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Occasionally you read a book that genuinely transforms and expands your thinking. This is one of those books. It has left me viewing the world differently, perhaps with a little more hope.
For most of us who are non-Muslims, I suspect that our understanding of Islam and the Prophet Muhammad is a hazy impression formed largely by the drip-feed of news items about Islamic extremists causing death and destruction, the horror and tragedy of honour killings, Afghan girls denied education by the Taliban, paedophile gangs in Northern towns, and so on.
If that is our understanding of Islam, then our perception is severely distorted. At least, that’s Karen Armstrong’s argument in this book. What these acts of cruelty and oppression represent has little to do with the life and teachings of Muhammad. To gain a true understanding, we need to learn something of the context in which Muhammad lived and the essence of his message. And if we do that, there is actually much we can learn from him to help us navigate our own divided, war torn world. Muhammad was not just a prophet for the 6th Century, but for ours also.
One of the things that Armstrong demonstrates so compellingly is the remarkable similarities between the cultural woes of sixth century Saudi Arabia, and our own. Pre-Islamic Arabians believed that life was pointless and determined by fate, so the only solution was pleasure, especially wine. ‘All beings, they believed, came under the sway of dahr (“time” or “fate”), which inflicted all manner of suffering on humanity; a man’s life was determined in advance. All things passed away; even the successful warrior would die and be forgotten. There was an inherent futility in this life of ceaseless struggle.’ People believed in Allah (the Arabic word for God), but he was a distant figure who ‘had very little influence on the people’s daily lives’.
‘Allah seemed like an irresponsible, absentee father; after he had brought men and women into being, he took no interest in them and abandoned them to their fate.’
‘The gods of Arabia gave their worshippers no moral guidance; even though they found the rituals spiritually satisfying, some of the Quraysh were beginning to find these stone effigies inadequate symbols of divinity.’
To fill the void, a culture of hedonism had emerged, one characterised by materialism, selfishness and nihilism, with little sense of responsibility or compassion towards fellow humans beyond tribal loyalty: ‘There was no concept of universal human rights’. All this troubled Muhammed greatly, especially the treatment of the most vulnerable in society, and he began devoting himself to prayer and meditation.
Interestingly, ‘Arabs knew about the monotheistic religions of Judaism and Christianity. Jews had probably lived in Arabia for over a millennium, migrating there after the Babylonian and Roman invasions of Palestine. Jews had been the first to settle in the agricultural colonies of Yathrib and Khaybar in the north; there were Jewish merchants in the towns and Jewish nomads in the steppes.’
‘They called Jews and Christians the ahl al-kitab (“the People of the Book”). They admired the notion of a revealed text and wished they had sacred scripture in their own language.’
‘But at this time, Arabs did not see Judaism and Christianity as exclusive traditions that were fundamentally different from their own. Indeed, the term “Jew” or “Christian” usually referred to tribal affiliation rather than to religious orientation. These faiths were an accepted part of the spiritual landscape of the peninsula and considered quite compatible with Arab spirituality. Because no imperial power was seeking to impose any form of religious orthodoxy, Arabs felt free to adapt what they understood about these traditions to their own needs. Allah, they believed, was the God worshipped by Jews and Christians, so Christian Arabs made the hajj to the Kabah, the house of Allah, alongside the pagans. It was said that Adam had built the Kabah after his expulsion from Eden and that Noah had rebuilt it after the devastation of the Flood. The Quraysh knew that in the Bible the Arabs were said to be the sons of Ishmael, Abraham’s oldest son, and that God had commanded Abraham to abandon him with his mother Hagar in the wilderness, promising that he would make their descendants a great people. Later Abraham had visited Hagar and Ishmael in the desert and had rediscovered the shrine. He and Ishmael had rebuilt it yet again and designed the rites of the hajj.’
‘Arabs did not feel it necessary to convert to Judaism or Christianity, because they believed that they were already members of the Abrahamic family; in fact, the idea of conversion from one faith to another was alien to the Quraysh, whose vision of religion was essentially pluralistic.’
So this potent backdrop of secular hedonism mixed with the remnants of Judeo-Christian religious traditions fuelled Muhammad's longing to find a way forward for the people of Mecca which he felt had lost their way. He increasingly withdrew to pray and find spiritual meaning.
It was during one of Muhammad’s spiritual retreats on Mount Hira, that ‘a devastating presence [...] burst into the cave where he was sleeping and gripped him in an overpowering embrace, squeezing all the breath from his body.’
‘Allah insisted that he was not a distant, absent deity but wanted to instruct and guide his creatures, so they must “come near” to him. … But instead of approaching God in a spirit of prideful istighna’, they must bow before him like a lowly slave: “Touch your head to the earth!” God commanded—a posture that would be repugnant to the haughty Quraysh.’
This profound religious experience sparked terror rather than elation in Muhammad, who feared that ‘he was being attacked by a jinni, one of the fiery spirits who haunted the Arabian steppes and frequently lured travellers from the right path.’
‘Terrified and still unable to comprehend what had happened, Muhammad stumbled down the mountainside to Khadijah.
‘By the time he reached her, he was crawling on his hands and knees, shaking convulsively. “Cover me!” he cried, as he flung himself into her lap. Khadijah wrapped him in a cloak and held him in her arms until his fear abated.
‘She had no doubts at all about the revelation. This was no jinni, she insisted. God would never play such a cruel trick on a man who had honestly tried to serve him. “You are kind and considerate to your kin,” she reminded him. “You help the poor and forlorn and bear their burdens. You are striving to restore the high moral qualities that your people have lost. You honour the guest and go to the assistance of those in distress.’
Reading this, it struck me how important Khadijah's role was in steering the direction of Muhammad’s life. Would he have continued his spiritual path and gone on to found Islam if it was not for her early encouragement, support and comfort?
So right from the outset, women have a key role in founding the Islamic faith, one that is unambiguously positive (in contrast, for example, to the important but negative role played by Eve in the fall of Adam in Jewish and Christian traditions). This is all the more remarkable given the highly patriarchal culture in Mecca and Saudi Arabia at the time. Perhaps even more surprising is the strong emphasis on the femininity of Allah:
‘Allah was a masculine noun, but the divine names al-Rahman and al-Rahim are not only grammatically feminine but related etymologically to the word for womb.’
Armstrong observes, ‘This strong female presence was remarkable in the aggressive patriarchy of Mecca and may explain why women were among the first to respond to the message of the Qur’an.’
Another interesting feature of this story of Muhammad’s first revelation is that Khadijah consulted her cousin Waraqah. This was a devout and learned man who had ‘studied the scriptures of the People of the Book’ – i.e. the Old and New Testaments revered by Jews and Christians. Indeed, Muhammad’s subsequent revelations led him to believe that his role and teaching was a continuation of, rather than a deviation from, the teachings of Jesus and the Old Testament prophets. So throughout the story of the founding of Islam, there are recurring themes of eirenic pluralism and cross-fertilisation of religious belief.
Also, importantly, the emphasis on surrender and humility in Muhammad’s first revelation becomes the primary emphasis of the religion he goes on to found. According to Armstrong, the word Islam itself means to surrender, to empty ourselves of all ego and pride, and humble ourselves before Allah. Elsewhere, she describes it as a form of “Kinosis”, the Greek word used by Christians to describe Christ’s emptying himself of his deity in his descent to humanity in the Incarnation. It is a deeply profound form of spiritual humility. And this is the meaning behind the daily prostrations that Muhammad taught his followers to do: the physical prostration of the body five times a day is a means of achieving this Kinosis. Indeed, to be a Muslim literally means to be someone who performs Islam, this self-emptying surrender of ego, bitterness and pride.
So, for Karen Armstrong, Muhammed demonstrates the kind of humility, care for the poor, pluralism, and openness to those of other faiths, needed in our own times. Muslims, Christians, Jews and unbelievers alike need to rediscover the bigheartedness, generosity of spirit, and humility of Muhammad.
It’s a powerful message and one I found uplifting. A glimmer of hope in troubled times.
For most of us who are non-Muslims, I suspect that our understanding of Islam and the Prophet Muhammad is a hazy impression formed largely by the drip-feed of news items about Islamic extremists causing death and destruction, the horror and tragedy of honour killings, Afghan girls denied education by the Taliban, paedophile gangs in Northern towns, and so on.
If that is our understanding of Islam, then our perception is severely distorted. At least, that’s Karen Armstrong’s argument in this book. What these acts of cruelty and oppression represent has little to do with the life and teachings of Muhammad. To gain a true understanding, we need to learn something of the context in which Muhammad lived and the essence of his message. And if we do that, there is actually much we can learn from him to help us navigate our own divided, war torn world. Muhammad was not just a prophet for the 6th Century, but for ours also.
One of the things that Armstrong demonstrates so compellingly is the remarkable similarities between the cultural woes of sixth century Saudi Arabia, and our own. Pre-Islamic Arabians believed that life was pointless and determined by fate, so the only solution was pleasure, especially wine. ‘All beings, they believed, came under the sway of dahr (“time” or “fate”), which inflicted all manner of suffering on humanity; a man’s life was determined in advance. All things passed away; even the successful warrior would die and be forgotten. There was an inherent futility in this life of ceaseless struggle.’ People believed in Allah (the Arabic word for God), but he was a distant figure who ‘had very little influence on the people’s daily lives’.
‘Allah seemed like an irresponsible, absentee father; after he had brought men and women into being, he took no interest in them and abandoned them to their fate.’
‘The gods of Arabia gave their worshippers no moral guidance; even though they found the rituals spiritually satisfying, some of the Quraysh were beginning to find these stone effigies inadequate symbols of divinity.’
To fill the void, a culture of hedonism had emerged, one characterised by materialism, selfishness and nihilism, with little sense of responsibility or compassion towards fellow humans beyond tribal loyalty: ‘There was no concept of universal human rights’. All this troubled Muhammed greatly, especially the treatment of the most vulnerable in society, and he began devoting himself to prayer and meditation.
Interestingly, ‘Arabs knew about the monotheistic religions of Judaism and Christianity. Jews had probably lived in Arabia for over a millennium, migrating there after the Babylonian and Roman invasions of Palestine. Jews had been the first to settle in the agricultural colonies of Yathrib and Khaybar in the north; there were Jewish merchants in the towns and Jewish nomads in the steppes.’
‘They called Jews and Christians the ahl al-kitab (“the People of the Book”). They admired the notion of a revealed text and wished they had sacred scripture in their own language.’
‘But at this time, Arabs did not see Judaism and Christianity as exclusive traditions that were fundamentally different from their own. Indeed, the term “Jew” or “Christian” usually referred to tribal affiliation rather than to religious orientation. These faiths were an accepted part of the spiritual landscape of the peninsula and considered quite compatible with Arab spirituality. Because no imperial power was seeking to impose any form of religious orthodoxy, Arabs felt free to adapt what they understood about these traditions to their own needs. Allah, they believed, was the God worshipped by Jews and Christians, so Christian Arabs made the hajj to the Kabah, the house of Allah, alongside the pagans. It was said that Adam had built the Kabah after his expulsion from Eden and that Noah had rebuilt it after the devastation of the Flood. The Quraysh knew that in the Bible the Arabs were said to be the sons of Ishmael, Abraham’s oldest son, and that God had commanded Abraham to abandon him with his mother Hagar in the wilderness, promising that he would make their descendants a great people. Later Abraham had visited Hagar and Ishmael in the desert and had rediscovered the shrine. He and Ishmael had rebuilt it yet again and designed the rites of the hajj.’
‘Arabs did not feel it necessary to convert to Judaism or Christianity, because they believed that they were already members of the Abrahamic family; in fact, the idea of conversion from one faith to another was alien to the Quraysh, whose vision of religion was essentially pluralistic.’
So this potent backdrop of secular hedonism mixed with the remnants of Judeo-Christian religious traditions fuelled Muhammad's longing to find a way forward for the people of Mecca which he felt had lost their way. He increasingly withdrew to pray and find spiritual meaning.
It was during one of Muhammad’s spiritual retreats on Mount Hira, that ‘a devastating presence [...] burst into the cave where he was sleeping and gripped him in an overpowering embrace, squeezing all the breath from his body.’
‘Allah insisted that he was not a distant, absent deity but wanted to instruct and guide his creatures, so they must “come near” to him. … But instead of approaching God in a spirit of prideful istighna’, they must bow before him like a lowly slave: “Touch your head to the earth!” God commanded—a posture that would be repugnant to the haughty Quraysh.’
This profound religious experience sparked terror rather than elation in Muhammad, who feared that ‘he was being attacked by a jinni, one of the fiery spirits who haunted the Arabian steppes and frequently lured travellers from the right path.’
‘Terrified and still unable to comprehend what had happened, Muhammad stumbled down the mountainside to Khadijah.
‘By the time he reached her, he was crawling on his hands and knees, shaking convulsively. “Cover me!” he cried, as he flung himself into her lap. Khadijah wrapped him in a cloak and held him in her arms until his fear abated.
‘She had no doubts at all about the revelation. This was no jinni, she insisted. God would never play such a cruel trick on a man who had honestly tried to serve him. “You are kind and considerate to your kin,” she reminded him. “You help the poor and forlorn and bear their burdens. You are striving to restore the high moral qualities that your people have lost. You honour the guest and go to the assistance of those in distress.’
Reading this, it struck me how important Khadijah's role was in steering the direction of Muhammad’s life. Would he have continued his spiritual path and gone on to found Islam if it was not for her early encouragement, support and comfort?
So right from the outset, women have a key role in founding the Islamic faith, one that is unambiguously positive (in contrast, for example, to the important but negative role played by Eve in the fall of Adam in Jewish and Christian traditions). This is all the more remarkable given the highly patriarchal culture in Mecca and Saudi Arabia at the time. Perhaps even more surprising is the strong emphasis on the femininity of Allah:
‘Allah was a masculine noun, but the divine names al-Rahman and al-Rahim are not only grammatically feminine but related etymologically to the word for womb.’
Armstrong observes, ‘This strong female presence was remarkable in the aggressive patriarchy of Mecca and may explain why women were among the first to respond to the message of the Qur’an.’
Another interesting feature of this story of Muhammad’s first revelation is that Khadijah consulted her cousin Waraqah. This was a devout and learned man who had ‘studied the scriptures of the People of the Book’ – i.e. the Old and New Testaments revered by Jews and Christians. Indeed, Muhammad’s subsequent revelations led him to believe that his role and teaching was a continuation of, rather than a deviation from, the teachings of Jesus and the Old Testament prophets. So throughout the story of the founding of Islam, there are recurring themes of eirenic pluralism and cross-fertilisation of religious belief.
Also, importantly, the emphasis on surrender and humility in Muhammad’s first revelation becomes the primary emphasis of the religion he goes on to found. According to Armstrong, the word Islam itself means to surrender, to empty ourselves of all ego and pride, and humble ourselves before Allah. Elsewhere, she describes it as a form of “Kinosis”, the Greek word used by Christians to describe Christ’s emptying himself of his deity in his descent to humanity in the Incarnation. It is a deeply profound form of spiritual humility. And this is the meaning behind the daily prostrations that Muhammad taught his followers to do: the physical prostration of the body five times a day is a means of achieving this Kinosis. Indeed, to be a Muslim literally means to be someone who performs Islam, this self-emptying surrender of ego, bitterness and pride.
So, for Karen Armstrong, Muhammed demonstrates the kind of humility, care for the poor, pluralism, and openness to those of other faiths, needed in our own times. Muslims, Christians, Jews and unbelievers alike need to rediscover the bigheartedness, generosity of spirit, and humility of Muhammad.
It’s a powerful message and one I found uplifting. A glimmer of hope in troubled times.