“His constitution was extremely delicate. He was nervously afraid of bodily pain; he would sob and roar under it. Eminently unpractical in all common things of life, he was gifted with mighty powers of imagination, elevation of mind, delicacy and refinement of feeling. ‘He is more modest than a virgin behind her curtain,’ it was said of him. He was most indulgent to his inferiors, and would never allow his awkward little page to be scolded whatever he did. ‘Ten years,’ said Anas his servant, ‘was I about the Prophet, and he never said as much as “uff” to me.’ He was very affectionate towards his family. One of his boys died on his breast in the smoky house of the nurse, a blacksmith’s wife. He was very fond of children; he would stop them in the streets and pat their little heads. He never struck any one in his life. The worst expression he ever made use of in conversation was, ‘What has come to him? may his forehead be darkened with mud!’ When asked to curse some one, he replied, ‘I have not been sent to curse, but to be a mercy to mankind.’ ‘He visited the sick, followed any bier he met, accepted the invitation of a slave to dinner, mended his own clothes, milked the goats, and waited upon himself,’ relates summarily another tradition. He never first withdrew his hand out of another man’s palm, and turned not before the other had turned.
“He was the most faithful protector of those he protected, the sweetest and most agreeable in conversation. Those who saw him were suddenly filled with reverence; those who came near him loved him; they who described him would say, ‘I have never seen his like either before or after.’ He was of great taciturnity, but when he spoke it was with emphasis and deliberation, and no one could forget what he said. He was, however, very nervous and restless withal; often low-spirited, downcast, as to heart and eyes. Yet he would at times suddenly break through these broodings, become gay, talkative, jocular, chiefly among his own. He would then delight in telling little stories, fairy tales, and the like. He would romp with the children and play with their toys.”
“He lived with his wives in a row of humble cottages, separated from one another by palm-branches, cemented together with mud. He would kindle the fire, sweep the floor, and milk the goats himself. The little food he had was always shared with those who dropped in to partake of it. Indeed, outside the prophet’s house was a bench or gallery, on which were always to be found a number of poor, who lived entirely upon his generosity, and were hence called ‘the people of the bench.’ His ordinary food was dates and water, or barley bread; milk and honey were luxuries of which he was fond, but which he rarely allowed himself. The fare of the desert seemed most congenial to him, even when he was sovereign of Arabia.”
Mohammad was forty before he began his mission of reform. He may long have doubted and questioned with himself, but at least outwardly he seems to have conformed to the popular religion. At length, as he was keeping the sacred months, the God’s Truce of the Arabs, in prayer and fasting on Mount Hirā, “a huge barren rock, torn by cleft and hollow ravine, standing out solitary in the full white glare of the desert sun,” he thought he heard a voice say “Cry.” “What shall I cry?” he answered. And the voice said:-- “Cry! in the name of thy Lord, who created-- Created man from blood. Cry! for thy Lord is the Bountifullest! Who taught the pen, Taught man what he did not know.”
_Korān_, ch. xcvi.
At first he thought he was possessed with a devil, and the refuge of suicide was often present to his mind. But yet again he heard the voice--“Thou art the Messenger of God, and I am Gabriel.” He went back to Khadīja, worn out in body and mind. “Wrap me, wrap me,” he cried. And then the word came to him:-- “O thou who art wrapped, rise up and warn! And thy Lord magnify, And thy raiment purify, And abomination shun! And grant not favours to gain increase! And wait for thy Lord!”
_Korān_, ch. lxxiv.
These are the first two revelations that came to Mohammad. That he believed he heard them spoken by an angel from heaven is beyond doubt. His temperament was nervous and excitable from a child up. It is said he was subject to cataleptic fits, like Swedenborg; and at least it is certain that his constitution was more delicately and highly strung than most men’s. If it is any satisfaction to the incredulous to find evidence of a special tendency towards hallucinations, the proofs are at hand. But whether the “revelations” were subjective or not makes no difference to the result. Whencesoever they came, they were real and potent revelations to the man and to his people.
After this beginning of converse with the supernatural, or whatever we prefer to term it, the course of Mohammad’s revelations--the speeches which make up the Korān--flowed unbroken for twenty years and more. They fall naturally into two great divisions--the period of struggle at Mekka, and the period of triumph at Medina; and the characteristics of the two are diverse as the circumstances which called them forth. For whatever Mohammad himself thought of his revelations, to modern criticism they are speeches or sermons strictly connected with the religious and political circumstances of the speaker’s time. In the first period we see a man possessed of a strong religious idea, an idea dominating his life, and his one aim is to impress that idea on his people, the inhabitants of Mekka. He preached to them in season and out of season; whenever the spirit moved him he poured forth his burning eloquence into the ears of a suspicious and incredulous audience. Three years of unwearied effort produced the pitiful result of a score or so of converts, mainly from the poorest classes. In the fifth year even these were compelled by the persecutions of the Koreysh to take refuge in Abyssinia--“a land of righteousness, wherein no man is wronged.” Mohammad had by this time advanced from a mere inculcation of the doctrine of one all-powerful God to a plain attack upon the idolatry of the Mekkans; and the Koreysh, as guardians of the Kaaba and receivers of the pilgrims’ tolls, were keenly alive to the consequences which the overthrow of the sacred temple would entail upon its keepers. The result of Mohammad’s bold denunciations was a cruel persecution of his humbler followers, and their consequent flight to Abyssinia; he himself was too nearly allied to powerful chiefs to be lightly injured in a land where the blood-revenge held sway. Presently the devotion of the prophet, his manly bearing under obloquy and reproach, and above all, the winged words of his eloquence, brought several men of influence and wealth into his faith, and in the sixth year of his mission Mohammad found himself surrounded no longer by a crowd of slaves and beggars, but by tried swordsmen, chiefs of great families, leaders in the councils of Mekka; and the new sect performed their rites no more in secret, but publicly at the Kaaba, in the face of the whole city. The Koreysh resolved on stronger measures. After trying vainly to isolate him from his family--the true Arab spirit of kindred was not so easily shaken--they put the whole clan under a ban, and swore they would not marry with them, nor buy nor sell with them, nor hold with them any intercourse soever. To the credit of Mohammad and of his clan, only one man of them refused to share his fate, though most of them did not hold with his doctrines. Sooner than give up their kinsman, they went, every man of them, save that one, into their own quarter of the city, and there abode in banishment for two years. Starvation was busy with the incarcerated family, when the Koreysh grew ashamed of their work, and five chiefs arose and put on their armour and went to the ravine where the banished people were shut up, and bade them come forth.
The time of inaction was followed by a time of sorrow. Mohammad lost his wife and the aged chief, his uncle, who had hitherto been his protector. All Mekka was against him, and in despair of heart he journeyed to Taif, seventy miles away, and told his message to another folk: but they stoned him for three miles from the town. The time, however, was coming when a distant city would hold out welcoming hands to the prophet whom Mekka and Taif had rejected. As he dwelt-on disconsolately at Mekka, pilgrims from Yethrib (soon to be known as Medina or Medīnet-en-Neby, “the Prophet’s City”) hearkened to the new doctrine, and carried it home to their own folk. Jews had prepared the way for Islām at Medina; the new religion did not seem preposterous to those who had long heard of One God; and presently the Faithful began to leave Mekka in small companies, and take refuge in the hospitable city where their prophet was honoured. At length Mohammad, when like the captain of a sinking ship he had seen his followers safely away, accompanied by one faithful friend eluded the vigilance of the Koreysh, and safely arrived at Medina in the early summer of 622. This is the Hijra or “Flight” of Mohammad, from which the Muslims date their history.
During these years of struggle and persecution at Mekka 90 out of the 114 chapters or speeches which compose the Korān were revealed, amounting to about two-thirds of the whole book. All these speeches are inspired with but one great design, and are in strong contrast with the complicated character of the later chapters issued at Medina. In the Mekka chapters Mohammad appears in the unalloyed character of a prophet: he has not yet assumed the functions of a statesman and lawgiver. His object is not to give men a code or a constitution, but to call them to the worship of the One God. There is hardly a word of other doctrines, scarcely anything of ritual, or social or penal regulations. Every speech is directed simply to the grand design of the Prophet’s life, to convince men of the unutterable majesty of the One God, who brooks no rivals. Mohammad appeals to the people to credit the evidence of their own eyes; he calls to witness the wonders of nature, the stars in their courses, the sun and the moon, the dawn cleaving asunder the dark veil of night, the life-giving rain, the fruits of the earth, life and death, change and decay--all are “signs of God’s power, if only ye would understand.” Or he tells the people how it fared with older generations, when prophets came to them and exhorted them to believe in One God and do righteousness, and they rejected them; how there fell upon the unbelieving nation grievous woe. How was it with the people of Noah? he asks:--they were drowned in the flood because they would not hearken to his words. And the people of the Cities of the Plain? And Pharaoh and his host? And the old tribes of the Arabs who would not hear the warnings of their prophets? One answer follows each--there came upon them a great calamity. “These are the true stories,” he cries, “and there is only One God! and yet ye turn aside.” Eloquent appeals to the signs of nature, threats of a day of reckoning to come, warnings drawn from the legends of the prophets, arguments for the truth and reality of the revelation, make up the substance of this first division of the Korān.
In the earliest group of speeches delivered at Mekka, forty-eight in number, belonging to what is called the First Period, extending over the first four years of Mohammad’s mission, we feel the poetry of the man. Mohammad had not lived among the sheep-folds in vain, and spent long solitary nights gazing at the silent heaven and watching the dawn break over the mountains. This earliest portion of the Korān is one long blazonry of nature’s beauty. How can you believe in aught but the One omnipotent God when you see this glorious world around you and this wondrous tent of heaven above you? is Mohammad’s frequent question to his countrymen. “All things in heaven and earth supplicate Him; then which of the bounties of your Lord will ye deny?” There is little but this appeal to nature in the first part of the speeches at Mekka. The prophet was in too exalted a state during these early years to stoop to argument; he rather seeks to dazzle the sense with brilliant images of God’s workings in creation. “Verily in the creation of the heavens and the earth are signs to you, if ye would understand.” His sentences have a rhythmical ring though they are not in true metre. The lines are very short, yet with a musical cadence. The meaning is often but half expressed. The poet seems impatiently to stop as if he despaired of explaining himself: he has essayed a thing beyond words, has discovered the impotence of language, and broken off with the sentence unfinished.
The style is throughout fiery and impassioned. The words are those of a man whose whole heart is bent on convincing, and they carry with them even now the impression of the burning vehemence with which they were originally hurled forth. These earliest speeches are generally brief. They are pitched too high to be long sustained. We feel we have here to do with a poet as well as a preacher, and that his poetry costs him too much to be spun out.
In urging to repentance and faith, Mohammad’s great weapon is the judgment to come--the day of retribution, when all mankind shall be arraigned before the throne of God; and those who have done good shall be given the book of the record of their actions in their right hand, and enjoy abiding happiness in gardens, under which the rivers flow; whilst the wicked shall receive his damning record in his left hand, and be dragged by heel and hair to hell, to broil therein for ever. The day of judgment is a stern reality to Mohammad. It is never out of his thoughts, and he says himself that if men realised what that day was, they would weep much and laugh little. He is never tired of depicting its terrors, and cannot find names enough to describe it. He calls it the Hour, the Mighty Day, the great Calamity, the Inevitable Fact, the Smiting, the Overwhelming, the Hard Day, the Promised Day, the Day of Decision.
The high poetic fervour of the first group of Mekka speeches is to some extent lost in the Second, and still more in the Third period, corresponding to the fifth and sixth years, and from thence to the Hijra, respectively, and each comprising twenty-one speeches. The change is partly one of style, partly of matter. The verses and the speeches themselves become longer and more rambling; the resonant oaths by all the wonders of nature are exchanged for the mild asseveration, “By the Korān.” There is more self-assertion and formality, and the special words of God are as it were italicised by the prefixed verb, “Say.” It must be remembered that the speeches of the Korān are all supposed to be the utterances of God _in propriâ personâ_, of whom Mohammad is only the mouthpiece. The apparent vindications and laudations of the prophet himself are explicable from this point of view; and the reader must never forget it when he is perplexed by the “we” (God), and “thou” (Mohammad), and “ye” (the audience), of the Korān. The most important alteration to be observed in the progress of the orations at Mekka is the introduction of numerous stories derived, with considerable corruptions, from the Jewish Haggadah. More than fifteen hundred verses, nearly a quarter of the Kur-ān, are occupied with wearisome repetitions of these legends. They are to be seen methodically arranged in Lane’s _Selections from the Kur-ān_, and I need only say that, with the exception of one or two typical examples (like the speech called _The Moon_, p. 41), and a few digressions in speeches (like _The Children of Israel_, p. 57) that were too important to be omitted, these tales are excluded from the present collection. Their only real interest is Mohammad’s use of them as evidence of the continuity of revelation. He believed that all preceding prophets were inspired of God, and that they taught the same faith as himself. From Adam to Jesus they all brought their messages to their people, and were rejected. He makes them exhort their people in precisely similar words to those with which he exhorts the Koreysh. There is nothing new in his own doctrine, he says, it is but the teaching of Abraham, of Moses, of Christ, of all the prophets. But it is the last and best, the seal of prophecy, after which no other will be given before the Great Day. It supersedes or confirms all that goes before.
Quite half of the second group of Mekka speeches consists of these Jewish legends. There are not so many in the third, and none in the first. But if the Third does not contain quite so many of these tedious fables, it is even tamer in style. Mohammad seems to be cataloguing the signs of nature mechanically, and he is constantly recurring to the charge of forgery which was often brought against him, or to the demand for miracles, which he always frankly admitted he could not gratify. I am only a warner, he said; I cannot show you a sign--a miracle--except what ye see every day and night. Signs are with God: He who could make the heavens could easily show you a sign if He pleased; beware, lest one day ye see a sign indeed, and taste in hell that which ye called a lie! That the old eloquence, in spite of repetition and wearing trouble, was not dead, may be seen from the speech called _Thunder_ (p. 104), where the nature painting is as fine as anywhere in the Korān.
The first great division of Mohammad’s speeches, then, is oratorical rather than dogmatic. He has a great dogma, indeed, and uses every resource to recommend it. But there is little detail in these ninety Mekka speeches. Hardly any definite laws or precepts are to be found in them, and most of these in the speech entitled _The Children of Israel_ (p. 57). Certain general rules of prayer are given, hospitality and thrift are commended in a breath, “Let not thy hand be chained to thy neck, nor yet stretch it out right open;” infanticide, inchastity, homicide (save in blood-revenge), the robbing of orphans, a false balance, usury, a broken covenant, and a proud stomach, are denounced; certain foods are prohibited; and the whole duty of man is thus briefly summed up:--“Say: I am only a man like you: I am inspired that your God is but One God. Then let him who hopeth to meet his Lord do righteousness, and join no (idol) in his worship of God.”
There is little here of a complicated ritual or a metaphysical theology. Thus far the social and religious laws which we associate with Islām are not found in the Mohammadan Bible. We hear only the voice crying in the wilderness, “Hear ye, people! The Lord your God is one Lord.”
Mohammad’s position at Medina was totally different from that he occupied at Mekka. Instead of a struggling reformer, despised and ridiculed by almost every man he met, he was a king, ruling a large city with despotic power, and needing every resource of statecraft to maintain order among its contentious elements. There was a large party, known in the Korān as the “Disaffected” or “Hypocrites,” who found it politic to profess Islām, but were ready to avail themselves of any propitious occasion to overturn or injure it. Still more important were the Jewish Arab tribes settled at Medina, who at first hoped to find a tool to their hands in the new prophet, who seemed to teach something very like Judaism; but who, when they found him unmanageable, straightway turned upon him with double malignity, and exerted themselves in all treacherous ways to countermine his authority and help his enemies within and without the city. Mohammad has been blamed for the severity with which he suppressed the rebellious parties in his state, and the sentences of exile and death passed upon the Jews have been regarded as proofs of a vindictive nature. An impartial study of the facts of the case, however, shows plainly that strong measures were needed for the preservation of the Muslim religion and polity; and the vigorous blows struck by Mohammad at rebellion in the beginning probably saved bloodshed afterwards. Whilst the prophet’s supremacy was being established and maintained among the mixed population of Medina, a vigorous warfare was carried on outside with his old persecutors, the Koreysh. On the history of this war, consisting as it did mainly of small raids and attacks upon caravans, I need not dwell. Its leading features were the two battles of Bedr and Ohud, in the first of which three hundred Muslims, though outnumbered at the odds of three to one, were completely victorious (A.D. 624, A.H. 2); whilst at Ohud, being outnumbered in the like proportion, and deserted by the “Disaffected” party, they were almost as decisively defeated (A.H. 3). Two years later the Koreysh gathered together their allies, advanced upon Medina, and besieged it for fifteen days; but the foresight of Mohammad in digging a trench, and the enthusiasm of the Muslims in defending it, resisted all assaults, and the coming of the heavy storms for which the climate of Medina is noted drove the enemy back to Mekka. The next year (A.H. 6) a ten years’ truce (see _The Victory_, p. 124, and notes) was concluded with the Koreysh, in pursuance of which a strange scene took place in the following spring. It was agreed that Mohammad and his people should perform the Lesser Pilgrimage, and that the Koreysh should for that purpose vacate Mekka for three days. Accordingly in March 629, about two thousand Muslims, with Mohammad at their head on his famous camel, El-Kaswa,--the camel on which he had fled from Mekka,--trooped down the valley and performed the rites which every Muslim to this day observes.
“It was surely a strange sight which at this time presented itself in the vale of Mekka, a sight unique in the history of the world. The ancient city is for three days evacuated by all its inhabitants, high and low, every house deserted; and as they retire, the exiled converts, many years banished from their birthplace, approach in a great body, accompanied by their allies, revisit the empty homes of their childhood, and within the short allotted space fulfil the rites of pilgrimage. The ousted inhabitants, climbing the heights around, take refuge under tents or other shelter among the hills and glens; and clustering on the overhanging peak of Abu-Kubeys, thence watch the movements of the visitors beneath them, as with the Prophet at their head they make the circuit of the Kaaba and the rapid procession between Es-Safā and Marwah; and anxiously scan every figure if perchance they may recognise among the worshippers some long lost friend or relative. It was a scene rendered possible only by the throes which gave birth to Islām.” When the three days were over, Mohammad and his party peaceably returned to Medina, and the Mekkans re-entered their homes. But this pilgrimage, and the self-restraint of the Muslims therein, advanced the cause of Islām among its enemies. Converts increased daily, and some leading men of the Koreysh went over to Mohammad. The clans around were sending-in deputations of homage. But the final keystone was set in the 8th year of the flight (A.D. 630), when a body of Koreysh broke the truce by attacking an ally of the Muslims, and Mohammad forthwith marched upon Mekka with ten thousand men, and the city, despairing of defence, surrendered. The day of Mohammad’s greatest triumph over his enemies was also the day of his grandest victory over himself. He freely forgave the Koreysh all the years of sorrow and cruel scorn in which they had afflicted him, and gave an amnesty to the whole population of Mekka. Four criminals whom justice condemned made up Mohammad’s proscription list when he entered as a conqueror to the city of his bitterest enemies. The army followed his example, and entered quietly and peaceably; no house was robbed, no women insulted. One thing alone suffered destruction. Going to the Kaaba, Mohammad stood before each of the three hundred and sixty idols, and pointed to it with his staff, saying, “Truth is come, and falsehood is fled away!” and at these words his attendants hewed them down, and all the idols and household gods of Mekka and round about were destroyed.
It was thus that Mohammad entered again his native city. Through all the annals of conquest there is no triumphant entry comparable to this one.
The taking of Mekka was soon followed by the adhesion of all Arabia. Every reader knows the story of the spread of Islām. The tribes of every part of the peninsula sent embassies to do homage to the prophet. Arabia was not enough: Mohammad had written in his bold uncompromising way to the great kings of the East--to the Persian Chosroes and the Greek Emperor; and these little knew how soon his invitation to the faith would be repeated, and how quickly Islām would be knocking at their doors with no faltering hand.
The prophet’s career was near its end. In the tenth year of the flight, twenty-three years after he had first felt the spirit move him to preach to his people, he resolved once more to leave his adopted city and go to Mekka to perform a farewell pilgrimage. And when the rites were done in the valley of Minā, the prophet spake unto the multitude--the forty thousand pilgrims--with solemn last words: Ye people, hearken to my words: for I know not whether after this year I shall ever be amongst you here again.
Your lives and your property are sacred and inviolable amongst one another until the end of time.
The Lord hath ordained to every man the share of his inheritance; a testament is not lawful to the prejudice of heirs.
The child belongeth to the parent, and the violater of wedlock shall be stoned.
Ye people, ye have rights demandable of your wives, and they have rights demandable of you. Treat your women well.
And your slaves, see that ye feed them with such food as ye eat yourselves, and clothe them with the stuff ye wear. And if they commit a fault which ye are not willing to forgive, then sell them, for they are the servants of the Lord and are not to be tormented.
Ye people! hearken unto my speech and comprehend it. Know that every Muslim is the brother of every other Muslim. All of you are on the same equality: ye are one brotherhood.
Then looking up to heaven he cried, “O Lord, I have delivered my message and fulfilled my mission.” And all the multitude answered, “Yea, verily hast thou!”--“O Lord, I beseech thee, bear Thou witness to it!” and, like Moses, he lifted up his hands and blessed the people. Three months more and Mohammad was dead,--A.H. 11, A.D. 632.
And when it was noised abroad that the prophet was dead, Omar, the fiery-hearted, the Simon Peter of Islām, rushed among the people and fiercely told them they lied; it could not be true. And Abu-Bekr came and said, “Ye people! he that hath worshipped Mohammad, let him know that Mohammad is dead; but he that hath worshipped God, that the Lord liveth and doth not die.”
* * * * * The altered circumstances of Mohammad’s life at Medina produced a corresponding change in his speeches. They are now not so much exhortations to unbelievers as directions and encouragements to the faithful; and instead of being one complete oration, as most of the early speeches are, they are a collection of isolated “rulings” on various points of conduct. The prophet’s house at Medina became a court of appeal for the whole body of Muslims. They came to him with all their difficulties,--domestic, social, political, religious,--and asked for direction. Then Mohammad said in few words what he thought right and just; and these decisions have been treated as laws binding upon the Mohammadan world for all time. It is fortunate that Mohammad was a man of sound common sense, or the law of Islām would be a preposterous medley. As it is, it seems clear that the prophet never wished to lay down a code of law, and, instead of volunteering rules of conduct and ritual, used to wait to have them extorted from him by questioning. “God wishes to make things easy for you,” he says, “for man was created weak.” He seems to have distrusted himself as a lawgiver, for there is a tradition which relates a speech of his in which he cautions the people against taking his decision on worldly affairs as infallible. When he speaks of the things of God he is to be obeyed; but when he deals with human affairs he is only a man like those about him. He was contented to leave the ordinary Arab customs in force except when they were manifestly unjust. The truth is that, as in the Mekka speeches so in those of Medina, the legal and dogmatic element is curiously small. The greater part of those long chapters uttered in fragments at Medina, and then pieced together haphazard by the prophet’s amanuenses, consists of diatribes against the Jews and hypocrites, reflections on the conduct of the allies in battle, encouragement after defeat, exhortations as to the future, besides a great deal of personal matter--regulations of the prophet’s harem, vindications of his own or his wives’ conduct,--and similar things of a temporary and local interest. Though the style is monotonous and longwinded, like the third Mekka period, there are still flashes of the old eloquence, though perhaps it is less spontaneous than of old, such as we hear in the chapter of _Light_-- God is the light of the heavens and the earth; his light is as a niche in which is a lamp, and the lamp in a glass; the glass is as it were a glittering star: it is lit from a blessed tree, an olive neither of the east nor of the west, the oil thereof would well-nigh shine though no fire touched it--light upon light--God guideth to His light whom He pleaseth. In the houses God hath suffered to be raised, for His name to be commemorated therein, men magnify Him at morn and eve: Men whom neither merchandise nor trafficking divert from remembering God and being instant in prayer and giving alms, fearing a day when hearts and eyes shall quiver; That God may recompense them for the best that they have wrought, and give them increase of His grace; for God maketh provision for whom He pleaseth without count. But those who disbelieve are like a vapour in a plain: the thirsty thinketh it water, till, when he cometh to it, he findeth nothing; but he findeth God with him; and He will settle his account, for God is quick at reckoning:-- Or like black night on a deep sea, which wave above wave doth cover, and cloud over wave, gloom upon gloom,--when one putteth out his hand he can scarcely see it; for to whom God giveth not light, he hath no light. Hast thou not seen that what is in the heavens and the earth magnifieth God, and the birds on the wing? each one knoweth its prayer and its praise, and God knoweth what they do: God’s is the empire of the heavens and the earth, and to Him must all things return! Hast thou not seen that God driveth the clouds, and then joineth them, and then heapeth them up, and thou mayest see the rain coming forth from their midst; and He sendeth down from the heaven mountain-clouds with hail therein, and He maketh it fall on whom He pleaseth, and He turneth it away from whom He pleaseth: the flashing of His lightning well nigh consumeth the eyes!
xxiv. 35-43.
The actual legal residue in the Medina chapters is singularly small. Chapters ii., iv., and v., contain nearly all the law of the Korān; but it must be allowed they are very long chapters, and form nearly a tenth part of it. Their practical import,--the definite ruling of Mohammad on dogmatic, ritual, civil, and criminal matters,--is collected in pp. 133-144, and need not be repeated here. The conclusion, however, is worth pointing clearly. The Korān does not contain, even in outline, the elaborate ritual and complicated law which now passes under the name of Islām. It contains merely those decisions which happened to be called for at Medina. Mohammad himself knew that it did not provide for every emergency, and recommended a principle of analogical deduction to guide his followers when they were in doubt. This analogical deduction has been the ruin of Islām. Commentators and jurists have set their nimble wits to work to extract from the Korān legal decisions which an ordinary mind could never discover there; and the whole structure of modern Mohammadanism has been built upon this foundation of sand. The Korān is not responsible for it.