Muhammad (8 page)

Instead of succumbing to the jahili spirit, the Qur’an urges Muslims to behave with
hilm,
a traditional Arab virtue. Men and women of hilm were forbearing, patient, and merciful.
⁶⁰
They could control their anger and remain calm in the most difficult circumstances instead of exploding with rage; they were slow to retaliate; they did not hit back when they suffered injury, but left revenge to Allah.
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Hilm also inspired positive action: if they practiced hilm, Muslims would look after the weak and disadvantaged, liberate their slaves, counsel each other to patience and compassion, and feed the destitute, even when they were hungry themselves.
⁶²
Muslims must always behave with consummate gentleness and courtesy. They were men and women of peace: “For true servants of the Most Gracious are they who walk gently on the earth, and who, whenever the jahilun address them, reply ‘Peace’ (
salam
!)”
⁶³

After the affair of the “satanic verses,” the conflict with the kafirun became very nasty. Abu Jahl regularly subjected any Muslims he met to vitriolic verbal abuse and slandered them with vicious lies and rumor; he threatened merchants with ruin, and simply beat up the “weaker” Muslims. The kafirun could not hurt Muslims who had strong protectors, but they could attack slaves and those who lacked adequate tribal patronage. Ummayah, chief of Jumah, used to torture Bilal, his Abyssinian slave, by tying him up and forcing him to lie exposed to the gruelling sun, with a huge boulder on his chest. Abu Bakr could not bear to watch Bilal suffering, so he bought him from Ummayah and set him free. He also liberated a Muslim slave girl, when he saw ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab flogging her. Some of the younger Muslims were locked up by their families, who even tried to starve them into submission. The situation became so serious that Muhammad sent the more vulnerable members of the ummah to Abyssinia, where the Christian governor gave them asylum. It was becoming painfully clear that, unthinkable as it might seem, there might be no future for the Muslims in Mecca.

It must have been very difficult indeed for the Muslims, brought up in the jahili spirit, to practice hilm and turn the other cheek. Even Muhammad sometimes had to struggle to maintain his composure. One of the early surahs expresses his rage against his uncle Abu Lahab and his wife, who used to scatter sharp thorns outside his house.
⁶⁴
On one occasion, Muhammad overheard some of the Qurayshan chiefs jeering at him contemptuously while he was circumambulating the Kabah. For a while he was able to keep his rising anger in check, but by the time he had completed the third circuit, his face was as black as thunder. He stopped in his tracks, faced the kafirun, and, instead of wishing them “Peace,” as the Qur’an enjoined, said grimly: “Will you listen to me, O Quraysh. By him who holds my life in His hand, I bring you slaughter!” He uttered the last word so threateningly that the chiefs were silenced. But the next day, they had recovered their nerve. They leapt on Muhammad when he arrived in the Haram, encircled him menacingly, and started to rough him up, pulling him about by his robe. This time, Muhammad did not respond aggressively, but allowed the chiefs to manhandle him, until Abu Bakr intervened, weeping: “Would you kill a man for saying Allah is my lord?”
⁶⁵

But this kind of behavior could sometimes be counterproductive. One day, Abu Jahl came upon Muhammad near the Safa Gate, an important site of the hajj, and was so incensed to see him calmly occupying this sacred spot that he exploded in true jahili style. Again, Muhammad refused to retaliate, but sat and listened to the string of devastating insults without uttering a word. Finally Abu Jahl ended his tirade and went to join some of the other chiefs in the Haram, while Muhammad went sadly and silently home. But that evening, his uncle Hamzah, who had been out hunting, heard what had happened and became incandescent with fury. He set off immediately to find Abu Jahl, and hit him hard with his bow. “Will you insult him when I follow his religion?” he yelled. “Hit me back if you can!” Loath to take on Hamzah, whose physical strength was legendary in Mecca, Abu Jahl hastily restrained his companions, admitting that he had grievously insulted Muhammad.
⁶⁶

Hamzah became a devout Muslim, but this was not exactly the way that Muhammad would have wished his uncle to enter Islam. Toward the end of 616, there was another, even more surprising conversion. ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab had decided that it was time to kill Muhammad, and strode through the streets of Mecca, sword in hand, toward a house at the foot of Mount Safa, where he heard that the Prophet was spending the afternoon. He did not know that his sister Fatimah bint al-Khattab and her husband had secretly become Muslims. Thinking that ‘Umar was safely out of the way, they had invited one of the few literate Muslims to come and recite the latest surah. But on his way to Mount Safa, ‘Umar was intercepted by another Muslim, who fearing for Muhammad’s life, informed ‘Umar that his own sister had converted to Islam. ‘Umar rushed home, and was horrified to hear the words of the Qur’an issuing from an upstairs window. “What is this balderdash!” he roared as he burst into the room. The reciter fled in terror, dropping the manuscript in his haste, while ‘Umar threw his sister to the ground. But when he saw that she was bleeding, he felt ashamed, picked up the manuscript, and began to read the surah. ‘Umar was one of the judges of the poetry competition in ‘Ukaz, and realized at once that he was looking at something unique. This was quite different from a conventional Arabic ode. “How fine and noble is this speech,” he exclaimed with wonder, and immediately the beauty of the Qur’an diffused his rage and touched a core of receptivity deeply buried within him. Yet again he grabbed his sword, and ran through the streets to the house where Muhammad was. “What has brought you, Ibn al-Khattab?” asked the Prophet. “I have come to you to believe in God and his apostle and what he has brought from God,” ‘Umar replied. Muhammad gave thanks so loudly that everybody in the house, who had dived for cover as soon as they saw ‘Umar, came out of hiding, scarcely able to believe what had happened.
⁶⁷

Ibn Ishaq has recorded another, less dramatic but equally significant version of ‘Umar’s conversion. He had set out to join some friends for a drink in the market one evening, but when his friends failed to turn up, decided to perform the tawaf instead. The Haram was entirely deserted, except for Muhammad, who was standing close to the Kabah, reciting the Qur’an quietly to himself. ‘Umar decided that he wanted to listen, so he crept under the damask cloth that covered the shrine and edged his way round until he was standing directly in front of Muhammad. As he said later: “There was nothing between us but the cover of the Kabah”—all his defenses but one were down. Then the power of the Qur’an did its work: “When I heard the Qur’an, my heart was softened and I wept, and Islam entered into me.”
⁶⁸
‘Umar’s conversion was a bitter blow to the opposition, but because he was protected by his clan, there was nothing that they could do to hurt him.

Abu Jahl now imposed a boycott on the clans of Hashim and al-Muttalib: nobody could marry into them or trade with them—they could not even sell them food. All the members of Hashim and al-Muttalib, Muslim and non-Muslim alike, moved into Abu Talib’s street, which became a little ghetto. When Muhammad’s household arrived, Abu Lahab and his family moved out and took up residence in the district of ‘Abd Shams. The purpose of the boycott was not to starve the two clans, but to bring home to them the consequence of removing themselves from the tribe. If Muhammad wanted to withdraw from the religious life of Mecca, he could not continue to benefit from the economy.
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The ban collapsed after three years. It was especially unpopular among those who had relatives in Hashim or al-Muttalib, and could not in good conscience allow them to go hungry. Muslims like Abu Bakr and ‘Umar, who did not belong to the proscribed clans, sent provisions whenever they could. One Meccan regularly loaded a camel with supplies, led it to Abu Talib’s street under cover of night, gave the beast a thwack on its hind-quarters, and sent it lumbering down the alley. On one occasion, Abu Jahl accosted one of Khadijah’s nephews, who was making his way to the ghetto with a bag of flour. There was soon a fierce argument. Another Qurayshi joined in, disgusted that Abu Jahl was preventing a man from taking food to his aunt, and gave him a huge blow with a camel’s jaw that knocked him to the ground.

During this ban, the Qur’an reminded the Muslims that other prophets—Joseph, Noah, Jonah, Moses, and Jesus—had also warned their people to reform their behavior, and when they refused, their societies had collapsed, because they were not acting in accordance with the fundamental principles of the universe.
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Unlike animals, fish, or plants, which are natural muslims since they submit instinctively to these basic laws, human beings have free will.
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When they oppress the weak and refuse to share their wealth fairly with the poor, this violation of God’s law is as unnatural as though a fish were to try to live on dry land. Disaster was inevitable. But the Qur’an continued to urge Muslims to be patient and not seize this opportunity for a personal vendetta against their enemies.

Some of the Quraysh too were anxious for peace. Shortly after the imposition of the ban, a small delegation had approached Muhammad, led by a venerable elder who was too close to death to be personally threatened by the Prophet. He suggested a compromise: the whole city could worship Allah one year and the other gods the next. But Muhammad could not accept this offer. Instead, the Surah al-Kafirun proposed peaceful coexistence:

You who reject the faith (kafirun)

I do not worship what you worship

And you do not worship what I worship

I am not a worshipper of what you worship

You are not a worshipper of what I worship.

A reckoning (din) for you and a reckoning for me.
⁷²

People worship different things; there must be “no coercion in matters of faith!” (
la ikra fi’l-din!
)
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Din meant “reckoning,” but also “religion,” “way of life,” or “moral law.” Each individual had his or her own din and there was no need for force or compulsion.

In the end, blood loyalty led to the end of the boycott. Four of the Qurayshan establishment, who had relatives in Hashim and al-Muttalib, solemnly requested an end to the ban, and despite the angry protests of Abu Jahl, the other chiefs agreed. There must have been great rejoicing in the Muslim community. When they heard the news, some of the emigrants came home from Abyssinia, convinced that the worst was over. But they had been too optimistic. Early in 619, Khadijah died. She was aging, and her health may have been irreparably damaged by the food shortages. She had been Muhammad’s closest companion, and nobody—not even Abu Bakr or the fervent ‘Umar—would ever be able to provide Muhammad with the same intimate support. The early biographers call 619 Muhammad’s “year of sadness.” Not long afterwards, a second death had even more far reaching implications. Abu Talib had been ruined financially, and may also have been physically weakened by the boycott. Later that year, he fell ill and died. And the new chief of Hashim was Abu Lahab.

Chapter Three

Hijrah

E
VERYBODY IN
M
ECCA
was immediately aware of Muhammad’s new vulnerability. Abu Lahab did not repudiate Muhammad: a chief was expected to give all his clansmen a measure of protection and to fail in this duty at the very start of his office would have been a sign of weakness. But it was obvious that he extended his patronage very grudgingly. Muhammad’s neighbors played disgusting tricks with a sheep’s uterus, thwacking him with it while he was at prayer, and once even dropping it into the family cooking pot. One day, a young Qurayshi threw filth all over Muhammad while he was walking in the city. When his daughter Fatimah saw him in this state, she burst into tears. “Don’t cry, my little girl,” Muhammad reassured her tenderly, while she tried to clean him up. “God will protect your father.” But to himself, he added grimly: “Quraysh never treated me thus while Abu Talib was alive.”
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His weakness probably affected the position of some of the more vulnerable Muslims. Abu Bakr, for example, had been almost ruined by the boycott. He lived in the district of the Jumah clan, and its chief, the corpulent Ummayah ibn Khalaf who used to expose Bilal to the sun, now felt free to do the same to Abu Bakr, tying him to his young cousin and leaving them, parched and sick, in this humiliating position in the sweltering heat. Taym, their clan, was too weak to protect them, so, realizing that he had no future in Mecca, Abu Bakr set off to join the Muslim emigrant community in Abyssinia. But on the road, he met Ibn Dughunnah, one of the Bedouin allies of the Quraysh, who was horrified to hear what had happened. He insisted on returning to Mecca, and formally took Abu Bakr under his own protection. Since the Qurayshan establishment was anxious to cultivate Ibn Dughunnah, they agreed to this arrangement, but asked him to make sure that Abu Bakr did not pray or recite the Qur’an in public. He was so popular and charismatic, they explained, that he would lure the young men away from the official religion. So Abu Bakr worshipped alone, making a little
masjid
, a place for prostration, in front of his house.

But the situation was clearly unsatisfactory. Muhammad tried to find a new protector for himself in the pleasant, fertile oasis of Ta’if, but it was a hopeless venture, which revealed the measure of his desperation, because the tribe of Thaqif had been greatly offended by Muhammad’s repudiation of their goddess Al-Lat. Muhammad visited three of the leaders of Thaqif, asking them to accept his religion and extend their protection to him, but they were so enraged by his effrontery that they had their slaves chase him through the streets. He was only able to escape by diving into the garden of ‘Utbah ibn Rabi‘ah, one of the chief Meccan kafirun, who had a summer home in Ta’if. ‘Utbah and his brother Shaybah saw Muhammad’s humiliating flight, but did not wish to hand a fellow-tribesman over to the Thaqif. So instead of reporting Muhammad, they sent a slave to him with a platter of grapes.

Crouching ignominiously behind a tree, Muhammad was close to despair. It was customary for Arabs to “take refuge” with a god or a jinni in times of crisis, so now Muhammad took refuge with Allah.

Oh God, to Thee I complain of my weakness, my little resource and lowliness before men. O Most Merciful, Thou art lord of the weak and Thou art my lord. To whom wilt Thou confide me? To one afar, who will misuse me? Or an enemy to whom Thou hast given power over me? If Thou art not angry with me, I care not. Thy favor is more wide for me. I take refuge in the light of Thy countenance by which the darkness is illumined, and the things of this world and the next are rightly ordered, lest Thy anger descend upon me or Thy wrath light upon me. It is for Thee to be satisfied until Thou art well-pleased. There is no power and no might save in Thee.
²

It is unusual for Ibn Ishaq to give such an intimate account of Muhammad’s state of mind. It indicates a moment of spiritual truth. In this act of islam, Muhammad realized more fully than ever before that he had no security and no true protector but Allah.

God seemed to answer his prayer, because no sooner had he finished speaking, than ‘Addas, ‘Utbah’s slave boy, arrived with the grapes. He was a Christian, and Muhammad was delighted to learn that he came from Nineveh, the city of the prophet Jonah. He told ‘Addas that Jonah was his brother, because he was a prophet, too. ‘Addas was so overwhelmed that, to the disgust of ‘Utbah, who was watching the encounter, he kissed Muhammad’s head, hands, and feet. After this unexpected encounter with one of the People of the Book, Muhammad felt less isolated. It reminded him that, even though the Arabs had rejected him, there was a multitude of worshippers in the great world outside Arabia who would understand his mission. He felt cheered as he began his homeward journey, and stopped to pray in the small oasis of Nakhlah, where he was overheard by a group of “unseen beings” (jinn). The word jinn did not always refer to the whimsical sprites of Arabia; it could also be used for “strangers,” people who had hitherto been unseen. The Qur’an indicates that the travellers, who lurked out of sight in Nakhlah, listening to Muhammad’s recitation, may have been Jews. They were so overcome by the beauty and felicity of the Arabic scripture that when they returned home, they told their people that they had heard “a revelation bestowed from on high, after [that of ] Moses,” which confirmed the truth of the Torah and would guide human beings to the right path.
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Muhammad’s horizons were beginning to expand. He had been certain that he had been sent simply as a “warner” (nadhir) to his own tribe and that Islam was only for the people of Mecca. But now he was beginning to look further afield to the People of the Book
,
who had received earlier revelations. Despite the confidence that this gave him, he was now desperate. Once the kafirun had learned of his attempt to find support in Ta’if, his position would be even more precarious, so before entering Mecca, he sent word to three clan chiefs, asking for their patronage. Two refused, but the third—Mu’tim, chief of Nawfal, who had been one of those who had campaigned to end the boycott—promised to protect Muhammad, and he was now able to return home.

But this could not be a long-term solution. Somehow Muhammad had to win over the Quraysh. In 619, he began to preach to the pilgrims and merchants who attended the trade fairs that culminated in the hajj. Perhaps, like Abu Bakr, he would find a Bedouin protector, and if the Qurayshan establishment saw that he was respected by their Bedouin confederates, they might learn to accommodate him. But the Bedouin pilgrims were hostile and insulting. The last thing they wanted was a religion that preached submission and humility. Muhammad must have felt that he had come to the end of his resources. He was still grieving for Khadijah; his position in Mecca was desperately precarious; and after preaching for seven years, he had made no real headway. Yet at this low point of his career, he had the greatest personal mystical experience of his life.

He had been visiting one of his cousins who lived near the Haram, so he decided to spend the night in prayer beside the Kabah, as he loved to do. Eventually he went to sleep for a while in the enclosed area to the northwest of the shrine, which housed the tombs of Ishmael and Hagar. Then, it seemed to him that he was awakened by Gabriel and conveyed miraculously to Jerusalem, the holy city of the Jews and Christians—an experience that may have been recorded by this oblique verse of the Qur’an:

Limitless in His glory is He who transported His servant by night from the Inviolable House of Worship (
al masjid al-haram
) to the Remote House of Worship (
al-masjid al-aqsa
)—the environs of which We had blessed—so that We might show him some of Our symbols (ayat).
⁴

Jerusalem is not mentioned by name, but later tradition associated the “Remote House” with the holy city of the People of the Book
,
the Jews and the Christians. According to the historian Tabari, Muhammad told his companions that he had once been taken by the angels Gabriel and Michael to meet his “fathers”: Adam (in the first heaven) and Abraham (in the seventh), and that he also saw his “brothers”: Jesus, Enoch, Aaron, Moses, and Joseph.
⁵
The Qur’an also claimed that Muhammad had a vision beside the “lote tree” which marked the limit of human knowledge:

He saw it descending another time
at the lote tree of the furthest limit
There was the garden of sanctuary
When something came down over the lote tree enfolding
His gaze did not turn aside nor go too far
He had seen the sight of his lord, great signs (ayat)
⁶

The Qur’an is reticent about this vision. He saw only God’s signs and symbols—not God himself, and later mystics emphasized the paradox of this transcendent insight, in which Muhammad both saw and did not see the divine essence.

Later Muslims began to piece together these fragmentary references to create a coherent narrative. Influenced perhaps by the stories told by Jewish mystics of their ascent through the seven heavens to the throne of God, they imagined their prophet making a similar spiritual flight. The first account of this “night journey” (
‘isra
) is found in the eighth-century biography by Ibn Ishaq. In this extended story, Gabriel lifted the Prophet onto a heavenly steed and together they flew through the night to Jerusalem, where they alighted on the site of the ancient Jewish Temple, the “Remote House” of the Qur’an. There they were greeted by Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and all the great prophets of the past, who welcomed Muhammad into their fellowship and invited him to preach to them. Afterwards the prophets all prayed together. Then a ladder was brought and Muhammad and Gabriel climbed to the first of the seven heavens and began their ascent to the divine throne. At each stage, Muhammad met and conversed with some of the greatest of the prophets. Adam presided over the first heaven, where Muhammad was shown a vision of Hell; Jesus and John the Baptist were in the second heaven; Joseph in the third; Enoch in the fourth; Moses and Aaron in the fifth and sixth, and finally Muhammad met Abraham in the seventh, on the threshold of the divine realm.

Most writers leave the final vision of God in reverent obscurity, because it was literally ineffable, lying beyond the reach of speech. Muhammad had to abandon ordinary human concepts, going beyond the lote tree, the boundary of mundane knowledge. Even Gabriel could not accompany him on this last stage of his journey. He had to leave everybody and—the later mystics insisted—even himself behind to lose himself in God. The story of the night journey and the heavenly ascent is an event that—in some sense—happened once, but which also happens all the time. It represented a perfect act of islam, a self-surrender that was also a return to the source of being. The story became the paradigm of Muslim spirituality, outlining the path that all human beings must take, away from their preconceptions, their prejudices, and the limitations of egotism.

The vision did not result in a Qur’anic revelation; it was a personal experience for the Prophet himself. But placed as it is by the early biographers at this particular moment of Muhammad’s life, it is a wonderful commentary on the deeper subtext of these external events. Muhammad was being compelled by circumstances over which he had little control to leave Mecca and everything that was dear and familiar to him—at least for a while. He had to move beyond his original expectations, and transcend the received ideas of his time. In the traditional Arabian ode, the poet usually began with a dhikr, a “remembrance” of his lost beloved, who was travelling with her tribe further and further away from him. In the next section, the bard embarked on a “night journey,” breaking out of his nostalgic reverie, and setting off alone across the steppes on his camel—a fearful trek during which he had to confront his own mortality. Finally, the poet was reunited with his tribe. In the final section of the ode, he proudly boasted of the heroic values of his people, their prowess in battle, and their ceaseless war against all strangers who threatened their survival.
⁷
In Muhammad’s night journey, these old muruwah values were reversed. Instead of returning to his tribe, the prophet travelled far away from it to Jerusalem; instead of asserting his tribal identity with the arrogant chauvinism of jahiliyyah, Muhammad surrendered his ego. Instead of rejoicing in fighting and warfare, Muhammad’s journey celebrated harmony, transcendence of the blood group, and integration with the rest of humanity.

The story of the night journey reveals Muhammad’s longing to bring the Arabs of the Hijaz, who had felt that they had been left out of the divine plan, into the heart of the monotheistic family. This is a story of pluralism. Muhammad was abandoning the pagan pluralism of Mecca, because it had degenerated into the self-destructive arrogance and violence of jahiliyyah, but he was beginning to embrace monotheistic pluralism. In Jerusalem, he discovered that all the prophets, sent by God to all peoples, are “brothers.” Muhammad’s prophetic predecessors do not spurn him as a pretender, but welcome him into their family. The prophets do not revile or try to convert each other; instead they listen to each other’s insights. They invite the new prophet to preach to them, and, in one version of the story, Muhammad asks Moses for advice about how frequently Muslims should pray. Originally, God wanted salat fifty times a day, but Moses kept sending Muhammad back to God until the number of prescribed prayers had been reduced to five (which Moses still found excessive).
⁸
The fact that this appreciation of other traditions is written into the archetypal myth of Muslim spirituality shows how central this pluralism was to early Islam.

From this point, the Qur’an began to emphasize this shared vision. In one remarkable passage, Allah makes it clear that the faithful must believe indiscriminately in the revelations of every single one of God’s messengers: