliography

Index translationum, passim

the catalogues of the British Library, India Office Library, Cambridge University
Library and others
J. C. Lobherz, Dissertatio historico-philologicotheologica de Alcorani versionibus ... ,
Nuremberg 1704

C. F. Schnurrer, Bibliotheca arabica, Halle 1811

V. Chauvin, Bibliographie des ouvrages arabes ou relatifs aux arabes ... x. Le Coran
et la tradition, Liège and Leipzig 1910

M. Hamidullah, Quran in every language 3, Hyderabad Deccan 1939 (continued in

Pensée chiite, iii-xii, 1960-2, revised ed. France-Islam, ii, 1967-)

S. M. Zwemer, Translations of the Koran, in MW, v (1915), 244-61

W. S. Woolworth, A bibliography of Koran texts and translations, in MW, xvii

(1927), 279-89.
1. Persian and Turkish. One of the oldest surviving works in the Persian language is
the translation of the large Arabic tafsīr of Ṭabarī (d. Bag̲h̲dād 310/923), which was
made for Abū Ṣāliḥ Manṣūr b. Nūḥ, Sāmānid ruler of Transoxania and K̲h̲urāsān
(350-66/961-76). The precise date is not recorded, but the Persian preface explains
how it came to be made. Abū Ṣalīḥ, after questioning his ʿulamāʾ about the legality of
translation of the Holy Book into Persian, decreed that this should be done by learned
men from the cities of this realm. Several MSS. are mentioned by Storey, the earliest,
at Rāmpūr, being dated ca. 600/1203-4. There is a Persian translation in Roman
characters in the Vatican.

Possibly not much later is the Persian text, translation and commentary, copied (and
perhaps composed) by one Muḥammad b. Abi ’l-Fatḥ in 628/1231, which is preserved
at Cambridge and described by E. G. Browne.

Storey lists 48 dated translations and commentaries, ¶ and in an appendix, 74 titled or

quasi-titled commentaries, as well as a selection of 8 miscellaneous unidentified
commentaries and specimens of the numerous anonymous translations to be found in
Persian, Indian and other MS. collections, and some lithographs.

The Bregel-Bors̲ h̲čevsky Russian translation of Storey ( Persidskay̲a̲ literatura,

Moscow 1972) records earlier MSS. of the Ṭabarī translation (Bursa 562/1166-7 and
end of 6th/12th century), as well as some 250 other translations and commentaries.

The Persian translation of Ṭabarī’s commentary was the basis for the first Turkish
version, which Togan regards as its contemporary, but which Inan places in the first
half of the 5th/11th century.

There are said to be over 70 translations into Turkish made from at least the 4th/11th
century onwards, existing in many hundreds of MSS. in public and private
collections, and these have frequently been printed. These are in various forms of the
Turkic languages, Eastern and Western, and in the Uyg̲h̲ur and Arabic scripts and in
Roman characters, with at least four transliterations into Modern Turkish of the
Arabic text.

Bibliography
E. G. Browne, Description of an old Persian commentary on the Ḳurʾān, in JRAS
(1894), 417-524

A. Bodroligeti, The Persian translation of the Koran in Latin letters, in Acta Or.
Hung. xiii (1961), 261-76

Zeki Velidi Togan, The earliest translation of the Quran into Turkish, in Islam
Tetkikleri Enst. Dergisi, iv (1964), 1-19

Abdülkadir Inan, Ḳurʾân-i Karîm’in türkce tercümeleri üzerinde bir inceleme, Ankara
1961

J. K. Birge, Turkish translations of the Koran, in MW, xxviii (1938), 394-9

J. Eckmann, Eastern Turkic translations of the Koran, in Studia Turcica, ed. L.

Ligeti, 1971, 149-59

idem, Middle Turkic glosses of the Rylands interlinear Koran translation, Budapest
1976

Yasaroǧlu, in M. Hamidullah, Kur’an-i Kerîm tarihi ve türkçc tercümeler

bibliyografyası, Istanbul 1965.
2. Indo-Pakistani languages. Of the many Urdu versions, the earliest are said to have
been made by S̲h̲āh ʿAbd al-Ḳādir [q.v.] and S̲h̲āh Rafīʿ al-Dīn, each of them an uncle
of the celebrated preacher and scholar Muḥammad Ismāʿīl S̲h̲ahīd [see ISMĀʿĪL
̲ A
SH ̲ HĪD ]. The British Museum Hindustani catalogue lists innumerable examples,
including versions made by Christians and printed in Roman characters. Details may
also be found in the bibliographies of the And̲j̲uman-i taraḳḳī-yi Urdū Pākistān (i,
Karachi 1961) and of ʿAbd al-Sattār Chaudharī (1974).

In the other Indo-Aryan and Dravidian languages, there are versions in Assamese,
Bengali (innumerable; a 1908 version by Rev. Wm. Goldsack of 1908 is illustrated in
MW, v (1915), 254-5), Gujarati, Hindi, Kashmiri, Marathi, Oriya, Panjabi (often
combined with a Persian version and the Arabic text), Pashto, Sanskrit (Chauvin, x),
Sindhi (surveyed by A. M. Schimmel in Oriens , xvi (1963), 224-43), Sinhalese; and
in the Dravidian languages, Malayalam, Tamil and Telegu.

3. South-East Asian. There are many translations into Malay and Indonesian
mentioned in the catalogues and s, and into other Indonesian languages (Sundanese,
Javanese, Macassarese and Buginese). A Burmese version with the Arabic text, by
one Ḥād̲j̲d̲j̲ī Nūr al-Dīn known as Ḥād̲j̲d̲j̲ī Lū, published in 1938, may be found in the
British Library (BM. Arab, cat., 2nd suppl.), while Tinker mentions that a project to
translate the Ḳurʾān into ¶ that language was initiated by U Nu while Prime Minister
in 1955. Two translations into Thai (one with Arabic text) of 1968 and 1971 are in the
Wason Library at Cornell University.

Bibliography

Catalogus van de Bibl. v. het Kon. Inst. v. Taal-, Land- en Volkenk. and suppls.

Ockeloen, Catalogus van boeken en tijdschriften uitgegeven in Ned. Oost-Indiè, 1870

(-1953)
H. Tinker, art. BURMA.
4. Far Eastern (Chinese and Japanese). Several 19th and 20th century works contain
selections in Chinese, sometimes with commentary. A MS. believed to date from
about 1800 in the School of Oriental and African Studies, London University, gives
“pieces from the Koran and prayers transcribed from the Arabic original in Chinese
sounds”. Translation into Chinese was recommended by Sakuma, a Japanese
businessman and convert to Islam who, in 1925, founded the progressive but short-
lived newspaper Mu kiang. Another source says that in that same year a complete
translation was under consideration by the International Muslim Association. The
British Museum has a Kuo-yü ku-lan ching, with commentary translated from English
versions by Shih Tzu-chou and others (Taipei 1958).

Japanese versions by Toshihiko Izutsu and Tanaka Shiro were published in several
editions in the nineteen-fifties, sixties and seventies.

Bibliography

Un commentaire chinois du Coran, in RMM, iv (1908), 540-7

I. Mason, Notes on Chinese Mohammadan literature, in J. North China Branch RAS,

lvi (1925), 172-215

R. A. Syrdal, Christ in the Chinese Koran, in MW, xxvii (1937), 72-83.

5. Non-Islamic Near Eastern Languages. Three manuscripts of Hebrew translations
exist (in Oxford, Cambridge and the Library of Congress), the first two made from the
Italian of Arrivabene, the third from the Dutch of Glazemaker. All of these predate the
translation of Hermann (Ḥayyim) Reckendorf, Leipzig 1857, made direct from the
Arabic. Two further translations have since appeared: by Joseph Joel Rivlin (Tel Aviv
1936-41, 19632) and by Aharon Ben-Shemesh (Ramath Gan 1971).

Quotations from the Ḳurʾān, in Syriac, appear in a polemical work against Jews,
Nestorians and Muslims by the West Syrian writer Barsalībī (d. 1171), which exists in
a manuscript now in the John Rylands University Library in Manchester, and in
another in the Harvard University Semitic Museum. It is doubtful if a complete Syriac
translation ever existed.

In the Bhopal State Library is to be found a Ḳurʾān in classical Armenian, translated

from the Latin by Stephanos of Ilov, a monk of Echmiadzin. This MS., in a “simply
perfect calligraphy”, lacks title-page and date but is thought to be of the first half of
the 17th century. A printed translation, with a life of Muḥammad, by Leron Larēncʿ,
made from the French versions of Savary and Kasimirski, was published in Istanbul
(pt. 3 in 1912).

A Georgian version (Tiflis 1906) is in the Wardrop Collection in the Bodleian

Library.

Bibliography

M. M. Weinstein, A Hebrew Qurʾān manuscript, in Studies in bibliography and

booklore (Cincinnati), x (1971-2), 19-43
A. Mingana, An ancient Syriac translation of the Ḳurʾān, in Bull. John Rylands Libr.,
ix (1925), 188-235, and repr.

J. Rendel Harris, The new text of the Ḳurʾān, ibid., x (1926), 219-22

Mesrob J. Seth, A manuscript Koran in Classical Armenian, in JASB, N.S. xix (1929),
291-4.
6. African languages. There are three translations ¶ of the Ḳurʾān into Swahili:
Christian, Aḥmadī and Sunnī S̲h̲āfiʿī. The earliest, made by Godfrey Dale, a
missionary with the Universities Mission for Central Africa, was published by the
S.P.C.K. in London in 1923. It contains over 700 maelozo (explanatory comments or
notes) by Dale or his colleague, G. W. Broomfield.

The Aḥmadī version (Nairobi 1953, 19712) was made by S̲h̲ayk̲h̲ Mubārak Aḥmadī,
chief missionary of the Aḥmadiyya Muslim Mission in East Africa, while the Sunnī
S̲h̲āfiʿī version, by S̲h̲ayk̲h̲ ʿAbd Allah Ṣāliḥ al-Fārsī, was published in fascicules
between 1956 and 1962 at Zanzibar, in a one-volume edition in Bangalore (1949), and
by the Islamic Foundation at Nairobi in 1956.

Other African-language versions exist in Yoruba (Rev. M. S. Cole, Lagos 1924),

Ganda (Uganda Aḥmadiyya Muslim Mission, 1965) and Amharic (Artistic Press,
Addis Ababa, 1961). Possible versions in Berber are discussed by Henri Basset, see
Bibl .

Bibliography

H. Basset, Essai sur la littérature des Berbères, Algiers 1920, 63-4

G. Dale, A Swahili translation of the Koran, in MW, xiv (1924), 5-9

V. Monteil, Un Coran ahmadi en Swahili, in Bull. IFAN, xxix, B (1967), 479-95

J. D. Holway, The Qurʾān in Swahili’, three translations, in MW, lxi (1971), 102-10.
7. European languages. The Latin paraphrase made by Robert of Ketton at the behest
of Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, and completed in 1143, exists in the
autograph of the translator in the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal in Paris. Robert is said to
have been “always liable to heighten or exaggerate a harmless text to give it a nasty or
licentious sting, or to prefer an improbable but unpleasant interpretation of the
meaning to a likely but normal and decent one” (N. Daniel, Islam and the West, the
making of an image, Edinburgh 1960, see Index, s.v. Ketton). The work of Robert
formed the basis for several mediaeval versions, but was apparently unknown to
another early translator, Marc of Toledo. It was recopied in the 17th century by
Dominicus Germanus, whose work exists in Montpelier, the Escurial and elsewhere,
and was published in the Cluniac corpus, together with various other works of
Christian propaganda, by Theodor Bibliander (Buchmann) in three editions at Basel in
1543, and one at Zürich in 1550 containing a preface by Martin Luther.

The first translation in a modern European language was the Italian version of Andrea
Arrivabene, published in 1547. Though its author claims that it is made directly from
the Arabic, it is clearly a translation or paraphrase of Robert of Ketton’s text as
published by Bibliander. Arrivabene’s version was used for the first German
translation made by Solomon Schweigger, preacher at the Frauenkirche in Nürnberg,
which in turn formed the basis of the first Dutch translation, made anonymously and
issued in 1641.

The first French version by André du Ryer, “Sieur de la Garde Malezais”, came out in
a great many editions between 1647 and 1775. All editions contain a “summary of the
religion of the Turks” and other documents. This gave rise to the first Koran in
English by Alexander Ross, and also fathered versions in Dutch (by Glazemaker),
German (Lange) and Russian (Postnikov and Veryovkin).

The second Latin version was made directly from the Arabic text by Ludovico
Marraci (or Marracci), published first in 1698 and secondly, with additions and
annotations, by Reineccius in 1721. It was translated into German by Nerreter.

¶
The 18th century brought translations made directly from an Arabic original by Sale
into English (first published in 1734), Savary (French, 1751) and Boysen (German,
1773). Sale’s version was in vogue in the English-speaking world for nearly two
centuries: his renowned preliminary discourse, based, according to Nallino, on
Marracci and Edward Pococke senior, was translated into several European
languages. It was even translated into Arabic by Protestant missionaries in Egypt.

Savary’s version was, according to Chauvin, evidently made from the Latin of
Marracci: it bears the distinction of having been published in Mecca in A.H. 1165 (or
so the title-page of one edition states!). Kasimirski, whose translation has also had a
long run, and indeed like that of Savary, is still being republished in our own time,
was requested by Pauthier to revise Savary. He preferred, however, to make a new
translation directly from the Arabic while consulting the works of Marracci and Sale.

Throughout the 19th century, the translations were normally made without remove
from the Arabic. In the 20th century, the first English versions made by Muslims
appear, and the Aḥmadiyya movement began to issue the Ḳurʾān text with translations
into European and even African languages. In recent times translations have been
made by many of the most prominent Arabists and Islamic scholars into all the main
languages of Europe, undeterred by the dictum of A. Fischer that only second or third-
grade scholars dared to undertake this task.

Conspectus of European Language Versions :

Afrikaans. Anon. 1950. M. A. Baker, 1961.

Bulgarian. Lica, 1902-5. Tomov and Skulov, ca. 1930. (MW, xxiii [1933], 189-90.)

Czech. Vesely, 1913-25. Nykl, 1934. Hrbek, 1972.

(A. Schimmel, Die neue tschechische Koranübersetzung , in WO vii [1973-4], 154-

62.)

Danish. Madsen, 1967. Selections in chronological order, Buhl, 1921, 19542.

Dutch. Anon., 1641. Glazemaker, 1658, 1696, 1698, 1707, 1721, 1734. Tollens, 1859.
Keyzer, 1860, 1879. Bas̲ h̲īr al-Dīn Aḥmad (Aḥmadiyya), 1953. Kramers, 1956, 1965,
1969.

English. Versions by Christians: Ross, 1649, 1688, 1719, 1806. Sale, 1734-1892;
American versions 1833-1923. Rodwell, 1861, 1876, 1909 (often reprinted to 1963).
Palmer, 1880, 1900 (often reprinted to 1965). Bell, 1937-9. Arberry, 1955 (repr. 1963,
1964, 1969, 1971). Many versions by orthodox Muslims including Pickthall, 1930
etc., bilingual eds. 1938, 1976. A. Yusuf Ali, 1934, etc.; Dawood, 1956 etc. and by
the Aḥmadiyya.

Finnish. Ahsen Böre, 1942. Aro, 1957.

French. Du Ryer, many editions, 1647-1775. Savary, 1751-1960. Kasimirski 1840-

1970. Fatma-Zaida, 1861. Montet, 1929. Laïmêche, 1931. Pesle and Tidjani, 1936.
Blachère, 1949-50, 1957, 1966. Rajabalee (Mauritius) 1949. Mercier, 1956. Ghedira,
1957. Hamidullah, 1959, 1966. Masson, 1967. Si Boubakeur Hamza, 1972.

German. Schweigger, 1616, 1623, 1659. Lange, 1688. Nerreter 1703. Arnold, 1746.
Megerlin, 1772. Boysen, 1773, 1775. Wahl, 1828. Ullmann, 1840-1959 (10 editions).
Grigull, 1901, n.d. Henning, 1901, 1960, 1968. Goldschmidt, 1916. Aubier, 1957.
Sadr-ud-Din, 1939. Aḥmadiyya versions, 1954, 1959. Paret, 1966, 1977, paperback
ed. 1979, second ed. 1980.

Greek. Pentake, 1878, 1886, etc. Zographou-Meraniou, 1959.

Hungarian. Szdmajer, 1831 (MW [1927]). Szokolay, 1854.

¶
Italian. Arrivabene, 1547, 1548, 1912. Calza, 1847. Anon., 1882, 1912,1913. Fracassi,
1914, Bonelli, 1929, 1940 (repr. 1948, 1956). Bausani, 1955, 1961. Moreno, 1967,
1969. Violante, n.d.

Latin. Robert of Ketton, 1543, 1550. Marracci, 1698, 1721.

Polish. Sobolewski,? 1828. Buczacki, 1858.

Portuguese. Anon., 1882. Castro, 1964.

Rumanian. Isopescul, 1912.

Russian. Postnikov, 1716. Veryovkin, 1790. Kolmakov, 1792. Nikolaev, 1864-1901

(5 editions). Boguslavski, 1871 (MS. only, Bull . N.Y. Publ . Library , xli, 101).
Sablukov, 1877-9, 1894-8, 1907. Kri̊ mskiy, 1902, 1905, 1916? Kračkovskiy, 1963.

Serbo-Croat. Ljubibratić, 1895. Pandža and Čaušević, 1936, 1936, 1969. Karabeg,
1937. (A. Popović, Sur une nouvelle traduction du Coran en serbe-croate, in Arabica
, xx [1973], 82-4).

Spanish. Gerber de Robles, 1844. Ortiz de la Puebla, 1872. Murguiondo, 1875. Anon.,
1931. Bergua, 1931 (9 editions to 1970). Cansinos Assens, 1951 (5 editions to 1963).
Vernet Ginés, 1953, 1963. Anon., 1960. Cardona Castro, 1965. Anon., 1965.
Herńandez Catá, n.d. Garcia Bravo, n.d. Anon., n.d.

Swedish. Crusenstolpe, 1843. Tornberg, 1874. Zettersteén, 1917. Ohlmarks, 1961.

There also exist partial translations in Albanian and Norwegian, and the MS. of a
Ukranian version by Volodymyr Lezevyc (Hamidullah, Le Coran 2, 1966, p. lxv).

Bibliography

J. Kritzeck, Robert of Ketton’s translation of the Qurʾan, in IQ, ii (1955), 309-12

M. Th. d’Alverny, Deux traductions latines du Coran au Moyen Age, in Archives hist.
doctr. litt. Moyen Age, xxii-xxiv (1947-8), 69-131

W. K[öhler], Zu Biblianders Koran-Ausgabe, in Zwingliana, iii (1913-20), 349-50

M. Th. d’Alverny, G. Vajda, Marc de Tolède, traducteur d’Ibn Tumart, in And. xvi
(1951), 99-140, 259-307, xvii (1952), 1-56, esp. xvi, 260-8: C. de Frede, La prima
traduzione italiana del Corano ... , Naples 1967

Denison Ross, Ludovico Marraci, in BSOS, ii (1921-3), 117-23

C. Nallino, Le fonti arabe manoscritte dell’ opera di Ludovico Marracci sul Corano,
in Rend. Accad. Lincei, Cl. Sci. mor. stor. filol., ser. 6, vii (1931), 303-49

A. Bausani, On some recent translations of the Qurʾān, in Numen, iv (1957), 75-81

W. A. Bijlefeld, Some recent contributions to Qurʾanic studies, in MW, lxiv (1974),

79-102, 172-9, 259-74

A. Fischer, Der Wert der vorhandenen Koran-Übersetzungen und Sure in, Leipzig
1937

M. Hamidullah, Le Coran, traduction intégrale, avec une bibliographie de toutes les

traductions ... en langues européennes, Paris 1966°

J. Vernet, Traducciones moriscas de El Corán, in Der Orient in der Forschung,

Festschrift für Otto Spies, Wiesbaden 1967, 686-705

J. D. Pearson, Bibliography of translations of the Koran into European languages, in

Cambridge history of Arabic literature (forthcoming).
(J.D. Pearson)
Muḥammad(29,304 words)
, the Prophet of Islam.

1. The Prophet’s life and career.

2. The Prophet in popular Muslim piety.

3. The Prophet’s image in Europe and the West.

1. The Prophet’s life and career. Belief that Muḥammad is the Messenger of God (
Muḥammad un rasūlu ’llāh ) is second only to belief in the Oneness of God ( lā ilāha
illā ’llāh ) according to the s̲ h̲ahāda [q.v.], the quintessential Islamic creed.
Muḥammad has a highly exalted role at the heart of Muslim faith. At the same time
the Ḳurʾān and Islamic orthodoxy insist that he was fully human with no supernatural
powers.

That Muḥammad was one of the greatest persons in world history in terms of the
global impact of the movement he founded cannot be seriously questioned. How did
his extraordinary success occur? One answer is theological: God chose Muḥammad
as His Prophet and was directly responsible for his triumph over polytheism and evil.
Another is based on historical and other empirical evidence: Muḥammad had
remarkable leadership skills and a charismatic personality that enabled him to attract
other strong leaders who were firmly committed to him, and together they were
responsible for the early success of the Muslim community. These two views of
Muḥammad—one as the ideal person, the exemplar for Islamic orthodoxy and
orthopraxis, and the other as the historical person, who first appears as a somewhat
shadowy figure whose early life is little known, but who then gradually emerges into
the light of history—are not necessarily incompatible, but they involve two separate
inquiries, each pursuing its own path of investigation, each following its own methods
of analysis. While the theologian and other believers seek to understand the role of
God acting through the Prophet, the historian seeks the measure of the man himself.
The theological answer is obvious and indisputable for the believer, but, if taken alone
as the explanation of the Prophet’s success, it runs the risk of diminishing
Muḥammad’s greatness as a man by making him a mere agent of divine action. The
purpose of the first section of this article is to seek the historical Muḥammad.

I. THE HISTORICAL MUḤAMMAD

A. The Sources

The sources for the life of Muḥammad fall into overlapping categories that call for a
variety of methods of analysis. By far the most trustworthy source, but at the same
time the most difficult to utilise as a historical source, is the Ḳurʾān [q.v.], most if not
all of which is contemporary with the life of Muḥammad. A characteristic feature of
this unique ¶ work is that it responds constantly and often candidly to Muḥammad’s
changing historical circumstances and contains a wealth of hidden data that are
relevant to the task of the quest for the historical Muḥammad, although any use of the
Ḳurʾān as a historical source is clearly ancillary to its primary purpose and main
functions in Muslim life. Historians and biographers of Muḥammad past and present
have only begun to tap this rich source, which requires specialised knowledge and a
variety of historical and literary critical methods in order to reach sound conclusions
and plausible hypotheses.

The earliest attempts to report events of Muḥammad’s life could hardly be called
biographies in the modern sense. They include what are called mag̲h̲āzī [q.v.] works
that treat Muḥammad’s military expeditions and campaigns, which from an early date
were merged with sīra [q.v.] works that sought to preserve stories about the Prophet,
tafsīr [q.v.] writings that sought to preserve traditional interpretations of verses of the
Ḳurʾān, and eventually ḥadīt̲ h̲ [q.v.] accounts that sought to preserve sayings of and
about Muḥammad. Early works in all of these categories contain what can be
classified as mutawātir (handed down successively) or mas̲ h̲hūr (well-known or
widely known) material that was transmitted by oral tradition for generations before it
was written down. None of these types of writings in its early forms, including the
mag̲h̲āzī and sīra works, had as its purpose the recording of the life of Muḥammad.
Each report or story must thus be evaluated in terms of its purpose, and as many
versions of the same story and similar stories as possible need to be consulted, since
most of the accounts occur in numerous, often widely differing forms.

The most widely used sources for the life of Muḥammad, in addition to the Ḳurʾān,
date from the 3rd and 4th centuries of the Islamic era. Among these the most highly
respected is the Mag̲h̲āzī or Sīra of Ibn Isḥāḳ (d. 151/768), which is not extant in its
original form, but has been preserved in at least two recensions, one by Ibn His̲ h̲ām
(d. 218/833) that is widely used, and another by Yūnus b. Bukayr (d. 199/814-15) that
exists only in manuscript form (for a description and summary of the contents of
Yūnus’s recension, see Alfred Guillaume, New light on the life of Muhammad ,
Manchester n.d.). We also have extensive quotations from Ibn Isḥāḳ’s work, including
sections that Ibn His̲ h̲ām and Yūnus b. Bukayr omitted, in historical works that cover
much more than just the life of the Prophet. Among these the most valuable is the
Taʾrīk̲h̲ al-rusul wa ’l-mulūk by al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/922-3), which contains other
material on the life of Muḥammad, notably reports from ʿUrwa b. al-Zubayr (d.
94/712-13), a very early source (cf. Watt, Mecca , 180-2). Alfred Guillaume has
provided an English translation of an attempted reconstruction of Ibn Isḥāḳ’s work,
produced largely by translating what Ibn His̲ h̲ām reports from Ibn Isḥāḳ, adding
quotations from the latter that are included by al-Ṭabarī (mainly the material that Ibn
His̲ h̲ām omitted) and placing Ibn His̲ h̲ām’s comments on Ibn Isḥāḳ’s work in the back
of the translation in a section called “Ibn His̲ h̲ām’s Notes” (pp. 691-798). These page
numbers suggest that Ibn His̲ h̲ām’s comments constitute about 15% of his recension
of Ibn Isḥāḳ’s work, but it should be kept in mind that he may have omitted this
amount or more of the original. After Ibn Isḥāḳ’s work the sources most widely used
are the Mag̲h̲āzī by al-Wāḳidī (d. 207/822-3), which is often criticised by Muslim
writers who claim that the author is unreliable, and the Kitāb al-Ṭabaḳāt al-kabīr by
al-Wāḳidī’s ¶ secretary, Ibn Saʿd (d. 230/844-5), who appears to be more highly
respected than his employer. See Bibl . for editions and translations of these works.
Other useful sources for the life of Muḥammad include the Ṣaḥīḥ by al-Buk̲h̲ārī (d.
256/870), the Ṣaḥīḥ by Muslim (d. 261/875), and the Musnad by Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d.
241/855).

B. Muḥammad in Mecca

1. His early life

The very first question a biographer has to ask, namely when the person was born,
cannot be answered precisely for Muḥammad. We have no certain chronological data
for the Meccan period of his life. His activity in Medina covered approximately ten
years, from the Hid̲j̲ra [q.v.] in 622 A.D. until his death in 632. Most of the sources
say his activity as a prophet in Mecca also lasted ten years, but there is considerable
difference of opinion on this question. A statement in a poem ascribed sometimes to
Abū Ḳays b. Abī Anas and sometimes to Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit (ed. Hirschfeld, no. 19)
says that his prophetic activity in Mecca lasted “ten and some years”. Muḥammad’s
biographers usually make him 40 or sometimes 43 years old at the time of his call to
be a prophet, which, taken with the statements on the length of the Meccan and
Medinan periods of his prophetic activity and his age at the time of his death, would
put the year of his birth at about 570 A.D. When, however, tradition says that he was
born in the “Year of the Elephant” (alluded to in sūra CV) this cannot be accepted,
since Abraha’s attack on Mecca must have taken place considerably before 570.
There is better reason to believe that he may have been born later in the 570s. Since
the traditional accounts differ widely and also contain elements that are clearly based
on later legend, it is best to leave open the question of the year of Muḥammad’s birth.
For the period of his life before he came forth as a religious reformer the Ḳurʾān has
only the indefinite expression ʿumr , in sūra X, 16: “I lived among you an ʿumr before
it”, where the term is usually interpreted “a lifetime” and could just as well mean 35
as 40 or 43 years.

The name “Muḥammad” is reported to have occurred previously among the Arabs
(e.g. Ibn Durayd, ed. Wüstenfeld, 6 f.; Ibn Saʿd, i/1, 111 f.) and therefore need not be
regarded as an epithet adopted later in life by the Prophet. It should be noted,
however, that the brief section on such persons given by Ibn Saʿd has the heading,
“Account of those who were named Muḥammad in the days of the d̲j̲āhiliyya [q.v.] in
the hope of being called to prophethood which had been predicted”, which indicates
the tendentious nature of some of these accounts. The fact that the sources say
frequently that in his youth Muḥammad was called Amīn, a common Arab name
meaning “faithful, trustworthy”, suggests the possibility that this could have been his
given name, a masculine form from the same root as his mother’s name, Āmina. The
name Muḥammada for women occurs several times in the Syrian Book of the
Himyarites .

As to Muḥammad’s descent several old poems (e.g. Hassan b. T̲h̲ābit, ed. Hirschfeld,
no. 25; Aʿs̲ h̲ā in Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 256; cf. also on D̲j̲aʿfar: Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 21; Kaʿb
b. Mālik in Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 800; on Ḥamza: Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 630; on Abū Lahab: Ḥassān b.
T̲h̲ābit, no. 217) support the statement of tradition that he belonged to the Banū
Hās̲ h̲im [q.v.], apparently one of the better class families of Mecca (cf. Ibn His̲ h̲ām,
539, 821), which was related to the Banū Muṭṭalib (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 536). On the other
hand, the Meccan enemies of the Prophet say in sūra ¶ XLIII, 31 that they would
believe in him more readily if he had been “one of the prominent men of the two
cities” (Mecca and al-Ṭāʾif). The Hās̲ h̲im family in any case could not compare with
the most prominent families such as the Mak̲h̲zūm and Umayya [q.vv.]. What is
recorded of the needy circumstances of Muḥammad and some of his relatives
suggests that the Banū Hās̲ h̲im were not prosperous during his early lifetime. His
father, who is said to have died before the Prophet’s birth, is quite a colourless figure
in the sources. His name ʿAbd Allāh is perhaps only a later improvement on a
polytheist name (see the names of his brothers below). Muḥammad’s grandfather is
called S̲h̲ayba or ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib. The connection between these two names is as
obscure as is their relationship to the Banū S̲h̲ayba (Ibn Saʿd, i/1, 94, ii/1, 124) and the
often mentioned family of Muṭṭalib (Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 184; Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 230,
536). On his mother’s side he had connections, which are not entirely clear, with
Medina. We know little more that is definite about his ancestry, since most of what is
related is heavily influenced by later legend. The first tangible historical figures
among his relatives are his uncles: Abū Ṭālib [q.v.], whose name was ʿAbd Manāf, al-
ʿAbbās [q.v.], Ḥamza [q.v.] and ʿAbd al-ʿUzzā [see ABŪ LAHAB ].

In the well-known Sūrat al-Ḍuḥā, a personal passage addressed to the Prophet, the
Ḳurʾān affirms that Muḥammad grew up as an orphan (XCIII, 6). Little else about his
early life is known. The sources contain many colourful stories with settings from
before his birth up to the time of the Hid̲j̲ra. These accounts are important historical
sources for understanding early stages in Muslim perceptions of the Prophet, which
developed rapidly well beyond his portrayal in the Ḳurʾān, but they have little value
as sources for the historical Muḥammad (as distinct from the Muḥammad of Muslim
faith). As Birkeland has shown, the story of the opening of Muḥammad’s breast,
which occurs in a variety of forms set in different parts of his lifetime (e.g., Ibn Saʿd,
i/1, 96 f.), is a later exegetical materialisation of XCIV, 1 ( The Legend of the opening
of Muhammed’s breast, Oslo 1955). It would also be wiser to set aside Muḥammad’s
alleged trading journeys into Syria, said to have occurred when he was a child under
the care of his uncle Abū Ṭālib and later in the service of his future wife, K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a
[q.v.]. The sources contain several versions of each of these stories, all of which have
as their central theme predictions or affirmations regarding Muḥammad’s future
prophethood. Some of the versions of the story of the “first journey” involve a
Christian monk named Baḥīrā [q.v.] (Ibn Isḥāḳ as reported in Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 115-17 and
in al-Ṭabarī, i, 1123-6; Ibn Saʿd, i/1, 76 f., 99-101), while others say Abū Ṭālib
stopped at two convents where the unnamed “master of the convent” at each affirmed
Muḥammad’s future prophethood and insisted that the boy’s father could not be living
(Ibn Saʿd, i/1, 98 f.). The main theme of most versions of the story of Muḥammad’s
“second journey to Syria” is the same as the first, that is, affirmation or announcement
by a Syrian Christian monk, in this case named Nasṭūr, that Muḥammad will be a
prophet (Ibn Saʿd, i/1, 101 f.). It is curious that most modern biographers of
Muḥammad depict this story as something of a test of his business skills and as an
episode that serves largely as a prelude to an account of his marriage to K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a.
since this is not a major theme of the story and does not even occur in some versions.
In the form in which these stories are given they have distinctly apolegetic themes.
Equally little confidence is to be ¶ placed in the story of the part said to have been
played by Muḥammad in rebuilding the Kaʿba (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 122-6; Ṭabarī, i, 1134-9;
with an interesting variation in Ibn Saʿd, i/1, 93 f.). Verse 8 of Sūrat al-Ḍuḥā may
allude to Muḥammad’s marriage to the wealthy widow, K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a: “Did He not find
you poor ( ʿāʾil ) and then enrich [you]?” Muḥammad and K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a are said to have
had four daughters, who played various roles in the early history of Islam, and several
sons all of whom died in infancy (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 121). Except for the names of some of
his children the sources tell us virtually nothing about Muḥammad’s life from the time
of his marriage to K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a. when he is said to have been 25 years old, until shortly
before he began to have visions and hear mysterious voices, when he is said to have
been 40 or 43.

2. His emergence as a religious reformer

Because of the nature of the sources and the complexities involved in interpreting
them, questions concerning Muḥammad’s emergence as a religious reformer are
among the most difficult to answer. That he originally shared some of the religious
conceptions of his milieu is in every way the most natural assumption. The verse in
Sūrat al-Ḍuḥā between the two cited above asks Muḥammad: “Did He not find you
going astray ( ḍāllan ) and then guide [you]?” (XCIII, 7). It is the plural form of this
same crucial word, ḍāll, that occurs at the end of the well-known Fātiḥa, the prayer
that serves as the first sūra of the Ḳurʾān: “Guide us on the straight path ... not that of
those who go astray ( al-ḍāllīn ).” Further support for this assumption is found in
other verses of the Ḳurʾān, such as XLII, 52: “You did not know what the Book or
belief was”, and in the Sīra reports that Muḥammad gave a polytheistic name, ʿAbd
Manāf, to one of his sons (who, however, could simply have been named after
Muḥammad’s uncle and guardian who is better known by his kunya , Abū Ṭālib
[q.v.]) and that two of his daughters were married to sons of his uncle ʿAbd al-ʿUzzā
(Abū Lahab [q.v.]), who is consistently said to have been an ardent defender of
polytheism. One of the clearest examples of traditional Arabian beliefs that
Muḥammad retained after he began speaking publicly as a prophet of the God of the
Jews and the Christians involves the d̲j̲inn [q.v.], who are mentioned frequently in
Meccan portions of the Ḳurʾān. He was certainly influenced by the manner of the old
Arab, d̲j̲inn-inspired ( mad̲j̲nūn [q.v.]) soothsayers and their peculiar form of speech
called sad̲j̲ʿ [q.v.], with its mysterious oaths and rhymed prose (see KĀHIN , ḲURʾĀN,
at vol. V, 421 f.; also Gesch. des Qor ., i, 36 ff.; Blachčre, Litt ., 222; and M. Zwettler,
The Oral tradition of classical Arabic poetry, Columbus, Ohio 1978, 157 ff.)

Mecca with its sanctuary must have been a sanctified place in Muḥammad’s eyes
even before it was connected with Abraham and Ishmael, for the Ḳurʾān accepts it as
such from an early stage in his public recitations (XXVIII, 91; XXVIII, 57; XXIX,
67; CV, 1 ff.; CVI, 1 ff.). He must have accepted the sacrifices offered there (CVIII,
2), and his followers took part in the ancient Meccan pilgrimage rituals before he
combined them to form the great Islamic Ḥad̲j̲d̲j̲ [q.v.]. A fascinating verse that
reveals the uncertain state of the old rituals before Muḥammad’s Farewell Pilgrimage
is II, 158, which seems to answer a question put to the Prophet: “Al-Ṣafā and al-
Marwa are among the landmarks ( s̲ h̲aʿāʾir ) of God, so there is no fault in
circumambulating them for those who make a pilgrimage to the House [the Kaʿba] or
perform an ʿumra .” This verse gives permission for Muḥammad’s followers to
perform the ancient saʿy ¶ before it acquired an Islamic meaning and was made
obligatory for Muslims performing the Ḥad̲j̲d̲j̲. (For the customs and most likely
meanings of the rituals involving al-Ṣafā and al-Marwa in Muḥammad’s time, see
SAʿY .)

What one can deduce in this way from the Ḳurʾān about Muḥammad’s development is
supplemented in an important way by tradition, according to which he was not alone
in his search for a monotheistic religion. Various individuals are named who,
dissatisfied with the old Arab polytheism, were seeking a more intellectual faith (cf.
Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 143-9). One in particular, K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a’s cousin, Waraḳa b. Nawfal [q.v.],
who is mentioned in several interesting stories about Muḥammad in the Sīra
literature, most likely played a larger role in the rise of Islam than is acknowledged in
the sources. In addition there are the Ḥanīfs [q.v.] of whom the traditions have
preserved only a very hazy picture, and Umayya b. Abi ’l-Ṣalt whose poems often
have points of contact with the Ḳurʾān, which would be of great importance if they
could even in part be regarded as genuine [see also MUSAYLIMA ].

To what extent Muḥammad was influenced by the various monotheistic ideas and
movements that existed in Arabia in the early 7th century A.D. is difficult to
determine. What is certain is that something happened that transformed his whole
consciousness and filled him with a spiritual strength that decided the whole course of
his life. He felt himself compelled to proclaim the revelations that were
communicated to him in a mysterious way. Caetani has argued that Muḥammad’s
emergence as a religious reformer developed gradually and involved extended periods
of meditation and reflection, referred to in the Sīra literature as taḥannut̲ h̲ (cf. Watt,
Mecca , 44). Islamic tradition, on the other hand, also relates other stories, some
involving the archangel Gabriel, that give the impression that Muḥammad had a
sudden “prophetic call” at some precise moment in his life. Several verses in the
Ḳurʾān, such as XLIV, 1-4, XCVII, 1, and II, 185, have been interpreted in such a
way as to support this latter view (cf. Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 155), but these verses are
ambiguous and in fact contain no clear reference to a first revelation.

The traditional stories that identify either sūra XCVI, 1 ff. or LXXIV, 1 ff. as the first
revelation are highly suspect for several reasons. These stories interpret one or the
other of these passages as the original command from God to Muḥammad to begin
reciting the revelation or warning the people. At the same time tradition claims that
there was a fatra (“pause”) of three years between the time he received these “first
revelations” and the time he began his public ministry. Taking these two claims
together would mean that Muḥammad waited for three years before carrying out the
divine command. (For more substantive arguments based on a critical analysis of the
history of the text of the Ḳurʾān, see Gesch. des Qor ., i, 78-88; Watt, Mecca, 46-9.)
This alleged fatra has not been fully explained and remains somewhat of an enigma.
The concept of a fatra of three years in the revelations may have originated in the
attempts of Muḥammad’s biographers to construct an exact chronology of his life out
of the conflicting reports of his age at the time of certain key events and of the lengths
of his Meccan and Medinan periods of prophetic activity. One must also reckon with
the possibility that the very earliest revelations were not written down or memorised
by Muḥammad’s followers and thus have been lost.

The Ḳurʾān gives only a few hints about the manner of these inspirations. Perhaps the
wrapping up ¶ (LXXIII, 1; LXXIV, 1) refers to a preparation for the reception of the
revelations in the manner of the old Arab kāhin s. We are taken further in an indirect
way by the often recurring accusation of his enemies that Muḥammad was d̲j̲inn -
possessed ( mad̲j̲nūn [q.v.]), a soothsayer ( kāhin [q.v.]), or a magician ( sāḥir ), for
they show that in his moments of inspiration he made an impression similar to those
figures well known in ancient Arabia. The graphic descriptions of his condition in
such moments may be regarded as genuine, since they are unlikely to have been
invented by later Muslims. These mysterious seizures must have afforded to those
around him the most convincing evidence for the superhuman origin of his
inspirations. Whether he had such experiences before he began to see himself as a
prophet of the God of the Jews and the Christians and, if so, how long he had had
these experiences remains uncertain. The Sīra accounts that affirm that at first
Muḥammad did not recognise these experiences as indications that he was being
called to be a prophet may be an example of historical foreshortening or telescoping,
i.e. reducing into a short time span what in fact lasted for a much longer period.

3. His public ministry in Mecca

Probably over a period of several years a new world of ideas began to fill him to an
ever increasing extent, until he was finally compelled with irresistible force to come
forth and proclaim them. Parts of the Ḳurʾān that exemplify Muḥammad’s early
public recitations exhibit a passionately excited inspiration that is rarely matched in
later parts of his career. These early recitations are based not on a dogmatic
conception of monotheism but on a strong general moral and religious appeal, which,
however, was bound in Muḥammad’s circumstances in Mecca to lead to a breach with
the polytheists. Key themes in these early recitations include the idea of the moral
responsibility of man who was created by God and the idea of the judgment to take
place on the day of resurrection. To these are added vivid descriptions of the tortures
of the damned in the hellfire and the pleasures of the believers in Paradise. Another
major theme of Muḥammad’s early preaching, before the onset of strong opposition
from the powerful merchant families of Mecca, involves the signs of God in nature
that should convince people who will take the time to reflect that there is a power
greater than man’s, and that the wise will acknowledge this power and cease their
greed and suppression of the poor. There is also a stress on the wonders of everyday
life, especially the marvellous phenomenon of man (cf. Watt, Mecca, 62-72).

The religious duties that the Ḳurʾān imposed on Muḥammad and his followers during
the Meccan years were simple and few in number: one should believe in God, appeal
to Him for forgiveness of sins (XXIII, 1-11), offer prayers frequently, including long
night vigils (XI, 114; LXXIII, 20; cf. LXXVI, 25 f.), assist others (especially those
who are in need), free oneself from the love of delusive wealth and— what is
significant for the commercial life of Mecca— from all forms of cheating (XXVI, 182
f.; cf. LV, 7-9), lead a chaste life, and not expose new-born girls to die in the desert, a
barbarous custom that was sometimes practiced in Arabia in Muḥammad’s time (for
reasons of poverty according to VI, 151 and XVII, 31). These are some of the
qualities of the truly pious person who in the Ḳurʾān is sometimes called a muslim
(LXVIII, 35; XXI, 108, etc.) sometimes a ḥanīf (X, 105; XXX, 30; XCIII, 5; cf. VI,
79 and the article), but more frequently simply a believer ( muʾmin ).

¶
At first Muḥammad met with no serious opposition and in not a few cases his
preaching fell on fruitful soil. In the words addressed to Ṣāliḥ in sūra XI, 62 we may
find a hint that Muḥammad had at first aroused considerable expectations among the
Meccans. In addition to K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a. who is consistently said to have been the first
believer, and several men including Abū Bakr, the manumitted slave Zayd b. Ḥārit̲ h̲a,
Zubayr b. al-ʿAwwām, Ṭalha b. ʿUbayd Allāh, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf, Saʿd b. Abī
Waḳḳāṣ, and Muḥammad’s cousin ʿAlī [q.vv.], who are also said to have been among
the early followers of Muḥammad, the sources mention a number of other converts in
Mecca, the majority of whom appear to have been young or of no great social
standing, while the well-todo and influential held back (XIX, 73; XXXIV, 31 ff.;
LXXIII, 11; LXXX, 1 ff.; for a detailed analysis of the social standing and the tribal
affiliations of the Meccan converts, see Watt, Mecca, 88-96). This became still more
the case when the full consequences of Muḥammad’s preaching became clear, that is,
when he openly attacked the polytheism of his native town. Up until this point most
Meccans appear to have had little interest in devotional meetings, and thus had been
rather indifferent to Muḥammad’s activities.

He was only gradually led to attack on principle the gods of Mecca (see Welch, Allah
and other supernatural beings, 734-43). The Meccan sanctuary, he said, belonged to
the one true God, “Allāh”, whom the Meccans also recognised as the High God
(XXXI, 25; XXXIX, 38; XIII, 12 where “Allāh” is the lord of the Kaʿba) and he will
protect and bless his sanctuary, if they submit to him (XXVII, 91; XXVIII, 57; XXIX,
67; CVI, 1 ff.). Meccan merchants then discovered that a religious revolution might
be dangerous to their fairs and their trade. That this was the salient feature of their
resistance to Muḥammad is evident from the fact that the Ḳurʾān frequently
endeavours to calm the fears of the Ḳurays̲ h̲ on this point. The merchants of Mecca
tended to have conservative attitudes about religious beliefs and practices, and they let
their animosity to Muḥammad’s new and fantastic ideas be known, particularly
regarding belief in a physical resurrection of the dead.

Muḥammad’s strength lay in the consciousness that he lived in a higher intellectual

world that was closed to the polytheists and that he proclaimed ideas, “the equal of
which neither men nor d̲j̲inn with combined efforts could produce” (XVII, 88). Very
pertinently he often points to the lack of logic in his enemies, when they recognise
“Allāh” as the real true God but will not draw the logical deductions from this. But
even his most crushing arguments rebounded from the impregnable wall of their
prejudices that were based on their material interest. This circumstance now began to
influence the matter of his preaching in a very remarkable way. When his opponents
mocked him because the divine judgment threatened by him did not come (XXXVIII,
16; LXX, 1 ff.) he began to describe in an increasing degree how the contemporaries
of earlier prophets had met them with incredulity and had therefore brought on their
heads dreadful punishments (Bell-Watt, 127-34). That this threat of terrestrial
punishment was not part of the earliest revelations is evident from the fact that
Muḥammad’s preaching, according to the already mentioned credible tradition, at first
gave no offence, and indeed this feature is lacking in the sūras that appear to be the
oldest.

The new religious ideas that Muḥammad proclaimed are associated in the Ḳurʾān
with the People ¶ of the Book ( ahl al-kitāb ), an expression that refers to the Jewish
and Christian communities. That Muḥammad was conscious of this association is
clear from the repeated statements in the Ḳurʾān that emphasise the agreement
between its teachings and those of the Jews and the Christians. In a significant
passage, sūra X, 94, the Ḳurʾān even challenges Muḥammad’s opponents to consult
the People of the Book for irrefutable evidence of the truth of his message: “If you are
in doubt about what We have revealed, ask those who read the Book before you.”
During the Meccan years it is quite evident that Muḥammad had no thought of
founding a new religion. His task was only to be a “warner” ( nad̲h̲īr [q.v.]) (LI, 50;
LXXIV, 2; LXXIX, 45; LXXX, 11; LXXXVIII, 21 ff; and Welch, Muhammad’s
understanding, 41 ff.), charged with the task of informing the Arabs, to whom no
prophet had been sent before (VI, 157; XXVIII, 46; XXXII, 3; XXXIV, 44; XXXVI,
6), that the day of judgment was approaching. This warning, which previously was
not directly accessible to the Arabs, was now proclaimed as a clear Arabic recitation (
ḳurʾān ʿarabī ) so that Muḥammad’s people could be saved from the divine wrath.
The Jews and Christians must thus also testify to the truth of his preaching (X, 94;
XVI, 43; XXI, 7; XXVI, 197; XXVIII, 52, etc.), since the same revelation had been
sent down to them previously.

It is in this context that the meaning of the often discussed term ummī [q.v.] is best
understood. As applied to Muḥammad in sūra VII, 157, the term appears to mean
“one who has not previously been given the Book of God” and is the antithesis of the
People of the Book, that is, those who already had versions of the Book of God ( kitāb
Allāh ) in their own languages. Muḥammad was the ummī-prophet only during the
period before he began to prepare a written scripture for his community (see AL-
ḲURʾĀN , at 403-4). This interpretation does not affect the question as to whether or
not Muḥammad was able to read and write, except as the term might have had
connotations of his inability to read the Jewish and Christian scriptures (see
Wensinck, in AO, i/1, 191). As a merchant he must have had some knowledge of
reading and writing Arabic. In a key passage on this question, XXV, 4-6,
Muḥammad’s opponents are quoted as saying that “he has written down” ( iktataba )
“stories of the ancients ... that are recited to him morning and evening”, and the
Ḳurʾān (in verse 6) does not deny this accusation, but simply affirms that what
Muḥammad was reciting had been inspired by God. It was only in later theological
circles that the term ummī acquired the now common meaning, “illiterate”, as
scriptural evidence for the doctrine of the miracle of Muḥammad’s reception of the
revelation from God through Gabriel (cf. AL-ḲURʾĀN, at 403; Gesch. des Qor ., i, 14;
Bell-Watt, 33 f; and, for comments on the European literature on the meaning ummī
and its plural form ummiyyūn in the Ḳurʾān, Paret, Kommentar , 21 f.).

Traditions record at great length the persecution and ill-treatment that Muḥammad
and his followers suffered at the hands of the Meccan polytheists (e.g., Ibn His̲ h̲ām,
205-7). These reports play a significant role in several episodes that are presented in
the Sīra literature as major events in the life of Muḥammad in his Meccan period, but
are unfortunately more or less obscure and may be interpreted in various equally
uncertain ways. In addition to the inevitable differences in the biographical sources,
one other key factor makes it difficult to reconstruct with any confidence the main
stages in Muḥammad’s life before ¶ the Hid̲j̲ra. While the Ḳurʾān refers frequently to
major events in the life of Muḥammad and the Muslim community that occurred in
Medina after the Hid̲j̲ra, often treating these events in some detail, it is virtually silent
on the episodes that the Sīra reports as major events in Muḥammad’s Meccan years.
In light of the fact that the Ḳurʾān responds constantly and candidly to Muḥammad’s
historical situation (see K. Cragg, The event of the Qurʾān , London 1971, and Welch,
Muhammad’s understanding, 15-52), its silence on these allegedly major Meccan
events is significant.

One example involves the various accounts of the emigration of some of

Muḥammad’s followers from Mecca to Abyssinia. Ibn Saʿd reports and discusses two
separate events: “the first hid̲j̲ra to Abyssinia” (i/1, 136-8) and “the second hid̲j̲ra to
Abyssinia” (i/1, 138 f.). He says that most of the emigrants in the first group returned
to Mecca before the Hid̲j̲ra to Medina, while most of the second group were still in
Abyssinia at the time of the Hid̲j̲ra, so that when they left there they went directly to
Medina. Ibn His̲ h̲ām (205-17) speaks of only one migration of Muslims from Mecca
to Abyssinia, as does al-Ṭabarī (i, 1180-4), who, after discussing the circumstances
and giving the names of the first ten to go, concludes his account by saying: “Then
D̲j̲aʿfar b. Abī Ṭālib emigrated, and after that there was a steady stream of Muslims.”
These accounts agree that persecution in Mecca played a major role in Muḥammad’s
decision to suggest that a number of his followers seek refuge among the Christians in
Abyssinia. Watt (Mecca, 109-17) has shown, however, that the episode was far more
complex than is suggested by the traditional accounts. He concludes that there is
reason to believe that some sort of division within the embryonic Muslim community
played a role and that some of the emigrants may have gone to Abyssinia to engage in
trade, possibly in competition with prominent merchant families in Mecca. According
to the well-known letter of ʿUrwa (preserved in al-Ṭabarī, i, 1180 ff.) most of these
emigrants returned to their native town when Islam had become strengthened by the
accession to its ranks of a number of individuals of position in Mecca, such as ʿUmar
b. al-K̲h̲aṭṭāb [q.v.] (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 224-31) and Muḥammad’s uncle, Ḥamza [q.v.] (al-
Ṭabarī, i, 1187 f.).

At the same time there is a quite different story on their return to Mecca that has been
much discussed. Al-Ṭabarī (i, 1192-6) relates that Muḥammad was reciting Sūrat al-
Nad̲j̲m (LIII) on an occasion when a number of Meccan polytheists were present “in
the mosque” [?] and that when he came to the names of three of their favourite deities,
al-Lāt, al-ʿUzzā and Manāt [q.v.] (who are mentioned by name in what are now verses
19 and 20), Satan “cast on his tongue” two short verses: “These are the high-flying
ones ( g̲h̲arānīḳ , lit. “cranes”) / whose intercession is to be hoped for.” Taking these
verses to mean that Muḥammad had accepted their goddesses as divine beings whose
intercession with God (who for them was a High God) was effectual, the polytheists
who were present prostrated with the Muslims when the Prophet came to the last
verse of the sūra, which says “So prostrate yourselves before God and serve him.”
According to the story this led to a general reconciliation between Muḥammad and
the Meccans, and the Muslims who had migrated to Abyssinia began to return home.
By the time they arrived, however, the archangel Gabriel had informed Muḥammad
that the two g̲h̲arānīḳ verses were not part of the revelation, but had been inserted by
Satan. The returning Muslims thus had to make arrangements for clan protection
before they could re-enter Mecca.

¶
This curious story, which is also found in Ibn Saʿd (i/1, 137 f.) but not in Ibn His̲ h̲ām
and presumably not in Ibn Isḥāḳ, is rejected by most Muslims as a later invention.
Most European biographers of Muḥammad, on the other hand, accept it as historical
on the assumption that it is inconceivable that later Muslims could have invented it
(e.g., Watt, Mecca, 103). This reason, however, is in itself insufficient. The story in its
present form (as related by al-Ṭabarī, al-Wāḳidī, and Ibn Saʿd) cannot be accepted as
historical for a variety of reasons given in AL-ḲURʾĀN , at 404. This does not rule out
the possibility of some historical kernel behind the story. It is possible that this story
is another example of historical telescoping, i.e. that a situation that was known by
Muḥammad’s contemporaries to have lasted for a long period of time later came to be
encapsulated in a story that restricts his acceptance of intercession through these
goddesses to a brief period of time and places the responsibility for this departure
from a strict monotheism on Satan. This interpretation is completely consistent with
what is said above regarding Muḥammad’s gradual “emergence as a religious
reformer” and with evidence from the Ḳurʾān that a strict monotheism arose in stages
over an extended period of time during Muḥammad’s Meccan years (cf. Welch, Allah
and other supernatural beings, 736-43).
It is just as difficult to elucidate another episode of the Meccan period, the story of the
boycott of the Banū Hās̲ h̲im. Muḥammad’s whole position during his struggle with
the Meccans was made possible only by the support given him by his own family, the
clan of Hās̲ h̲im. Most members of the family chivalrously fulfilled their duty in this
respect, even though only a few of them believed in his prophetic call. His uncle,
ʿAbd al-ʿUzzā [Abū Lahab] appears to be the only influential member of the family
who staunchly opposed him. This opposition became so severe that Abū Lahab came
to be perpetually damned in the Ḳurʾān along with his wife in sūra CXI. It would thus
not be unnatural in itself for the Meccans in the end to attempt to make the whole
family innocuous without bringing on themselves the guilt of bloodshed by an open
attack. The part of the story, however, that tells how they forced the Banū Hās̲ h̲im to
withdraw into their own part of the town and pledged themselves to refrain from
intermarriage or commerce with them is probably much exaggerated. That the effort
finally failed in its primary objective is conceded by the story itself. On the other
hand, it is quite possible that K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a’s fortune may have suffered considerably from
Muḥammad’s obligations to his needy followers and from the enmity of the
influential merchant princes. Here again the Ḳurʾān is silent on an episode that the
Sīra presents as a major event in Muḥammad’s life, and we are left with more
questions than answers.

4. His last years in Mecca before the Hid̲j̲ra

The sources are somewhat fuller for the major events during Muḥammad’s last years
in and around Mecca before the Hid̲j̲ra, although late tendentious historiography has
coloured much in the traditions. According to ʿUrwa’s account, Muḥammad did
succeed in winning a few notables in Mecca (including probably ʿUmar) for his
teaching, after the emigration of a number of his followers to Abyssinia. On the
whole, however, his attempt at a religious reform of his native city must be regarded
as having failed. When his wife K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a and his uncle and guardian Abū Ṭālib died
within a short period of time, his position gradually became more and more hopeless.
He could now have consoled himself with the thought that he had done his duty as a
“warner” and could regard ¶ it as the will of God that his people were not to be saved
(cf. X, 99; XLIII, 89). But the consciousness of being a chosen instrument of God had
gradually become so powerful within him that he was no longer able to sink back into
an inglorious existence with his objective unachieved. He then made an attempt to
establish himself in Ṭāʾif, but according to the reports this effort failed and indeed
brought him into physical danger. After this unsuccessful journey to Ṭāʾif, the Sīra
accounts say he obtained protection from a Meccan man named Mutʿim b. ʿAdī, who
is said to have taken the discouraged prophet under his wing, thereby providing safety
so he could re-enter his native city. (This report is corroborated in a poem by Ḥassān
b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 88.)

It is at this low point in Muḥammad’s life that some Sīra accounts place the famous
Night Journey and Ascension. Ibn Saʿd relates his versions of the miʿrād̲j̲ [q.v.] (i/1,
142 f.) and then the isrāʾ (i/1, 143-5) as two separate events that occurred after
Muḥammad’s visit to Ṭāʾif. He even gives exact dates for these two events, saying
that Muḥammad’s Ascension to heaven from near the Kaʿba (“between the Maḳām
Ibrāhīm and Zamzam ”) occurred “on the night of Saturday, 27 Ramaḍān, eighteen
months before the Hid̲j̲ra”, and that his Night Journey from the sanctuary in Mecca to
the sanctuary in Jerusalem ( bayt al-muḳaddas ) occurred on “the seventeenth night of
[the last] Rabīʿ I before the Hid̲j̲ra”. As is well known, in later tradition these two
stories came to be combined into one. It should also be noted that other Sīra accounts
place these events at different times in Muḥammad’s prophetic career. Ibn His̲ h̲ām
reports accounts of the Night Journey first (263-8) and then the Ascension to heaven
(268-71), and he places these accounts before the deaths of K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a and Abū Ṭālib.
Al-Ṭabarī (i, 1157-9) includes only the story of Muḥammad’s Ascension from the
sanctuary in Mecca to “the earthly heaven”, where Gabriel led the Prophet through
each of the seven heavens, “and then he took him to Paradise”, where Gabriel picked
up a handful of “its earth” and it had the fragrance of musk. Al-Ṭabarī places this
story before the beginning of Muḥammad’s public ministry, between his account of
K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a becoming “the first to believe in the Messenger of God” and his account of
“the first male to believe in the Messenger of God”. Eventually these two events were
combined so that the terminus of the Night Journey was the Temple Mount in
Jerusalem, where Muḥammad led the earlier prophets in a performance of the ṣalāt ,
made his Ascension to heaven from the raised stone protrusion that is now enclosed
within the famous Dome of the Rock, and then Gabriel and Muḥammad returned to
Mecca, completing the Night Journey. It is Muḥammad’s association with the Temple
Mount in this two-part story that makes Jerusalem the third holiest city, after Mecca
and Medina, for Muslims [see AL-ḲUDS and AL-MASDJ̲ ̲ID AL-AḲṢĀ ].

Despite the harsh reception he received in Ṭāʾif, but possibly buoyed by the
Ascension experience, if indeed it occurred at this time, and even if it was a vision or
a dream (for we know that personalities such as his can have emotionally powerful
vision and dream experiences), Muḥammad persevered in his search for a new sphere
of activity outside of Mecca. The large number of tribes who came to Mecca for the
spring and fall fairs and market days and also to perform the pilgrimage rituals at the
Kaʿba provided excellent opportunities for Muḥammad to attempt to arrange for a
new home for himself and his followers. After several unsuccessful negotiations he
found ¶ favourable soil for his hopes with some men from Yat̲ h̲rib (later called
Medina). The fact that he had relations there may have made the task of reaching an
agreement easier. Fortunately we know something about conditions in Medina just
before the rise of Islam, but our knowledge is still meagre and much of importance is
still conjectural. We may safely assume that the large number of Jews who lived there
had contributed towards making the Arab population somewhat familiar with
monotheistic ideas (cf. Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 178; Wensinck, Jews of Medina , 6-38; and
Newby, Jews of Arabia , 49-77).

There is however no question that the Medinans did not so much want to attract an
inspired preacher to themselves as to get a political leader, who could readjust their
political relations, which had been shattered in recent tribal conflicts that culminated
in the battle of Buʿāt̲ h̲ [q.v.]. The responsibility Muḥammad contemplated was
awesome, for it would mean his taking responsibility for the safety and welfare of his
followers, who would be breaking the links that bound them to their tribes and
families. Muḥammad would have to assume not only the immense responsibilities of
a tribal chief, in relation to his followers who would emigrate with him, but also the
challenge of settling disputes among largely unknown tribes who had longstanding
grievances among one another.

With this we are faced with one of the most difficult problems in the biography of
Muḥammad, the double personality that he presents to us so clearly in the sources.
The inspired religious enthusiast, whose ideas mainly centred around the coming last
judgment, who had borne all insults and attacks, who only timidly touched on the
possibility of active resistance (XVI, 126) and preferred to leave everything to God’s
intervention, now with his migration to Medina enters upon a secular stage and at one
stroke shows himself a brilliant political genius. The decisive point however is that
the Medinans would certainly not have thought of seeking in him a saviour from their
social and political difficulties if they had not been much impressed by his abilities in
this direction.

After Muḥammad had entered into relations with some Medinans who had come as
pilgrims to Mecca in 621, the latter began to spread Islam in their native town along
with men whom he had sent there, and thus he was able after a preliminary conference
in al-ʿAḳaba [q.v.] to conclude at the pilgrimage next year (622) at the same place a
formal agreement with a considerable number of Medinans, in which they pledged
themselves and their fellow-citizens to take him into their community and to protect
him as one of their own citizens, which, as later history shows, was also to hold for
his Meccan followers if they moved to Medina. Tradition, and no doubt rightly,
mentions here only the promise of the Medinans to take Muḥammad under their
protection, without any further obligations.

These negotiations, which could not remain unknown to the Meccans, produced great
bitterness, and a second fitna , as ʿUrwa says, began for the believers, which would
have confirmed them even more in their determination to migrate to Medina. They are
reported to have slipped away in large and small groups, so that finally only
Muḥammad and Abū Bakr, with the latter’s servant, were left. (Other accounts,
possibly S̲h̲īʿī, say ʿAlī also remained in Mecca until the last moment.) That the
Prophet did not go with the others was most likely part of his plan to keep the Hid̲j̲ra
as unobtrusive as possible. Just how successful the Meccan leaders could have been if
they had wanted to prevent the departure of Muḥammad ¶ and his followers is
difficult to say. It seems most likely that at the time of the Hid̲j̲ra the Meccans did not
see Muḥammad as a threat to them whether he was in Mecca or in Medina. The
traditional story, which in any case is embellished with later legendary details, that
has Muḥammad and Abū Bakr remaining in Mecca until all the other Muslims had
safely left and then hiding out in a cave may have some support from the well-known
verse in the Ḳurʾān that begins “If you do not help him (Muḥammad), yet God has
helped him already when the unbelievers (of Mecca) drove him forth with a
companion, and the two of them were in the cave when he (Muḥammad) said to his
companion (Abū Bakr): ‘Do not be afraid, for God is with us’ “ (IX, 40). On the other
hand, since this verse is so ambiguous without the interpolations, it is just as feasible
that the story about the Prophet and Abū Bakr hiding out in a cave is a later exegetical
materialisation of this Ḳurʾānic verse.

C. Muḥammad in Medina

The year of the great migration, Hid̲j̲ra [q.v.], of the Prophet and his followers from
his native town of Mecca to Yat̲ h̲rib [q.v.], later called Medina (from madīnat al-nabī
, “the city of the Prophet”), was with good reason chosen as year 1 of the Islamic
calendar, for it marks the beginning of the ten-year period in the life of Muḥammad
when he led in the establishment of a new religious community that in a remarkably
short time developed into one of the great civilisations of world history. According to
the usual calculation, he arrived in Ḳubāʾ, a suburb of Medina, on 12 Rabīʿ I 1/24
September 622. The tasks that awaited him called for extraordinary diplomatic and
organising skills, and he demonstrated that he was in every way equal to the
challenge.

1. The initial political situation

At first Muḥammad could rely with confidence only on those who had emigrated with
him from Mecca, the so-called Emigrants ( muhād̲j̲irūn [q.v.]). These ardent
followers, who maintained their support of Muḥammad and their belief in his cause
during the difficult Meccan years, came to have a special rank among the Muslims.
Some Medinans accepted Islam before Muḥammad arrived there, but they formed
only a small portion of the inhabitants of the Prophet’s adopted city. Slowly at first
and then in larger numbers the Medinans adopted Islam. Those who became Muslims
during Muḥammad’s lifetime, called Helpers ( anṣār [q.v.]), also came to have a
special rank within the community second only to the Emigrants. Among the Arab
tribes of Medina, Muḥammad encountered direct opposition only from a few families,
such as the Aws Allāh. There were others who did not oppose him openly, but
accepted the new relations reluctantly. Among these a particularly troublesome group
gathered around a man of the K̲h̲azrad̲j̲ tribe named ʿAbd Allāh b. Ubayy [q.v.], who
managed to let slip away every occasion on which he might have successfully
weakened Muḥammad’s position. A further danger lay in the fact that an old and
bitter feud between the two main Arab tribes of Medina, the Aws and the K̲h̲azrad̲j̲
[q.vv.], continued and could have broken out into the open at any time.

In addition to the Arab tribes of Medina there were a number of Jewish groups, the
most prominent being the so-called kāhinān , i.e. the tribes of al-Naḍīr and Ḳurayẓa
(cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 216; Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 660). Among the other Jewish groups the
Ḳaynuḳāʿ tribe appears to have been the most important. These three Jewish tribes
played a significant part in Medina because of their wealth and the support they had
among the Jewish colonies in K̲h̲aybar [q.v.] and ¶ other settlements to the north.
During his first year in Medina Muḥammad devoted considerable attention to the
Jewish inhabitants there in the hope that as native Arabic speakers they would accept
his claim to be God’s one true prophet to the Arabs. His relations with any Christians
who may have been in Medina (cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 133) can only be surmised
from references in the Ḳurʾān. After it became clear that the Jews in Medina were not
going to accept Muḥammad’s claim to prophethood, the Ḳurʾān gives the impression
that his opinion of the Christians also gradually deteriorated (V, 82; LVII, 27).

Muḥammad’s task was to form a united community out of these heterogeneous

elements. The first problem to be tackled was how to procure the necessary means of
subsistence for the Emigrants, who for the most part were without resources of their
own. This difficulty was alleviated at least temporarily through an arrangement by
which Muḥammad ordered a relationship of “brotherhood” to be created between
each Emigrant and a man of Medina [see MUʾAKH ̲ ̲ĀT ]. Sūra XXXIII, 6, dating from
some time after the battle of Badr, is usually interpreted as abolishing this
“brotherhood” arrangement, at least in matters of inheritance (cf. Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 344-6;
Ibn Saʿd, i/2, 1). A more significant factor in the termination of these early
arrangements in Medina may have been the formal agreement established between
Muḥammad and all of the significant tribes and families. Fortunately, Ibn Isḥāḳ
preserved a version of this very valuable document, usually called the Constitution of
Medina. This version appears not to date from Muḥammad’s first year in Medina, as
is sometimes claimed, since it reflects the later, strained relationship between the
Prophet and the Jewish people of the settlement. It reveals his great diplomatic skills,
for it allows the ideal that he cherished of an umma (community) based clearly on a
religious outlook to sink temporarily into the background and is shaped essentially by
practical considerations. It is true that the highest authority is with God and
Muḥammad, before whom all matters of importance were to be laid, but the umma as
portrayed in the Constitution of Medina included also Jews and polytheists, so that the
legal forms of the old Arab tribes were substantially preserved (cf. R. Serjeant, The
Sunnah Jāmiʿah, pacts with the Yat̲ h̲rib Jews , and the taḥrīm of Yat̲ h̲rib : analysis and
translation of the documents comprised in the so-called ‘Constitution of Medina’ , in
BSOAS, xli [1978], 1-42). The provisions stipulated in this document appear to have
had little practical importance. It is nowhere mentioned in the Ḳurʾān, although some
commentators interpret sūra VIII, 56 as referring to it. In any case, it was soon
rendered obsolete by the rapidly and radically changing conditions in Medina.

2. Establishing a theocracy in Medina

Evidence of Muḥammad’s political wisdom and personal determination to establish

his position as God’s one true prophet to the Arabic-speaking people is seen in his
early endeavours in Medina to attract the Jewish people there to his cause by adopting
some features of their worship and customs. For instance, he made the tenth of
Muḥarram a fast day for Muslims, apparently a one-day twenty-four hour fast, like
Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) that the Jewish community observes on the
tenth of Tishri (in the Jewish calendar). That this temporary Islamic practice, which
apparently was kept for only one year, was based on the Jewish custom is seen clearly
even in its name, ʿĀs̲ h̲ūrāʾ [q.v.], derived from the Aramaic and used by some Jews in
Arabia for Yom Kippur (cf. Watt, Medina, 198 f. for a brief discussion of the major ¶
Arabic sources). The Jewish practice of having three daily prayer rituals appears to
have been a factor in the introduction of the Islamic midday ṣalāt , referred to in sūra
II, 238 as “the middle prayer ritual” ( al-ṣalāt al-wusṭā ), which was added to the
morning and evening ṣalāts kept by Muḥammad and at least some of his followers in
Mecca before the Hid̲j̲ra. The Islamic weekly community worship service in the early
afternoon on Fridays, which may have been instituted before Muḥammad’s arrival in
Medina, was most likely influenced indirectly by the Jewish “day of preparation” for
the Sabbath, which begins on Friday evenings at sundown. Friday in Medina during
Muḥammad’s time was thus the main weekly market day when the largest number of
Muslims from the surrounding areas came to town, providing an ideal time for the
Islamic weekly congregational worship service (cf. Ibn Saʿd, iii/1, 83, and S.D.
Goitein, The origin and nature of the Muslim Friday worship, in MW, xlix [1959],
185 = Studies in Islamic history and institutions, Leiden 1966, 113).

Whether the adoption of the Jewish practice of facing north towards Jerusalem when
performing the daily prayers, a practice that was discontinued after Muḥammad’s first
year in Medina, was part of his campaign to win the Medinan Jews to Islam is
uncertain, since the statements about the ḳibla [q.v.] of the Muslims in Mecca before
the Hid̲j̲ra differ. It is unlikely that Muḥammad and his followers faced towards the
Kaʿba in Mecca before the Hid̲j̲ra, since it would then be difficult to explain how the
varying stories about the Muslim practice there could have arisen. If Muḥammad and
his followers did use Jerusalem as their ḳibla before the Hid̲j̲ra, this practice need not
necessarily mean a borrowing from the Jews, since this direction of prayer was used
also by other groups in the Near East, such as the Ebionites and the Elkesaites (cf.
H.J. Schoeps, Jewish Christianity (1969); Tor Andrae, Mohammed , 100 ff.) In Mecca
the Muslims may have turned to the east like some Christian groups, or they may have
had no ḳibla at all. The Ḳurʾān is silent on this crucial point in the life of Muḥammad
and the rise of Islam. The balance of probability is in favour of the assumption that
the Muslim use of the Jerusalem ḳibla during Muḥammad’s first year in Medina was
just one among several temporary practices that appear to have been adopted as part
of the Prophet’s attempt to win over the flourishing Jewish community there.

If some writers have seen in the immediate construction of a place of prayer (Ibn
His̲ h̲ām, 336) an imitation of the Jewish synagogues, Caetani has with weighty
reasons argued that this was not a building definitely assigned to the worship of God,
since the alleged masd̲j̲id was also used for all kinds of secular purposes, because in
reality it was simply the courtyard ( dār ) occupied by Muḥammad and his family,
while the assemblies for regular worship were held on the muṣallā [q.v. and AL-
MADĪNA ]. On the other hand, the so-called “mosque of opposition” ( masd̲j̲id ḍirār ),
mentioned in sūra IX, 107 (see below), does seem to have been an actual building
recalling the Jewish synagogue.

In spite of these overtures to the Jews in Medina, it soon became obvious that
Muḥammad’s goal of winning them over was not going to be realised. Although they
may have cherished lively expectations (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 286, 373 f.) they were not
willing to recognise an Arab as the long-awaited Jewish Messiah, and Muḥammad
soon had reason to lament that only a few among them believed in him (sūra III, 110).
In particular, the lack of agreement between ¶ what he recited as the Book of God,
said to be identical with the Book previously sent down to the prophet Moses, and
what the Jews in Medina knew of their scriptures aroused Jewish ridicule and thus
brought him into an unfortunate position. His conviction of the divine origin of his
mission and his position among the believers would not allow him to believe he was
mistaken regarding the identity of the versions of the Book of God sent down to
Moses, Jesus, and now to him. At the same time, he had too often appealed to the
testimony of those to whom the Book had been sent down previously, the People of
the Book, to be able to ignore this criticism. The issue was resolved to the satisfaction
of the Muslims by the assertions in the Ḳurʾān that the Jews had received only a
portion of the revelation (IV, 44; cf. III, 119) and that even this included a number of
special laws adapted to an earlier age (IV, 160; VI, 146; XVI, 118). Still he
challenged them to produce their scriptures (III, 93; cf. III, 181 ff. and IV, 46).
Muḥammad’s Jewish opponents in Medina were then accused of concealing from him
parts of their holy scriptures (II, 42, 146, 159, 174; III, 77, etc.) and even of
fabricating verses and then claiming they were in their scriptures (II, 59; IV, 46; V,
13, 47; VII, 162; cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 96). He also came to believe that the
Christian scriptures did not preserve the actual message and teachings of the Prophet
Jesus [see TAḤRĪF ].

Still Muḥammad was not thinking any more than before of founding a new religion,
but only of restoring the true religion proclaimed by the prophets from the beginning.
On this point a distinction needs to be made between religious beliefs and later
theological formulations on the one hand, and the conclusions reached by modern
historical and sociological research. For instance, in traditional Muslim belief
Muḥammad is the “last and greatest of the prophets”, a concept that is most likely
based on a later interpretation of the expression “seal of the prophets” ( k̲h̲ātam al-
nabiyyin ) that is applied to Muḥammad in sūra XXXIII, 40. Also, he is regarded not
as a “founder” but as one who confirmed and restored the true, ancient monotheist
faith that was established by the prophet Abraham. It should not be surprising that it
was at the very time when these concepts were being proclaimed by the Ḳurʾān,
during the early years after the Hid̲j̲ra, that historians see the emergence of a new
religious community and tradition founded by Muḥammad, a man of extraordinary
perception and skills. In particular, the opposition of the Jews of Medina to
Muḥammad appears to have had a significant impact on the shaping of Islam, for it
was precisely at that time and apparently in direct response to the Jews’ rejection of
him that the nascent Muslim community took on a pronounced national character
through the adoption of various elements from ancient Arabian worship. This decisive
change in the course of Islam occurred in the second year of the Hid̲j̲ra (July 623-June
624), and was signaled by the much discussed “change of the ḳibla” from Jerusalem
to the ancient sanctuary of the Kaʿba in Mecca, which is treated at some length in the
Ḳurʾān (II, 142-50). Muḥammad’s native town thus became the centre of true
religion, the focal point for the daily prayer rituals and the much desired object of the
annual pilgrimage, adopted in theory fairly early in the Medinan years, but not
performed as an Islamic ritual until the Prophet’s last years. At the same time
Muḥammad was emancipated from the ridicule and protestations of the religious
communities that he regarded as having been founded by his self-proclaimed models,
Moses and Jesus.

¶
This nationalisation of Islam gave Muḥammad a certain legitimation and broadened
his authority as he came forward as the restorer of the religion of Abraham ( millat
Ibrāhīm ) that had been distorted by the Jews and Christians. Abraham, claimed by
Jews and Christians alike as the progenitor of their faith, now became the great ḥanīf
[q.v.] and first muslim (“a person fully surrendered to the one true God”), in contrast
not only to the polytheists but now also to the People of the Book: “Abraham was not
a Jew nor a Christian; he was an upright person, a muslim, and he was not one of the
polytheists” (sūra III, 67; cf. II, 135; III, 95; VI, 161, and XVI, 123, all of which,
contrary to some traditional views, appear to date from the early Medinan years; see
Bell-Watt, 99, 119). Abraham and his son Ishmael, regarded as the ancestor of the
Arabs, were then said to have founded the Meccan sanctuary and the rites celebrated
there (II, 125 ff.; XXII, 26 ff.) and it was Muḥammad’s task to restore the ancient rites
to their original monotheistic state, since they had been corrupted by the polytheists.
Whether this identification of Abraham as the first monotheist (an idea that met with
opposition from the People of the Book according to sūra III, 65) originated in the
context of Muḥammad’s dispute with the Jews in Medina or was already in existence,
for example among Arabicised Jews, remains uncertain. One point that can be
accepted, contrary to modern defenders of the traditional dating and interpretations of
the relevant verses of the Ḳurʾān (e.g. Fazlur Rahman, Major themes of the Qurʾān ,
Minneapolis 1980, 142 f.), is that it is highly unlikely that Muḥammad was
acquainted with the idea of the connection between Abraham and the Kaʿba before
the Hid̲j̲ra since this relationship occurs nowhere in the numerous Meccan passages
that treat the significance of the Kaʿba.
At the same time that these important developments were occurring in Islamic rituals,
Muḥammad’s personal position was being gradually changed by the altered
conditions. According to the already mentioned Constitution of Medina, all important
matters were to be laid before God and His Messenger. It thus became a fundamental
duty of the believers to be obedient to God and to Muḥammad (III, 132; IV, 13 f., 59
[where it is added: “and to those among you who have to exercise authority”]; V, 92;
XXIV, 52, 54), and those who are disobedient are threatened with the tortures of hell
(IX, 63). Alongside of the required belief in God now appeared “belief in His
Messenger” (XLVIII, 9; LXIV, 8 etc.). God is his protector, as is Gabriel; and the
angels are at his disposal (LXVI, 4).

3. The accounts of Muḥammad’s expeditions

The elevation of Mecca to be the centre of Islam imposed on Muḥammad a new task
that he surely foresaw. When visiting the holy places in and around Mecca became a
duty of the Muslims, it became inevitable that some way would have to be found for
them to gain entrance to the sacred territory from which they were excluded (XXII, 25
f.). Since some peaceful agreement appeared most unlikely, the result was the
inevitable necessity of forcing admission to Mecca. The Prophet also had an account
to settle with the Meccans, for by expelling him they had triumphed over him in the
eyes of the world and the punishment repeatedly threatened upon them, partly in the
form of the stereotyped retribution of the godless in the “punishment stories”, had not
materialised. This led to a new divine command, referred to in the Sīra literature as
“permission to fight” the polytheists. The Helpers had pledged themselves to defend ¶
Muḥammad only if he were attacked, and the merchants of Mecca were not inclined
to oblige him by initiating hostilities. The Emigrants had not pledged to fight, and it
went very much against their feelings as Meccans to fight members of their tribe and
blood relations. How much their resistance vexed Muḥammad can be seen in the
Ḳurʾān where vigorous reproaches are made against his followers in this connection
(II, 216; XXII, 38 ff. etc.).

After he had sent different men with small armed forces who did not succeed in
encountering the enemy, Muḥammad sent some of his followers to Nak̲h̲la [q.v.] (Ibn
His̲ h̲ām, 423-7; Watt, Medina, 5-9), where they succeeded in capturing a caravan.
One of the Meccans was killed, however, and, although possibly unplanned, the
fighting took place during the month of Rad̲j̲ab, one of the sacred months in which all
fighting was forbidden. The rich plunder was taken to Medina, where in the
meanwhile a storm of indignation had broken out. The people eventually accepted the
tragedy, after being calmed by the revelation of II, 217.

The success of this coup had such an effect in Medina that not only the Emigrants but
also a number of Helpers offered their services when Muḥammad appealed for
followers in Ramaḍān 2 A.H. in a new raid, which he himself was to lead. He had
learned that a rich Meccan caravan was on its way south from Syria and he decided to
ambush it at Badr [q.v.]. The very cautious Abū Sufyān [q.v.] who was leading the
caravan got wind of his plan, however, and sent messengers on a swift journey to
Mecca for help. By the time the force of Meccans arrived and camped near Badr, the
caravan had reached Mecca safely by following a diversion route along the coast. The
angered Meccans, under the leadership of Abū D̲j̲ahl [q.v.], one of the most prominent
men of Mecca, had an army that is said to have been three times the size of
Muḥammad’s forces, said to have been about 300 men, and he was unwilling to let
the opportunity of properly chastising his troublesome enemy escape. Soon after the
Meccans camped near Badr, Muḥammad arrived with his men, expecting to meet
Abū Sufyān’s helpless caravan. When the Muslims and their supporters discovered
that the caravan had escaped and that a military confrontation with the Meccans and
their allies was imminent, they were filled with fear (VIII, 5 ff.; cf. the continuation of
ʿUrwa’s account in al-Ṭabarī, i, 1284 f). The Prophet, however, saw in the encounter a
portentous dispensation of God, who wished to force the polytheists into battle.
Muḥammad’s charisma and remarkable power of suggestion were able to inspire his
men so that they completely routed the far more numerous enemy. A number of the
Meccans, including Abū D̲j̲ahl, were slain and several, including Muḥammad’s uncle,
al-ʿAbbās, were captured as prisoners and taken to Medina. Muḥammad had two of
them, al-Nadr and ʿUḳba b. Abī Muʿayṭ, put to death, while the others were held for
ransom (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 457-61).

The battle of Badr, which might seem small and insignificant from a modern
perspective, must be judged in light of the conditions of Muḥammad’s time. See the
observations by Doughty ( Travels , ii, 378) and Glubb ( Muhammad , 179 ff.), both
of whom knew the country well. This battle became of the utmost significance for the
history of Islam. Muḥammad saw in the victory a powerful confirmation of his belief
in the one true God (VIII, 17, 65; III, 123; cf. Kaʿb b. Mālik, in Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 520 f.)
and in his own call. Also, because the commercial city of Mecca ¶ enjoyed such great
prestige in Arabia, anyone who was able to defeat its forces in battle was bound to
attract all eyes to himself. He therefore displayed even greater energy and was able to
utilise the advantages he had won. After completing the arrangement for ransom for
the Meccan prisoners, Muḥammad began to besiege the Jewish tribe of Ḳaynuḳāʿ in
their forts. The Munāfiḳūn [q.v.] did not dare to oppose him seriously by openly
supporting the Ḳaynuḳāʿ, and the other Jewish groups left their co-religionists in the
lurch (cf. LIX, 14) so that this first Jewish tribe was forced to leave their longtime
home in Medina and move north to other Jewish settlements.

In order to protect himself and his followers from attacks from other foes in the
northern part of the Ḥid̲j̲āz [q.v.], Muḥammad at this time adopted a plan that is a
further proof of his outstanding political ability. He concluded alliances with a
number of Bedouin tribes in which the two parties pledged themselves to assist one
another. (For examples of two such treaties made by Muḥammad, along with a brief
analysis and references to the Arabic sources, see Watt, Medina, 362-5.)

In the year 3/624-5 Muḥammad continued his attacks on the Meccan caravans so that
the Ḳurays̲ h̲ finally saw the necessity of taking more vigorous measures and
revenging themselves for Badr. An army said to number 3,000 men was equipped and
set out for Medina with much display under the leadership of Abū Sufyān, who was
clearly the most prominent leader in Mecca after the death of Abū D̲j̲ahl at Badr.
Although several of his followers advised Muḥammad to make his defence within the
Medinan settlement, he decided to go out with his forces, which at the last moment
were much reduced by the departure of the Munāfiḳūn, and took up a position on the
lower slopes of the hill of Uḥud [q.v.]. In spite of the numerical superiority of the
Meccans, the fighting at first went in favour of the Muslims, until a number of archers
who had been placed to defend his flank left their position, against Muḥammad’s
express orders, to pursue some of the Meccan fighters who appeared to be retreating.
This at once enabled the keen military strategist, K̲h̲ālid b. al-Walīd, to secure a
superior position on the slopes of Uḥud. The tables were now turned and many of the
Muslims began to flee, especially when the rumour spread that the Prophet had fallen
(cf. sūra III, 144). In reality he was only wounded and escaped with a few faithful
followers through a ravine on the south side of the hill. Fortunately for him, the
Meccans were unwilling to follow up their victory and, thinking that Muḥammad had
been punished enough and their honour had been reestablished, they turned quietly
back to Mecca. The Prophet was thus saved from the worst, but he had to lament
many fallen friends including his uncle, Ḥamza. His newly acquired prestige naturally
suffered. With all the eloquence in his power he endeavoured to raise the morale of
his followers by exhortation and censure alike (cf. Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 592-606, and sūra III,
118 f., 139-60, 165-80). In this strategy he succeeded since the expected negative
consequences of his setback at Uḥud did not materialise in Medina.

Some of the Jews in Medina who had taken no part in the fighting made no secret of
their delight at his misfortune. It was thus all the more necessary to make an example,
and a second Medinan Jewish tribe, the Banu ’l-Naḍīr, obliged Muḥammad by
providing justification for his action against them. Tradition imputes all sorts of
crimes to them, but their actual offences are difficult to determine. The Ḳurʾān says ¶
simply that they defied God and his Messenger (LIX, 4). After a siege of several
weeks (al-Ṭabarī, i, 1850) they were expelled from Medina and forced to immigrate to
K̲h̲aybar and other Jewish settlements in the north. They left behind them their
weapons and their gold and silver as a rich booty, the distribution of which on this
occasion Muḥammad reserved for himself (LIX, 6 ff.).

While Muḥammad was endeavouring to restore his weakened authority, a new and
threatening storm came upon him and Medina from Mecca. The Ḳurays̲ h̲, whose
caravans were being continually harassed by him (cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit. no. 16 f.) and
who were urged on by the Jews of K̲h̲aybar. recognised that the victory at Uḥud had
not seriously weakened Muḥammad’s position, and they realised the necessity of
occupying Medina, which they had then neglected to do. Conscious of their slight
military skill, being city merchants with little experience in warfare, they negotiated
vigorously with various Bedouin tribes and thus raised a large army—said to have
been about 10,000 men—with which they set out against Medina some time in the
year 5/626-7. The varying accounts of the season of the year (sometimes said to have
been a month after the barley harvest, sometimes during cold winter storms, the latter
in agreement with sūra XXXIII, 9; cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 14) could be reconciled
only by the unlikely assumption that the siege lasted for a considerable length of time.

The advance of this imposing army produced great consternation in Medina, which
was further increased by the vacillating attitude of the Munāfiḳūn and by the
discovery, or perhaps only the suspicion, that the Jews were conspiring with the
enemy (XXXIII, 10 ff, 26). Muḥammad in order to strengthen the defences had a
trench ( k̲h̲andaḳ , a Persian word) dug in front of the unprotected parts of the
settlement (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 670). Nowhere does Ibn Isḥāḳ in the recension by Ibn
His̲ h̲ām attribute the idea of building the trench to Salman the Persian (al-Fārisī).
According to other accounts, however, this trench is said to have been a Persian
military tactic suggested to Muḥammad by Salmān (e.g. Ibn Saʿd, ii/1, 47). Modest as
these defences must have been, they imposed a sufficient deterrent upon the enemy,
who had little experience in such military tactics, and the siege gradually dragged on.
Muḥammad used the time for secret negotiations with the G̲h̲aṭafān and cleverly
stirred up distrust among his opponents. When weather conditions became
unfavourable the besieging forces lost heart and gradually began to retire, so that the
last effort of the Ḳurays̲ h̲ to defeat Muḥammad by force came to nothing.

For one group among the inhabitants of Medina, the largely uneventful “War of the
Trench” became a bloody tragedy. Hardly had the Meccans and their allies retired
than the Prophet declared war on the last Jewish tribe of any size in Medina, the
Ḳurayẓa [q.v.], and began to besiege their forts. Once the Jews realised the
seriousness of their predicament, they no doubt hoped to escape under terms similar to
those of the Banū Ḳaynuḳāʿ and the Banu ’l-Naḍīr, especially since their allies, the
once powerful tribe of Aws, were very actively trying to induce Muḥammad to
clemency. This third Jewish tribe, however, was not to be allowed the leniency shown
to the other two. According to one account given by Ibn His̲ h̲ām, all of the men,
numbering between 600 and 900 according to the varying accounts, were beheaded in
compliance with a judgment given by Saʿd b. Muʿād̲h̲ [q.v.] of the tribe of Aws, and
“the property was divided [among ¶ the Muslims] and the women and children were
taken as captives” (689 f.). In another account Ibn His̲ h̲ām says “The Messenger of
God ordered that every adult [male] of Banū Ḳurayẓa be killed ... and then he divided
the property, wives, and children of Banū Ḳurayẓa among the Muslims” (692).
Tradition endeavoured to put the responsibility for the massacre of the Ḳurayẓa on
Saʿd b. Muʿād̲h̲ (cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 167), who asserts Saʿd’s sincerity), but
there are various indications that it was the Prophet himself who was responsible for
the decision. The expulsion or elimination of these three Jewish tribes brought
Muḥammad closer to his goal of organising an umma strictly on a religious basis.
Some Jews from other families were, however, allowed to remain in Medina (cf. Ibn
His̲ h̲ām, 895; al-Wāḳidī/Wellhausen, 264, 309, 393; Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit, no. 133).

The failure of the Meccan siege of Medina and the elimination of this last major
Jewish tribe became one of the main turning points in the life of Muḥammad and the
rise of the Muslim community. From about six months after his arrival in Medina,
when he sent out the first Muslim raiding party under the command of his uncle
Ḥamza, until the time of the Meccan failure in their siege of Medina, Muḥammad
dispatched a steady stream of raiding parties against Meccan caravans (see Watt,
Medina, 339-41, for a complete list and for references in Ibn His̲ h̲ām and al-
Wāḳidī/Wellhausen). This practice ceased after al-K̲h̲andaḳ and the elimination of the
Ḳurayẓa (about a year before Muḥammad agreed to a ten-year truce with the Meccans
at al-Ḥudaybiya), and the Prophet turned his major attention towards the north.

Muḥammad led two of these expeditions himself, one against the Banū Liḥyān, early
in the year 6 A.H. (mid-627 A.D.), which ended without any fighting, and the more
famous expedition against the Banū Muṣtaliḳ, which is of interest for several reasons.
It was on the return trip to Medina on this latter expedition that the celebrated
adventure involving ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a [q.v.] occurred that might have cost her her position as a
wife of the Prophet except that Muḥammad received a revelation (XXIV, 4-5, 11-20)
that exonerated her. More significantly for the early history of Islam, the ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a
affair gave rise to a serious conflict within the ranks of the leaders of the Emigrants
and also caused a breach between the Emigrants and the Helpers that continued well
into the period after Muḥammad’s death. The political upheaval that arose after the
raid on the Banū Muṣtaliḳ might explain why this is the one significant expedition led
by Muḥammad on which the sources present widely differing opinions regarding its
date. Ibn His̲ h̲ām (725) states explicitly that this expedition occurred in the eighth
month (S̲h̲aʿbān) of the year 6 A.H., after Muḥammad’s raid on D̲h̲ū Ḳarad
(sometimes called the raid of al-G̲h̲aba), usually listed as his nineteenth personal
expedition (see, e.g., Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 972 f., and al-Ṭabarī, i, 1575). Ibn Saʿd (ii/1, 45),
on the other hand, following al-Wāḳidī (Wellhausen, 175 ff.) states just as clearly that
the expedition against the Banū Musṭaliḳ took place in S̲h̲aʿbān of the year 5 A.H.,
after Muḥammad’s raid on Dūmat al-D̲j̲andal that is usually listed as his fifteenth
expedition (Ibn His̲ h̲ām and al-Ṭabarī, locc . cit.). This discrepancy serves as just one
example of the difficulty or impossibility of reconstructing a precise chronology of
the life of Muḥammad even for the well-documented Medinan period.

Towards the end of the year 6 A.H., Muḥammad thought that his position in Medina
was so firmly established that he could risk a step that would bring ¶ him nearer to his
desired goal. He and the Emigrants were still excluded from Mecca and its holy
places, but through contacts in Mecca, including probably his uncle al-ʿAbbās [q.v.],
he knew that attitudes towards him in his native city were gradually becoming more
favourable (cf. XLVIII, 25; LX, 7). In D̲h̲u ’l-Ḳaʿda of the year 6 (March 628) he
gave orders to his followers to provide themselves with sacrificial animals and
undertake a pilgrimage (an ʿumra [q.v.]) with him to Mecca, saying that in a vision
God had promised him fulfillment of this long-held goal (XLVIII, 27). In Mecca
many were inclined to meet his wishes but the belligerent party was still strong
enough to get a body of armed men sent to meet him and prevent him from entering
the town. He therefore encamped at al-Ḥudaybiya [q.v.] where he began to negotiate
with some leaders of Mecca. When these discussions failed Muḥammad sent
ʿUt̲ h̲mān, who was protected by his family connections, into the town as his
representative. When ʿUt̲ h̲mān did not return after several days, a rumour that he had
been murdered spread among the Muslims. The situation became critical and
Muḥammad dropped all negotiations, collected his followers under a tree, possibly
one long held sacred, and made them swear to fight for him to the last, which nearly
every man did with enthusiasm (XLVIII, 10, 18).

A short time later a number of Meccans arrived with ʿUt̲ h̲mān and offered a
compromise according to which the Muslims would return to Medina without
fulfilling their goal that year, but the Meccans promised to allow Muḥammad and his
followers to perform an ʿumra the following year. He agreed to the proposal and also
concluded a ten years’ truce with the Ḳurays̲ h̲, further promising to return to the
Meccans any of their dependents who sought refuge in Medina. Some of
Muḥammad’s followers who had been determined to force their claim and perform
the pilgrimage rituals inside Mecca that year became angry when they heard the
conditions to which the Prophet had agreed. Muḥammad calmly ordered the
sacrificial animals brought with them to be slain, which was to have been done at an
ʿumra in the town (see Lane, Lexicon , s.v. maḥill ), and had his hair cut, and by his
authority forced his grumbling followers to do the same. Only later did they discover
that the so-called Treaty of al-Ḥudaybiya represented a brilliant act of diplomacy on
the part of Muḥammad, in that he had induced the Meccans to recognise him as an
equal, had concluded a peace with them that promised well for the future, and had
gained the admiration of many Meccans by incorporating their ancient religious
rituals into his nascent religion. There is also evidence that a number of the leaders in
Mecca were ready to abandon their polytheistic practices and adopt monotheism.

At the beginning of the year 7/628-9 Muḥammad and those who had pledged
themselves to him under the tree at al-Ḥudaybiya received ample compensation for
the unfulfilled ʿumra by the capture of the fertile oasis of K̲h̲aybar that was inhabited
by Jews. This was the first actual conquest by the Prophet, and on this occasion he
instituted a practice that set the precedent for future terms involving Jews or
Christians who accepted the rule of the Muslims: he did not put the people to death or
banish them but let them remain as tenants, as it were, with the stipulation that they
had to pay a tribute (later called the d̲j̲izya [q.v.]) every year. This expedition, which
also brought the Jewish colonies of Wādī ’l-Ḳurā into his power, made the Muslim
community wealthy for the first time (XLVIII, 18-21).

¶
At about this time (the exact dates are given variously in the sources) tradition puts
the despatch of letters from the Prophet to Muḳawḳis [q.v.] the governor of
Alexandria, the Negus of Abyssinia [see AL-NADJ̲ ̲ĀSH ̲ ̲Ī ]. Heraclius the Byzantine
emperor, the Persian king, and a number of others, in which he demanded that they
adopt Islam (cf. al-Ṭabarī, i, 1560-75). In the form in which these letters have come
down to us they cannot be accepted as authentic, since they contain details that reflect
a later period in the rise and power of Islam. Even if we disregard certain details that
could have been inserted later, the substance of these letters hardly deserves the faith
most people have put in them (see, for instance, M. Hamidullah, Six originaux des
lettres du Prophčte de l-Islam , Paris 1985). It is very unlikely that so sober a
politician and diplomat as Muḥammad would have engaged in so presumptuous a
venture before the conquest of Mecca. This does not, of course, preclude the
possibility that he sent letters to surrogates of the Byzantine and Persian emperors
who lived on the northern fringes of the Arabian peninsula and also in the Yemen, and
it can be accepted without hesitation that he maintained correspondence with the
Negus of Abyssinia.

While it is true that passages of the Ḳurʾān that date from Muḥammad’s Medinan
years do go beyond the earlier concept that he was sent as a prophet to the Arabs,
even those verses that are so often cited as proof that he regarded his mission as
universal hardly hold up to close scrutiny, but require a broader interpretation than
their literal meaning. It is very doubtful that Muḥammad ever thought of the
socioreligious community he founded in Medina as a universal religion, as is assumed
for example by Nöldeke (WZKM, xxi, 307), Goldziher ( Vorlesungen über den Islam ,
25 = Introduction to Islamic theology and law, 27 f.) and T. W. Arnold (The
preaching of Islam, 27-31). The conclusions reached by Snouck Hurgronje (
Mohammedanism , 48 ff.) and H. Lammens ( Études sur le rčgne du calife Moʿāwia ,
i, 422) are much more consistent with the evidence from the Ḳurʾān. (For a close
analysis of the relevant verses of the Ḳurʾān and references to other European
literature on this issue, see Welch, Muhammad’s understanding, 47-51.)

At the height of his power Muḥammad never demanded from Jews or Christians
living in the Arabian peninsula that they should adopt Islam. He was content with
political subjection and the payment of tribute. The soundest conclusion is thus to
reject in their present form those stories that assert that Muḥammad sought to convert
to Islam the Byzantine and Persian emperors and other great rulers outside of Arabia,
and to seek the real historical basis in negotiations of a more political nature, e.g. with
the friendly Muḳawḳis of Egypt who is said to have been the person who gave to
Muḥammad Māriya the Copt [q.v.], who bore him a son named Ibrāhīm who
unfortunately died as an infant just a few months before Muḥammad’s death. On the
other hand, the character of the genuine letters of the Prophet to the Arab tribes
changed at this time, for he was no longer content with a purely political agreement
but, relying on his now consolidated power, he also demanded that they should adhere
to his religion, which involved performing the ṣalāt and paying zakāt (cf. Ibn Saʿd,
1/ii, 15-38). In his eagerness to win the Arab tribes to Islam, Muḥammad is even said
to have given the D̲j̲ud̲h̲ām [q.v.] on the Syrian coast a respite ( amān ) of two months
after which they were to decide (see Ibn Saʿd, i/2, 82 f. and Watt, Medina, 108 ff.).

Late in 7 A.H. (early 629 A.D.) Muḥammad performed ¶ the “fulfilled pilgrimage”
(Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 788-90), actually simply an ʿumra involving rituals at and near the
Kaʿba within the sanctuary (now the Sacred Mosque) of Mecca, that was part of the
agreement in the Treaty of al-Ḥudaybiya. For him, having been driven out of his
native city almost seven years before, it must have been a time of great satisfaction to
be able to visit Mecca as the acknowledged lord of Medina. One important task
Muḥammad accomplished while in Mecca was a reconciliation with his family, the
clan of Hās̲ h̲im, sealed through marriage with Maymūna bt. al-Ḥārit̲ h̲ [q.v.], a sister of
the wife of the Prophet’s uncle, al-ʿAbbās, who was currently chief of the clan. Some
of the sources allege that even before this time al-ʿAbbās had become a secret ally of
Muḥammad. Also of great significance for the later history of Islam, a few of the
most important Meccans, such as the military genius K̲h̲ālid b. al-Walīd and another
military man almost his equal, ʿAmr b. al-ʿĀṣ [q.vv.], who later conquered Egypt
during the caliphate of ʿUmar, became Muslims. These men in Mecca must have
recognised that Muḥammad was the man of the future in Arabia and they openly
joined him. Muḥammad’s uncle al-ʿAbbās and Abū Sufyān, the most prominent
leader in Mecca at that time, took another tack, endeavouring through secret
negotiations to prepare in the most favourable way for the inevitable surrender of
Mecca.

In the meanwhile Muḥammad continued his military expeditions. His forces suffered
a serious reverse in the first considerable effort to extend his authority over the Arabs
on Byzantine soil in Transjordania, when at battle at Muʾta [q.v.] Muḥammad
suffered the loss of his beloved adopted son, Zayd b. Ḥāritha [q.v.], who had been
given command of a force said to have had 3,000 men. Also killed at this disastrous
battle against the Byzantines at Muʾta was another potential leader within the early
Muslim community, D̲j̲aʿfar b. Abī Ṭālib [q.v.], ʿAlī’s brother who had only recently
joined the Muslims in Medina after remaining in Abyssinia with Muḥammad’s
followers who had moved there from Mecca almost fifteen years earlier and remained
(on Muʾta see Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 791-802, where a number of poems on this battle are
given). Despite the defeat at Muʾta, several Bedouin tribes began to see some of the
advantages they would procure by joining Muḥammad, and even some of the large
tribes such as the Sulaym [q.v.] voluntarily adopted Islam and placed themselves
under the Prophet’s banner.
Much against the advice of Abū Sufyān, the belligerent party in Mecca decided to
support one of their client clans, the Bakr [q.v.], against the K̲h̲uzāʿa [q.v.], who were
allied to Muḥammad. This, according to the custom among the Arabs at that time,
was seen on both sides as breaking the Treaty of al-Ḥudaybiya, freeing Muḥammad
to attack Meccan caravans or even the city itself. In Ramaḍān 8/December 629 he set
out at the head of an army of Emigrants, Helpers and Bedouins. The news produced
considerable anxiety in Mecca where the number of those who wanted to fight shrank
daily so that the more prudent now could take control. Abū Sufyān, who went out
with several others (including the K̲h̲uzāʿī Budayl b. Warḳāʾ who was a friend of the
Prophet’s), met Muḥammad not far from the town, paid homage to him and obtained
an amnesty for all the Ḳurays̲ h̲ who abandoned armed resistance (cf. ʿUrwa, in al-
Ṭabarī, i, 1634 f.). Thus the Prophet was able to enter his native city practically
without a struggle and almost all its inhabitants adopted Islam. He acted with great
generosity and endeavoured to win ¶ all hearts by rich gifts ( taʾlīf al-ḳulūb , a new
use of the alms; cf. IX, 60, and AL-MUʾALLAFA ḲULŪBUHUM ). He demanded only the
destruction of all idols in and around Mecca. Sūra CX and XLVIII, 1 f. seem to
capture some of the exaltation with which this victory filled Muḥammad. It is striking
that both of these unusually touching passages mention the forgiveness of
Muḥammad’s sins after declaring that God has given him a clear victory ( fatḥ ),
suggesting that in some way the fulfillment of one of Muḥammad’s major goals, the
peaceful surrender of his native city, served as a direct sign that God had forgiven him
all his sins (cf. CX, 3 and XLVIII, 2).

Muḥammad had no time to rest upon his laurels, for soon after the surrender of
Mecca the Hawāzin [q.v.] tribes in Central Arabia began preparing for a decisive fight
and the town of Ṭāʾif, which was closely associated with Mecca, was still unsubdued.
Muḥammad’s forces fought the Hawāzin and their allies at Ḥunayn [q.v.] on the road
to Ṭāʾif. At first the Prophet’s forces seemed threatened with a fatal disaster, mainly
because of the unreliability of a number of the new converts, but then some of his
followers succeeded in recalling the fugitives and routing the enemy (IX, 25 f.). On
the other hand, his inexperienced troops were unable to take Ṭāʾif with its defences. It
was almost a year later, after Muḥammad’s successful expedition to Tabūk [q.v.] with
nearly 30,000 men, that the people of Ṭaʾif finally accepted their fate and sent
emissaries to Medina to surrender to the Prophet and adopt Islam. After raising the
siege on the well-fortified city of Ṭāʾif early in 630, Muḥammad returned to al-
D̲j̲iʿrāna to supervise the distribution of the booty of Ḥunayn. The Helpers, who as
soon as Muḥammad entered Mecca had expressed the fear that he would take up his
residence again in his native town, became very indignant about the rich gifts that he
made to his former opponents in order “to win their hearts”, while they themselves
went empty-handed (cf. Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit. no. 31), but he spoke so kindly to them that
they are said to have burst into tears and declared themselves satisfied (see Watt,
Medina, 73-7).

The characteristic feature of the year 9/630-1 in the memory of the Muslims was the
many embassies that came to Medina from different parts of Arabia to submit to the
conqueror of Mecca on behalf of their tribes (cf. CX, 2). In the autumn of that year,
Muḥammad made up his mind to conduct a campaign against northern Arabia on a
considerable scale, probably because the defeat at Muʾta required to be avenged if he
were to maintain the respect he had so far earned. Also, the G̲h̲assānid king was
reported to have adopted a hostile attitude towards Muḥammad and his followers (cf.
Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 911; Buk̲h̲ārī. Mag̲h̲āzī , bāb s 78, 79). Somewhat surprisingly to
Muḥammad after the Muslim victory at al-Ḥunayn, but probably also influenced by
their defeat at Muʾta, his appeal for followers met with little support. The Emigrants
as well as a number of Bedouins held back and even among his devoted followers
there were some who put forward all sorts of objections, for instance the fear that a
campaign so far away in the burning heat would be difficult and potentially hazardous
(cf. IX, 45, 81-90, 98 ff.). Muḥammad seems to have faced considerable opposition in
Medina at this time (IX, 58-82, 125), so that he had to have recourse to his earlier
method of intimidation and his words recall in a remarkable way the period of passion
in Mecca (e.g. IX, 70, 128 f.).

In spite of all opposition, Muḥammad was able to carry through with his grand plan.
When, however, ¶ after great hardships the 30,000 Muslims and their allies reached
Tabūk, on the frontier with the land of the Byzantines, the campaign was indecisive
(Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 894-906). Muḥammad’s prestige had, however, become so great by this
time that the petty Christian and Jewish states in the north of Arabia submitted to him
during his stay in Tabūk, e.g. the Christian king Yuḥannā in Ayla [q.v.], the people of
Ad̲h̲ruḥ [q.v.] and the Jews in the port of Makna. The Prophet is said to have stayed in
Tabūk for ten nights (Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 904). K̲h̲ālid b. al-Walīd also occupied the
important centre of Dūmat al-D̲j̲andal [q.v.] during the Tabūk expedition (Ibn Saʿd,
ii/1, 119 f.).

4. The period from Tabūk to Muḥammad’s death Unfortunately we do not know how
the matters that were rapidly coming to a head in Medina actually developed; but we
may safely assume that the death of ʿAbd Allāh b. Ubayy, which took place not long
after the expedition to Tabūk, must have contributed to slacken the tension. These
years showed a marked increase in the prestige of Muḥammad in regions outside the
area immediately surrounding Medina. With Mecca in his hands there was a
noticeable inclination among the Bedouins in several places to submit to the will of
the conqueror of this town in order to be safe against his attacks and to have a share in
his rich booty. This was the case for example regarding the group of tribes of ʿĀmir b.
Ṣaʿṣaʿa [q.v.] (Ibn Saʿd, i/2, 51 f.) with portions of the great tribe of Tamīm and the
neighbouring Asad [q.vv.] (cf. Ibn Saʿd, i/2, 39-41) and further north with the Bakr
and Tag̲h̲lib [q.v.] (cf. Ibn Saʿd, i/2, 55). Even in regions so far away from Medina as
Bahrayn (Bahrain) and ʿUmān (Oman) within the Persian sphere of influence (see
Watt, Medina, 131 ff.) and among the chiefs of South Arabia, the new teaching and
order of things penetrated and found ardent followers in some places. But we must not
allow ourselves to be deceived by the representations of the historians, from which it
appears as if all the people in these lands adopted Islam. Caetani has shown that these
accounts are not in keeping with reality and that it was only little groups that
submitted, while there was a not inconsiderable number who rejected the Prophet’s
demands. See Watt, Medina, 78-150, for a discussion of the major tribes in areas
surrounding Mecca and Medina and also those farther to the north and south, along
with an appraisal of the extent of Muḥammad’s success in winning over the major
tribes of Arabia and, in some cases, the motives, whether political, social or religious,
for the tribes’ alliances with Medina.

In addition to the Jews who had already felt his strength, there were also a
considerable number of Christians and some Zoroastrians [see MAD̲J̲ŪS ] in the eastern
and southern districts of the Arabian peninsula, who posed a problem of a different
sort for Muḥammad. While in the earlier teachings of the Ḳurʾān Muḥammad is
presented only as God’s prophet to the Arabic-speaking people, this situation changed
in the later Medinan years. Sūra IX, 29 ff., for example, includes the Christians and
the Jews among the polytheists, who gave God a son and honoured men as lords
beside God. In contrast to such utterances, V, 82 mentions the Christians very
sympathetically because they, unlike the Jews, showed kindness towards Muḥammad
and were not arrogant. Christian priests and monks are mentioned in particular; a
more negative appraisal is given in LVII, 27, and yet the Christians of Nad̲j̲rān [q.v.]
are said to have received preferable treatment by Muḥammad (Ibn Saʿd, i/2, 84 f.).
Tor Andrae ¶ explains these apparent inconsistences by pointing to the differences
between the Monophysites and the Nestorians, saying that the former aroused his
unqualified displeasure by their Christology, while the latter, who were then
predominant in the Persian sphere of influence, attracted him much more (
Mohammed the man and his faith, 89-93).

On the other hand, statements in the Ḳurʾān about the Jews gradually become more
severe after Muḥammad’s first year in Medina, and passages dating from near the end
of his lifetime appear to make little distinction between those Jews and Christians
who rejected his prophethood. As People of the Book, however, who are assumed to
worship the one true God, they were allowed to retain their religion if they recognised
the political suzerainty of the Prophet by paying a tax ( d̲j̲izya [q.v.]). If they did not
pay the d̲j̲izya they were to be fought without mercy. The memory of the agreement
between Muḥammad’s recitations and the beliefs of the People of the Book that was
emphasised in the earlier parts of the Ḳurʾān must have contributed to this
inconsistent treatment of the groups that were coming under Muḥammad’s control. In
addition, there was the fact that treating the Jews and Christians as tax-paying tenants
and allowing them to practise their religion, as had already been done at K̲h̲aybar, was
much more practical for the Muslims than fighting them till they gave in.

A further favourable settlement with the “People of the Book” was that believers were
allowed to marry their daughters and to eat food prepared by them (sūra V, 5).
According to a report in Ibn Saʿd (i/2, 19) Muḥammad included the Zoroastrians
among the “People of the Book” in a letter he sent to a group of them (called
Magians) in Ḥad̲j̲ar. Muslims were forbidden, however, to marry their women and eat
meat killed by them. This extended application of the expression “People of the
Book” does not occur in the Ḳurʾān. With these exceptions, the Prophet approached
nearer to his objective of forming an umma on a strictly religious basis, for the
inhabitants of a number of parts of Arabia were now actually bound together by
religion, at least in the eyes of Muḥammad. The old differences between the tribes
with their endless feuds, their blood-vengeance and their lampoons that continually
stirred up new quarrels, were supposed to disappear, and all believers were to feel
themselves brethren (IX, 11; XLIX, 10). There was to be no distinction among
believers except in their degree of piety (XLIX, 13).

This very rapid extension of Muḥammad’s sphere of influence through various types
of treaties and other agreements naturally led to situations in which the new
“converts” had little knowledge of the teachings and practices of Islam. Alongside the
older adherents, who were really inspired by Muḥammad’s recitations and whose faith
had been tried by privations and dangers, there were now many new converts who had
been gained mainly by political alliances, sometimes inspired by fear of Muḥammad’s
growing power. In spite of the teachers sent out to them there could be no question of
any immediate deep-seated religious conversion among these Arabs. How the old
Arab spirit continued to flourish among them unweakened is shown, for example, by
the boasting and abuse in the poems included in Ibn His̲ h̲ām (934 ff.). The Ḳurʾān
itself in XLIX, 14, states clearly that the newly converted Bedouins were far from the
true faith: they could say that they had adopted Islam, but they could not say that they
were yet true believers.

Instructions on religious beliefs and practices that constitute such a major theme of
the early Medinan ¶ parts of the Ḳurʾān gradually gave way in striking fashion to
social and political regulations in later parts of the Ḳurʾān, when the Islamic sphere of
influence was spreading so rapidly. Finally, all was prepared and at the end of the
year 10 (March 632) Muḥammad was able to carry through the first truly Islamic
pilgrimage (the “Farewell Pilgrimage” or the “Pilgrimage of Islam”), which became
the standard for all time. The regulations regarding the various ceremonies of the
annual Great Pilgrimage appear only in fragments in the Ḳurʾān, forcing pilgrims to
depend for their proper performance on the Ḥadīth collections and various Ḥad̲j̲d̲j̲
manuals that are prepared by the leaders of each mad̲h̲hab [q.v.]. The modern form of
the main rituals is undoubtedly based on what the Prophet laid down on this
memorable occasion [see ḤADJ̲ D ̲ J̲ ̲ ]. The Farewell Pilgrimage is said to have included
an address, of which somewhat variant versions have been handed down, that marks
the culminating point in his career. His feelings at that time are probably expressed in
God’s words in sūra V, 3: “Today I have perfected your religion, and completed my
favours for you and chosen Islam as a religion for you.” There is therefore a touch of
the dramatic in the fact that his life ended just a few months later.

That Muḥammad did not foresee how soon death would take him can be seen in the
fact that only a month before his death he began preparations for a great expedition to
Transjordania that he intended to lead himself. In the end he placed the expedition,
said to have numbered about 3,000 men, under the command of the young Usāma
[q.v.], apparently in order to avenge the death of his father Zayd b. Ḥārit̲ h̲a,
Muḥammad’s adopted son and long-time companion. Several of the leading Muslims
complained to Muḥammad regarding his choice to place an army with so difficult a
mission under the command of such a young man, but the Prophet was determined to
allow Usāma the opportunity to avenge the Muslim defeat at Muʾta, which also took
the life of Muḥammad’s cousin, D̲j̲aʿfar b. Abī Ṭālib.

In several parts of Arabia the appearance of rival “prophets” provoked disturbances at

about this time [see AL-ASWAD , ṬULAYḤA and MUSAYLIMA ]. Then Muḥammad
suddenly fell ill, presumably of the ordinary Medina fever (al-Farazdaḳ, ix, 13); but
this was dangerous to a man physically and mentally overwrought. He rallied a little
but then died on the bosom of his favourite wife, ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a, reportedly on 13 Rabīʿ I of
the year 9 (8 June 632). Only this date suits the statement in Ḥassān b. T̲h̲ābit (no.
133) and all traditionists that it was a Monday. He left no legal successor, so that the
leaders within the inner circle of his followers were obliged to choose a leader in the
traditional manner among Arab tribes. The young Ibrāhīm, whom the Coptic slave
Māriya bore to him, probably early in 630, had died earlier in 632. It is said that
Muḥammad was buried under the dirt floor of ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a’s apartment (al-Ṭabarī, i, 1817;
Ibn Saʿd, ii/2, 57 ff., 71).
The great difficulty that the modern biographer of Muḥammad feels on every page is
this, that the real secret of his career, the wonderful strength of his personality and his
power of influencing those around him by suggestion, is not recorded in the early
sources and indeed could not have been, since the early, devout Muslim biographers
proceeded with the assumption that his great feats and extraordinary successes were
not the acts of a man, but were supernatural proofs that the Prophet was acting in the
service of God. From the Ḳurʾān, it is true, one becomes ¶ acquainted with his earliest
remarkable inspirations that continue to bring awe to the pious just as they no doubt
did when Muḥammad first recited them. Also, his eminent political gifts seen so often
during the Medinan years are obvious to modern historians. Who could doubt that the
commander at the battle of Badr or that the negotiator at Ḥudaybiya was a man of
intellectual superiority and extraordinary diplomatic skill? These insights into
Muḥammad’s genius that are unmistakable in the sources are, however, only isolated
flashes. For the most part we have to read the essentials between the lines.

The really powerful factor in Muḥammad’s life and the essential clue to his
extraordinary success was his unshakable belief from beginning to end that he had
been called by God. A conviction such as this, which, once firmly established, does
not admit of the slightest doubt, exercises an incalculable influence on others. The
certainty with which he came forward as the executor of God’s will gave his words
and ordinances an authority that proved finally compelling. His real personality was
revealed quite openly with its limitations: his human strength and his knowledge were
limited; the ability to perform miracles was denied him; and the Ḳurʾān speaks quite
frankly of his faults (XXXIV, 50; XL, 55; XLVII, 19; XLVIII, 1 f.; LXXX, 1 ff.; IX,
43). Later tradition made the very revelation of the Ḳurʾān, the inimitable speech of
God ( kalām Allāh ), to a supposedly illiterate Arabian orphan his sole miracle. This
belief contains in itself the assumption that Muḥammad was fully human, without
supernatural powers. The Ḳurʾān repeatedly says that he was a man like any other,
and several times reiterated to his followers that he would die when his time came
(XXXIX, 30; XXI, 34 f.; III, 144). It was exactly this point about the Prophet that left
his later devout followers dissatisfied, so that quite early, driven no doubt in part by
their disputations with Christians, they wove around the person and life of the Prophet
a network of superhuman features (see 2. below).

Bibliography

For works published before 1936, see MUḤAMMAD in EI 1. In addition to works in the
list of standard abbreviations, the following are abbreviated in the article above: Tor
Andrae, Mohammed the man and his faith, revised ed., New York 1936, 1956 (tr. of
Mohammed. Sein Leben und sein Glaube, Göttingen 1932)

Bell/Watt = W.M. Watt, Bell’s introduction to the Qurʾān, completely revised and
enlarged, Edinburgh 1970, 1990

J.B. Glubb, The life and times of Muhammad, London and New York 1970, 1979

R. Paret, Der Koran: Kommentar und Konkordanz, Stuttgart 1971, 1977

W. Montgomery Watt, Muhammad at Mecca, Oxford 1953, 1960, French tr. F.

Dourveil, Mahomet ŕ la Mecque, Paris 1977
idem, Muhammad at Medina, Oxford 1956, 1966, French tr. S.-M. Guillemin et F.
Vaudou, Mahomet ŕ la Médine, Paris 1978

A.T. Welch, Allah and other supernatural beings: the emergence of the Qurʾanic
doctrine of tawḥīd, in Studies in Qurʾan and Tafsir, Dec. 1979 suppl. to the Journal of
the American Academy of Religion

idem, Muhammad’s understanding of himself: the Koranic data, in Islam’s

understanding of itself, ed. R.G. Hovannisian, Malibu, Calif. 1983.

Ibn His̲ h̲ām, Ibn Saʿd, and Ṭabarī, cited according to the editions in the list of
standard abbreviations, appear in numerous other editions and translations including:
al-Sīrat al-nabawiyyat li-Ibn His̲ h̲ām, 4 vols., ed. and annotated by Muḍar Ṭaḳī al-
Saḳḳā, et al., Beirut n.d. (1985?)

Sīrat rasūl Allāh (Ibn His̲ h̲ām in Farsi), 2 vols., tr. and ed. Rafīʿ al-Dīn ¶ Isḥaḳ
Hamdānī, Tehran 1395 A.H. (1975)

The Life of Muhammad: a translation of Ibn Isḥāq’s Sīrat Rasūl Allāh, tr. A.
Guillaume, London 1955 (with Ibn His̲ h̲ām’s comments and additions placed at the
end as “Notes”)

G. Rotter, Ibn Hishām, ʿAbd al-Malik, Das Leben des Propheten, aus dem Arabischen
übertragen und bearbeiten, Tübingen and Basel 1976

Ibn Saʿd, Kitab al-Tabaqat al-Kabir: English translation, by S. Moinul Haq, vols. 1
and 2, Karachi 1967, 1972

The history of al-Ṭabarī, ed. Ehsan Yar-Shater, Albany, New York, vi (1988):
Muḥammad at Mecca, tr. and annotated by W.M. Watt and M.V. McDonald

vii (1987): The foundation of the community, tr. M.V. McDonald and annotated by
W.M. Watt

ix (1990): The last years of the prophet, tr. and annotated by I.K. Poonawala. The
standard edition of al-Wāḳidī is Kitāb al-Mag̲h̲āzī, 3 vols. ed. J. Marsden Jones,
London 1966. For a discussion of the early sources for the life of Muḥammad, see
Sezgin, i, 237-56, 275-302 and Guillaume, Life of Muhammad, pp. xiii-xlvii

for ḥadīt̲ h̲s regarding Muḥammad’s life, see Wensinck, Handbook, 157-69.

Other modern biographies of Muḥammad: M. Gaudefroy-Demombynes, Mahomet,

Paris 1957

M. Hamidullah, Le prophčte de l’Islam, sa vie, son śuvre, Paris 1959

F. Ahmad, Muhammad, the Holy Prophet, Lahore 1960

F. Buhl, Das Leben Muhammeds, 3rd edn., Heidelberg 1961

W.M. Watt, Muhammad Prophet and Statesman, London 1961, French tr. Odile
Mayot, Mahomet: 570-632, Paris 1980

A.H. Siddiqui, The Life of Muhammad, Lahore 1969

Shiblī Nuʿmānī, Sar-i nāma, Karachi 1336 H. (1917-18), English translations:

ʿAllamah Shibli’s Sīrat al-Nabī, tr. F. Rahman, Karachi 1970, and Sirat un-Nabi (the
life of the Prophet), 2 vols., tr. M. Tayyib Bakhsh Budayuni, Delhi 1979

M. Rodinson, Mahomet, Paris 1961, 1968, English: Mohammed, tr. A. Carter, London
and New York 1971

M.Ḥ. Haykal, Ḥayāt Muḥammad, 8th ed., Cairo n.d. = The life of Muḥammad, tr. I.R.
al-Fārūqī, [Indianapolis?] 1976, and Das Leben Muhammads (s.a.s.), tr. Djavad [sic]
Kermani, Siegen 1987

Dāryūs̲ h̲ S̲h̲āhīn. Muḥammad payāmbar-i d̲j̲āwīdān, Tehran 1982

M. Lings, Muhammad his life based on the earliest sources, London and New York
1983

ʿAli Dashti, Twenty three years: a study of the prophetic career of Mohammad, tr.
F.R.C. Bagley, London 1985 (translation of the popular biography in Persian, ʿAlī
Das̲ h̲tī, Bīst u sih sāl, Beirut n.d.).

Other books on Muḥammad: R. Blachčre, Le problčme de Mahomet, Paris 1952

F. Gabrieli, Muhammad and the conquests of Islam, New York 1968

R. Paret, Mohammed und der Koran, Stuttgart 1957, 1980

A. Wessels, A modern Arabic biography of Muhammad: a critical study of

Muḥammad Ḥusayn Haykal’s Ḥayāt Muḥammad, Leiden 1972

M. Hamidullah, The battlefields of the Prophet Muhammad, Hyderabad (Deccan)

1973

A.J. Wensinck, Muhammad and the Jews of Medina, with an excursus: Muhammad’s
constitution of Medina by J. Wellhausen, tr. and ed. W. Behn, Freiburg im Breisgau
1975 = Mohammed en de Joden te Medina, Leiden 1908, and Muhammeds
Gemeindeordnung von Medina, in Wellhausen’s Skizzen und Vorarbeiten, iv (Berlin
1889)

B. Ahmad, Muḥammad and the Jews: a re-examination, New Delhi 1979

M. Cook, Muhammad, London 1983 (more a study of the ideas of the Ḳurʾān than a
biography of Muḥammad)

Muḥammad S̲h̲arīf al-S̲h̲aybānī, al-Rasūl fi ’l-dirāsāt al-istis̲ h̲rāḳiyya al-munṣifa,

Beirut 1988. An excellent analysis of the biographical studies of Muḥammad ¶ by the
four 20th-century Egyptian writers Muḥammad Ḥusayn Haykal, Ṭāhā Ḥusayn,
Tawfīḳ al-Ḥakīm and ʿAbbās Maḥmūd al-ʿAḳḳād, is provided by E.S. Sabanegh,
Muhammad b. Abdallah “le prophete”, portraits contemporains, Egypte 1930-1950,
Paris and Rome 1981. Another valuable work that provides much more than the title
implies is Maher Jarrar, Die Prophetenbiographie im islamischen Spanien: ein
Beitrag zur Überlieferungs- und Redaktionsgeschichte, Frankfort 1989, which
includes analyses of the early sources and of the various genres of writings about
Muḥammad. An annotated bibliography of biographies of Muḥammad in Arabic,
Persian, Urdu, Bengali, and several other South Asian languages, as well as English,
French, German, Italian and Turkish is provided in Sayyid Iftik̲h̲ar Shah, Armag̲h̲an-i
ḥaq, vol. ii: Kutub sīrat, Multān, Pakistan 1981.

Other articles: J. Fück, Die Originalität des arabischen Propheten, in ZDMG, xc

(1936), 509-25 = J. Fueck, The originality of the Arabian prophet, in Studies on
Islam, tr. and ed. M.L. Swartz, New York and Oxford 1981, 86-98

E.J. Jurji, Pre-Islamic use of the name Muhammad, in MW, xxvi (1936), 389-91

G. von Grünebaum, Von Muḥammad’s Wirkung und Originalität, in WZKM, xliv

(1937), 29-50

W. Thomson, Muhammed [sic] his life and person, in MW, xxxiv (1944), 96-133

idem, A new life of Mohammed [sic], in MW, xxxvi (1946), 344-51

E. Hammershaime, The religious and political development of Muhammad, in MW,

xxxix (1949), 126-35, 195-207

Fück, Muhammed—Personlichkeit und Religionsstiftung, in Saeculum, iii (1952), 70-

93

W.M. Watt, The Condemnation of the Jews of Banu Qurayzah, in MW, xlii (1952),
160-71

J. Robson, Ibn Isḥāq’s use of the isnād, in BJRL, xxxviii (1955-6), 449-65

R.B. Serjeant, Professor A. Guillaume’s translation of the Sīrah, in BSOAS, xxi

(1958), 1-14

M. Rodinson, Bilan des études mohammediennes, in Revue Historique, ccxxix (1963),

169-220 = A critical survey of modern studies on Muhammad, in Studies on Islam, tr.
and ed. Schwartz, 23-85

M. al-Nowaihi, Towards a re-evaluation of Muḥammad: Prophet and man, in MW, lx

(1970), 300-13

Rodinson, The life of Muḥammad and the sociological problem of the beginnings of
Islam, in Diogenes, xx (1975), 28-51

M. Hamidullah, Life of the holy prophet: new light on some old problems, in Islamic
order, i (1979), 84-94
I. Goldfeld, The illiterate Prophet (nabī ummī): an inquiry into the development of a
dogma in Islamic tradition, in Isl., lvii (1980), 58-67

S.A.R. Naqvi, Prophet Muhammad’s image in Western enlightened scholarship, in IS,

xx (1981), 137-51. For other articles on Muḥammad, see Pearson, Index Islamicus
and Supplements, ad locc.

for monographs and articles since 1982, see The Quarterly Index Islamicus, ad locc.
Cf. also ḤADĪT̲H̲, MAG̲H̲ĀZĪ and SĪRA.

 (F. Buhl-
 [A.T. Welch])

2. The Prophet in popular Muslim piety.

A visitor listening to a good ḳawwālī in the Indian subcontinent or attending a mevlűt

( mawlūd ) party in Turkey will always be impressed by the deep and loving
veneration shown to the Prophet of Islam. Stories about him, his life and his
intercession have permeated popular Muslim thought and poetry everywhere, and
although Muḥammad never claimed to have performed any miracle, traditional folk
poetry, be it in the mountains of Čitrāl or in West Africa, in Turkey or in Indonesia,
indulges in extensive description of his marvellous attributes and actions.

Some miracles are inspired by Ḳurʾānic expressions. The “Splitting of the moon”
(sūra LIV, 1) forms a favourite topic of poets, especially in India. ¶ There, even the
conversion of one King Farmāḍ at the Konkan coast is attributed to his having
witnessed how the moon was split; after realising that this event had happened that
very night in Mecca, he converted to Islam. A 19th-century miniature from the Hindu
court of Kotah still shows this miracle. Even more important for popular mystical
trends is the Ḳurʾānic term ummī which was given to the Prophet and interpreted as
“illiterate”. The conviction that the Prophet had to be illiterate in order to remain an
immaculate vessel for the “inlibration” of the Divine word in the Ḳurʾān is central to
Muslim piety. The folk mystics then extended this concept by claiming that it is
enough to know only the alif because this first letter of the alphabet contains the
meaning of the four sacred books, and similar to the ummī Prophet, the true mystic is
simply a vessel for divine inspiration. That is why whole groups of Turkish folk
singers in the late Middle Ages adopted the soubriquet ummī (e.g. Ümmī Kemāl,
Ümmī Sinān).

Perhaps the most beautiful elaboration of a Ḳurʾānic remark about the Prophet is
found in the concept of raḥma (sūra XXI, 107). In Oriental countries, rain is often
called raḥmat “mercy”, and from this it was only one step to imagine the Prophet as a
rain cloud dispensing blessing and stretching from Istanbul to Lucknow or whichever
cities the poet had in mind (a 19th-century Balūčī poet enumerates 141 places where
his mercy is operative, beginning with England!). The finest examples of this imagery
come from Indo-Muslim poetry. Thus the Sindhi poet S̲h̲āh ʿAbd al-Laṭīf (d. 1752)
uses the concept of the cloud of mercy most ingeniously in his Risālō to show how the
Prophet’s coming revives the dead hearts, just as rain revives the seemingly dead
earth. Mīrzā G̲h̲ālib’s (d. 1869) Abr-i gawharbār “The jewel-carrying cloud” in
honour of the Prophet is another good example of this imagery.
A favourite of high and popular piety is the Prophet’s miʿrād̲j̲ [q.v.] which is
described in ever-increasing details by poets in Turkey, India, and Africa. The story
offered innumerable possibilities to sing of the radiant Prophet on his swift mount
Burāḳ. In the course of time, Burāḳ became a kind of protective symbol, so that
nowadays numerous representations of this creature with a woman’s head and a
peacock’s tail are found on the rear of trucks in Pākistān and Afg̲h̲ānistān, as if Burāḳ
were to carry the driver as safely through the rugged roads of the Hindūkus̲ h̲ as he
once carried the Prophet into the Divine Presence. On such pictures, Muḥammad
appears today usually as a white cloud or rose above the saddle, while former artists
showed him in full, though usually with his face covered.

Other miracles have no basis in the Ḳurʾān, but belong to the general folk tradition.
The Prophet’s washing water was filled with baraka , charismatic power, he
performed miracles connected with food (like milking Umm Maʿs̲ h̲ar’s barren sheep)
and the pebbles in his hand and the doors and walls of the house greeted him. Trees
bowed before him, and a cloud protected him from the sun. But perhaps the best-
known story telling of love of inanimate things for him is that of the ḥannāna , the
“sighing” palm trunk on which Muḥammad used to lean while preaching; when the
first minbar [q.v.] was built and the old piece of wood was no longer needed, it began
to sigh intensely because it missed the touch of the Prophet’s hand.

His relationships with animals are often described, whether it be Abū Hurayra’s cat
which killed a venomous snake to save the Prophet’s life and was ¶ therefore caressed
by him (that is why cats never fall on their back), whether wolf and lizard attested his
prophetship or whether the gazelle spoke. The story of the gazelle was a favourite
with popular poets; in Sindhi alone, 13 versions of this story have been noted down.
According to it, Muḥammad found a trapped gazelle who was longing to feed her
kids; sending her off, he himself entered the trap to bail her out. The plight of the
faithful animal and the amazement of the infidel hunter offer a wonderful topic for
touching ballads.

It is remarkable how many stories and concepts trickled down from high mystical
circles to the folk level, even as far down to lullabies. The Divine saying lawlāka “But
for thy sake I would not have created the spheres”, makes many singers call
Muḥammad simply “the lord of lawlāk ”; the idea of the primordial light that was the
first thing created is reflected in many songs, and legends tell of his “shadowless”
presence. Legends about his birth “when the whole world was filled with light”
abound, and from early times onward the day was celebrated by illuminations. To
listen to stories or poems about his birth ( mawlūd ) [see MAWLID , MAWLIDIYYA ] is
considered most meritorious. Yūnus Emre [q.v.] sings, around the year 1300, in
Anatolia that those who recite mawlūds will be called on Doomsday to enter Paradise
immediately, and similar ideas are expressed in Swahili mawlūd poems. This goes
together with the firm belief in the Prophet’s intercession ( s̲ h̲afāʿa [q.v.]), a privilege
granted to him during his heavenly journey when he was promised in the Divine
Presence that he would be allowed to intercede for his community. Therefore it is
often told that Muḥammad will appear on Doomsday with his green flag (the liwāʾ al-
ḥamd , “flag of praise”) and call out ummatī ummatī “My community!” while all other
humans ask only help for themselves. Descriptions of this scene are frequent in
popular ballads from early times.
One way to secure his intercession is to recite the ṣalawāt s̲ h̲arīfa (or durūd ) for him,
the blessing formula mentioned in sūra XXXIII, 56. The ṣalawāt has developed in
popular piety to the most important formula besides the s̲ h̲ahāda and the basmala ,
and many people will not begin their work unless they have uttered the durūd, which
often is used also as a d̲h̲ikr formula. It is believed that the Prophet is present in
meetings devoted to the recitation of blessings for him, and some pious people claim
to have been visited by the Prophet who “wanted to kiss the mouth that blesses him”.
In folk tradition, the humming of the bees is interpreted as their uttering the ṣalawāt,
and in countries as far apart as mediaeval Anatolia and Sind one says that honey
becomes sweet when the bees hum the ṣalawāt while entering the beehive. Likewise,
the human heart will become sweet when following this custom. The conviction that
the Prophet is indeed alive and can visit those who are devoted to him leads to the
custom of addressing him in the second person during d̲h̲ikr meetings; many stories
tell how he stretched out his hand from his rawḍa in Medina to greet or to vindicate
some of his descendants. Even more, the fact that there are so many relics of the
Prophet’s hair in various places leads some people to believe that his hair can grow
and multiply because he is fully alive. He can therefore also appear in dreams to
console, exhort, or inform his friends, and since Satan cannot take on his shape, these
dreams are always true.

The numerous songs and stories told and retold among the people serve to establish a
personal relationship with the Prophet, and this very warm feeling is something few
outsiders realise. The Prophet ¶ appears like the venerable elder member of the family
who should be obeyed and imitated; the clinging to his sunna has (or had) nothing
abstract to it, but expressed this feeling of belonging to his spiritual family. Connected
with this relationship is the custom of naming boys after the Prophet, for according to
a tradition, everyone by the name of Muḥammad will be called to enter Paradise. In
order not to spoil the baraka of this name, it is often vocalised differently, such as
Meḥmed in Turkey, Mūḥ in North Africa, or else the child is given another name of
the Prophet (who has 99 asmāʾ s̲ h̲arīfa , corresponding to the 99 names of God).
Among these names Muṣṭafā , Aḥmad (cf. sūra LXI, 5), Ṭāhā , Yāsīn as well as Munīr
, Sirād̲j̲ , Muddat̲ h̲t̲ h̲ir , etc., are often used. For one knows:

Your name is beautiful, you yourself are beautiful, Muḥammad, as Yūnus Emre says.
Thus descriptions of his over-whelming beauty and kindness occur frequently; he may
be addressed, as often in Sindhi poetry, as “bridegroom” or simply as the “sweet
prince”, mit́t́hā mīr .

This devotion to Muḥammad on the mystically-tinged popular level seems to

intensify in the course of the centuries, and the poets would express their wish to be a
dog at his threshold or claim that they were not worthy of singing his praise even
though they might have cleansed their mouth with rose water a thousand times. They
dreamt of visiting his rawḍa in Medina (there is a whole genre of popular poetry in
the various regional languages expressing their longing for the Prophet’s city), and
despite the reminders by some theologians that not the Prophet but the Ḳurʾān is the
veritable centre of Islam, the devotion to him was, and in most cases still is, the
strongest binding power among Muslims, in whichever way they may interpret his
role: as the trustworthy intercessor or as the primordial light, as gentle friend of
humans and animals or as political leader of his community, as “cloud of mercy” or as
the seal of prophethood who united in himself the stern, law-giving character of
Moses and the loving kindness of Jesus to become the model for humanity in general.
Iḳbāl has voiced the general opinion about the position of the Prophet in his daring
verse in the D̲j̲āwīd-nāma (1932):

You can deny God but you cannot deny the Prophet.

Bibliography

Complete references are given in A. Schimmel, And Muhammad is His Messenger,

Chapel Hill 1985.

(Annemarie Schimmel)

3. The Prophet’s image in Europe and the West. A. The image in the Latin Middle
Ages

In the learned, Latin circles of the Middle Ages in Europe (ca. 800-1400 A.D.), a
remarkable amount of concrete data about the life of the Prophet Muḥammad was
known and available. (In the following we have limited ourselves exclusively to
these; Islam as a religion is left aside, although the separation cannot always be
maintained.) Even if the knowledge about Muḥammad’s life which is at the disposal
of an historian of Islam in our days is taken into account, it might be maintained with
some justice that a historically reliable life of the Prophet, in its essential features,
could have been written in mediaeval Europe when based on a selective choice of the
correct knowledge then available. The main themes of the following section are the
characterisation of the knowledge about Muḥammad in mediaeval Europe,
remarkably precise to some extent, and the answer to the question why it was yet
completely impossible to compose an objective life of the Prophet.

First there follows here a survey of the concrete ¶ knowledge about Muḥammad’s life
(until ca. 1400). The time of his life and work could be fixed quite accurately on the
basis of the respective data of the reigning period of the Byzantine emperor Heraclius.
By classifying the Islamic Prophet within the genealogical line “Hagar/Ismael”, there
was at least an accord with the self-evidence of Muslim genealogy. (The fact that the
latter too was a fiction, is a matter of secondary importance here.) About
Muḥammad’s milieu , Arabia, the following information was after all available: a lack
of political structures; warlike, predatory activities considered characteristic for the
way of life; a manifold idolatry as religious expression (i.e. the essential marks of
Arabian tribalism); and also the settlement of Christian and Jewish groups in Arabia.
As for Muḥammad’s pre-prophetic period, it was known that Mecca was his native
town, that he grew up as an orphan with foster-parents, that his kindred was not
connected with the important ones in Mecca, that Mecca itself was active in trade and
that in this context Muḥammad’s first wife was K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a. which fact, among other
things, led to extensive journeys. Mediaeval tradition was also aware of possible
contacts, during such journeys, with homines religiosi, who transmitted to the later
Prophet elements of monotheistic religiosity, such as the Baḥīrā story or his contact
with “seekers after righteousness ( hanīf s)”, known in Muslim tradition; these
contacts were likewise considered as forming the connection with the themes of the
Old and New Testaments of later Ḳurʾānic revelations.
Muḥammad’s comparatively late call was known as such, as was the fact that he
experienced it as having taken place partly under strong physical or psychological
pressure, and that he perceived Gabriel as the transmitter of divine messages. The
knowledge that Muḥammad was conscious of being an exclusive transmitter ( missus
, nuntius , legatus , apostolus ) of divine orders, of being purely human, not endowed
with supernatural powers (no miracles), and finally also of being illiterate ( ummī )
corresponds with historical reality. About the general character of the divine
revelations (only this can be discussed here), correct knowledge had been collected,
together with numerous fictions: apart from parallels with Old and New Testament
traditions, it was known that monotheism (i.e. the explicitly hostile opposition against
the surrounding polytheism) played a central role; that judgement would be passed
about reward or punishment at a coming Day of Judgement; that the divine precepts
also dealt with matters of this world (the Ḳurʾān is therefore often indicated as lex ).

Muḥammad’s initial failure in Mecca, generally known as such, could be specified

with correct details: only a few followers (a certain number of names are given here);
assessment by the Meccans that he was a “magician” or was possessed, endeavours on
their part to “buy him off” from his divine assignment; his short-lived temptation
through the so-called “Satanic Verses”; the temporary emigration of a part of the
Muslims to Ethiopia. The fact that it was necessary for the Prophet to migrate to
Medina (even the older name Yat̲ h̲rib, in various forms of transcription, may appear
here) was also known, as were his ultimate successes there and his intensive warlike
activities to conquer the Meccans, successful in the end, and to subdue and oust the
Jews of Medina. There was even some correct information circulating about the
Prophet’s alleged “polygamy”, such as about ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a being Muḥammad’s most
important consort during the Medina period, including the temporarily rife rumours
about her infidelity; also about the delicate Zaynab/Zayd/Muḥammad affair and its
reflection in ¶ the Ḳurʾānic revelation. Finally, Muḥammad’s ascension to heaven (
isrāʾ or miʿrād̲j̲ [q.v.]) and a number of details corresponding with Muslim tradition
about this, were also known; correct statements about the occurrence of his death and
further circumstances surrounding it could be made: the Prophet’s quite human
(painful) death in ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a’s care, his unpretentious burial, ʿUmar’s refusal to believe
that he was dead and the danger that the Muslim community might disintegrate after
the Prophet’s death.

This certainly impressive knowledge of mediaeval Europe about the life of the Islamic
Prophet (the preceding enumeration, by the way, does not claim completeness)
should, however, be assessed in its historical context, i.e. put in perspective. With this,
the quality of that knowledge is lost almost completely, even if, on its face value, it
may appear as positive since we are dealing in a historiographical way with
unfamiliar material. In this context, three aspects have to be considered and explained.

1. The knowledge presented here has been brought together during a very extended
course of time and partly along extraordinarily tortuous paths. The single elements of
knowledge, increasing gradually, were _ecognized as “true” and given preference
over other “tarnished” information by the first authors only, but not by their later
followers. Moreover, the fact that at first fragments and later complete knowledge was
at hand, did not in any way entail general diffusion and availability. Hence not one of
the mediaeval authors who tried to describe the life of Muḥammad, rendered the state
of knowledge which was theoretically possible at any given time; how much correct
information appeared at any time in a writer’s representation depended more or less
on chance.

2. Correct information about Muḥammad’s life obviously originated ultimately from

genuine Islamic sources. But it was spread in Europe by non-Muslim transmitters,
who had lived in the Islamic environment for a longer period of time or permanently
(and almost without exception were versed in Arabic). However, as non-Muslims
under Islamic domination or in Islamic surroundings, they were, as a rule, not
concerned with the diffusion of an objective, let alone a positive, image of
Muḥammad. Consequently, in both the selection and the transmission of “true”
elements of Muḥammad’s biography their emphasis is distant if not polemical.

3. Already coloured in a mildly negative way, the correct assertions about the life of
the Islamic Prophet then reached the studies of Christian authors, who were not only
complete outsiders to Islam but also intent on using their pens to completely
disqualify Islam and thus the Prophet in the first place. With this, these assertions
were used selectively and mainly in so far as they were suitable for polemics, which
went as far as scornful malignity. Occasionally, these assertions were also changed
accordingly, but they were above all interwoven with fictitious elements in such a
way that they were often divested completely of their historical value. The most
different mixtacomposita of this kind became for a long period the basis of the image
of Muḥammad in Christian Europe.

The general assertions given under 2. and 3. have to be illustrated and specified in the
following by concrete data about the most important authors and the dominant
motives of the mediaeval Muḥammad biographies. First we shall deal with the
transmitters and the transmission of the biographical material.

The essential starting-points for the traditions ¶ about Muḥammad which were
circulating in the European Middle Ages were Byzantium, on the one hand, and the
Christians in Spain living under Islamic domination ( mustaʿribūn or Mozarabs [q.v.])
on the other. The Oriental Christians, as well as the Crusaders, resident for a longer
period in the Orient, do not seem to have contributed much material. Of the Oriental
Christians it was above all the very early John of Damascus (7th-8th century) who left
distinct traces; from the circles of the Crusaders, William of Tripoli (13th century)
should be mentioned in the first place. Through Sir John Mandeville (14th century),
who based himself on the latter’s material, it found a really wide diffusion. The well-
founded Byzantine knowledge about Muḥammad and early Islam became known in
the West through Anastasius Bibliothecarius (9th century), who copied the
Chronographia of Theophanes (8th-9th century). As has been shown recently,
Theophanes had access to early Islamic-Arabic tradition (however acquired).

The most important source for information about Muḥammad, however, was without
any doubt Spain. Already in the 9th century, Eulogius of Cordova, the central figure
of the Mozarabic martyrdom movement (forming a front against the ruling Islam as
well as against conforming fellow-Christians), had recorded biographical details about
Muḥammad in his polemic against Islam; they do not however seem to have become
known outside southern Spain. On the other hand, the appropriate notes in the dialogi
of Petrus Alphonsi or Pedro de Alfonso (11th-12th century), a Spanish Jew who was
converted to Christianity, found wider diffusion. The famous “Toledo-Cluny
collection” owes its origin to the deliberate intention to gain the most comprehensive
knowledge of Islam (including the Prophet). This collection had been ordered by
Petrus Venerabilis, Abbot of Cluny (first half of the 12th century) to be translated in
Toledo in order to bring about an extensive refutation of the Islamic religion on a
solid basis. The treatises Liber generationis Mahumet , Doctrina Mahumet and
Summa totius haeresis Saracenorum from this collection, which, as is well known,
also contained a Latin translation of the Ḳurʾān, have certainly been important for the
later image of Muḥammad in Christian Europe. The most considerable influence,
however, seems to have been that of the treatise Epistola Saraceni or Rescriptum
Christiani , the translation from Arabic of a polemic ( risāla ) which is dated before
the year 1000 and composed by an Oriental Christian (?), whose name ʿAbd al-Masīḥ
b. Isḥāḳ al-Kindī (cf. the name of his Muslim opponent ʿAbd Allāh b. Ismāʿīl al-
Hās̲ h̲imī) is undoubtedly a pseudonym. The corresponding passages in the Speculum
Historiale of Vincent of Beauvais (13th century) are above all based on this
translation. Altogether, in the 13th century there originated then those writings which
finally completed in essence the whole knowledge of the European Middle Ages and
which—apparently by always going back directly to Arabic-Islamic sources—
transmitted a remarkably wide spectrum of correct information: the Quadruplex
reprobatio , whose author remains obscure, and the writings concerning Islam of
Petrus Paschasius or Pedro Pascual, of Ricoldus de Monte Crucis or Ricoldo da
Monte Croce (going back ultimately to a text written in Arabic by a Mozarab, known
in Latin as Contrarietas elfolica), of Ramňn Martě, and of Ramňn Lull or Raimundus
Lullus.

Just because of its considerable popularity, mention should finally be made of the
“Corozan legend”, which describes Muḥammad as a great magician in connection
with his marriage to a lady from the country ¶ “Corozan”; this legend appears for the
first time in Hugo of Fleury (beginning of the 12th century).

We shall deal now with the most important motives and groups of motives which
decisively marked the image of Muḥammad in the European Middle Ages and fixed it
afterwards for a long time (with offshoots until today).

With very few exceptions, the concept of the mediaeval biography of the Islamic
Prophet was dominated by a single tendency, namely to prove that Muḥammad, in the
way he had lived and acted, could not have been a prophet, that his alleged divine
revelations consequently were man’s work and that Islam at the very most is an
abstruse heresy of Christianity. Made subservient to this basic concept, there appear in
the mediaeval Muḥammad biography four kinds of motives, which may perhaps be
characterised as follows:

1. Authentic accounts which—hardly or not at all changed—were, according to the

mediaeval Christian concept, already as such sufficient to disqualify Muḥammad as a
Prophet.

2. Authentic accounts which by a little shift of emphasis and/or by inserting them into
a false context of history or argumentation, unmasked Muḥammad as a pseudo-
prophet.
3. Motives which ultimately are based on authentic material but which hardly permit
one to _ecognize this connection because they have been garbled by being shortened,
enlarged or contextually placed so as to serve a polemic argumentation (these
manipulations can also be found in various combinations or all together).

4. Pure fiction (not very often found).

When we follow Muḥammad’s course of life in outline, while characterising the main
motives, his origin and conditions of life should be mentioned as the first important
group of motives. Muḥammad and his contemporaries, the Saraceni , are descendants
of the Dondi maid’s (Hagar’s) son Ishmael, for whom already in the Bible (Gen.
16,12; 21,13) an extensive but wild and warlike posterity is predicted. It was not
difficult to apply this Ishmael filiation, already used by Isidore of Seville and Bede for
a (negative) representation of the Arabes or Saraceni, in a polemical way against
Muḥammad: as a descendant of a rude, barbarically warlike people, who had neither
government nor law and who moreover practised an unrestrained polytheism, he was
not exactly predestined to prophethood. Add to this his own low status in his tribe, to
which his “illiteracy” could be added as an aggravating and fitful epithet. This quality
of ummī , which in the Islamic tradition formed a solid argument in favour of the
divine origin of the Ḳurʾānic revelations, thus in the West—where it was known since
about 1100—almost served the opposite aim. Being of humble origin in several
respects, surrounded by polytheists and, on top of that, “illiterate”, Muḥammad could
evidently easily be misled. To this are linked the manifold versions of his intercourse
with doubtful homines religiosi, who passed on to him, in his ignorant naivety,
heretical Christian and/or Jewish doctrines as the true religion, a main primary motive
which—linking up remotely with Islamic traditions—apparently had already reached
the West through John of Damascus. As seducers of this type there appear the Arian-
Nestorian monk Sergius or Baḥīrā (taken directly from Muslim tradition), and also
anonymous heretics, who had been forced to flee to the fringes of the Christian
oecumene and could only be up to their tricks with the help of Muḥammad. The
genuine Islamic motive, according ¶ to which Muḥammad’s prophethood is
confirmed by exponents of pre-Islamic religions (who see prophesied signs as being
fulfilled by Muḥammad), is turned by the very same people into a seduction to
prophethood of the ignorant Saracen. Seducer and seduced in the end could,
incidentally, melt into one and the same person. The abstruse motive of Muḥammad
being a Christian cleric, even a cardinal, who through ambition had become an
apostate and had fulfilled his aims by founding a new sect, must thus have come into
being. For the rest, the entire group of motives of “Muḥammad being seduced by
dubious figures” is the context for the view, predominantly represented in the learned
mediaeval West, that Islam is a Christian heresy, while the representation of
Muḥammad as part of the pantheon of a polytheistic Islam is a persistent element of
the “popular” image of Islam in the Middle Ages.

Muḥammad’s origin from humble conditions, in combination with the knowledge

about his marriage to K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a, active in trade (and thus rich), could also be used
polemically in another direction: having suddenly become familiar with the so far
unknown possibilities of wealth (i.e. social influence), Muḥammad was seized by an
unrestrained striving for power, which in the end brought him to work his way to be a
ruler by means of alleged prophethood. Thus the mediaeval traditions about
Muḥammad’s experience of his call and his early preaching are dominated by the fact
that his transition to prophethood is both proved and qualified as based on deception.
The motives used in this can amount to (guiltless) self-deception, but the tendency to
make Muḥammad appear as a deceitful imposter is predominant. The self-deception
is generally depicted as pathological: endeavours of the Ḳurays̲ h̲, which had been
transmitted, to interpret Muḥammad as a magically-possessed person ( mad̲j̲nūn ) or
also Islamic traditions relating the Prophet’s fainting fits ( g̲h̲us̲ h̲iya ʿalayhi and other
such expressions) in connection with the revelations in this context, produced
welcome material for the image of a Muḥammad who was psychologically ill—the
term “epileptic” was a particular favourite—who considered his delusions as divine
announcements. By using another motive, it was also maintained that he experienced
the instructions of his heretical teachers as messages of the archangel Gabriel (Sergius
being somehow identical with Gabriel). The most favourite theme, however, seems to
have been that of Muḥammad the impostor. Driven by ambition and eagerness for
power, and/or provided with magical qualities (this again was an element of Islamic—
and Ḳurʾānic—tradition, the Ḳurays̲ h̲ see in Muḥammad a magician ( sāḥir )),
Muḥammad conjures up a divine assignment for prophethood before the Saracens and
seduces them into submission under an allegedly divine “law”, which in reality,
however, is the legalisation of his own power and personal desire, cloaked in a
religious guise. In this view, the (in themselves positive) contents of the Ḳurʾān, such
as the summons to strict monotheism, the warning of the Day of Judgement and the
command to give alms, lose their proper value; they degenerate into suitable tricks of
an impostor. His alleged ascension to heaven ( isrāʾ or miʿrād̲j̲ ) is of course also
deceit. These already highly imaginative and imagination-nourishing details of the
Islamic tradition, known in the Middle Ages, seem to have had a fascination for the
mediaeval authors. However, that Muḥammad was a hypocrite and an imposter is
above all evident from the fact that he was not able to work wonders, especially as the
Ḳurʾān and the Islamic tradition themselves emphasise this explicitly. The purely ¶
human qualities of the Prophet, so essential for Islamic theology, constituted for the
mediaeval Christian the most conclusive counter-argument, repeated and varied again
and again, against Muḥammad’s prophethood, and were simply the proof of his being
a charlatan.

As for Muḥammad’s time in Medina, the mediaeval polemic against him is marked
above all by two groups of motives: his conduct of war and his sexual life, both not
worthy of a prophet anyhow. Measured by the Christian exhortation to peace, a
founder of religion who declared warlike activities to be religiously meritorious—as
is again shown extensively by the Ḳurʾān and the Islamic tradition—and who called
his followers to battle and acted as commander himself, could not be acceptable.
Razzias, with the pseudo-prophet in person as princeps latronum in the vanguard and
shamefully declared to be according to God’s directions, were inspired rather by
pursuit of power and lust for booty.

Much more, however, than in Muḥammad’s positive attitude about war, mediaeval
authors were pruriently interested in his sexual life, a central theme already
transmitted to Europe by John of Damascus. Many mediaeval representations give the
impression right away that the real centre of life and the most important movens of the
Islamic Prophet had been his excessively strong sexual urge. It is not necessary to
enter here into the details of the mediaeval polemic against Muḥammad in sexualibus.
In any case, the emphasis given to this matter shows that it does not seem unfounded
to think that the Christian Middle Ages, prudish and extraordinarily restrictive in
sexual matters, could give themselves a somewhat free verbal rein by anathematising
an anti-hero. By mediaeval standards, the genuine Islamic information about
Muḥammad’s attitude, and that of his followers, towards women and marriage
(having become known gradually), was already sufficient by itself to provoke great
indignation and denial. Polygamy legitimised by the Ḳurʾān; Muḥammad’s special
rights in this respect; the suspicion of infidelity against ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a, Muḥammad’s
favoured wife; the Zaynab affair vindicated by a Ḳurʾānic revelation; the sensual
paradise which finally awaited the believers; all these represented already by
themselves enormities and became a welcome basis for imaginative and hedonistic
adornments. The polemic against the lascivious lifestyle of the immunditiae totius
amator or also carnalibus vitiis totus brutalis often went a step further: the alleged
prophethood and the so-called “divine revelations” mainly served to legitimise
Muḥammad’s abnormal sexual needs (and those of his followers): this was pure
blasphemy indeed.

The last group of motives consists of the mediaeval descriptions of Muḥammad’s

death. In this context also, correct knowledge could be useful for polemics, like the
quite normal human death, which did not correspond to the representations of the
demise of a holy man, even of a prophet, and Muḥammad’s death in the arms of
ʿĀʾis̲ h̲a, a detail which was gratifying to sexual polemics. Other motives originated
from contaminations, such as the fact that Muḥammad expected an ascension to
heaven (miʿrād̲j̲) which did not however occur, or the epilepsy motive was applied
again, now as the cause of death. Finally, information according to which Muḥammad
died of a drinker’s delirium (the Islamic prohibition of wine being in the background)
is a malicious fiction, as are also those reports which say that his dead body was torn
to pieces by dogs and/or pigs (these animals being certainly known as the most
unclean for Islam).

This summary may have made it clear that any ¶ single group of motives might in fact
already have sufficed to disqualify Muḥammad as a prophet. If all polemic elements
are added up, the image arises of a monstrous anti-prophet, whose doctrine and the
religion built upon it automatically lack any truthfulness.

(A. Noth)

B. The image in mediaeval popular texts and in modern European literature

1. Popular texts of the Middle Ages

(a) Heroic epic and Crusaders’ epic: Muḥammad as god

The knowledge of Muḥammad’s life as known in Latin theological texts is at first

hardly reflected in popular literature. Muḥammad (in French: Mahon , Mahomés ,
Mahun , Mahum , Mahumet ; in German: Machmet in Old Icelandic: Maúmet ) is first
mentioned in the 12th-century genre of the Chanson de geste ; next to Tervagan
(German Tervigant ), Apollin (German Appollo ), Jupiter and others, he is represented
as an idol, whose image the Saracen warriors take with them into battle; after a defeat
they throw it among the dogs and pigs or into the river or also trample on it (e.g.
Chanson de Roland , ca. 1100, v, 2590 ff.; the German Rolandslied of the cleric
Konrad, second half of the 12th century, v, 7135-41; Historia Karoli et Rotholandi of
Pseudo-Turpin, middle of the 12th century). Like Christ or God the Father with the
Christians, he is implored for help by the Saracens, but is shown as being ineffective
(e.g. Chanson de Roland, v, 3640-7). Muḥammad also appears as an idol in the
anonymous Cycle de Guillaume d’Orange , in which the resistance against the
Saracens in Southern France is treated thematically. Wolfram von Eschenbach in his
Willehalm , as well as his imitators Ulrich von dem Türlin in his history preceding the
Willehalm, and Ulrich von Türheim in his Rennewart , represent him likewise as an
idol. Muḥammad also remains one of the heathen gods in the epics of the Crusades
(Richard le Pčlerin and Graindor de Douai: La Chanson d’Antioche (ca. 1180): La
Conquęte de Jérusalem (ca. 1180), La Chanson du Chevalier au Cygne et de
Godefroid de Bouillon (ca. 1200) and in Saladin , which belongs to the cycle of the
Second Crusade. When the fighting of the Christians against the Saracens emerges as
a theme to be treated, Muḥammad is still in the 13th century considered as god or as
idol, e.g. in Strieker’s Karl der Gro βe (ca. 1230), in the Old Icelandic Karlamagnus
saga (end of the 13th-beginning of the 14th century), and in the Partonopier und
Meliur of Konrad of Würzburg (ca. 1277). Since the origin of the Chansons de geste
is to be considered as close in time as well as in intentional connection with the first
Crusades (1096-9, 1147-9, 1189-92), it seems obvious to suppose that this coarsely-
counterfeited representation of Muḥammad as god and of Islam as polytheism
conceals a polemic intention. The popular texts aimed at a much larger public, one
which was not trained in the subtle argumentation of the theologians. If these texts
were to be successful, they had to adapt themselves to the imaginative powers, to the
social, political and religious interests of this public. Since here a much more eye-
catching resistance against the foreign religion was necessary than was the case with
the discourses of the theologians addressed to the specialists, the reproach of
polytheism and idolatry was above all apt to discredit the foreign religion in the eyes
of the Christians. Though the Christians were likewise reproached by the Muslims of
being idolaters because of the dogma of the Trinity, it is not likely that their
representing Muḥammad as an idol was a conscious retort against the criticism of
polytheism.

In English literature, Muḥammad appears as an ¶ idol in Mary Magdalene from the

Digby cycle. On the other hand, in his Piers Plowman (1362, 1373-4, 1394) William
Langland takes over the representation of Muḥammad as a renegade cardinal, and in
John Lydgate’s The Fall of the Princes (1438), Muḥammad is represented as an
heretic and false prophet in the story Off Machomet the false prophete.

(b) Romantic biographies of Muḥammad

It was only after the middle of the 13th century that romantic representations of
Muḥammad’s life appear: for the Roman de Mahom of Alexandre du Pont (1258) the
poem Otia de Machomete of Walter of Compičgne (middle of the 12th century) was
the model. As his informant, the narrator refers to a Muslim converted to Christianity
and represents Muḥammad as someone in bondage. Through his cleverly contrived
marriage to the widow of his former master, he not only attains his freedom and
wealth but also knows how to cover up his epileptic attacks as phenomena
accompanying visitations of angels and to pose as a new messenger of God’s will
through deceitful machinations.

Based on Arabic sources and, apart from one sentence in the foreword, free from
Christian evaluations, is L’eschiele Mahomet , an Old French translation of the Latin
Scala Mahomete and composed after 1264. The Scala itself, composed before 1264, is
a translation of the (lost) Escala de Mahoma (between 1260 and 1264), which in its
turn had been translated from Arabic into Spanish at the order of Alphonso X. The
sources of the original Spanish text are the isrāʾ and miʿrād̲j̲ . Woken up by the
archangel Gabriel, Muḥammad begins his journey on the mare Alborak and sets out
for Jerusalem, where he is honoured by the resurrected prophets. With the help of a
ladder guarded by angels, he reaches the hereafter and visits the seven heavens
accompanied by Gabriel. In the eighth heaven he meets with God, Who orders him to
make his people fast 40 days per year and to worship God 50 times a day. After the
return to the seventh heaven and a stay in a white, mysterious land, the journey leads
to the seven paradises, where Muḥammad receives from God the Ḳurʾān and is
ordered to make his people worship God 50 times a day and to fast 60 days every
year; at Muḥammad’s request the number of prayers is reduced to five per day. After
consultation with Moses, Muḥammad also obtains from God a reduction of the fast to
30 days. Through the description of Gabriel and a personal view from a safe distance,
Muḥammad learns about the seven classes of the subterranean hell which await the
sinners. Gabriel also informs him about the construction of the cosmos, about the end
of the world and the Last Judgement. With the order to announce to his people what
he had seen, Gabriel accompanies him back to Jerusalem, from where he returns on
the mare Alborak to Mecca to his still sleeping wife Omheni. He relates his
experiences to her and, against her warnings, to the Ḳurays̲ h̲ites. The latter believe
him only after he, enabled to do so through a vision, foretells to them how their
caravan which is returning from Jerusalem is organised.

Again more committed to Latin Christian polemics are Brunetto Latini’s Livre dou
Tresor (composed before 1267, enlarged after 1268), in which Muḥammad is
represented as a former monk and cardinal, and Dante’s Divina Commedia , where
Muḥammad finds himself, together with ʿAlī, among the sowers of discord and the
schismatics, being lacerated by devils again and again (Inferno, canto 28). The
Legenda Aurea of Jacob de Voragine (composed 1250-80 in Italy, translated into
German from the middle of the ¶ 14th century) stands also in this tradition. Here the
motive of the renegade priest who assists Muḥammad in obtaining power with the
help of a trained pigeon, which picks seeds from his ear (cf. Vincent of Beauvais,
Speculum historiale ), is combined with the story of Sergius (cf. Petrus Venerabilis,
Summa totius haeresis Saracenorum ): the Nestorian (or Jacobite) monk Sergius
functions as Muḥammad’s secret counsellor, and he passes off his instructions as
orders of the Holy Ghost. Falsified Christian doctrines came into the Ḳurʾān through
the intermediary of Sergius.

(c) Travel accounts of the Later Middle Ages

Finding himself likewise in the tradition of the Latin Lives of Muḥammad, John de
Mandeville again takes up a series of well-known motives in ch. 1,44, of his travel
account (middle of the 14th century; Latin, German and Dutch translations date from
the end of the same century): the door which arches higher at Muḥammad’s entrance;
the marriage to K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a notwithstanding his lowly origin; his epilepsy, which he
presents as visitations by the angel; his descent from the tribe of Ishmael; the murder
by his companions (imputed to him) of his eremitic counsellor while he sleeps
intoxicated; and his interdiction of the pleasure of drinking wine, are all connected
with this. The travel account of Johannes Schiltberger (latter third of the 15th
century), in which his own readings are mixed with stories he himself had heard in the
Orient, depicts, without polemic value judgements, Muḥammad’s poor childhood and
the prediction of a Christian priest who recognises in Muḥammad, because of a black
cloud floating over him, the prophesied founder of a new religion, which is to press
hard upon the Christians. The priest also recognises Muḥammad’s rise to become a
great scholar, an effective preacher and a mighty caliph (ch. 46).

2. Modern times

(a) Anti-Islamic tendencies

At the beginning of modern times, popular literature also admits altogether, with
respect to Muḥammad, the fabulous characteristics and degrading judgements of the
Christian theologians. It is true that Luther, in the commentary of his translation of the
Confutatio Alcorani of the Dominican friar Richard (1540), goes so far as to see the
Antichrist in the Pope rather than in Muḥammad because the latter attacks the
Christians in a recognisable way and from the outside, but for the rest he adopts the
prejudices transmitted since a long time and labels Muḥammad among other things as
the devil’s son. The Muḥammad biographies of the 17th century, in accordance with
the Christian tradition, impute to him sectarianism, robbery, indiscriminate warfare
and whoring. Thus Michel Baudier (1625) and Ludovico Maracci (1696-8), who,
within the framework of his Ḳurʾān translation, does however try his best to arrive at
some degree of impartiality. Using Islamic sources, Jean Gagnier wrote a Muḥammad
biography (1732) which is a polemic against Boulainvilliers and a denigration of
Islam.

For a longer time even than in France and Italy, the image of Muḥammad as an
impostor and a destroyer who is driven by ambition and avidity lasted in England.
Occasionally he is represented as the Antichrist or at least compared with him, as by
Alexander Ross in the preface of the English Ḳurʾān translation of 1649, as well as in
his work A View of all the religions of the World (1653). Muḥammad figures as a
heretic in the anonymous writing which appeared ca. 1653 Apocalypsis , or the
Revelation of Certain Notorious Advances of Heresie . The old legendary features are
also ¶ repeated in The Life and Death of Mahomet , the Prophet of the Turks , and
Author of the Alcoran (ca. 1653). In his First State of Muhametism , or an Account of
the Author and Doctrine of the Imposture (1678), Lancelot Addison for the first time
sets historical facts against the fabulous motives. He draws them partly from Arabic
sources and partly from Hottinger’s Historia ortientalis (see below), but his intention
is to fight any heresy. Muḥammad appears again as an impostor in Humphrey
Prideaux’s The True Nature of Imposture Fully Display’d in the Life of Mahomet
(1697), for a long time the most influential work, which still produces its after-effect
in the Life of Mohammed (1799) by an anonymous cleric (see below). Most of the
English authors of the 18th century stay with Prideaux’s judgement, such as David
Jones ( A Compleat History of the Turks , 1701), Simon Ockley ( The History of the
Saracens , 1708-18), the anonymous author of Four Treatises concerning the
Doctrine , Discipline , and Worship of the Mahometans , 1712 and Edward Upham (
A History of the Ottoman Empire , 1829), who admires however the perseverence
with which Muḥammad pursues his aims. A new wave of apocalyptic interpretations
of Islam and thus of Muḥammad is to be noted in England in the 19th century with
the Rev. Samuel Bush (Life of Mohammed, 1830), the Rev. Samuel Green (Life of
Mahomet, 1840), borrowing heavily from Bush, and William Sime ( History of
Mohammed and his Successors , 1873). The Sergius legend is taken up again by
Walter Savage Landor ( Mahomet and Sergius, 1829).

Even travel accounts perpetuated denigrating representations of Muḥammad, such as

George Sandys’s A Relation of a Journey begun An. Dom . 1610, in which
Muḥammad is represented as a leader of mercenaries who, in order to compensate for
his low birth, pretends to have become a leader through a divine call. In his Some
Yeares Travels into Divers Parts of Asia and Afrique (1638), Sir Thomas Herbert
takes up Muḥammad’s representation as the Antichrist, while John Pitts, a sailor who
had been abducted by pirates, forced to convert to Islam and had finally returned to
England, depicts Muḥammad as an ordinary and depraved impostor in A Faithful
Account of the Religion and Manners of the Mohammetans (1731)), just as is done by
James Bruce ( Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile , 1790).

In spite of numerous new initiatives for a more positive view, the discrediting
representation of Muḥammad continued until more recent times. Friedrich
Bodenstedt, for instance, in his Liedern der Mirza Schaffy (1851), makes Muḥammad
appear as an ominous destroyer and a “prophet of murder” and thus puts him in
contrast to the otherwise cheerfully and hedenistically described way of life in the
Orient. Paul Edmund von Hahn, in his narrative Mohammed , der Prophet (1931?)
takes as his theme the disparity between Muḥammad’s doctrine and his actions.

(b) Texts pointing towards a less biassed view

The way to a somewhat less biassed view of the Prophet is paved for the first time in
Latin with the representation of Muḥammad by Guillaume Postel in his De orbis
terrae concordia (first half of the 16th century) and by Jean Bodin in his
Heptaplomeres (middle of the 16th century). After the decline of the Turkish threat to
Central Europe from the beginning of the 17th century, the endeavour to establish an
image of Muḥammad which also did justice to Islamic tradition clearly increases.
This attitude is shown by J.H. Hottinger in his Historia orientalis (Zürich 1651),
although he still borrows many Christian prejudices. Pierre Bayle ( Dictionnaire
historique et critique , 1697), Adrianus Reland ( De religione Mohammedica libri II .,
Utrecht ¶ 1705) and the English Orientalist George Sale in the Preliminary Discourse
to his English translation of the Ḳurʾān (1734) go still further. As was the case with
Jean Gagnier (see above), Reland’s representation of Muḥammad is marked by the
intention to weaken the polemically-inspired comparisons of Protestant belief with
Islam.

The first biography of Muḥammad which combined an endeavour towards historical

accuracy with a positive appreciation of Muḥammad’s personality and of Islam, was
La Vie de Mahomet by Boulainvilliers (published posthumously in London, 1730).
Boulainvilliers described Muḥammad as a man of genius, a great lawgiver, a
conqueror and monarch, whose doctrine is characterised by justice and tolerance. A
positive image of Muḥammad is also secured by Leibniz in his Theodizee (1710),
because the Prophet did not deviate from the “natural religion”. In his Essai sur les
moeurs (1756), as well as in his Dictionnaire philosophique (1764), Voltaire
appreciated Muḥammad as a conqueror, lawgiver, ruler and also as a priest.
Influenced by Boulainvilliers’s representation, he emphasised Muḥammad’s greatness
and even saw in him an advocate of tolerance. Voltaire’s positive judgement,
expressed in his Essai, found its way to Turpin’s biography of Muḥammad in three
volumes (1773-9). This was then admitted by the English historian Edward Gibbon (
History of the decline and fall of the Roman empire, 1776-87), who in his valuation
hesitated, however, between condemnation and respect. In his Bampton Lectures
1784 (To confirm and establish the Christian faith, and to confute all heretics and
schismatics), Gibbon’s contemporary and fellow-countryman Joseph White
considered Muḥammad as a swindler, to be sure, but he acknowledged his
magnanimity (though calculated), seen in the release of prisoners. While Nathan
Alcock, in The Rise of Mahomet accounted for on Natural and Civil Principles
(1795), represented Muḥammad as an impostor deceived by his own fantasies, and
explained his success by the fact that he adapted his doctrine to the climatic and social
conditions of his land, Godfrey Higgins ( An Apology for the Life and Character of
the Celebrated Prophet of Arabia , called Mohamed , or the Illustrious , 1829),
emphasised Muḥammad’s uprightness and denied that ambition and cupidity had been
his motives. Thomas Carlyle went even further in his The hero as Prophet. Mahomed
: Islam, a lecture delivered in 1840. He attested Muḥammad’s uprightness, justice,
magnanimity and personal modesty, adduced the marriage to K̲h̲adīd̲j̲a as an argument
against the reproach of sensuality and ambition and justified the use of weapons to
defend religion.

Savary’s Ḳurʾān translation, published in 1783, was accompanied by an informative

biography of Muḥammad, which endeavoured to be unbiassed and testified to the
growing interest of the Enlightenment in comparative religion, just as was done in
Pastouret’s Zoroastre , Confutius et Mahomet , an academic paper published in 1787.

Jacob Morder’s fragment Mohammeds Reise ins Paradies , published in 1785, dealt
with the isrāʾ and miʿrād̲j̲ . In his Ideen zur Philosophie und Geschichte der
Menschheit (1791), Herder saw the Prophet as marked by influences exerted on him
by his kinship, his time and the religions around him, as a despiser of idolatry, but
also as someone endowed with an ardent fantasy which favoured his self-deception.

Historical greatness and personal performance are valuated by a series of dramas

about Muḥammad in the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries. Karoline von
Günderode’s dramatic sketch Mahomet ¶ oder der Prophet von Mekka , published in
1804, by using selected historical details, described Muḥammad as a faultless and
magnanimous human being, whose consciousness of his mission, based on feelings,
makes him into a symbol of the individual whom God has taken hold of. The
Orientalist J. von Hammer-Purgstall also based his historical play Mohammed oder
die Eroberung von Mekka , published in 1823, on the historical tradition, without
however falling into romantic idealisation, as had been Günderode’s case. Franz
Kaibel ( Muhammed , 1907) mixed historical and biographical elements with the
fictitious into a drama with a positive tendency, while Margarete von Stein’s
Mohammed (1912) represented Muḥammad as a self-assured prophet with a magical-
mystic belief, who felt himself as above the law.

In narrative poetry, too, the life of Muḥammad was more than once represented in
Germany during the 19th and at the beginning of the 20th centuries. In Eduard
Duller’s short novel Mohammed (1844), the historically-attested was amalgamated
with the invented into a historicised narrative with an admiring tendency. The novel
on Muḥammad by Klabund, composed in 1917, whose source is the Life of
Muḥammad by Ibn Isḥāḳ [q.v.] and in which Muḥammad preaches a rebirth of the
soul through spirit, justice and goodness, also belongs to the series of representations
tending to the glorification of Muḥammad. In Adalbert Schäffer’s novel Die Rose der
Hedschra (1923) Muḥammad appears as being above all human weaknesses. Positive
traits also prevail in poems which have Muḥammad’s life as their theme, as an
epigram by Haug (1803) and in poems by Friedrich Rückert (1868), C.B. Büttner
(1894), Martin Greif (1909) and Adolf Huber (1909), today altogether forgotten. In
his poetic cycle Werk (1848), G.Fr. Daumer emphatically set Muḥammad’s greatness
and his religion, which considered terrestrial gratification as a preliminary stage of
celestial enjoyment, against the Christian religion, which is criticised for its disdain of
this world.

(c) The life of Muḥammad as a vehicle of literary expression In 1742 Voltaire’s

tragedy Le Fanatisme , ou Mahomet le Prophčte was performed in Paris, but closed
after three performances under pressure of the clergy. Even the censorship perceived
that the religious fanaticism, deceit and hypocrisy, exemplified by the figure of
Muḥammad, was in fact aimed at the Christian clergy. In the series of representations
of Muḥammad which came into existence since the beginning of the 18th century,
Voltaire’s drama, translated by Goethe in 1799, stands out most among those which
aimed neither at a condemnation of Muḥammad as inspired by Christianity, nor at a
historically-justified description, but which made use of the figure in order to exercise
veiled criticism against their own society, to set a far-away Utopia against it, to gain a
licence for describing behaviour which is considered to be offensive in the own
cultural field, or to take as a theme the conflict between genius and human weakness.
To this series belonged at an earlier stage the comedy Arlequin Mahomet , performed
in 1714, in which Harlequin takes Muḥammad’s name, lands in Baṣra with a flying
sack bought from Boubékr and uses the authority, usurped as an alleged prophet, to
assist a Persian prince get the princess worshipped by the latter. Whilst Harlequin
plays here the role of match-maker, disguised as Muḥammad, some chivalrous novels
use Muḥammad as a pretext licentiously to represent amorous adventures, such as Les
amours de Mahomet écrits par Aiesha , une de ses femmes (anonymous, 1750), and
further, the Histoire secrčte du prophčte des turcs , ¶ traduite de l’Arabe of Lausselin
(1754), apparently republished in 1781 under the title Mémoires secrčtes et aventures
galantes de Mahomet , tirées d’un manuscrit trouvé dans la bibliothčque du Chérif de
la Mecque .

In 1778 Henry Brooke adapted Miller’s translation of Voltaire’s Mahomet, already

published in 1744, and gave the piece a happy ending. Influenced by Prideaux (see
above), an anonymous cleric, in his Life of Mohammed (1799), described Muḥammad
as a discreditable monster and thus saw him as a negative example.
Goethe’s plan of a Mahomet drama (cf. Dichtung und Wahrheit , III, 14) was only
realised in the poem Mahomets-Gesang , in which Muḥammad’s divinely-inspired
genius is represented in the image of a continuously increasing, all-sweeping stream.
Goethe’s idea to exemplify by Muḥammad’s figure “what influence a genius has over
people through character and spirit. . . and how it wins and loses at this” (Dichtung
und Wahrheit, III, 14) has been taken up again in some dramas of the 19th and early
20th centuries. Here emphasis is laid either on the inward conflict between the
Prophet’s duties and his human feelings and weaknesses (Georg Christian Braun,
Mahomeds Tod , 1815; Franz Nissel, Mohammed , 1858; Adolf Schafheitlin,
Mahomet, 1892) or on the corruption to which the purity of the doctrine is exposed
because of the resistance of the world (Otto von der Pfordten, Muhammed , 1898).
Philipp Ludwig Wolff (Mohammed, ca. 1855) saw himself as a critic of fanaticism in
the tradition of Voltaire’s Mahomet drama, but tried to stick more closely to the
historical facts. Ferdinand von Hornstein (Mohammed, 1906) was also occupied with
the problem of fanaticism, but approched it psychologically and saw in the inspired
believer’s autosuggestion the basis of his sweeping power. While Ernst Trampe in his
tragedy Muhammed (1907) represented Muḥammad as a human being upon whom
prophethood is forced and who, having taken it up against his will, develops into an
unscrupulous and calculating theocrat, Friedrich Wolf, in his Mohammed, written in
1917 under the influence of the First World War, published in 1924 and designated as
an oratorio, represented the Prophet as an ascetic and radiant apostle of nonviolence,
whose aim was the fraternisation of mankind and the reconciliation of nations.

In narrative poetry, too, the conflict between purity of will and human weakness is
exemplified in the figure of Muḥammad, as in Ida Frick’s Mohammed und seine
Frauen , a trilogy published in 1844 which describes Muḥammad’s transition from a
prophet, conscious of his mission, to a human being injured by envy, mistrust and
doubt, who, out of vengeance and hedonism, becomes a robber and in his feelings for
his wives has to fight with passion, jealousy and lust.

The Lives of Muḥammad were made instrumental for various purposes in lyrical
poems. In his Miscellaneen , published in 1794, Friedrich Bouterwek represented
Muḥammad’s work as a religious fight and heavenly promise. In his poem Posaune
des heiigen Krieges aus dem Munde Mohammeds , des Propheten (1806), J. von
Hammar-Purgstall used the figure of Muḥammad as an example of courage in battle
and self-sacrifice. Karoline von Günderode, in her Mahomets Traum in der Wüste
(1804), elucidated the Prophet’s purification from doubt concerning his mission. This
was also done by Adalbert von Hanstein in his poems about Muḥammad, published in
his collection Menschenlieder (1887). A romantically exalted image of the ageing
Muḥammad was depicted by Victor Hugo ¶ in La légende des sičcles (I, III: L’islam ,
l. L’an neuf de l’Hégire 2. Mahomet) (1859). Here, Muḥammad appears as a wise,
ascetic old man, susceptible to what is beautiful in people and nature and not alien to
human weakness.
¶
¶
¶
¶
Bibliography

A. d’Ancona, La leggenda di Maometto in occidente, in Giornale storico della

letteratura italiana, xiii (1899), 199-281

P. Martino, Mahomet en France au XVII e et au XVIII e sičcle, in Actes du XIV e

Congrčs international des Orientalistes. Troisičme partie: Langues musulmanes
(Arabe, Persan, Turc), Algiers 1905, repr. Liechtenstein 1968, 206-41

P. Alphandéry, Mahomet-Antichrist dans le moyen âge latin, in Mélanges H.

Derenbourg, Paris 1909, 261-77

L. Bouvat, Le Prophčte Mohammed en Europe, légende et littérature, in RMM, ix

(1909), 264-72

H. Haas, Das Bild Muhammeds im Wandel der Zeiten, in Zeitschr. f. Missionskunde

und Religionswiss., xxxi (1916), 161-71, 193-203, 225-39, 258-69. 289-95, 321-22,
352-65

G. Pfannmüller, Handbuch der Islam-Literatur, Berlin and Leipzig 1923, section Das
Leben Muhammeds, 115-98
L. Leixner, Mohammed in der deutschen Dichtung, diss. Graz 1932

S. Stein, Die Ungläubigen in der mittelhochdeutschen Literatur von 1050 bis ca.
1250, diss. Heidelberg 1932, repr. 1963

B.P. Smith, Islam in English literature, Beirut 1939

K. Heisig, Zur christlichen Polemik gegen Mohammad in den Chansons de geste, in

Roman. Jahrbuch, ii (1949), 221-3

N. Daniel, Islam and the West, the making of an image, Edinburgh 1960 (extensive
bibl.)

R.W. Southern, Western views of Islam in the Middle Ages, Cambridge, Mass. 1962,
Ger. tr. Das Islambild des Mittelalters, Stuttgart 1981

M. Rodinson, The ¶ Western image and Western studies of Islam, in J. Schacht and
C.E. Bosworth (eds.), The legacy of Islam, 2nd ed., Oxford 1974, 9-62 (many useful
bibliographical refs. in notes)

N. Daniel, The Arabs and mediaeval Europe, London and New York 1975, 235 ff.

Dorothée Metlitzki, The matter of Araby in mediaeval England, New Haven and
London 1977, 197 ff.

P. Bancourt, Les Musulmans dans les chansons de geste du cycle du roi, 2 vols., Aix-
en-Provence 1982 (full bibl.)

EJ. Morrall, Der Islam und Muhammad im späten Mittelalter. Beobachtungen zu

Michel Velsers Mandeville-Überseizung und Michael Christans Version der “Epistola
ad Mahumetem” des Papst Pius II, in Chr. Gerhardt, N.F. Palmer and B. Wachinger
(eds.), Geschichtsbewusstsein in der deutschen Literatur des Mittelalter s, Tübinger
Colloquium 1983, Tübingen 1985, 147-61. See also the Bibl. to MIʿRĀDJ̲ ̲. 2.

(Trude Ehlert)
Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid(237 words)
Robson, J.
Aḥmad b. Mūsā b. al-ʿAbbās Abū Bakr al-Tamīmī (245/859-324/936), was born in
Bag̲h̲dād and seems to have spent his life there. He is noted for his study of the
various Ḳurʾān readings, for the large number of pupils who attended his classes, and
for writing the first book on the seven Ḳurʾān readings. Al-K̲h̲aṭīb al-Bag̲h̲dādī calls
him a reliable authority ( t̲ h̲iḳa maʾmūn ), and quotes a statement made in 286/899 by
the grammarian Arimad b. Yaḥyā to the effect that at that time no one knew more
about the Ḳurʾān than Abū Bakr Ibn Mud̲jā̲ hid. Commentaries on his book about the
seven readings were written by Abū ʿAlī al-Fārisī (d. 377/987) in three volumes, and
by Ibn K̲h̲ālawayh (d. 370/980). Ḥād̲j̲diī K̲h̲alīfa (d. 1067/1657) says he possessed
both of these and the text. The Fihrist ends its short notice by naming a number of
books written by Ibn Mud̲jā̲ hid. As a result of his representations he was influential in
persuading the authorities to proscribe the Ḳurʾān versions of Ibn Masʿūd, Ubayy b.
Kaʿb and ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.
(J. Robson)
Bibliography
Fihrist, 31
al-K̲h̲aṭīb al-Bag̲h̲dādi, Taʾrīk̲h̲ Bag̲h̲dād, v, 144-8 (no. 2580)
al-Ḏj̲azari, G̲h̲āyat al-nihāya (Bibl. Isl. viiia), 139 (no. 663)
Ḥād̲j̲d̲j̲i K̲h̲alīfa, ed. Flügel, no. 2004
Ibn al-ʿImād, S̲h̲ad̲h̲arāt. year 324
L. Massignon, La passion d’al-Ḥallāj, i, 240-45
G. Bergsträsser and O. Pretzl, Geschichte des Qorans, iii, 210-13
Brockelmann, I, 203, S I, 328.

Ḳirāʾa(2,595 words)
Paret, R.

, reading. Applied to the Ḳurʾān, ḳirāʾa also means recitation . In the present article
the term ḳirāʾa is used as follows: 1. in the general sense of the recitation (a) of single
parts of the Ḳurʾān, as prescribed for the ritual prayer ( ṣalāt ), or the recitation (b) of
the entire Ḳurʾān, which has become, in the course of years, an accepted spiritual
exercise (ḳirāʾa = recitation) ; 2. to indicate a special reading of a word or of a single
passage of the Ḳurʾān (ḳirāʾa, pl. ḳirāʾat = variant); 3. to indicate a particular reading
of the entire Ḳurʾān (ḳirāʾa = reading). In the third case one speaks of the ḳirāʾa of
Ibn Masʿūd or of the ḳirāʾa of the people of Ḳūfa as opposed to the ḳirāʾa of other
authorities or to the redaction authorised by ʿUt̲ h̲mān.

The recitation of texts proclaimed by Muḥammad as revelation played from the very
beginning a prominent part in the Muslim community. This is already evident from
the fact that the collection of these revelations was designated as ḳurʾān “recitation”.
However, the Ḳurʾān had not yet been codified at the death of the Prophet and the
form of Arabic letters used to note down single parts of it and later on the whole
collection was very incomplete; in a group of consonants a choice between two or
more readings was possible. Consequently, disagreements soon arose on exactly how
to read the revealed text. The promulgation of a canonical redaction of the Ḳurʾān
under the third caliph ʿUt̲ h̲mān (soon after 30/650) was intended to remedy this evil.
Copies of this redaction were sent from Medina to Kūfa, Baṣra and Damascus, the
most important cities of ʿIrāḳ and Syria. After a relatively short period, this redaction
seems to have been generally accepted as the official text, finally even at Kūfa where
Ibn Masʿūd (d. 33/653), the distinguished Companion of the Prophet, who maintained
a “reading” of his ¶ own, had at first called upon his followers to resist.

On the whole, the text of ʿUt̲h̲mān had a strong unifying influence, which was felt to
an increasing extent. But a really uniform ḳirāʾa was not thereby guaranteed. During
recitation, which was essentially based on oral tradition, readings deviating from the
official edition continued to be followed. In so far as these readings went back to
recognised authorities of the early period and to trustworthy witnesses, they were also
noted by commentators on the Ḳurʾān and philologists, and turned to exegetic or
linguistic account. Thus variant readings of Ibn Masʿūd, Ubayy b. Kaʿb (d. 29/649 or
34/654) and other early “readers” which deviated from the official text, were
transmitted in early scholarly literature and have therefore come down to us, at least
in extracts. The ḳirāʾa of al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728) was later even inserted
among the “fourteen readings” (see below).

Further development was on characteristic lines. The untramelled freedom with which
the text had been treated in the earliest times was followed by a period of
systematisation and limitation of the possibilities of the “readings” which the
consonantal text and the oral tradition offered. However, complete unification was not
achieved. People neither would nor could simply set aside the power of tradition.
Thus the free choice on the ḳirāʾa was limited, but not entirely forbidden. While
reading the officially accepted consonantal text (already in itself constituting a
limitation), the “reader” could still make a choice between a certain number of
authorities. In its detail the history of Ḳurʾān reading is very complex. The scanty and
sometimes unreliable sources leave much uncertain. In general, however, the course
of development is clearly recognisable, thanks in particular to the penetrating studies
of G. Bergsträsser (in collaboration with O. Pretzl) and E. Beck (see Bibl .). In this
article only the essential aspects will be briefly mentioned.

Important progress in the standardisation of the “reading” was achieved by

differentiating the letters b, t, th, n, y etc. by means of strokes (later dots) and by
introducing vowel signs. The redaction of ʿUt̲ h̲mān, being officially recognised,
gained in importance by this clarification. With the passage of time, other differences
were gradually eliminated. Such a levelling seems at first to have been accomplished
within single cities ( amṣār ), and later on through the influence of one city on
another. Majority readings tended to prevail over minority readings, thus leading
towards a general consensus. In the first half of the 4th/10th century, Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid (d.
324/936), the influential Imām of the “readers” in Bag̲h̲dād, publicly and with
governmental support brought this process to its logical conclusion. He banned further
use of the ḳirāʾat of Ibn Masʿūd and other uncanonical readings. Ibn S̲h̲anabūd̲h̲, a
contemporary and fellow-reader of Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid, complied with this ban only after
he had been arraigned and flogged. In addition, Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid declared the reading of
the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic consonantal text, standardised by tradition and consensus, to be
obligatory, and compelled Ibn Miḳsam, an other fellow-reader, to renounce the claim
which he had maintained until that moment that he could decide for himself on the
punctuation and vocalisation of the text. As authorities on the traditional reading of
the ʿUt̲ h̲mānic text, Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid recognised seven “readers” belonging to the
2nd/8th century, among whom were ʿĀṣim of Kūfa (d. 128/745) and Nāfiʿ of Medina
(d. 169/785), whose readings have both remained authoritative ¶ to the present day,
that of ʿĀṣim in the east and centre of the Islamic world, and that of Nāfiʿ— with
some exceptions—in North Africa from Egypt westwards. To the seven “readers”
recognised by Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid were added later on three others, and afterwards another
four, but these never attained the same standing as the first seven. Furthermore, since
Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid, in mentioning ʿĀṣim—one of the Seven—had often named two others,
Abū Bakr S̲h̲uʿba (d. 193/809) and Ḥafṣ (d. 180/796), who transmitted ʿĀṣim’s
reading independently of one another, it became customary to add also the names of
two other traditionists to each of the other six and of the “Three after the Seven”.
Thus originated the bewildering number of names in the list of readers recognised as
canonical ( Gesch. des Qor. , iii, 186-9; Blachère, 118-23; Bell-Watt, 49 ff.).

After the readings had been limited to the “Seven” recognised as canonical, and to the
other “Three after the Seven” and “Four after the Ten”, all the others were eliminated
in the practice of recitation. The “readers” henceforward had to keep exclusively to
the canonical readings. This however did not completely rule out the uncanonical
“deviant” ( s̲ h̲awād̲h̲d̲h̲ ) readings. They were later adduced as useful evidence in the
practical interpretation of the Ḳurʾān and in the elucidation of linguistic problems.
Besides his “Book of the Seven” ( Kitāb al-Sabʿa , ed. S̲h̲. Ḍayf, see Bibl .) Ibn
Mud̲j̲āhid also composed a “Book of deviant readings” ( Kitāb al-Shawād̲h̲d̲h̲ ), which
is not extant. The debate on the uncanonical ḳirāʾāt was carried on throughout the
centuries in a scholarly literature of growing importance. Ibn Abī Dāwūd al-
Sid̲j̲istānī’s (d. 316/928) Kitāb al-Maṣāḥif and Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid’s works already
mentioned were followed—to cite only a few of the most important names—by the
monographs on uncanonical readings of Ibn K̲h̲ālawayh (d. 370/980) and Ibn D̲ji̲ nnī
(d. 392/1002), by al-Dānī’s (d. 444/1053) classical manual of the Seven Ḳurʾān-
readings (verse version by al-S̲h̲ātibī, d. 590/1194) and his works on orthography,
punctuation of the vowels and other punctuation marks, by Ibn al-D̲j̲azarī’s (d.
833/1429) works on the Ten readings and on the classes ( ṭabaḳāt ) of readers, and
finally by al-Bannāʾ’s (1117/1705) book on the Fourteen readings. For the practice of
recitation, the literary tradition constituted, in contrast with early times, an almost
indispensable complement to oral instruction.

The knowledge of Ḳurʾān-reading ( ʿilm al-ḳirāʾa ) had become a distinct theological

discipline and had many practitioners, few of whom, however, wrote books on it. In
this connection, it becomes understandable that the official Egyptian Ḳurʾān of 1924
(following the reading of ʿĀṣim in the tradition of Ḥafṣ) is not founded on early
Ḳurʾānic manuscripts, but is the result of reconstructions derived from the literature
on the readings (see Bergsträsser, in Isl . xx (1932), 5 ff.)

In the recitation by professional “readers” (see above), a distinction is made between

an incantatory, a rapid and a moderate tempo ( tartīl or taḥḳiḳ — ḥadr — tadwīr ).
The manner of execution can be designated as cantillation, but there are also intricate
musical settings (see the studies by K. Huber and M. Talbi). The technique of reciting
is laid down in detail in works on the ḳirāʾāt.

Special importance is attributed to the rules of pronunciation, including the theory of

assimilation ( idg̲h̲ām [q.v.], iddig̲h̲ām ), the modification of a into e ( imāla ),
extension ( madd ), forms of the pause ( waḳf ) and the conservation or alleviation (
tabdīl ) of hamza ¶ (see O. Pretzl’s analysis of a typical treatise on the uṣūl al-ḳirāʾa ,
in Islamica , vi (1934), 230, 291-331). The time required for private oral instruction is
greatly increased by the fact that, since Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid, several different Imāms and
Schools of Readers have been officially recognised. According to a distinctive method
known as “assembling” ( d̲j̲amʿ ) “the Ḳurʾān verse is divided into small fragments,
each one of which is recited as often as there are variants of it, each time with another
variant” (see the instructive passage, “Koranlesungsunterricht”, by Bergsträsser, in
Isl., xx (1932), 36-42). When the whole of the Ḳurʾān is recited, the separate readings
must be considered as self-contained units; the “readers” are thus not free to combine
the text of their recitation from different ḳirāʾāt (Bergsträsser, ibid., 29 ff.). These,
however, are details which concern only an élite of “readers”. The great mass of the
ḳurrāʾ , consisting largely of blind men, would in any case limit themselves from the
start to the study of a single reading ( Ḥafṣ ʿan ʿĀṣim , in the west Wars̲ h̲ ʿan Nāfiʿ ).
In general, the originally large number of readings has given way in the course of
centuries to a far-reaching uniformity both in the practice of recitation and in the
theoretical ʿilm al-ḳirāʾa.

The history of the text of the Ḳurʾān and of the ḳirāʾāt has also been studied by
European and American orientalists, notably Nöldeke and Goldziher, followed by A.
Jeffery, G. Bergsträsser, O. Pretzl and E. Beck (see Bibl.). Important sources have
been published, and separate stages of development reconstructed. Jeffery, and
likewise Bergsträsser in association with Pretzl, planned an apparatus criticus for the
Ḳurʾān. Bergsträsser and Pretzl had begun a systematic collection of photostats of
early manuscripts of the Ḳurʾān in the hope of discovering variants not registered in
the literature. Because of their untimely death (1933 and 1941), this research came to
a standstill. Jeffery also died (1959) without having realised his vast project. The task,
however, remains to evaluate the known and still unknown variants for the study of
old Arabian dialects and in general for a future historical grammar of Arabic. Whether
much will emerge to the profit of the historical interpretation of the Ḳurʾān remains to
be seen. The harvest so far obtained by Bergsträsser and Beck is rather meagre and
promises no new results of any importance. During the last years of his life, Pretzl
himself had apparently “retreated from the generally high appreciation of the
manuscripts and readings of the Ḳurʾān”. August Fischer, who noted this en passant
in a posthumous article (Isl. xxviii (1948), 5 f. n. 4), also cited a passage from
Spitaler’s obituary of Pretzl (ZDMG xcvi (1942), 163 ff.). In Fischer’s opinion the
Ḳurʾānic textual variants “for the most part (emphasis by Fischer) consist of no more
than attempts at emendation made by philologically trained Ḳurʾān specialists on
difficult passages in the ʿUt̲h̲mānic redaction”.

(R. Paret)

Bibliography

General: Gesch. des Qor. iii, 116-248 (basic)

R. Blachère, Introduction au Coran, Paris 1947, 2nd ed. 1959, 102-35

R. Bell, Introduction to the Qurʾān, Edinburgh 1953, 38-50

W. Montgomery Watt, Bell’s Introduction to the Qurʾān, completely revised and

enlarged, Edinburgh 1970, 40-50
D. S. Attema, De Koran, Kampen 1962, 21-9

G. Bergsträsser, Plan eines Apparatus Criticus zum Koran, in Sitzungsber. der Bayer.
Ak. der Wissensch., Philos.-histor. Abteilung, 1930, Heft 7

O. Pretzl, Die Wissenschaft der Koranlesung, in Islamica, vi (1934), 1-47, 290, 231-
46. ¶ 230. 291-331)

A. Jeffery, Progress in the study of the Qurʾān text, in MW, xxv (1935), 4-16

Pretzl, Aufgaben und Ziele der Koranforschung, in Actes du XX e Congrès

International des Orientalistes, Bruxelles 1938, Louvain 1940, 328 f.

A. Spitaler, Die nichtkanonischen Koranlesarten und ihre Bedeutung für die

arabische Sprachwissenschaft, in ibid., 314 f.

Variants. Important sources and historical researches. I. Goldziher, Die Richtungen

der islamischen Koranauslegung, Leiden 1920, new ed. 1952, 1-54

Jeffery, Materials for the history of the text of the Qurʾān. The Kitāb al-Maṣāḥif of
Ibn Abī Dāwūd, edited together with a collection of the variant readings from the
codices of Ibn Masʿūd, Ubayy, ʿAlī, Ibn ʿAbbās, Anas, Abū Mūsā and other early
Qurʾānic authorities which present a type of text anterior to that of the canonical text
of ʿUt̲ h̲mān, Leiden 1937

idem, The Qurʾān readings of Zaid b. ʿAlī, and Further readings of Zaid b. ʿAlī, in
RSO, xvi (1936), 249-89, and xviii (1940), 218-36

idem, The Qurʾān readings of Ibn Miqsam, in Ignace Goldziher memorial volume, i,
Budapest 1948, 1-38

Ibn Mud̲j̲āhid, K. al-Sabʿa fi ’l-ḳirāʾāt, ed. S̲h̲awḳī Ḍayf, Cairo 1972

Two Muqaddimas to the Kitab al-Mabani and the Muqaddima of Ibn ʿAtiyya to his
Tafsir, ed. Jeffery, Cairo 1954

Bergsträsser, Die Koranlesung des Ḥasan von Baṣra, in Islamica, ii (1926), 11-57

Ibn Ḫālawaih’s Sammlung nichtkanonischer Koranlesarten, ed. Bergsträsser ( =

Bibliotheca Islamica 7,1934)

idem, Nichtkanonische Koranlesarten im Muḥtasab des ibn Ǧinnī, in Sitzungsber. der

Bayer. Ak. der Wissensch., Philos. histor. Abteilung, 1933, Heft 2

al-Dānī, Kitāb al-Taysīr fi ’l-ḳirāʾāt al-sabʿ, ed. Pretzl (= Bibliotheca Islamica 2,

1930)

idem, Kitāb al-Muḳniʿ fī rasm maṣāḥif al-amṣār maʿa Kitāb al-Naḳṭ, ed. Pretzl (=
Bibliotheca Islamica 3, 1932)

Ibn al-D̲j̲azarī, al-Nas̲ h̲r fi ’l-ḳirāʾāt al-ʿas̲ h̲r, 2 vols., Damascus 1345
Ibn al-D̲j̲azarī, Ṭabaḳāt al-ḳurrāʾ, ed. Bergsträsser, indexes by Pretzl, 3 vols. ( =
Bibliotheca Islamica 8 a, b, c. 1933, 1935)

Ḏj̲alāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭi, Itḳān, Cairo 1317, i, 77-85. 101-13 (nawʿ 22-7, 34 f.)

Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Bannā, Itḥāf fuḍalāʾ al-bas̲ h̲ar fi ’l-ḳirāʾāt al-arbaʿa

ʿas̲ h̲ara, Cairo 1317, 1359.

For other texts see: Pretzl, Wissenschaft der Koranlesung = Gesch. des Qor. iii

Brockelmann, I, 188 f., S I, 328-30, etc.

Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, i, Leiden 1967, 3-18

E. Beck, Der ʿut̲ h̲mānische Kodex in der Koranlesung des zweiten Jahrhunderts, in
Orientalia, N.S. xiv (1945), 355-73

idem, ʿArabiyya, Sunna und ʿĀmma in der Koranlesung des zweiten Jahrhunderts, in
ibid., xv (1946), 180-224

idem, Die Kodizesvarianten der Amṣār, in ibid., xvi (1947), 353-76

idem, Studien zur Geschichte der kufischen Koranlesung in den beiden ersten
Jahrhunderten, in ibid., xvii (1948), 326-55

xix (1950), 328-50

xx (1951), 316-28

idem, Die Zuverlässigkeit der Ueberlieferung von ausser ʿut̲ h̲mānischen Varianten
bei al-Farrāʾ, in ibid., xxiii (1954), 412-35)

idem, Die b. Masʿūd-varianten bei al-Farrāʾ, in ibid., xxv (1956), 353-83

xxviii (1959), 186-205, 230-56.

Recitation: Ch. Snouck Hurgronje, Mekka, ii, The Hague 1889, 222-5

Bergsträsser, Koranlesung in Kairo. Mit einem Beitrag von K. Huber, in Isl. xx

(1932), 1-42

xxi (1933), 110-40

J. Cantineau and L. Barbes, La récitation coranique à Damas et à Alger, in AIEO, vi

(1942-47), 66-107

M. Talbi, La qirāʾa bi-l-alḥān, in Arabica, v (1958), 183-90

Labib as-Said, The recited Koran. A history of the first recorded version, Princeton
1975.
Tad̲j̲wīd(2,934 words)
(A.), verbal noun from djawwada , literally means “to make better” in the sense of
taḥsīn “to embellish, beautify”, but has come to be understood generally as the art of
reciting the Ḳurʾān, known as ʿilm al-tad̲j̲wīd . The term does not occur in the Ḳurʾān,
but it was used early. For example, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, son-in-law of the Prophet and
fourth caliph, is reported to have replied in answer to a question about the meaning of
the Ḳurʾānic phrase in sūra LXXIII, 4, wa-rattilī ’l-ḳurʾāna tartīlan (“and recite the
Ḳurʾān by means of tartīl ”) that it means tad̲j̲wīd al-ḥurūf wa-maʿrifat al-wuḳūf
(“excellent rendering of the consonant sounds and knowledge of the pauses”). In this
terse definition we see the importance of both the phonetics and the semantics of
Ḳurʾānic recitation: giving each letter its due and knowing where to pause in the
recitation, which also ¶ entails knowing where to resume it. This latter aspect came to
be known as al-waḳf (“pause”, pl. wuḳūf ) wa ’l-ibtidāʾ (“and beginning,
resumption”), and occupies an important place in ʿilm al-tad̲j̲wīd . Modern copies of
the Arabic text of the Ḳurʿān contain symbols indicating the pauses and their several
kinds, as well as whether they are obligatory or optional.

Although tad̲j̲wīd is principally concerned with the rules and skills of the oral
performance of recitation, it also extends to knowledge and practices that are not
strictly phonetic in nature. For example, in addition to the semantically and
syntactically-oriented pause and beginning (al-waḳf wa ’l-ibtidāʾ) is the etiquette of
recitation ( ādāb al-tilāwa ), covered in many tad̲j̲wīd manuals as an important part of
the piety if not strictly the performance practices of recitation.

1. Other terms. Another term for Ḳurʾānic recitation is ḳirāʾa , lit. “recitation, recital”,
in the general sense of reciting passages during the prayer or reciting the entire
Ḳurʾān, as well as “reading”, i.e. among variants. In this last sense, the discourse has
to do not with the rules of recitation—its manner—but with the text itself—its
matter—which from earliest times admitted of variation in a largely oral culture
before the Arabic script had reached maturity. The “science of readings” ( ʿilm al-
ḳirāʾāt [see ḲIRĀʾA ] became an important, complex discourse with first seven, then
ten, and later fourteen canonical readings of the Ḳurʾānic text, although it is the seven
which remain important. The multiplicity of readings does not mean that there are
different versions of the Ḳurʾān, but that there are variant readings—most very
minor—of the same basic text. The question of whether reciters should mix variant
readings in recitation performance has been much discussed, with a general tendency
toward not doing so in the presence of listeners unfamiliar with these matters, whose
confidence in the revealed text might thereby be endangered through confusion.

The teacher of “readings and recitation” ( al-ḳirāʾāt wa ’l-ḳirāʾa ) is known as a

muḳriʾ (pl. muḳriʾūn ), and a reciter of the Ḳurʾān is called a ḳāriʾ (pl. ḳurrāʾ ). The
former is a member of a relatively small professional élite, whereas the latter is a
much more common performer, albeit highly respected for mastery of tad̲j̲wīd and,
often, full memorisation of the Ḳurʾān as a ḥāfiẓ . Every muḳriʾ must be a ḳāriʾ, but
only rarely is a ḳāriʾ also a muḳriʾ in the strict sense of being a certified expert in the
science of readings and recitation.

Probably the most generic term for recitation of the Ḳurʾān is tilāwa “to follow, to
read/read out loud, to recite”. The term, like tartīl , is Ḳurʾānic (II, 121, “those unto
whom We have given the Scripture, who read it [ yatlūnahu ] with the right reading [
ḥaḳḳa tilāwatihi ], those believe in it”). But tilāwa does not specify anything
concerning performance; that is the domain of tad̲j̲wīd and, to a lesser extent, ḳirāʾa.
Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad al-G̲h̲azālī’s gloss of tilāwa (from his Ihyāʾ , as cited in
ʿĀmir b. al-Sayyid ʿUt̲ h̲mān, Kayfa yutlā ’l-Ḳurʾān , Cairo 1394/1974, 9),
contextualises Ḳurʾānic recitation within scriptural piety rather than merely skilled
technical oral performance: “[The Ḳurʾān’s] true recitation (tilāwa) is that the tongue,
the intellect and the heart share in it. The portion of the tongue is to render the
consonants authentic by tartīl, the portion of the intellect is the explanation of the
meaning, and the portion of the heart is admonishment”. The lexical meanings of
tilāwa convey the double senses of reading and being obedient to—“following”—the
message.

2. Selected technical aspects of tad̲j̲wīd. The ¶ typical handbook quickly gets right
into the technical matters of the phonetics of Ḳurʾānic recitation, most of which
require demonstrations to comprehend fully. First the letters of the Arabic alphabet
are discussed, along with their places of articulation ( mak̲h̲ārid̲j̲ al-ḥurūf ) in the
human vocal anatomy and their manners of articulation ( ṣifāt al-ḥurūf ). With respect
to mak̲h̲ārid̲j̲ al-ḥurūf, modern manuals sometimes contain illustrations of the mouth,
throat, teeth and lips with indications of precisely where each letter’s utterance
originates. One influential Indonesian manual has lessons with thoughtfully arranged
sequences of juxtaposed sounds—using nonsense patterns—so that the non-Arabic
speaking student will be able to master the difficult muscular and auditory skills of
Arabic pronunciation. The ṣifāt al-ḥurūf treat groups of the alphabet in pairs of
opposites, according to their characteristics as pronounced (some examples follow):
whether they are gently uttered (e.g. t̲ h̲āʾ , k̲h̲āʾ , sīn , kāf hāʾ ) or fully voiced (e.g.
bāʾ , dāl , rāʾ , zāʾ , ʿayn , ḳāf , lām , mīm , wāw , yāʾ ), whether the letters are
pronounced with confidence in their place of origin (e.g. d̲j̲īm , dāl, ḳāf tāʾ ) or with
some lack of confidence in the exact point (e.g. t̲ h̲āʾ, fāʾ , wāw, hāʾ ), whether they are
pronounced with tongue elevated (k̲h̲āʾ, ṣād , ḍād , g̲h̲ayn , tāʾ , ḳ ā f, ẓāʾ ) or lowered
(the remainder) in the mouth, whether they are “covered” (ṣād, ḍād, ṭāʾ , ẓāʾ) or
“opened” (the remainder) with respect to the tongue being closely covered by contact
with the hard palate, and whether the pronunciation is light—coming from the tip of
the tongue and lips (fāʾ, rāʾ, mīm, nūn , lām, bāʾ) or hard (the remainder). Some fine
points under ṣ ifāt include ḳalḳala , strong pronunciation of certain letters when they
are quiet ( sākin ), e.g. ḳāf ṭāʾ , dāl); takrīr , trilling the rāʾ at certain times; and
istiṭāla “stretching” the sound from one side of the tongue to the other when
pronouncing ḍād.

The manuals then proceed to treat a number of additional matters pertaining to

tad̲j̲wīd: g̲h̲unna , nasal sound of certain letters in excess of ordinary speech;
assimilation ( idg̲h̲ām [q.v.]) of certain letter sounds, for example, silent nūn and
tanwīn when followed by tanwīn and rāʾ, as in II, 5, where ʿalā hudan min rabbihim is
rendered ʿalā hudammirrabihim; madd “extending” the duration of a syllable; iḳlāb
“alteration” of a letter’s sound, as in quiescent nūn followed by bāʾ, where the phrase
min baʿd becomes mim baʿd; and others.

3. Styles of recitation. Recitation style is determined in some degree by the pace of

performance, ranging from very slow to rapid. The ideal form, which has dominated
the discourse since earliest times, is called tartīl, after the Ḳurʾānic passage quoted
above. A contemporary manual defines tartīl as “recitation . . . done at a slow pace . .
. and the ḳāriʾ observes with great care the clarity in pronunciation of each letter from
its mak̲h̲irad̲j̲ , place of origin, strictly follows all the rules of al-tad̲j̲wīd , uses a
melodious voice, exercises pauses and enables the listeners to comprehend each letter
and meaning of the words for their reflection . . . .” (Muh. I.H.I. Surty, A course in the
science of reciting the Qurʾān , Leicester 1988, 197).

Another term for slow recitation is taḥḳīḳ “meticulousness”. It is in the class of tartīl
but slower than ordinary tartīl, and used principally in learning and practising tad̲j̲wīd.
Medium-paced recitation is known as tadwīr , whereas rapid recitation is called ḥadr .
The latter is generally reserved for private use, as when the reciter wishes to maintain
the text in memory throug frequent repetition. One reciter in East Java informed the
present writer that he profitably and pleasantly passes the time on the slow train from
¶ Surabaya to Yogyakarta by reciting the whole Ḳurʾān in ḥadr style. All the styles
are strictly governed by the rules of tad̲j̲wīd .

Certain kinds of recitation are considered as detestable and others are unlawful. An
example of the first is lengthening the short vowels and then stretching the elongated (
madd ) vowels even more, and one of the second is transforming the recitation into
singing (other examples, together with a table of words whose mispronunciation will
change the meaning of the text and lead the reciter into unbelief, are in Surty, op. cit.,
201-2).

4. Melodic recitation of the Ḳurʾān. There is an ancient, absorbing and continuing

discourse concerning the place and propriety of musical performance in Ḳurʾānic and
other types of pious recitation in Islam, such as the d̲h̲ikr and samāʿ practices of Ṣūfī
orders. We do not know what the earliest Ḳurʾānic recitation sounded like, so far as
melodies and modes are concerned. A famous prophetic ḥadīt̲ h̲ is: “He is not one of
us who does not chant the Ḳurʾān” (al-Buk̲h̲ārī). The word translated as “chant” is
yatag̲h̲annā , which can also mean “sing”, although some commentators prefer “be
content with” ( yastag̲h̲nī ). Muḥammad enjoyed listening to the Ḳurʾānic recitation of
others and. declared, according to another ḥadīt̲ h̲, that Abū Mūsā al-As̲ h̲ʿarī’s
recitation was like “a flute of the people of David”, where al-Nawawī glosses “flute” (
mizmār ) as “beautiful voice” ( al-sạwt al-ḥasan ) ( Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim , bi-s̲ h̲arḥ al-
Nawawī , Cairo 1964, vi, 80). Ibn Ḵh̲aldūn’s interpretation (tr. Rosenthal, ii, 401) is
that it “does not refer to cadence and melodious music, but. . . to a beautiful voice, a
clear pronunciation”, that is, to strict tad̲j̲wīd. There are reports in early Muslim
history of recitation of the Ḳurʾān using popular melodies ( alḥān ), but the influence
of art song on the practice seems to have been relatively short-lived. It came under the
severe censure of the ʿulamāʾ quite early.

Although the musical dimension of Ḳurʾānic recitation is a diverse, complex

discourse, sustained over many centuries, the practice of tad̲j̲wīd came universally to
be independent of any kind of popular singing, with set melodies. In contemporary
Egypt, which has great influence on recitation everywhere, the word tad̲j̲wīd may be
understood to designate melodic and highly embellished Ḳurʾānic recitation as well
its more generic meaning, discussed above. A more precise term for melodic
recitation is mud̲j̲awwad style, as distinguished from murattal style (from tartīl ). It
employs musical modes/pitches ( maḳām , pl.. maḳāmāt ) and largely improvised
melodic chants ( nag̲h̲amāt ). But even mud̲j̲awwad recitation should ideally be
spontaneous, without set melodies, and obeying the rules of tad̲j̲wīd (see the detailed
exposition by Kristina Nelson, The art of reciting the Qurʾān , Austin 1985, 32-51,
101-35 and passim ).
Sound recordings of Ḳurʾānic recitation have become important means for learning
the art, as well as for enjoying its many expressions. Two influential reciters of this
century were the Egyptians S̲h̲ayk̲h̲ ʿAbd al-Bāsiṭ ʿAbd al-Ṣamad, renowned for his
mud̲j̲awwad performances, and S̲h̲ayk̲h̲ Maḥmūd Ḵh̲alīl al-Ḥuṣarī, whose recitation in
murattal style was greatly admired. A respected contemporary woman reciter is the
East Javanese reciter Mariya Ulfa, who is active in Ḳurʾān recitation educational
affairs, including the famous biennial Musabaqah Tilawatil Qurʾān (“Contest in the
Recitation of the Ḳurʾān”) in Indonesia. Performance recordings of all three reciters,
and many more besides, are widely available.

¶
5. Other performance matters and examples of the etiquette of recitation. Recitation of
any portion of the Ḳurʾān should be preceded by taʿawwud̲h̲ [q.v.] “seeking
protection” by saying the formula aʿūd̲h̲u billāhi min al-s̲ h̲ayṭān al-rad̲j̲īm “I seek
refuge in God from the accursed Satan”. After seeking refuge, the reciter utters the
basmala (regardless of whether the recitation begins at the beginning of or within a
sūra), “In the Name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate”. Then the portion to be
recited is commenced. At the end of recitation is said ṣadaḳa ’llāhu ’l-ʿaẓīm “God the
Mighty has spoken truthfully”.

Another matter is weeping during recitation, which is recommended both by the

Ḳurʾān (XVII, 109) and in ḥadīt̲ h̲ One should induce weeping if it does not come
spontaneously, because thereby it brings more forcefully to mind, as al-G̲h̲azālī wrote,
the “threats, warnings, covenants and promises . . . in the Ḳurʾān”, noting that the
“greatest of all misfortunes” is a “lack of grief and tears” for which, if nothing else, a
person should weep (M.A. Quasem, The recitation and interpretation of the Qurʾān:
al-G̲h̲azālī’s theory, Kuala Lumpur 1979, 44).

The best context for recitation is generally agreed to be while standing at the ṣa lāt
worship service. In any event, one should recite facing the ḳibla in a clean location
and, if handling a Ḳurʿān copy ( muṣḥaf ), be ritually pure. It is permissible to recite
the Ḳurʾān from memory without first performing wuḍūʾ , whether sitting, standing,
reclining or walking. At certain points in the text prostration ( sad̲j̲da ), as in the ṣalāt
, is observed after reciting an āya such as VII, 206, “They celebrate His praises, and
bow down before Him”. The classical Sunnī mad̲h̲habs recognise 11 to 15 obligatory
sad̲j̲da verses, and most printed copies contain a rubric designating each prostration
verse. In addition to prostrations are various uttered words and phrases at certain
points in the text, e.g. Subḥān Allāh “Praise God!” when a verse glorifying Him is
recited.

Opinions vary as to the amount to be recited at one time. Some people recite the entire
Ḳurʾān in one night, but it is more common for the text to be recited in its entirety
over three days, a week, or a month. In an oft-quoted ḥadīt̲ h̲, the Prophet declared that
one who completes a recitation of the Ḳurʾān in less than three days does not
understand it (e.g. Ibn Mād̲j̲a, Sunan , al-Riyāḍ 1404/1984, i, 244-5, “Iḳāma”, no.
1341). Ḳurʾān copies have marginal indications for divisions and subdivisions of the
text into equal portions for weekly or monthly completions. It is common for a group
of reciters to perform by taking turns, completing the entire Ḳurʾān according to
differing time-frames, which depend in part on whether the style adopted is tartīl or
the much slower-paced mud̲j̲awwad, and to what extent the session is also for
training, with sufficient time for correction and commentary. In any recitation, both
reciters and listeners have the duty to stop the proceedings for correction when an
error is noticed.

A completion of the recitation of the entire text is called a k̲h̲atma , whereupon it is

recommended immediately to recite sūra I “ al-Fātiḥa ”, and the first five verses of
sūra II “al-Baḳara”, ending with ulāʾika humu ’l-mufliḥūn “these are the successful”.
It is common at this point to recite appropriate litanies and supplications ( duʿāʾ
[q.v.]), for which there is an established literature.

Bibliography

(besides works cited in full in the text): Mūsā b. ʿUbayd Allāh b. Ḵh̲āḳān, Ḳaṣīda fi ’l-
tad̲j̲wīd, the oldest surviving treatise on the subject, published with tr. and comm. in
P. Boneschi, La ¶ qaṣīda fi ’tajwī d attribuée a Mūsā b. ʿUbayd Allāh b. Ḵh̲āqān, in
RCAL, Classe di Scienze Morali, Storiche e Filologiche, ser. 6, xiv (1938), 51-92

G̲h̲azālī, Iḥyʾ ʿulūm al-dīn, Cairo 1358/1939, Ḳitāb ādāb tilāwat al-Ḳurʾān, i, 279-301
(especially helpful in understanding—with copious ḥadīt̲ h̲ citations—the deep piety
of reading and interpreting the Ḳurʾān; tr. in M.A. Quasem, The recitation and
interpretation of the Qurʾān)

Ḥusayn al-Bag̲h̲awī, expanded by Walī al-Dīn al-Ḵh̲aṭīb al-Tībrīzī, Mis̲ h̲kāt al-
maṣābīh, section Faḍāʾil al-Ḳurʾān, various Arabic editions available (valuable and
varied collection of ḥadīt̲ h̲ on recitation and related matters), Eng. tr. under romanised
Arabic tide by J. Robson, Lahore 1965, ii, 446-70

Ḳasṭallānī, Laṭāʾif al-is̲ h̲ārāt li-funūn al-kirāʾāt, Cairo 1392/1972, i (treats both
readings and recitation in detail)

Ahmad ʿAbd al-Karīm al-As̲ h̲mūnī, Manār al-hudā fī bayān waḳf wa ’l-ibtidāʾ, Cairo
1393/1973

Nawawī, al-Tibyān fī ādāb ḥamalat al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1379/1960 (probing and

authoritative discussions of etiquette)

S̲h̲ams al-Dīn Muḥammad Ibn al-Ḏj̲azarī, G̲h̲āyat al-nihāya fī ṭabaḳāt al-ḳurrāʾ, 2

vols. ed. G. Bergsträsser, Cairo 1352/1933

idem, al-Nas̲ h̲r fi ’l-kirāʾāt al-ʿas̲ h̲r, 2 vols. Beirut n.d.

Muḥammad Makkī Naṣr, Nihāyat al-ḳawl al-mufīd fī ʿilm al-tad̲j̲wīd, Cairo

1349/1930 (comprehensive and authoritative)

Muḥammad al-Ṣādik al-Ḳamḥāwī, al-Burhān fī tad̲j̲wīd al-Ḳurʾān, Cairo 1971-2

(widely used contemporary manual)

Maḥmūd al-Ḥuṣarī, Maʿa al-Ḳurʾān al-Karīm, Cairo n.d. (comprehensive discussion

of Ḳurʾānic etiquette by a leading modern reciter)

Labīb al-Saʿīd, al-Ḏj̲amʿ al-ṣawtī al-awwal li’l-Ḳūrʾān al-Karīm, aw al-muṣḥaf al-

murattal, bawāʿit̲ h̲uhu wa-muk̲h̲aṭṭāṭātuhu, Cairo 1387/1967, tr. and adapted B.
Weiss, M.A. Abdul Rauf and M. Berger as The recited Koran: a history of the first
recorded version, Princeton, NJ. 1975

G. Bergsträsser, Die Koranlesung in Kairo, in Isl., xx (1932), 1-42, xxi (1933), 110-
40

J. Cantineau and L. Barbès, La récitation coranique àDamas et à Alger, in AIEO

Alger, vi, 66-107 (1942-7)

M. Talbi, La qirāʾa bi’l-alḥān, in Arabica, v (1958), 183-90

F. Denny, The ādāb of Qurʾān recitation: text and context, in International Congress
for the Study of the Qurʾān, Proceedings, Canberra 1980, 143-60

idem, Qurʾān recitation training in Indonesia: a survey of contexts and handbooks, in

A. Rippin, Approaches to the history of the interpretation of the Qurʾān, Oxford
1988, 288-306.

(F.M. Denny)

Hamza:
Alif as sign of two ḥarfs . In phonetics, the Arab grammarians considered alif as the
sign of two ḥarfs: hamza, here definite, and alif ḥarf al-madd , called alif layyina (
ḥarf muʿtall ), except only al-Mubarrad, who ignored hamza (see Traité, § 44 a n. and
particularly Ibn Ḏj̲innī. Sirr ṣināʿa , i, 46).
The Arabic script is derived from the Nabatean Aramaic writing. This, like the more
ancient Aramaic writing, denoted the Semitic glottal occlusive by the character ālaf .
In Aramaic this occlusive had become very much weakened; in Nabatean ālaf served
to denote final ā in all emphatic states. Thus there is already in this script the double
use of ālaf, but in a restricted manner as regards to notation of ā. There is no example
of the notation of this long vowel in the middle of a word. Such notation by means of
alif is an Arab innovation (J. Cantineau, Nabatéen , i, Paris, 1930, 47). But this
introduction of alif for ā in the script of the text of the Ḳurʾān was carried out
irregularly, under the influence of partial improvements, inserted at various periods,
without any definite plan (see R. Blachère, Introduction au Coran 2, Paris 1959, 71,
80, 93-4, 101). The Cairo edition of the Ḳurʾān (published under the patronage of
King Fuʾād I), which is an archaizing edition, makes good the alifs lacking in the text
with a superscript upright alif (see ibid., 152-3). Even in current Arabic writing, alif is
lacking in the ductus of some words, for example. in lākin “but” and some
demonstrative pronouns

The Arab grammarians (Sībawayhi, ii, Ch. 411; al-Zamak̲h̲s̲ h̲arī, Mufaṣṣal 2, 658-62)
designated all the accidents which can befall hamza as tak̲h̲fīf al-hamza. This tak̲h̲ fīf ,
literally “weakening”, includes (1) the hamza bayna bayna; (2) the phonetic change of
hamza into another articulation; this is the ibdāl of hamza, which is properly a ḳalb ;
(3) the suppression ( ḥad̲h̲f ) of hamza. All this has been set out in detail in H. Fleisch,
Traité , § 17 to 20, and by J. Cantineau in Cours , 77-84.
(1) The hamza bayna bayna. The 105 th question discussed in the Kitāb al-Inṣāf by
Ibn al-Anbārī demonstrates the difficulty which the Arabs found in explaining this;
many authors have written of it (references in Traité, § 45 b). The European writers,
G. Weil, A. Schaade (references ibid.), were no more successful in achieving a
satisfactory explanation and J. Cantineau is not very clear in Cours, 77. The Arabs, as
the existence of hamza in their language indicates, were a people who practised “The
hard attack” on vowels (see J. Marouzeau, Lexique de la terminologie linguistique3,
s.v. attaque ); that is to say, in the articulation of a vowel, there was first precession
(closing) of the vocal cords; then their sudden opening produced the explosive glottal
stop, the hamza; then came the vibrations of the vowel; and when the vowel was
ended the vocal cords closed. This explains why they needed a hamza to pronounce
an initial vowel and why they were unable to pronounce two vowels successively with
a simple hiatus; when the first vowel was ended the vocal cords closed into the
position for the hard attack on the second.

The hamza bayna bayna, according to the Arab grammarians, was produced
intervocally, when, after articulation of a vowel belonging to a preceding syllable, the
following syllable had to be enunciated beginning with a hamza, as follows: -āʾa- in
sāʾala , -aʾa- in sāʾala, -āʾu- in tasāʾul , -ā ʾu- in laʾuma , -āʾi- in ḳāʾil , -uʾi- in suʾila
, etc. After the articulation of the first vowel, the vocal cords closed, as has been said,
into the position for the hard attack on the second, but, after the closure of the vocal
cords there was no explosive glottal stop: the hamza was reduced to the firm clear
interruption established by the closure of the vocal cords. One passed from this
closure, characterized by strong articulatory tension (since it begins the first part of
the syllable, with increased tension) direct to the vocalic vibrations; this was sufficient
to maintain the autonomy of the syllable. But it is apparent that, according to the
extent to which the glottal stop was attenuated, many degrees of weakening of the
hamza were possible, right up to its absence (hamza bayna bayna).

The Arab grammarians were unable to make this analysis. They lacked a proper
notion of the vowel; their ḥaraka is not a ḥarf and has no autonomy; they had to
proceed by means of the detour of the ḥarf al-madd, of which the ḥaraka formed part.
They recognized the weakness of the hamza bayna bayna, near the state of sākin , but
still mutaḥarrik . In the expression of Sībawayhi hamza bayna bayna (ii, 452, l. 10)
they saw the indication of an “intermediate” hamza, that is, one placed between two
mak̲h̲rad̲j̲ (as is made clear in Mufaṣṣal 2, 165, l. 19-20): for (ʾ)a, between the
mak̲h̲rad̲j̲ of the hamza and the ¶ mak̲h̲rad̲j̲ of the alif (of which the fatḥa is a part);
for (ʾ)i between the mak̲h̲rad̲j̲ of the hamza and the mak̲h̲rad̲j̲ of the yāʾ ( sākina ) (of
which the kasra is a part), etc. These explanations remain obscure by reason of the
deficiency of the means of analysis at the Arabs’ command.

(2) The ibdāl (ḳalb) of hamza. This ibdāl was produced only in the middle of a word
or in the conjunction of two different words. In both cases the standardizing activity
of the Arab grammarians led to the acceptance of the sequences -iʾa- > -iya-, -uʾa- > -
uwa-, as permitted (though not obligatory) assimilations, e.g., muliʾ at in Ḳurʾān ,
LXXII, 8 is read as muliyat ; muʾad̲j̲d̲j̲al and muwad̲j̲d̲j̲al “which has a fixed term”.
They rejected -i-u- > -iyu-, -iʾi- > -iyi- and -uʾi- > -uwi-, though these pronunciations
have existed among the Arabs. In these cases they admitted the possibility only of a
hamza bayna bayna. On the other hand, after ū and ī , they rejected the pronunciation
of a hamza bayna bayna but admitted assimilation: k̲h̲aṭiʾat > * k̲h̲aṭīyat , then
k̲h̲aṭiyyat “sin”, maḳrūʾun > * maḳrūwun , then maḳuwwun “read (passive
participle)”.

In the middle of a word, in the sequence – aʾa -, the weakness of the hamza might
lead to its disappearance. The hamza simply dropped out and the two adjointing short
vowels contracted into one long vowel: -aʾa- > -ā- . This may explain the form sāla
for saʾala “to ask”.

(3) Suppression (ḥad̲h̲f) of the hamza. Except in the case of pause, hamza placed
between vowel and consonant or consonant and vowel may disappear: between vowel
and consonant, it disappears and there is a compensatory prolongation of the vowel,
e.g., raʾs > rās “head”, d̲h̲iʾb > d̲h̲īb “wolf”, muʾmin > mūmin “believer”; between
consonant and vowel it simply drops out, e.g., ḥawʾab > ḥawab “wide valley”, sawʾat
> sawat “turpitude”; this may explain yasalu for yasʾalu (unaccomplished of saʾala).
Cases of compensatory prolongation of the vowel are few, as al-marʾat > al-marāt
“the woman”, al-kamʾat > al-kamāt “the truffle”.

Meeting of two hamzas . The Arabs generally experienced especial distaste for
repeating the same consonant successively when the separator was a simple short
vowel (see. H. Fleisch, Traité, § 28). This distaste was much increased when it was a
question of repeating hamza. There are no Arabic words with hamza as 1st and 2nd or
2nd and 3rd radicals. LA (i, 14-5/i, 23a-24b) gives only 7 roots with hamza as 1st and
3rd radicals, all only slightly productive and of secondary origin (see Traité, § 20 a).
Nevertheless the Arabic language was unable to avoid the meeting of two hamzas,
whether in the pattern of morphological forms or in the employment of words with
hamza as their 1st or 3rd radical.

Thus the Arab grammarians distinguished between a meeting of two hamzas in the
same word and a meeting of two hamzas in two different words (at the end of one and
the beginning of the next). All the details cannot be given here, but reference may be
made to H. Fleisch, Traité, § 20 d-p, or to J. Cantineau, Cours, 82-3. For two
successive hamzas in the same word, the following normal changes may be briefly
indicated: ʾ aʾ > ʾ ā , by dissimilation and compensatory prolongation of the vowel,
e.g., *ʾ aʾk̲h̲aru > ʾ āk̲h̲aru “other”; ʾ uʾ >ʾū, similarly by dissimilation, e.g., *ʾ uʾsaru
> ʾ ūsaru “I am bound”; ʾiʾ > ʾī, equally by dissimilation, e.g., *ʾ iʾt̲ h̲ar > ʾ t̲ h̲ār “to
choose”. For haplologies or dissimilations occurring in nouns and particles, see
Traité, § 30 h and i.

¶
For the repercussions of the weakness of hamza on the morphological system see J.
Cantineau, Cours , 81-2, or Traité , §22. The dissimilation *ʾ arʾā > ʾ arā “I see” may
be noted. Dissimilation may also have been at work in ʾ asʾalu > ʾ asalu “I ask”;
saʾala and its unaccomplished may have undergone various influences (see ibid., § 22
b and d).

For the treatment of the pause on hamza see J. Cantineau, loc. cit., 80-1 or Traité, §
21.

The action of the Arab grammarians in the question of hamza may be summed up as
follows: adhering to the tradition of the Tamīm, their efforts at standardization were a
reaction against the pronunciation of the Ḥid̲j̲āz. As possible, but not obligatory, ibdāl
they accepted only iʾa > iya and uʾa > uwa ; as possible, but not obligatory ḥad̲h̲f they
accepted cases like raʾs > rās , d̲h̲iʾb > d̲h̲īb , muʾmin > mūmin . In the meeting of two
hamzas , apart from cases like ʾ aʾ > ʾ ā given above, they set up as standard the
weakening (hamza bayna bayna) of one of the two hamzas. But one thing remained
outside the scope of their attack: the diversity in writing hamza.

Orthography of hamza. The very first rudimentary attempts to put the Ḳurʾān into
writing were made according to the local pronunciation of the Ḥid̲j̲āz, which
subjected hamza to all the tak̲h̲fīf already described. The Ḳurʾānic orthography
however was surrounded with a holy reverence which forbade any change in the
traditional ductus of the words. When the Muslim community and its leaders wished
to fill in the inadequacies of this orthography and pass from scriptio defectiva to
scriptio plena (see R. Blachère, Introduction , 4, 71, 78-98) they had to give a sign to
hamza, properly pronounced, in contrast to the usage of the Ḥid̲j̲āz. They used a point,
but of a colour different from that of the vowel points. The system lasted a long time;
“it was still the current usage in the 5th/11th century at the time of al-Dānī” (ibid. 97).
The current sign appears to use a little ʿayn instead of the point. Placed over alif , the
complementary sign indicated for alif the glottal occlusive pronunciation (hamza).
When, by ibdāl, this glottal occlusive had become w or y, entailing wāw or yāʾ in the
ductus of the word, the sign of hamza was placed above them; this is the origin of
wāw and yāʾ as kursī of hamza. When nothing remained in the spelling to recall the
glottal occlusive, the hamza was put back in the empty space, so to say, that is,
without kursī. These are, schematically, the principal lines of the story of writing
hamza. It was conditioned by the anxiety to preserve the glottal occlusive hamza in an
unalterable text which had not made provision for it. But there remain obscurities in
the orthography of verbs with hamza as 2nd radical, in the accomplished of the forms
faʿila , faʿula , fuʿila . See Traité, § 16; on the writing of hamza, al-Zad̲j̲d̲j̲ād̲j̲ī, al-
Ḏj̲umal . 277-80; on the usage of the Cairo Vulgate, R. Blachère, Introduction, 151-2.
, the Arabic grammatical term denoting the vowel i: kasra designates the ¶ written
sign itself, kasr the sound in question (Wright, Ar. Gr.3 , İ, 8A). This distinction
corresponds, for example, with the text of al-Dānī, al-Muḥkam fī naḳṭ al-masāḥif ,
Damascus 1379/1960, 42, ll. 4-7, and Ḳitāb al-Naḳṭ (Bibl. Isl., 3, 1932), 137, ll. 8-11,
but kasr can also have another interpretation: the verb kasara (i) “to break”, can be
used to mean: “to provide [a ḥarf ] with a kasra” , the mouth being considered
“broken” at the time of the pronunciation of the kasra (according to Abu ’l-Aswad al-
Duʾalī, see below). Kasr can also be the infinitive ( maṣdar ) of the verb, as in
genealogical works, for example, al-Suyūṭī, Lubb al-lubāb , Leiden 1840, 211, l. 11:
al-Ḳifṭī bi ’l-kasr wa-sukūn al-fāʾ , “al-Ḳifṭī, with the kasra [under the ḳāf ] and the
sukūn of the fāʾ ”. The verbs fataḥa (a) “to open” and ḍamma (u) “to bring together
the parts [of a thing]” have been similarly used, the first for the fatḥa , the second for
the ḍamma, with the same remark for the fatḥ and ḍamm and likewise referring to the
words of Abu ’l-Aswad (see below).

The first notation of the kasra and the two other ḥarakāt , fatḥa and ḍamma, was
made by means of full points (al-Dānī, Muḥkam , 23, l. 11; 42, l. 12), in order to
remedy the deficiencies of ḳurʾānic script and at first to indicate the iʿrāb , and its
invention is invariably attributed to Abu ’l-Aswad al-Duʾalī (d. 69/688-9 [q.v.]):
“When you see that I have opened ( fataḥtu ) my mouth with the ḥarf, mark a point
above the ḥarf. If I bring together ( ḍamamtu ) [the lips of] my mouth, mark a point
before the ḥarf [on the left, in the middle]. If I break ( kasartu ) [my mouth], put the
point under the ḥarf. And if I make one or the other follow a nasal sound ( g̲h̲unna )
[nunation], place two points instead of one point” (al-Sīrāfī, Ak̲h̲bār al-naḥwiyyīn ,
Bibl. Arabica, ix, Algiers 1936, 16, ll. 8-12). This legendary account at least shows
some degree of observation of the physiology of the mouth during the pronunciation
of the ḥarakāt and favours a purely Arabic origin for the technical terms applied to
them [see ḤARAKA WA-SUKUN ]. The Muslim references agree in crediting the readers
of Baṣra, Naṣr b. ʿĀṣim and Yaḥyā b. Yaʿmur with the invention of the vowel points
(see R. Blachère, Introduction au Coran2 , Paris 1959, 80-2, 89-90); this innovation
was not imposed without long resistance (ibid., 95-98), but at the time of al-Dānī (d.
444/1053) it was still in use (ibid., 98).

Care must be taken in distinguishing the vowel points in the body of ḳurʾānic script.
They are characterized by the use of red points; a green point is used for the hamza
(the unvoiced glottal occlusive); and a yellow point for the tas̲ h̲dīd (gemination) (Abū
Bakr b. Mud̲j̲āhid, cited by al-Dānī, Muḥkam, 23, ll. 9 ff.; see also, ibid., 19-20, for
other old practices in the use of colours). All these points constitute al-s̲ h̲akl al-
mudawwar . But the diacritical points of the ḥurūf are bi ’l-sawād “in black” (ibid.,
22, l. 11; 43, l. 15), like ḳurʾānic script, and according to al-Dānī (43, l. 16) serve to
establish a distinction between the diacritical marks and the ḥarakāt; see his chapter
(35-41) on the diacritical marks. In matters of iʿrāb, the kasra was the sign of d̲j̲arr
(or k̲h̲afḍ ) [see IʿRĀB ]. On the nature of the kasra and the other ḥarakāt, see ḤARAKA
WA-SUKŪN . For the way in which the presence of the kasra is explained, in the
second term of the iḍāfa , see IḌĀFA.

Some further points: (1). The points indicated concern al-ḥarakāt al-mus̲ h̲baʿāt , the
normal ones (literally “satisfied”). The latter are opposed to the ḥarakāt, not
mus̲ h̲baʿāt : sounds reduced by the ikhtilās or the rawm (see H. Fleisch, Traité , i, 36
f., ¶ 49 g), or deviations through is̲ h̲mām: innamā huwa imālat al-kasra naḥwa l-
ḍamma ḳalīlan (al-Dānī, K. al-nuḳaṭ , 136, l. 13), “it is merely a weak inflexion of the
kasra towards the ḍamma” , i.e. an inclination of i to ü (see also H. Fleisch, ibid., 1 36
g, 49 h). For the notation of these particular sounds, see the chapter of al-Dānī,
Muḥkam , 44-8, more briefly: K. al-Nuḳat , 136, l. 10-137, l. 3.

(2). In the first three chapters of the Muḥkam (2-13), al-Dānī has collected the Muslim
traditions on the first form of the Ḳurʾān, the inventions of vowel points, and the
resistance to that innovation or the concessions to it.

(3). Why were points employed? Al-īd̲j̲āz wa ’l-taḳlīl , “concision and brevity” was
sought (al-Dānī, Muḥkam, 43, l. 17). In fact, there was very likely an influence of the
usage of non-Islamic communities (see R. Blachère, loc. cit., 79). For the Syriac, “the
vowel point or the diacritical point known from the 4th century has served as the
vocalization in most manuscripts” (L. Costaz, Grammaire syriaque2 , Beirut 1964, §
11).

Bibliography

In the text.

(H. Fleisch)

The signs representing the ḥarakas and the sukūn belong to the supplementary
elements added to the Ḳurʾānic script without affecting the ductus of the word, and
constitute what is known as the scriptio plena (R. Blachère, Introduction , 79, 92-
102). To denote the ḥarakas a dot was used at first, above the ḥarf for fatḥa, below for
kasra, and in the middle to the left for ḍamma, with two points in the case of tanwīn ,
not in black like the ductus of the word, but coloured, usually red, in order to
distinguish them and to change nothing of the true body of the word (al-Dānī, K. al-
Nuḳaṭ , 134, line 1). R. Blachère (ibid., 95-6) describes this insertion of vowel-points,
in which at first only the vowels of iʿrāb were indicated, the vowels of inflexion,
which were especially important since they determined the function of the word in the
sentence. He says nothing about sukūn. As al-Dānī reports (ibid., 137, lines 5-7) it
was first marked by a little red horizontal line ( d̲j̲arra ) above the ḥarf. Other signs
were subsequently employed before the current little circle came into use (see Wright,
Ar.Gr .3 , i, 13C).