Medieval Encounters: Arabic-speaking Christians and Islam 9781463244484

Table of contents :
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PREFACE
WHY A VOLUME ON MEDIEVAL CHRISTIAN ARABIC TEXTS?
GLOSSARY OF KEY TERMS
CONTRIBUTORS
CHAPTER 1. ARABIC AS CHRISTIAN LANGUAGE AND ARABIC AS THE LANGUAGE OF CHRISTIANS
CHAPTER 2. THEODORE ABŪ QURRAH (D. CA. 825): NATURAL RELIGION AND ISLAM
CHAPTER 3. ʿABD AL-MASĪḤ AL-KINDĪ (D. CA. 830): AN ARAB EXPOSITION OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH
CHAPTER 4. ʿABD AL-MASĪḤ AL-KINDĪ (D. CA. 830): ON THE PATH OF GOD AND DISCERNING THE TRUE RELIGION
CHAPTER 5. ABŪ RĀ’IṬA AL-TAKRĪTĪ (D. CA. 835): A DEFENDER OF THE “PEOPLE OF TRUTH” AGAINST ISLAM
CHAPTER 6. ʿAMMĀR AL-BAṢRĪ (D. CA. 850): AN EARLY SYSTEMATIC THEOLOGIAN IN THE ISLAMIC CONTEXT
CHAPTER 7. ʿAMMĀR AL-BAṢRĪ (D. CA. 850): DEFENDING THE INCARNATION OF THE SON OF GOD
CHAPTER 8. SEVERUS IBN AL-MUQAFFAʿ (D. AFTER 987): A COPTIC APOLOGIST, DEFENDING CHRISTIANITY IN ARABIC
CHAPTER 9. ABŪ ʿALĪ ʿĪSĀ IBN ISḤĀQ IBN ZURʿA (D. 1008): A PHILOSOPHER, APOLOGIST, AND TRANSLATOR IN THE ISLAMIC MILIEU
CHAPTER 10. BŪLUṢ IBN RAJĀ’ (D. AFTER 1012): AN EGYPTIAN MUSLIM CONVERT TO CHRISTIANITY ASSESSES ISLAM
CHAPTER 11. ABŪ AL-FARAJ IBN AL-ṬAYYIB (D. 1043): A SCHOLAR-PRIEST EXPLAINS THE TRINITARIAN PERSONS
CHAPTER 12. ELIAS OF NISIBIS (D. 1046): A WISE BISHOP ENCOUNTERS AN INQUISITIVE PRIME MINISTER

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Medieval Encounters

Gorgias Handbooks

55

Gorgias Handbooks provides students and scholars with reference books, textbooks and introductions to different topics or fields of study. In this series, Gorgias welcomes books that are able to communicate information, ideas and concepts effectively and concisely, with useful reference bibliographies for further study.

Medieval Encounters

Arabic-speaking Christians and Islam

Edited by

Ayman S. Ibrahim

gp 2022

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2022 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. ‫ܘ‬

1

2022

ISBN 978-1-4632-4447-7

ISSN 1935-6838

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A Cataloging-in-Publication Record is available from the Library of Congress. Printed in the United States of America

TABLE OF CONTENTS Table of Contents ......................................................................... v Acknowledgments ...................................................................... vii Preface ......................................................................................... ix Alexander Treiger Why a Volume on Medieval Christian Arabic Texts? ............... xiii Ayman S. Ibrahim

Glossary of Key Terms............................................................ xxvii Contributors ........................................................................... xxxv Chapter 1. Arabic as Christian Language and Arabic as the Language of Christians ......................................................... 1 Jack B. Tannous Chapter 2. Theodore Abū Qurrah (d. ca. 825): Natural Religion and Islam.............................................................. 95 John C. Lamoreaux Chapter 3. ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī (d. ca. 830): An Arab Exposition of the Christian Faith...................................... 133 Mourad Takawi Chapter 4. ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī (d. ca. 830): On the Path of God and Discerning the True Religion ............................. 165 Mourad Takawi

Chapter 5. Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī (d. ca. 835): A Defender of the “People of Truth” Against Islam ................................ 201 Sandra T. Keating Chapter 6. ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (d. ca. 850): An Early Systematic Theologian in the Islamic Context ................................... 233 Mark Beaumont v

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Chapter 7. ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (d. ca. 850): Defending the Incarnation of the Son of God .......................................... 271 Mark Beaumont

Chapter 8. Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. after 987): A Coptic Apologist, Defending Christianity in Arabic .................... 309 Mina Yousef Chapter 9. Abū ʿAlī ʿĪsā ibn Isḥāq ibn Zurʿa (d. 1008): A Philosopher, Apologist, and Translator in the Islamic Milieu ............................................................................... 349 Clint Hackenburg

Chapter 10. Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ (d. after 1012): An Egyptian Muslim Convert to Christianity Assesses Islam ................ 389 David Bertaina Chapter 11. Abū al-Faraj Ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. 1043): A ScholarPriest Explains the Trinitarian Persons ............................ 415 Michael F. Kuhn

Chapter 12. Elias of Nisibis (d. 1046): A Wise Bishop Encounters an Inquisitive Prime Minister ........................ 453 Michael F. Kuhn

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The idea of editing a volume on Arabic-speaking Christians interacting with Islam began in an unexpected setting. It was the afternoon of Saturday, September 21, 2019, in Louisville, Kentucky, when I sat down with Professor Jack Tannous in a coffee shop and began my premeditated attempt to convince him to edit a volume with me on a topic related to early Islamic history. He listened carefully and attentively as I did my very best to convey the importance of my volume. After a while, with a big smile, he began his unstoppable “preaching” to persuade me instead to edit a volume on Christian Arabic texts. His enthusiasm and vast knowledge in the field directed the entire conversation to that which I never intended. Ultimately, he won and the preparation of this volume began. As I see it now come to fruition, I sense my heart full of excitement because of its content. I am greatly indebted to Tannous’ enthusiasm and encouragement throughout the process. He is the valuable man behind the scenes of this entire project’s development. Thank you, Jack. A volume of this sort needs financial support to bring it to fruition. I am thankful for the support I always receive at Southern Seminary to accomplish works of this importance. I am also indebted to the resources and staff of the Jenkins Center for the Christian Understanding of Islam, without which this project could have never been possible. In particular, I am thankful for the outstanding work of Tracy Martin and Torey Teer, who edited the entire text. Thank you both. I am also thankful for the excellent team at Gorgias Press. Thanks to George Kiraz who believed in this project from the earliest discussions. Thanks also to Melonie Schmierer-Lee who vii

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served the project throughout its many stages with attentiveness and professionalism. As I edited this volume, I became more aware of the contributions of certain scholars to the emergence and flourishing of the field of Christian Arabic texts. They are too many to include in a short paragraph, but I want to mention two in particular: Samir Khalil Samir (1938– ) and Sidney H. Griffith (1938– ). These scholars have contributed so significantly to the study of Christian Arabic texts that—even if they did not write chapters for this volume—they are the heart of any contribution the present work makes. Finally, I am grateful for the contributors in this volume. All of them worked diligently in an arguably unusual time, as we dealt with the early months of the pandemic. The contributors provided high-quality scholarship which will serve many students and researchers for years to come. In the final stages of the production of this book, I was very grateful for thorough and helpful observations offered by Professor Alexander Treiger. His vast knowledge and meticulous remarks have wonderfully added to the quality of this volume. To all, shukran, alf shukr. Ayman S. Ibrahim

PREFACE ALEXANDER TREIGER The present volume on Arabic Christianity is a welcome contribution to a rapidly growing field of Arabic Christian Studies. It focuses on several major Arabic Christian theologians and texts from the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries: Theodore Abū Qurrah, the Epistle of al-Kindī, Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī, ʿAmmār alBaṣrī, Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Ibn Zurʿa, Būluṣ ibn Rajā’, Ibn alṬayyib, and Elias of Nisibis. Despite their importance, these names are still largely unknown to western audiences—even to those interested and well-read in Christian theology and Middle Eastern history. In the eyes of many, even the notion of an “Arabic Christianity” still seems like a contradiction in terms, because Arabic is all too often instinctively, almost unconsciously equated with Islam. While it is true that Arabic is the language of the Muslim holy book, the Qur’ān, and as such has a special status to Muslims worldwide (Arabs and non-Arabs alike), we must not lose sight of the fact that countless non-Muslims (Christians, Jews, and others) have used—and still use—Arabic as their spoken, written, and (in the case of several Middle Eastern Christian groups) even liturgical language. It is precisely Arabic’s double role as both the language of many of the Middle East’s Christians and the sacred language of Islam that makes Christianity’s articulation in Arabic so fascinating and unique. Christian authors who spoke and wrote Arabic had no choice but to engage with Islam and the complex realities of life—initially as a majority, later as a minority—under ix

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Muslim rule. They had to express their theology in new ways, polemicize against the claims of a new religion, as well as defend their doctrines against Islam’s challenges. For example, the Qur’ān states emphatically that God is one and not a Trinity; that Jesus Christ is not the Son of God (even if, on one occasion, it is willing to call Jesus “God’s word and a spirit from Him”); that Jesus Christ was not crucified but it only “seemed” so to the observers; that Jesus, consequently, did not rise from the dead, but was taken by God alive to heaven. How were the Christians to defend their own teachings—a Trinitarian God, Jesus’ status as the Son of God and the Logos (Word of God), who became incarnate to save humankind, and Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection—from these challenges and to do so in the very language of the Qur’ān? This is the story of the present volume. Additionally, the texts chosen for translation and analysis herein illustrate the confessional diversity of Middle Eastern Christianity. By the period under discussion, Middle Eastern Christians had split into three main groups. First, there were the “Chalcedonian” Christians—so called because they had accepted the Council of Chalcedon (451) and thought of Christ as having two natures (one divine and one human) anchored in the one person of the Logos. Because this group was in communion with the imperial Church of Byzantium, they came to be known as “Melkites” (literally, “the emperor’s people,” from the Syriac word malkā and Arabic malik, “king”). (Today, the term “Melkites” is reserved for that branch of this Christian community which in 1724 accepted the authority of the Pope of Rome and entered into union with the Roman Catholic Church—but this is a different story, well beyond the scope of this volume.) Second, there were Christians who had rejected the Council of Chalcedon and held to the belief that Christ had one nature (which is at the same time divine and human). Their opponents called them “Jacobites” (after Jacob Baradaeus, the founder of a separate ecclesiastical hierarchy in Syria in the sixth century) and “Monophysites” (literally, “one-nature-ists”). In modern terminology, they are usually called “Miaphysites” (to distinguish their belief from that of the fifth-century heretic Eutyches, who believed that Christ had one divine-only nature). The Copts

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in Egypt, the so-called “Syrian Orthodox” in Syria and Lebanon, the Armenians, and the Ethiopians all belong to this “Miaphysite” group. Third, there were Christians who had rejected the Council of Ephesus (431) and had taken the side of the archbishop of Constantinople Nestorius condemned by that council. (In the eyes of the bishops gathered at Ephesus, Nestorius had overemphasized the “independence” of Christ’s humanity, assigned to it a separate subjecthood, and thus de-anchored it from the Logos.) Not surprisingly, these Christians were dubbed “Nestorians.” Because Nestorianism was banned in the Byzantine Empire, these Christians flourished mainly in lands further East. Their center was the Sasanian capital Ctesiphon in Iraq. After the Muslims founded Baghdad in 762, these Christians transferred the residence of their patriarch (historically called “catholicos”) to Baghdad. They often called themselves “Easterners” (in fact, their missionaries went as far East as Central Asia and even China) and are now referred to as the “Church of the East.” All these Christian groups co-existed in the Islamicate commonwealth. All of them strove for recognition by, and good relations with, the Muslim authorities. All of them came to use Arabic as their spoken, written, and—to varying degrees— liturgical language alongside their ancestral tongues (Greek, Syriac, Coptic, and others). In addition to polemicizing against Islam, they also engaged in internal disputations on theological matters, which were also written primarily in Arabic. It is thus largely in Arabic that all these Christian groups negotiated their identity in dialogue with Muslims and with each other. Arabic Christian theology certainly deserves to be better known—not in the least because it holds important lessons for us today. It teaches us about the earliest stages of Middle Eastern Christians’ creative engagement with Islam. Studying Arabic Christianity helps us become more attuned to the profound link between Christianity and the Middle East—Christianity’s place of origin. It allows us to re-envision Christianity as a religion deeply rooted in the Middle East—which has flourished there, despite all the challenges, for two millennia. Studying these authors and texts helps us rediscover the Middle East itself as the

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religiously, ethnically, and culturally diverse place that it is and has always been. Moreover, these Arabic-speaking Christians played a major role in the development of Arabic culture and served the Muslim rulers in various capacities—as courtiers, secretaries, physicians, and, significantly, translators. It is these Christians who translated hundreds of philosophical, medical, and scientific works from Greek and Syriac into Arabic, in a movement that revolutionized the intellectual life in the Middle East and beyond: it is owing to their translations of Plato and Aristotle, Hippocrates and Galen, Euclid and Ptolemy that Muslims had their Avicenna and Averroes, Jews their Ibn Gabirol and Maimonides, and, indeed, Latin-writing Christians in Western Europe their Thomas Aquinas and Albertus Magnus. In humankind’s intellectual history, everything is intertwined, and it is translators—and Arabic-speaking Christians prominently among them—who have forged indispensable links between cultures and have built bridges that connect antiquity and the Middle Ages. Fast forward to 2022: now the editor of the present volume Professor Ayman S. Ibrahim and the team of translators who have collaborated with him—all top-notch experts in their field—have taken this cultural bridge-building one crucial step forward and have rearticulated these Arabic Christians’ legacy in English for the twenty-first century. This formidable task has been accomplished with skill and precision. For this, the readers of this volume will have every reason to be grateful.

WHY A VOLUME ON MEDIEVAL CHRISTIAN ARABIC TEXTS? AYMAN S. IBRAHIM According to Muslim historiography, in the seventh century of our era, a prophet named Muḥammad appeared among the Arabs in the western region of the Arabian Peninsula known as the Hijaz. After receiving divine revelations, he began to proclaim his religious message in various locations in Arabia, particularly in Mecca and Medina where he reportedly lived until his death in 632. He was celebrated as the Arabian prophet, who received a divine scripture, described by Muslims as a clear Arabic Qur’ān. Muslim historical accounts describe Muḥammad as a skillful commander who led and commissioned over 70 military expeditions, targeting pagans, Jews, and even some Arab Christian tribes in the frontier with the Byzantine Empire. 1 Unlike the picture painted in Muslim traditions, non-Muslim contemporary or near-contemporary accounts paint him in other ways, including shepherd, king, conqueror, false prophet, and lustful Arab. 2 While scholars have voiced skepticism regarding various elements in the Muslim traditional narrative, especially due to their See Wāqidī, Maghāzī, where he lists seventy-four expeditions. Watt, Muḥammad at Medina, 2. 2 Robert Hoyland, “The Earliest Christian Writings on Muḥammad,” 276–295; also Hoyland, Seeing Islam. 1

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late compilation and apparent contradiction, 3 the reality is that, after Muḥammad’s death, Arab Muslim armies—under his successors, known as caliphs—swept the Middle East and North Africa. Within a century after his death, Muslims ruled not only the entirety of that which is known today as the Middle East and North Africa, but also controlled vast territories all the way from China to West Africa and Spain. These Muslim rulers became an elite minority, ruling over the conquered population. Their faith—Islam—did not emerge in a vacuum, but was arguably formed and gradually developed in conversation with other centuries-old dominant religions in the region, particularly Judaism, Christianity, and Zoroastrianism. Their language—Arabic—soon became a language of prestige among the conquered people. While the language itself was known in various locations in the conquered lands, especially in the Near East among Arab tribes—many of whom were Christian—it eventually became the dominant language in the Muslim empire. In a gradual and natural process, non-Arabs adopted and used Arabic in order to retain their positions and receive promotions within the Arab administration. While local languages never completely disappeared, eventually Arabic became the language of everyday discourse, government, and culture. Christians in the conquered lands began to use Arabic to articulate their faith, defend its tenets, and even question Islamic doctrines and claims. This resulted in a growing list of Arabic texts written by Christian thinkers which served as religious apologetic or polemic works. In our day, we are fortunate to have access to a wealth of Christian Arabic texts, including some from the earliest centuries of Islam. These texts are the heart of this book. They provide On skepticism concerning Arabic Muslim sources and their reliability, see Ibrahim, Conversion, 20–24; Ibrahim, Stated, 11–12. See also Berg, “Competing,” in Method, ed. Berg, 259–261; Donner, “Introduction,” in The Expansion, ed. idem, xxvii–xxxi; Donner, Narratives, 5ff; Kennedy, The Prophet, 347ff; Hoyland, God’s Path, 231ff. 3

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answers to important questions: How did Arabic-speaking Christians respond to the Islamic claims against the Bible, the Trinity, and the incarnation? How did these Christians view Islam, Muḥammad, and the Qur’ān? How did these medieval theologians employ the language of the conquerors, Arabic, to defend their faith and its tenets? How did these Arabic-speaking Christians explain the divinity of Jesus? To what extent were Christians able to advance the Christian belief of a Triune God in opposition to the Islamic view of strict monotheism? Can today’s Church, particularly in the West, benefit in any way from the earliest arguments articulated, developed, and advanced by these medieval Arabic-speaking Christians? These questions, and many more, are at the heart of this important volume. The study of medieval Christian Arabic texts interacting with Islam is a steadily growing scholarly field. Christian literature in Arabic dates back at least thirteen centuries and embraces diverse genres, including theological, apologetic, and polemical treatises. More than ever before, scholars are realizing the potential and great wealth in this material, as evidenced in the growing number of studies focusing on the topic. 4 Arguably, medieval Christian Arabic texts are excellent sources of study in various academic subjects, including early Islamic history, Christian-Muslim relations, Islamic Studies, Islamic historiography, Patristics, and Arabic and Islamic philosophy, among others. The field continues to grow because there are numerous unedited Christian Arabic texts, covering a variety of fascinating topics, that await deeper analysis and study. This volume seeks to examine nine key medieval Arabicspeaking Christian figures. It discusses their responses to Islamic criticisms, aiming to provide interested students—both underFor instance, see the valuable studies by Noble and Treiger, eds., The Orthodox Church in the Arab World; Pratt, ed., The Character of ChristianMuslim Encounter; Beaumont, ed., Arab Christians and the Qur’an; also the recent study Thomas, ed., The Bloomsbury Reader in Christian-Muslim Relations, 600–1500. 4

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graduate and graduate—with an accessible resource that includes historical background for each figure, major arguments they posed, and partial translations of their works. Although specialist bibliographic works on Christian Arabic texts do exist, these can either be intimidating in their detail and size, or written in non-English research languages (e.g., German and French), and are therefore out of the reach of many students interested in gaining a basic orientation in the field. This volume is decidedly easy to read. It aims to provide an entry point for students interested in the history of Christian-Muslim encounters and in Middle Eastern Christianity more generally. If this volume introduces the reader to Christian thinkers who tackled Islamic claims and wrote in Arabic, as it is really aimed, it will have succeeded in its overarching goal. It is a sincere hope that this volume stimulates further research by pointing to various scholarly desiderata relating to the Christian thinkers under study. I hope that the reading of this book will make some of the most important voices of medieval Arabic-speaking Christianity—and their contributions to the Christian-Muslim theological encounter—more easily and widely accessible in the Englishspeaking university context. The first chapter of this volume provides background for the use of Arabic by Christians in the Middle East. Foundational to the entire volume, this chapter sets the historical context with a special emphasis on the importance of Arabic as a Christian language and, more importantly, as a language used by Christians before the advent of Islam. In this chapter, Jack B. Tannous of Princeton University—a historian par excellence— challenges the popular assumption that Arabic is an Islamic language to which non-Muslims are, so to speak, aliens and strangers. Relying on a variety of primary sources and engaging ample secondary studies, Tannous argues that Christians used and wrote Arabic over a broad geographic area before the rise of Islam. He then takes up the long-debated question of whether some portion of the Bible was translated into Arabic before the rise of Islam. Looking at the Qur’ān itself, Tannous takes us on a journey in what is arguably the earliest text of Islam and shows one of its most remarkable literary features: its intimate famili-

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arity with the Bible and the biblical tradition. The current dominant scholarly position has been that the Qur’ān was the first Arabic book, but Tannous’s arguments demonstrate that the case should be seen as far from settled. Even if there was no translation of the Bible into Arabic before the rise of Islam, says Tannous, the fact remains that Arabic was one of the oldest Christian languages in the world, and Arabic has a Christian history that is actually longer than its Islamic history. Some of Tannous’s arguments will likely prove controversial; for this reason, his chapter can be read alongside other treatments of this topic with great profit as an exercise in understanding scholarly argumentation and disagreement. Because he touches on many different aspects of the history of Christian Arabic, the bibliography for his chapter can also serve as a useful starting point for students looking to delve further into various aspects of Christian Arabic studies. Chapter 2 introduces our first Christian thinker in this volume: Theodore Abū Qurrah (d. ca. 825). He was born around 750, most likely in the city of Edessa. When he later became the Orthodox bishop of Harran, he devoted himself to the care of his Christian flock and to the defense of Christianity against rival beliefs, including Judaism and Islam. He began his writing career at a time when the number of Christians converting to Islam was growing and the use of Arabic was becoming more common. Through his writings, he addressed these challenges. This fascinating Christian figure is studied in this volume by John C. Lamoreaux, Department of Religious Studies, Southern Methodist University. Lamoreaux is a well-known expert in the field, with various published studies on Abū Qurrah. He begins with a brief biography, followed by an overview of his extant works, before focusing on Abū Qurrah’s defense of Christianity against the rival claims of Islam. In particular, Lamoreaux emphasizes Abū Qurrah’s attempt to fashion a kind of natural theology, whereby the truth claims of the various religious traditions of the early medieval Near East could be adjudicated, such that Christians, Muslims, Jews, and others might be able to argue productively with one another over theological questions. Lamoreaux’s chapter helps us see Abū Qurrah’s unique zeal to

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defend the Christology of Chalcedon against its Christian detractors, whether Monophysites, Nestorians, or Monothelites. Finally, Lamoreaux provides an English translation of Abū Qurrah’s “Parable of the Hidden King.” Chapters 3 and 4 focus on a particularly important Arab Christian theologian: ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī, who flourished in the ninth century and is thought to have died around ca. 830. We know very little about al-Kindī’s life, yet we may deduce that he was an Arab Christian from the tribe of Kinda who worked in the ʿAbbāsid caliphal court. He was knowledgeable in Islamic texts, particularly the Qur’ān. His life, significance, and arguments deserve detailed analyses and exploration. This is why our volume devotes two chapters to him. In these two chapters, Mourad Takawi, Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio, Texas, examines al-Kindī and his important work, al-Risāla (The Epistle). Takawi introduces us to a unique Arabic text—a ninthcentury exchange between the Muslim patrician ʿAbdullāh alHāshimī and his fellow courtier, the Christian ʿAbd al-Masīḥ alKindī. In Chapter 3, Takawi begins his examination of the exchange by explaining the cultural, historical, and intellectual context in Baghdad under the ʿAbbāsids of the time. Focusing on the important concluding section of al-Risāla, Takawi discusses al-Kindī’s exposition of the Christian faith. Takawi pays close attention to al-Kindī’s emphasis on identifying himself as a member of a dwindling Arab nobility—a claim that, Takawi observes, shapes the apologetic agenda and language of al-Risāla. This same claim, argues Takawi, sets al-Kindī apart from his contemporary Arabic-speaking Christian thinkers. Moreover, in this chapter we encounter al-Kindī’s distinctive presentation of the Christian faith in an Arabic idiom—a vision of Christianity from the perspective of an Arab devotee of the faith. The chapter concludes with a translation of parts of al-Kindī’s concluding section of al-Risāla. In Chapter 4, Takawi continues the study of excerpts of al-Kindī’s Risāla. The focus is on al-Kindī’s arguments on discerning the true religion and his critique of Islam. Takawi studies important Arabic Muslim terms used by al-Kindī, such as qitāl fī sabīl Allāh (fighting in Allah’s path) and ghazw (raiding,

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conquering). He demonstrates al-Kindī’s detailed refusal to espouse war in the name of religion and sheds light on peculiar aspects of al-Kindī’s response to his Muslim challenger. The chapter concludes with another translation of an important section of al-Kindī’s Risāla which demonstrates his unique approach and arguments, distinguishing him from other contemporary Christian apologies. Chapter 5 focuses on our third Christian thinker in this volume, Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī (d. 835). A contemporary of Abū Qurrah and al-Kindī, Abū Rā’iṭa was one of the first Arabic-speaking Christian theologians whose name was known, as he marked an early transition of Syriac speakers to Arabic. Abū Rā’iṭa was a Miaphysite lay theologian who flourished in the well-known Christian city of Takrīt (in modern day Iraq), which was a hub of the Syrian Orthodox Church. Like his contemporaries, Abū Rā’iṭa realized the increasing challenges presented by Islam in the ninth century. Sandra T. Keating of Providence College is an expert scholar on Abū Rā’iṭa’s life and thought, with many published studies on him. She introduces him as a renowned thinker who was sought by various Christian groups to provide clear and concise responses to the challenges posed by Islamic charges against the faith. Keating focuses on Abū Rā’iṭa’s overall project of translating Christian terms and concepts—particularly relating to the Trinity and incarnation—into the Arabic language, which was heavily colored by the vocabulary of the Qur’ān. She emphasizes how Abū Rā’iṭa recognized the need to give a “reasonable” burhān (proof) which would be convincing and compelling to Muslims as he defended Christian doctrines against charges of irrationality. In her chapter, we learn about Abū Rā’iṭa’s treatment of the Qur’ān’s claim that the Bible has been corrupted, as she explains his philosophical concepts and diligent attempts at establishing common ground with his Muslim challengers. Throughout her chapter, Keating provides translations of short passages from Abū Rā’iṭa’s writings, highlighting examples of his strategies and arguments. These examples will put the development of theological ideas of this early medieval period in context.

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Chapters 6 and 7 focus on the important theologian ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (d. ca. 850). He flourished in the first half of the ninth century, though his birth or death dates are unknown. Since he is called “al-Baṣrī,” we deduce he was from Baṣra (in today’s Iraq)—an important city under the ʿAbbāsids, intellectually, culturally, and theologically, especially during their Golden Age. A younger contemporary of Abū Qurrah and Abū Rā’iṭa, ʿAmmār was an East Syrian Dyophysite scholar of the Church of the East (Nestorian). He developed a keen interest in translating and explaining crucial Christian doctrines in his Islamic milieu. ʿAmmār’s works and arguments, particularly his defense of the incarnation of God’s Word, deserve detailed examination; thus he appears in two chapters in this volume. Two of his important works reached us, Kitāb al-Masā’il wa-l-ajwiba (The Book of Questions and Answers) and Kitāb al-Burhān (The Book of the Proof). Mark Beaumont, research associate at London School of Theology, is one of the best experts on the life and works of ʿAmmār. In these two chapters, Beaumont covers major areas of ʿAmmār’s two known works. In Chapter 6, Beaumont begins by introducing the historical context, with a brief discussion of ʿAmmār’s works. He then focuses on ʿAmmār’s Kitāb al-Burhān, and explains how this work uniquely develops apologetic arguments in light of Muslim attitudes toward Christian beliefs. In Chapter 7, Beaumont concentrates on ʿAmmār’s Kitāb al-Masā’il wa-l-ajwiba, and explains ʿAmmār’s handling of fifty-one questions about the incarnation, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus. In both chapters, Beaumont studies ʿAmmār’s answers to difficult questions posed against Christianity. We learn of ʿAmmār’s compelling arguments for how the eternal and transcendent God become time-bound and limited. We encounter ʿAmmār’s defense of the plausibility of the Christian belief that the Messiah gave himself as an offering for others. For Beaumont, ʿAmmār’s works are the most detailed defense of the incarnation by a Christian writing in Arabic in the early Islamic period. Both chapters conclude with a translation of parts of ʿAmmār’s work. In chapter 8, we move the discussion to the tenth century and to the Copts of Egypt, as we study the works and arguments

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of Sāwīrus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (ca. 910–987). Arguably, Sāwīrus (known in English as Severus) was the first major Coptic apologist to theologize in Arabic, introducing Coptic ecclesiastic and liturgical literature to the Copts using the language of the Muslims. In this chapter, Egyptian Coptic researcher Mina Yousef introduces us to Severus, his historical context, his unique apologetic arguments, and his important work the Kitāb miṣbāḥ alʿaql (The Lamp of the Intellect). Yousef emphasizes the role Severus played among the Copts, not only to respond to challenges posed by Islam, but also to distinguish the beliefs of the Coptic Church—particularly around the union of the two natures of Christ in one—from those of the Chalcedonian Church. Yousef studies Severus’ arguments on Christ and examines his views on the incarnation. For Yousef, the analysis of Severus’ Kitāb miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql reflects his straightforward yet profound arguments, which address both the religiously educated and uneducated in his Coptic flock. The chapter concludes with a translation of Severus’ Arabic work, where he discusses Christology, defends the incarnation, and explains the divinity and humanity of Christ, highlighting his Coptic Christian views concerning the Resurrection and the Judgement Day. Chapter 9 takes us back to Baghdad and introduces a man of many talents, the Baghdadi Jacobite logician, philosopher, and translator ʿĪsā ibn Isḥāq ibn Zurʿa (943–1008). Clint Hackenburg, a talented researcher and translator of Christian Arabic texts, studies several of the apologetic and polemical writings of Ibn Zurʿa, particularly comparing them with the works of Ibn Zurʿa’s well-known teacher, Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī (d. 974). After setting the historical context, Hackenburg demonstrates the prowess of Ibn Zurʿa as a theologian and intellectual who regularly engaged Christians and non-Christians—including Jews and Muslims—in philosophical and religious discussions. Hackenburg focuses on Ibn Zurʿa’s philosophical arguments regarding four major Christian-Muslim controversies: the Trinity, the anthropomorphic descriptions of God, the Christian rejection of Muḥammad’s prophetic office, and the person of Christ. In discussing these major topics, Hackenburg compares Ibn Zurʿa’s critique of Islam to his critique of Judaism. Additionally, we

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learn of the uniqueness of Ibn Zurʿa’s arguments, as Hackenburg compares them with those of three of his Jacobite predecessors. Through this comparison, Hackenburg is doing us a great favor, as he distinguishes Ibn Zurʿa and his works, removing him from the shadow of his mentor, Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī, and other prolific Jacobite theologians. Hackenburg’s chapter concludes with a complete translation of Ibn Zurʿa’s short refutation of a Muslim treatise, which attests to Ibn Zurʿa’s philosophical and apologetical competence. In chapter 10, we study a unique example of an Egyptian Muslim convert to Christianity as he assesses Islam. Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ (ca. 950–1015) was born in a Muslim family to an Arab Muslim faqīh (jurist). From an early age, Ibn Rajā’ became an expert in Islamic texts, including the Qur’ān, its commentaries, and the Ḥadīth. He gained knowledge of Islam under important jurists of his day; however, in his mid-twenties, he reportedly encountered Christ and converted to Christianity. David Bertaina, University of Illinois Springfield, takes us on a splendid journey through the life, thought, and works of this convert. Bertaina begins the chapter by describing the historical context of Ibn Rajā’, especially his family’s Islamic status, his journey from Islam to Christianity, and his adherence to the Coptic Christian faith. After describing the works of Ibn Rajā’ and the influence of Sāwīrus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (who is discussed in chapter 8), Bertaina focuses on the important work of Ibn Rajā’, Kitāb al-Wāḍiḥ bi-l-ḥaqq (The Truthful Exposer). In analyzing this work, Bertaina explains the strategy Ibn Rajā’ used in dealing with Islam and its claims. We learn that Ibn Rajā’ relied on his unique knowledge of Islamic texts—including the Qur’ān and the Ḥadīth—to question and critique his former religion, by showing inconsistencies and contradictions in texts which Muslims of his day considered authoritative. Bertaina discusses key themes in Kitāb al-Wāḍiḥ bi-al-ḥaqq, such as the Incantation, the Trinity, the corruption of scriptures, and the character and deeds of Muḥammad. The chapter concludes with an examination of the impact of the work and arguments of Ibn Rajā’, suggestions for possible future research on him, and a translation of sections of his work Kitāb al-Wāḍiḥ bi-al-ḥaqq.

WHY A VOLUME ON MEDIEVAL CHRISTIAN ARABIC TEXTS? xxiii In chapter 11, we explore the life and works of the Baghdadi monk, scholar, and physician Abū al-Faraj Ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. ca. 1043). Like ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī, Ibn al-Ṭayyib was from the Church of the East (Nestorian). Michael F. Kuhn, Associate Professor at the Arab Baptist Theological Seminary, Beirut, Lebanon, introduces us to the legacy and unique contribution of Ibn al-Ṭayyib. After describing the historical and sectarian background of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s career and writing, Kuhn emphasizes his contribution to preserving the Syriac exegetical heritage and his important role in the translation movement that Arabicized much of the Greek intellectual heritage and thereby fueled the ʿAbbāsid renaissance. Kuhn distinguishes Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s arguments and approach from Christians who preceded him within his own Church of the East and other eastern ecclesial families. Kuhn explains Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s approach and highlights the desire of the monk-scholar to safeguard his Church of the East flock through his theological treatises. Kuhn then focuses on elements in these treatises. He demonstrates that Ibn al-Ṭayyib not only developed the work of his Christian forebears, by articulating a cogent and succinct Trinitarian formulation, but also advanced unique arguments in connection with the Islamic theology of his day. Kuhn emphasizes, in particular, Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s discussions of Allah’s attributes and their division into attributes of essence and action. The chapter concludes with a translation of one of Ibn al-Tayyib’s works, highlighting aspects of his Trinitarian formulation. In chapter 12, the final chapter in the volume, Michael Kuhn introduces another important figure from the Church of the East, Elias of Nisibis (d. 1046). A contemporary of Ibn alTayyib, Elias contributed to Muslim-Christian relations in the eleventh century. Kuhn emphasizes Elias’ Christology, especially in relation to the Church of the East’s position of Dyophysitism. Moreover, he explores the works of Elias, especially his seven Sessions, which he wrote in correspondence with the caliphal Muslim minister. Kuhn argues that Elias’ Sessions provide one of the friendliest examples of Muslim-Christian debates from the medieval period. He demonstrates not only Elias’ creative attempts to convince his Muslim interlocutor that Christians are

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not polytheists, but also his responses to common Islamic misunderstandings of the Christian Trinity and Christology. In this chapter, we learn some possible reasons for the success of the Sessions, as Kuhn evaluates unique textual claims in them, such as the claim that the Muslim minister received a supernatural healing from Christian monastics and that he had been persecuted by the Faṭimid Caliph al-Ḥākim. To explain Elias’ didactic reasoning and highlight his Church of the East Christology, Kuhn provides a translation of pertinent sections of Elias’ Sessions. Finally, a word on the style and structure of the volume is important. The footnotes include abbreviated bibliographical references (author and the first few words of the title). For the full-length citation, the reader is invited to consult the bibliography at the end of each chapter. The chapters are decidedly scholarly yet accessible. At its heart, the volume is written in a way which seeks to be suitable for students of all levels. In each chapter discussing a Christian theologian, there is a translation section to provide access in English to Christian Arabic texts of the theologian under study. Some of these translations appear in English for the first time. The goal is to offer an accessible primary source for researchers. Through these translations and their analyses, it is a hope that this volume would serve as a reader in medieval Arabic-language Christian writings—a tremendous gift to western academia. While we sought to make the volume accessible, we still decided to use transliterations of Arabic names and terms. This was a stylistic choice, as we thought it was important to allow students a window into scholarly writing. Thus, instead of simply writing “Muhammad” and “Quran,” we use “Muḥammad” and “Qur’ān.” This use of diacritics to preserve Arabic names aims to encourage students to familiarize themselves with scholarly writing. While this use of transliteration can be burdensome for some students, especially those unfamiliar with Arabic, we view this volume as introductory, and hope it opens doors for a more scholarly interaction around these medieval Arabic-speaking Christians in the future. The ultimate hope behind this collection of articles is to provide graduate and undergraduate students, in English-speaking

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schools and universities, a chance to both learn about the wealth of medieval Christian Arabic texts and to study the varied arguments of the theologians who wrote them. Through this volume, we seek to raise awareness of key Eastern Christians who interacted with Islam and Islamic claims, and to highlight their major arguments and varying approaches to Islam. It is hoped that these chapters provide the readers with pointers on possible future research.

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE INTRODUCTION

Beaumont, Mark, ed. Arab Christians and the Qur’an. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Berg, Herbert, ed. Method and Theory in the Study of Islamic Origins. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Donner, Fred McGraw, ed. The Expansion of the Early Islamic State. The Formation of the Classical Islamic World, 5. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate, 2008. Donner, Fred McGraw. Narratives of Islamic Origins: The Beginnings of Islamic Historical Writing. Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1998. Hoyland, Robert G. “The Earliest Christian Writings on Muḥammad: An Appraisal.” In The Biography of Muḥammad, edited by Harald Motzki, 276–295. Leiden: Brill, 2000. Hoyland, Robert G. In God’s Path: The Arab Conquests and the Creation of an Islamic Empire. Ancient Warfare and Civilization. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015. Hoyland, Robert G. Seeing Islam as Others Saw It: A Survey and Evaluation of Christian, Jewish, and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam. Studies in Late Antiquity and Early Islam, 13. Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1997. Ibrahim, Ayman S. “Review of Juan Cole’s Muhammad: Prophet of Peace Amid the Clash of Empires.” Review of Qur’anic Research 5, no. 2 (2019): 1–18. Ibrahim, Ayman S. The Stated Motivations for the Early Islamic

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AYMAN S. IBRAHIM Expansion (622– 641): A Critical Revision of Muslims’ Traditional Portrayal of the Arab Raids and Conquests. Crosscurrents: New Studies on the Middle East. Series editors, J. Kevin Lacey and Sari Nusseibeh. New York: Peter Lang, 2018.

Ibrahim, Ayman S. Conversion to Islam: Competing Themes in Early Islamic Historiography. New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. Kennedy, Hugh. The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates: The Islamic Near East from the Sixth to the Eleventh Century. 1986; Harlow, UK: Longman, 2004. Noble, Samuel, and Alexander Treiger, eds. The Orthodox Church in the Arab World. DeKalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press, 2014. Pratt, George Douglas, ed. The Character of Christian-Muslim Encounter: Essays in Honour of David Thomas. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Thomas, David, ed. The Bloomsbury Reader in Christian-Muslim Relations, 600–1500. London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2022. Wāqidī, Abū ʿAbdullāh ibn ʿUmar al-. al-Maghāzī. 3rd ed. 3 vols. Edited by Marsden Jones. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984. Watt, William Montgomery. Muḥammad at Medina. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1956.

GLOSSARY OF KEY TERMS

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Antioch: A city in modern southern Turkey (Antakya). Historically, it was an important Greek and Roman urban center. Known as the “cradle of Christianity,” it was the location where followers of Christ were first called “Christians” and the point of departure for the Apostle Paul’s missionary journeys. The city was the fountainhead of Eastern Christianity, witnessed by the fact that many oriental patriarchs are still known as “patriarch of Antioch and the East.” Antioch rivaled Alexandria as a school of theology, and was known for its literal interpretation of the Biblical text and emphasis on Christ’s humanity. Tragically, the city preserves little of its rich Christian heritage today. Arabicization: The process whereby a person or population adopts Arabic as a spoken and written language. The term “Arabization” is often treated as a synonym for “Arabicization.” However, Arabization denotes the adoption of Arab ethnic identity. Many Arabic-speaking people do not regard themselves as ethnically Arab, but rather as Assyrians, Copts, Kurds, Turkmen, and others. Aristotelianism: A philosophical tradition derived from the thought of Aristotle. Early Muslim philosophers (e.g. al-Kindī and al-Fārābī) were influenced by Aristotelian thought. Early Several scholars contributed to the items in this glossary. In particular, thanks to Mark Beaumont, Michael Kuhn, John Lamoreaux, and Alexander Treiger. 1

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Christian thinkers also incorporated Aristotelian concepts into their understanding of divinity. Ashʿarism (adherent: Ashʿarite): The foremost theological school of Islam establishing standards for Islamic orthodoxy. The school takes its name from Abū al-Ḥasan al-Ashʿarī (ca. 10th century CE) whose thought was foundational to early Islamic theology. Ashʿarites recognize the limit of human reason in understanding Allah and believe the Qur’ān to be eternal. Baghdad: The capital of the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate. It became the center of a wide-reaching movement to translate Greek (as well as Syriac, Persian, and even Indian) wisdom into Arabic. Cappadocian Fathers: Fathers of the Eastern Church, who lived in the area of Cappadocia (modern-day central Turkey) and contributed to the ecumenical councils through their understanding of the Trinity. They include Basil the Great (ca. 330–379), Gregory of Nazianzus (ca. 329–389), and Gregory of Nyssa (ca. 335– 395). They are highly revered in both eastern and western Christian traditions. Chalcedonians: Those who hold to the formulation of the council of Chalcedon (451) that Christ was perfect God and perfect human, in two natures, without confusion, without change, without division, without separation, and that the distinction of natures was not annulled by the union of them. Copts: Christians in Egypt who used the Coptic language and who held to a miaphysite view of Christ. Daysanites: Those who followed the teaching of the Syrian Bar Daiṣān (born ca. 154), who held to dualistic views of the power of good and evil. Divine immutability: The concept that divinity cannot change. Any change in the being of God would equate to a move from imperfection to perfection or vice versa. Therefore, God cannot change as he is eternally perfect and absolute. Divine substance: Divine essence or the being of God. In contrast to “human substance,” the divine substance is thought to be unchanging, perfect, eternal, and absolute.

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Dyophysite: Those who held that there were two natures in the incarnate Son of God, divine and human. In the Middle East, they were divided into two groups. The first was the Melkites who followed the definition of Chalcedon affirmed by the Byzantine Emperor, hence followers of the malkā/malik (the Syriac and Arabic terms for “king”). The second was the East Syrian church that followed the teaching of Nestorius who had been excommunicated by the Council of Ephesus in 431. Edessa: A city in upper Mesopotamia (modern Southeast Turkey), located near the present-day Syria-Turkey border. Edessa is known as Şanlıurfa in modern Turkish and al-Ruhā in Arabic. It alternated with Nisibis as a center of theological training for the Assyrian Church of the East. Christian tradition relates that Thaddeus, one of Jesus’ original 70 disciples, first evangelized the city. An early Christian council was held there in 197. Many believe that, from Edessa, evangelists took the gospel into Persia. The Peshitta, a Syriac translation of the Old Testament, is believed to have been emerged from Edessa. Fatimid Dynasty: An Islamic caliphate of the Ismaili Shiite variety. It was initially established in North Africa, and based in Cairo, Egypt, from 909–1171. The Fatimids claimed descent from Fatima, the daughter of Muḥammad. At its zenith, the Caliphate ruled most of North Africa, Palestine, Syria, and parts of the Arabian Peninsula. Ḥajj: The annual pilgrimage to Mecca during which Muslims go to perform various religious rituals, many of which are centered around the Kaʿba. Harran: Known as Ḥarrān in Arabic and Carrhae in Greek. Harran is small but important town located some 25 miles south of Edessa, in northern Mesopotamia. In the early medieval period, Harran was a home to Jews, Christians of various sects, and Muslims, as well as to an indigenous form of Mesopotamian polytheism whose roots stretch back to the pre-Christian era. hypostasis (pl. hypostases): The compound word is formed of two parts in Greek: hypo meaning “under” and stasis meaning “standing or posture.” Thus, the hypostases were the underlying

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reality of the Trinitarian God, the three Persons of the Trinity. Originally, the Greeks used the words “essence” and “hypostasis” interchangeably. However, through the Cappadocian Fathers, the word became useful to understand the Trinitarian Persons of the Biblical God. The word is rendered in Arabic as uqnūm and in Syriac as qnūmā. Islamization: The process whereby a person or population abandons their traditional religion and converts to Islam. In some parts of the Near and Middle East, Islamization was nearly universal, with few if any adherents of traditional religions remaining at present (e.g., Algeria and Libya). In other parts, it was much less so, with sizeable non-Muslim minorities persisting up until the present day (e.g., Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, and Palestine). kalām: Deductive reasoning exercised in Islamic theology. Kalām became a staple of Islamic theology. The term has been described as “Islamic scholastic theology.” kufr: It is unbelief in Arabic. The word can also mean errant belief or a willful refusal to submit to God and acknowledge his benefits. Magians: Those who followed the teaching of Zoroaster, whose religion posited an opposition between good and evil deities and was the main religious tradition in Persia before the Islamic period. Manichaeans: Those who followed the teaching of Mani (third century). While some believe that Manichaeism was a development of Zoroastrian dualism with elements taken from Christianity, it is better to view Manichaeism as a syncretistic religion that took elements from Christianity, Gnosticism, and Zoroastrianism. Mani did not grow up Zoroastrian. His family belonged to a Judeo-Christian group. Miaphysite: A modern term preferred by those who follow the teaching of Cyril of Alexandria (d. 444 C.E.) that there was only one incarnate nature of the Word of God. The Greek prefix mia (one) implies that Christ’s humanity and divinity were equally present through the incarnation in one single nature (physis).

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For Cyril, the incarnate Word was fully divine and fully human in one nature (physis). Miaphysitism dissents from the Council of Chalcedon (451), which held that Christ was one person (hypostasis) in two natures. It should be noted that both Miaphysites and Chalcedonians believe that they follow Cyril’s views, though they interpret him differently. Monophysite: A term coined by Chalcedonian Christians (those who hold that Christ had two natures, divine and human) to describe those who held that there was only one nature in the incarnate Son of God. The Greek prefix mono (one, single) originally implied that Christ had only a divine nature and not a true human nature, which was the teaching of the fifth-century heretic Eutyches. Later, the term came to apply to all “one-naturists” who dissented from the Council of Chalcedon, even after they had rejected the teaching of Eutyches and came to believe that Christ’s one nature is both divine and human. In modern time, the term “Miaphysitism” was articulated to describe the beliefs of this latter group (as opposed to Eutyches’ original teachings). Muʿtazilism (adherent: Muʿtazilite): A school of Islamic thought that flourished between the 9th and 11th centuries. Muʿtazilites were known as people of justice and oneness (tawḥīd). Their insistence on God’s absolutely simple nature led them to conclude that the Qur’ān was not eternal, but created. They were known as rationalists, and directly opposed the Ḥadīth scholars. Because they held that nothing is like God, they argued that any language which described his features in the Qur’ān was metaphorical rather than literal, as he transcends all aspects of the world that he created. mushrik (pl. mushrikūn): One who practices the sin of shirk, which refers to associating partners with the deity, according to Islamic theology. Mutakallimūn: Practitioners of Islamic kalām; Muslim scholastic theologians. Nestorians: Those who followed the teaching of Nestorius, who was exiled from the Roman Empire after being condemned as a heretic at the council of Ephesus (431 C.E.). Nestorius had re-

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fused to name Mary theotokos (God-bearer), arguing that Mary was the bearer of Christ rather than the Godhead. The Nestorians thrived beyond the borders of the Empire east of the Euphrates River, and were the main Christian community in the region where the Islamic empire came to be based in Baghdad under the ʿAbbāsids. Nisibis: A city on the border of southeastern Turkey (Mardin Province) and Syria which served as a bishopric and center of theological training for the Church of the East in the pre-Islamic and early Islamic period. The school preserved the thought of Theodore of Mopsuestia and emphasized the reading and interpretation of scripture. Though the school declined after the ninth century, it continued as a bishopric where Elias of Nisibis served in the eleventh century. Paraclete: The name given in John’s gospel for the Holy Spirit who would come after the departure of Jesus and would teach the disciples the truth and bear witness to Jesus. The term is often rendered as “Comforter.” Muslims tended to claim that Jesus was actually prophesying the coming of Muḥammad by promising the coming of the paraclete. Perichoresis: A Greek description of the triune relation of the Trinitarian Persons to one another; circumincession, mutual indwelling—a “community of being” in which each Trinitarian hypostasis is understood as a unique person while sharing in the life of the other persons in the one undivided, divine essence. The concept implies that, while each Trinitarian Person (hypostasis) is distinct, the persons never act in isolation from one another, but in perfect harmony and agreement. The word was first used by Gregory of Nazianzus (d. ca. 390), and developed by Maximus Confessor (d. 662) and John of Damascus (d. 749). Plato: The teaching of this Greek philosopher (d. 347 B.C.E) was received and studied within the Christian communities of the Middle East, not least because he was thought to believe in a supreme being. Qur’ān’s createdness: A major belief of Muʿtazilī Muslims. Since there could be nothing alongside God in his transcend-

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ence, even his speech enshrined in the Qur’ān could not exist in eternity alongside him in his pure essence despite the claims of traditionist Muslims insisting that the Qur’ān was uncreated. shirk: The sin of associating created beings with Allah. It is unpardonable in Islamic thought, as it compromises the majesty of Allah’s being. tanzīh: It is emphasizing God as being unblemished. It is a theological discourse that emphasizes God as being perfect, flawless, and untarnished by any human or material imperfections. God thus exists in a state of tanzīḥ, excluding all change and imperfection. tawḥīd: The unification or oneness of the deity in Islamic thought. It is the central concept of Islam. The word literally means, “making one,” i.e., professing the absolute oneness of the deity. The concept is expressed in many chapters of the Qur’ān, e.g., sūra 112. Later Muslim theologians derived the unknowability of God from his tawḥīd, that human imagination could not approximate God, nor could he be associated with any material representation. Because the Islamic concept of God’s unity differs from that of Christianity (unity in Trinity), “unicity” often renders tawḥīd in English.

CONTRIBUTORS Mark Beaumont Beaumont is a research associate at London School of Theology who has published widely on Christian-Muslim relations both in the early era of Muslim rule and in recent times. His Open University PhD was published as Christology in Dialogue with Muslims: A Critical Analysis of Christian Presentations of Christ for Muslims from the Ninth and Twentieth Centuries (Regnum, 2005). His latest monograph is The Theology of ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: Commending Christianity within Islamic Culture (Gorgias, 2021). David Bertaina Bertaina (PhD 2007, The Catholic University of America) is Professor of History at the University of Illinois Springfield. He publishes on the history of Christian-Muslim encounters and the relationship of the Bible and Qur’ān, including Būluṣ ibn Rajā’: The Fatimid Egyptian Convert Who Shaped Christian Views of Islam (Brill, 2022). Clint Hackenburg Hackenburg (PhD 2015, Ohio State University) is an independent scholar of medieval Arabic literature, Islamic studies, Christian-Muslim relations, and Arabic-to-English translation. He cotranslated In Search of the True Religion (Gorgias, 2022) and is currently preparing a new edition and translation of Anselm Turmeda’s Tuḥfat al-adīb fī al-radd ʿalā ahl al-ṣalīb. Ayman S. Ibrahim Ibrahim (PhD 2014, Fuller Seminary; PhD 2018, Haifa University) is Bill and Connie Jenkins Professor of Islamic Studies and director of the Jenkins Center for the Christian Understanding of xxxv

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Islam at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He authored Conversion to Islam (Oxford University Press, 2021); Basics of Arabic (Zondervan 2021); A Concise Guide to the Quran (Baker Academic, 2020); The Stated Motivations for the Early Islamic Expansion (Peter Lang, 2018). Sandra Toenies Keating Keating (PhD 2001, Catholic University of America) is professor of theology, Providence College, RI. She teaches and publishes in the area of comparative religion with an emphasis on Catholic-Muslim Relations, particularly theological exchange in the early medieval period. She is the author of Defending the “People of Truth” in the Early Islamic Period (Brill, 2006). Michael F. Kuhn Kuhn’s research interests include the Trinity and Christology in Muslim-Christian relations. His work focuses on the Arabspeaking Christians who engaged with Islam within the boundaries of the Muslim community. He teaches as an adjunct faculty member at the Arab Baptist Theological Seminary (Beirut, Lebanon), Evangelical Theological Seminary (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia), Fuller Theological Seminary and Wesley Biblical Seminary. He works with the International Theological Education Network. John C. Lamoreaux Lamoreaux is Associate Professor and Director of Undergraduate Studies at Dedman College of Humanities & Sciences at Southern Methodist University. His research focuses on early Islam, Islamic law, Christian minorities living under Islam, and Arabic and Syriac Christian texts. He is the author of Theodore Abū Qurrah (Brigham Young University Press, 2005). Mourad Takawi Takawi (PhD 2019, Notre Dame University) is Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at the University of the Incarnate Word in San Antonio, Texas. His research and publications focus on the Qur’ān and its reception in the formative and classical Islamic period(s), Arabic Christian literature, and Christian-Muslim encounters. His current book project is titled, The Qur’ān as a Classic (De Gruyter).

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Jack B. Tannous Tannous (PhD 2010, Princeton University) is Associate Professor of History and Hellenic Studies and Chair of the Center for the Study of Late Antiquity at Princeton University. His research focuses on the Late Antique, Byzantine and early Islamic Near East, as well as Syriac and Arabic-speaking Christian communities in the region. He is the author of The Making of the Medieval Middle East (Princeton, 2018) Alexander Treiger Treiger (PhD 2008, Yale University) is Professor of Religious Studies at Dalhousie University. He is editor of the series “Arabic Christianity: Texts and Studies” (Brill) and coeditor of The Orthodox Church in the Arab World (2014), Heirs of the Apostles: Studies on Arabic Christianity in Honor of Sidney H. Griffith (2019), and Patristic Literature in Arabic Translations (2020). Mina Yousef Born and raised in Egypt, Yousef is currently pursuing his PhD in Islamic Studies at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He holds a Master of Arts in Muslim Studies (Columbia International University). He taught at Alexandria School of Theology in Egypt and currently works as the Director of Middle Eastern Projects at Thirdmill Ministries in Florida.

CHAPTER 1. ARABIC AS CHRISTIAN LANGUAGE AND ARABIC AS THE LANGUAGE OF CHRISTIANS JACK B. TANNOUS Mainstream scholarship on the Middle East has a long tradition of implicitly conflating Middle Eastern history with Islamic history, classing non-Muslim groups as “minorities” and consequently granting these groups little, if any, attention in terms of the narratives that are told about the region’s past. Alongside this historical conflation has been a linguistic one. Just as the premodern Middle East has been seen as a Muslim region, Arabic, the language of the Qur’ān—usually understood to be the first Arabic book—has been seen as a preeminently Islamic language, and indeed, the Islamic language par excellence. 1 Unsurprisingly, standard works of reference for the history of Arabic literature have privileged Islamic Arabic literature over nonIslamic Arabic literature. 2 The assumptions underlying the conOn the connections between Islam and Arabic and for Arabic as a sacred language, see Reichmuth, “Religion and Language.” 2 On the intentional exclusion of much non-Muslim Arabic literature in Carl Brockelmann’s monumental Geschichte der arabischen Litteratur, see Kilpatrick, “Brockelmann,” 34–36; note especially Kilpatrick’s observa1

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flation between Arabic and Islam and the exclusion of nonMuslims, especially Christians, from also being true and proper participants in the history of the Arabic language can perhaps be summed up in the reported statement of one nineteenth-century scholar: al-ʿarabiyya lam tatanaṣṣar (Arabic never became Christian). 3 Such assumptions, however, are only that. And they unfortunately have distorted our understanding of the linguistic and demographic realities of the pre-modern Middle East, leading to a sectarian and confessionalized understanding of the Arabic language specifically and Middle Eastern history more generally. For, popular (and scholarly) perceptions and assumptions notwithstanding, non-Muslims likely formed a majority of the population of much of the Middle East well into the Middle Ages. 4 And in terms of language, the relationship between the Arabic language and Christianity is an ancient one—older, in fact, than the relationship between Arabic and Islam: Christians have been speaking, writing, and praying in Arabic since well before the birth of Muḥammad. Though the impression that Arabic is tion that “what can, and should, be questioned is the belief in principal that Arabic literature is a manifestation (Erscheinungsform) of Islamic culture” (34). On the mention and nonmention of whether particular authors are Jewish or Christian in Fuat Sezgin’s similarly monumental Geschichte des arabischen Schriftums, see Khalil, “La ‘Geschichte,’” 470– 471. 3 For this quote, attributed to Enrico Gismondi, see Khoury, “Quelques réflexions,” 549 n. 1. Further examples of the identification, by both Western scholars and Middle Eastern Muslims, of Arabic with Islam can be found on 549 and 549 n. 1. For the countercharge, that Jesuit scholars in Lebanon in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century attempted to Christianize Arabic through their studies on and editions of the Arabic-language literary heritage, see Schmid, “Louis Cheikho,” 137 n. 6. 4 See further Tannous, Making, 340–348. Carlson, “Contours,” is a valuable discussion of the question of conversion to Islam in the medieval Middle East, with a special focus on the case of Syria.

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uniquely the language of Islam and that Christians are outsiders and visitors to it is a widespread one, it is misleading.

CHRISTIANS AND ARABIC BEFORE THE ARAB CONQUESTS

One does not need to enter into the contested and perhaps unanswerable question of when an “Arab” identity actually emerged 5 to make the simple point that before the rise of Islam, The evidence for determining how pre-Islamic (and early Muslim) Arabic speakers viewed their own ethnicity and in what sense, if any, they understood themselves to be “Arabs” is simply too slender to make broad generalizations. On this question, see, e.g., Fisher, Between Empires, 128–172; idem, “Kingdoms or Dynasties?”; Hoyland, “Reflections,” 126–130; Macdonald, “Arabs, Arabias, and Arabic”; Retsö, Arabs; idem, “Nabateans”; Webb, Imagining. Though various scholars have disputed the existence of an Arab identity before Islam, an argument can be made that a form of Arab identity did in fact exist before the rise of Islam—see the observations and evidence in Hoyland, “Reflections,” 126–130, including Hoyland’s examples of pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions in which individuals selfidentify as Arabs. Here it is especially perhaps worth pointing out that in the famous Namāra inscription of AD 328—one of the oldest extant Arabiclanguage inscriptions we have—Imruʾ al-Qays declares himself as malik al-ʿarab, “king of the Arabs.” The use of this phrase would suggest that already by the first third of the fourth century there were Arabic speakers who would describe themselves as “Arabs” and that there might be a figure who saw himself as ruling over these self-identified “Arabs.” See also the remarks in Hoyland, “Epigraphy,” 219–220. For the Namāra inscription, see RCEA 1 (1–2) as well as the revised reading and translation in Bellamy, “New Reading,” 35, and the reading in Bordreuil et al., “205. Linteau inscrit,” 265–266; see further the discussion and literature cited in Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 64–66. With this said, it should also be noted that Michael Zwettler has questioned whether the words mlk ‘lʿrb klh in the inscription, traditionally understood by scholars to mean “king of all the Arabs,” should be read in this way, suggesting that ‘lʿrb should be taken in a geographic rather than ethnic sense. On this understanding, Imruʾ al-Qays was king 5

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Arabic 6 speakers had converted to Christianity. 7 In the centuries before Muḥammad’s birth, in fact, Arabic-speakers converted to

of all of the area known as al-ʿArab, rather than king of the Arabs; for this argument, along with another revised reading of the inscription with commentary and further discussion, see Zwettler, “Imra’alqays”; Macdonald, “Emergence,” 405–409, provides another reading of the inscription and commentary and follows Zwettler’s interpretation of this key phrase in a geographical sense (and cf. Macdonald, “The Arabs,” 399). Also on the Namāra inscription, see al-Jallad, “Particle ‘KDY,” especially his translation (370), where he prefers rendering the phrase in question as “king of all the Arabs” (see also 373); cf. also Hoyland, “Reflections,” 127; Kropp, “Vassal,” 79; Gruendler, Development, 11; Robin, “Les plus,” 116. Apart from the question of how to understand this line in the Namāra inscription, note the observation in Macdonald, “The Arabs,” 398: “Since the name given to these diverse peoples in a number of different languages (Akkadian, Hebrew, Ancient South Arabian, Greek, Latin, etc.) comes from the Semitic Root ʿ-R-B, the name is highly likely to have been a self-designation.” 6 Note Macdonald, “The Arabs,” 398, prefers to speak about “Arabian” rather than “Arabic” in the Hellenistic and Roman periods “because, at this period, there were several linguistic varieties related to the language we now know as Arabic in Syria and Arabia” (401). See also Robin’s discussion of what to refer to as “Arabic” in the pre-Islamic period in “Les plus,” 113, and his article more generally for a discussion of what can be considered Arabic in the pre-Islamic period; cf. also Robin, “Les inscriptions,” 545–546; idem, “L’épigraphie,” 20 (on problems with the name “proto-Arabic”); idem, “La réforme,” 330. See further al-Jallad, “Earliest Stages”; Fischer, “Das Altarabische”; Müller, “Das Altarabische und das Klassische Arabisch”; idem, “Das Altarabische der Inschriften”; and cf. Hoyland, “Epigraphy,” 53. For the purposes of this essay, I will refer to what others have referred to as “Old Arabic” as simply “Arabic.” References to “Arabic speakers” will also include individuals who would have spoken one of the dialects that belonged to what scholars refer to as “Ancient North Arabian.” For Old Arabic and Ancient North Arabian as “distinct but related dialect bundles which together formed the North Arabian dia-

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Christianity throughout the Middle East: there is evidence for pre-Islamic Christianity among Arabic speakers in Palestine and regions along and east of the Jordan River, 8 and also in Iraq, 9 Syria, 10 the area in northern Mesopotamia known as the Jazīra, 11 and the Negev and Sinai Peninsula. 12 What is more, in this perilect group,” see Macdonald, “Old Arabic,” 466; cf. also the discussion in Hoyland, Arabia, 201–203, and Knauf, “Thamudic,” 477–478. 7 On pre-Islamic Arabic-speaking Christianity and Christianity in the Arabian Peninsula, see (among others): Aigrain, “Arabie”; Beaucamp et al., eds., Juifs et chrétiens; Beaucamp and Robin, “Le christianisme”; Briquel-Chatonnet, “L’expansion”; Charles, Le Christianisme; Carter, “Christianity”; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya; Fisher et al., “Arabs and Christianity”; Hainthaler, Christliche Araber; idem, “Christian Arabs”; idem, “Pre-Islamic Christianity”; Hechaïmé, Louis Cheikho; Hirschberg, “Nestorian Sources”; Ficcadori, “Yemen Nestoriano”; Finster, “Arabia,” 70– 100; Gillman and Klimkeit, Christians, 77–88; Griffith, “Late Antiquity”; Klein, “Arabs”; Lammens, “Les chrétiens”; Mourad, “Christianity”; Mumayiz, Society, 37–72; Nau, Les Arabes chrétiens; O’Leary, Arabia, 125–151; Robin, “Chrétiens”; idem, “Le christianisme”; idem, “Les chrétiens”; idem, “South Arabia”; Rudolph, Die Abhängigkeit, 1–8; Ryckmans, “Le christianisme”; Shahid, “Arab Christianity in Byzantine Palestine”; idem, “Arab Christianity before the Rise of Islam”; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fourth Century, 330–345, 418–443; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 167–179, 214–230, 520–528; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 2.2:291–296; idem, “Byzantium in South Arabia”; idem, “al-Masīḥiyya”; Trimingham, Christianity; Tritton, “Naṣarā,” EI1, 3: 848–851; Toral-Niehoff, al-Ḥīra, 151– 211; idem, “ʿIbād.” 8 See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 39–44; Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 35– 43, 49–59; Shahid, “Arab Christianity in Byzantine Palestine.” 9 See Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 83–93; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 73– 92. 10 See Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 49–80; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 101–106 (northern Syria). 11 See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 93–101. 12 See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 44–52; Devreesse, “Le christianisme”; Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 43–46; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 1.2:968–988.

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od before the advent of Islam, Christians could be found in the central, 13 eastern, 14 southeastern, 15 southwestern, 16 and southern 17 parts of the Arabian Peninsula, and some of these Christians may have spoken types of Arabic. Medieval sources also give evidence of the presence of Christians in western Arabia before and during the lifetime of Muḥammad. 18 It is also worth mentioning here that an inscription discovered in Wādī MuraySee Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 140–142. For pre-Islamic Arabicspeaking Christians in al-Yamāma, see Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 71–72. For a Christian ruler (from the tribe of al-Kinda) over Dūmat al-Jandal during the lifetime of Muḥammad, see Nehmé, “New,” 152. For Christians moving there from Hira in the late sixth and early seventh century, see Loreto, “Saudi-French,” 155. 14 See Beaucamp and Robin, “L’évêché nestorien”; Bin Seray, “Christianity”; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 70–71; Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 97– 101; Mourad, “Christianity,” 55–59; Potts, “Deacon”; Tubach, “Origin”; and cf. also Hellyer, “Nestorian Christianity.” 15 On pre-Islamic Christianity in Oman, Atichson-Day, “Expansion”; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 70–71; Hellyer, “Nestorian Christianity,” esp. 88–93. 16 On pre-Islamic Christianity in South Arabia, see Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 111–136. On pre-Islamic Christianity in Najran, see Jeffery, “Christianity”; Mourad, “Christianity,” 48–53; Tardy, Najrân. On pre-Islamic Christianity in Hadramawt, see Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 68– 69. 17 On pre-Islamic Christianity in Yemen, see Beeston, “Judaism and Christianity”; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 52–68; Ficcadori, “Yemen Nestoriano”; Robin, “Judaïsme et christianisme”; Ryckmans, La persécution. See also the works cited in n. 7 above. 18 See, e.g., Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 137–140; Osman, “PreIslamic”; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 390–392; idem, “Islam”; Lammens, “Les chrétiens”; Mourad, “Christianity,” 44– 48. See also Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 106–23 (on the Ḥijāz and Najd; though Cheikho’s evidence on Mecca should be read alongside Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 390–391). For a minimalist view of the presence of Christianity in the pre-Islamic Ḥijāz, see Munt, “‘No Two,’” 252–253. 13

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ghān (located in modern southwestern Saudi Arabia) in 2009 has been used to argue that in the mid-sixth century, all the regions of Arabia—including Yathrib (Medina) and Mecca— submitted to the authority of and were controlled by Abraha, the Christian king of Himyar. 19 Among pre-Islamic Arabic-speaking groups associated with Christianity in the Middle East, two stand out as the best known. First, the Ghassanids (also sometimes referred to as the Jafnids 20) were an influential and powerful group of Arab federates of the Roman empire whose strong connection to Christianity first becomes apparent in sources from the sixth century. 21 Second, there were the Lakhmids (also known as the Naṣrids 22), a formidable tribal confederation that was allied with the Sasanian empire. Medieval writers would claim that various Lakhmid kings—as far back as Imruʾ al-Qays (d. 328)—had converted to Christianity, but it is not until the final Lakhmid ruler, Nuʿmān III (r. 580-602), that the existing evidence has been strong enough to give historians confidence to speak of a LakhOn the inscription Murayghān 3 and its implications, see Robin and Ṭayran, “Soixante-dix”; cf. Robin, “Peoples,” 65–71. 20 Though on this name, see the comment in Kawar, “Ghassān,” 244 n. 32; see also the remarks in Fisher and Wood, “Writing,” 250–251; Fisher, “Kingdoms or Dynasties?,” 253. 21 On the Ghassanids and Christianity, see most conveniently, Aigrain, “Arabie,” cols. 1204–1219; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 30–39, 136–137; Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 67–79; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, vol. 1.2; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 2.2:291–296; Trimingham, Christianity, 178–188. Shahid placed Ghassān’s acceptance of Christianity in the late fifth century; see his article “Ghassān,” EI2, 2:1020–1021 (the suggested date of their conversion is on 1020). On the Ghassanids and whether they constituted a real “tribe,” see Robin, “Ghassān”. On the Ghassanids more generally, in addition to Shahid’s Byzantium and the Arabs volumes, see the articles in Genequand and Robin, Les Jafnides. 22 On this name and its problems, see Fisher and Wood, “Writing,” 251– 254; see further Fisher, “Kingdoms or Dynasties?,” 253. 19

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mid king who actually converted. 23 Nevertheless, Nuʿmān III was not the first member of the ruling family to be a Christian, 24 and well before Nuʿmān, the Lakhmid’s capital city, Hira, was wellknown as perhaps the leading center of Arabic-speaking Christianity in the pre-Islamic Middle East. 25 The first bishop of Hira is attested in 410, and the city was home to a school of the Church of the East. 26 Various East Syrian patriarchs were buried in Hira, both before and after the rise of Islam. 27 In the medieval period, the Christian Arab tribes of Hira were often referred to as the ʿIbād, or “servants”—they were the “servants” of God; indeed, this name was said to have gone back to the Sasanian period. 28 See Toral-Niehoff, al-Ḥīra, 183; Rothstein, Die dynastie, 139. Shahid, “Lakhmids,” EI2, 5:634, suggests that it was Sasanian pressure that kept Lakhmid rulers from openly displaying their Christianity and accepts the authenticity of Imrūʾ al-Qays’s conversion, pointing out that the only Lakhmid ruler to be publicly Christian joined a church—the Church of the East—which was not in communion with the East Romans. On the Lakhmids and Christianity, see further Fisher and Wood, “Writing,” 268–274. 24 On the relationship between the Lakhmid royal family and Christianity, see Toral-Niehoff, al-Ḥīra, 183–211. 25 Note Shahid’s observation in “al-Ḥīra,” EI2, 3:462. 26 On the Lakhmids, see Shahid, “Lakhmids,” EI2, 5:632–634; Aigrain, “Arabie,” cols. 1219–1233; Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 139; Fisher and Wood, “Writing”; Trimingham, Christianity, 188–202; Zahran, Lakhmids; see further Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 83–86. On Hira, see Shahid, “al-Ḥīra,” EI2, 3:462–463; Brelaud, “al-Ḥīra”; Ghanīma, al-Ḥīra; Hunter, “Christian Matrix”; idem, “Reconstructing”; Kister, “al-Ḥīra”; Rothstein, Die dynastie; Talib, “Topoi”; Toral-Niehoff, al-Ḥīra; idem, “Late Antique Iran”; Wood, “Hira”; idem, “al-Ḥīra.” On the bishops of Hira, see Fiey, Assyrie Chrétienne, 3:203–206; on its school, see 3:208, 211. 27 See Ghanīma, al-Ḥīra, 35 and cf. Fiey, Assyrie Chrétienne, 3:210. 28 On the ʿIbād, see Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 133–134; Ghanīma, al-Ḥīra, 16–17; Toral-Niehoff, al-Ḥīra, 88–105; idem, “ʿIbād.” For an alternative explanation of the origin of the name ʿIbād as not referring to the “servants of God,” but rather coming from a comment made by Khusro 23

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One might also mention here the Abgarids, the dynasty that ruled Edessa: over a period stretching nearly four centuries, nearly all of its kings had Arab names. 29 The celebrated Abgar– Jesus correspondence has been taken to suggest that Abgar V (r. 4 BC–AD 7; AD 13–AD 50) or perhaps Abgar VIII (r. AD 177–AD 212) converted to Christianity, but it has been argued, in fact, that none of the Arab kings of Edessa actually ever became a Christian. 30 The question of the Abgarids notwithstanding, the conversions of Arabic speakers to Christianity had consequences in terms of the built landscape of the areas where these Christians lived. The Lakhmid capital of Hira was famous for its large numbers of churches and monasteries, and various authors in the medieval Islamic tradition in fact believed that it was at Hira that the Arabic alphabet was invented. 31 Medieval authors knew of some 40 different monasteries in Hira and its region, 32 the when he realized that the five men sent to him on a delegation from Hira all had names beginning with ʿabd: “You are servants, all of you,” Khusro is supposed to have said, see Ghanīma, al-Ḥīra, 16. 29 For the vast majority of the kings of Edessa carrying Arab names (all but five in 375 years), see Segal, “Arabs,” 94. For a list of the names of the kings of Edessa, see idem, Edessa, 15 n. 3. For a study of the names of these kings, see Tubach, “Die Namen”; for the Abgarids as Arabs, see Drijvers and Healey, Old Syriac, 35–36. Note, however, Drijvers’s important observation on the meaning of Arabic names in the context of Edessa: “…semitische, speziell arabische Namen finden sich dort neben iranischen und griechischen. Das besagt nichts über die ethnische Herkunft der Träger — oft hat ein Vater mit einem semitischen Namen einen Sohn mit iranischem — , wohl aber über die Kulturen, die Einfluβ auf das Edessenische Gebiet ausgeübt haben” (Drijvers, “Hatra,” 890). 30 On the Abgar-Jesus correspondence and the beginnings of Christianity in Edessa, see Brock, “Eusebius.” On the Abgarids more generally, see T. J. Wardle, “Abgarids,” in GEDSH, 5–7. 31 See Abbott, Rise, 5; though note the observation of Fisher in “Kingdoms or Dynasties?,” 252. 32 See Toral-Niehoff, al-Ḥīra, 175, and Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne, 3:211– 225.

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oldest of which potentially went back to the fourth century. 33 In the modern period, there has been, relatively speaking, very limited archaeological exploration of Hira’s Christian past, and yet six churches have been found by archaeologists working in Hira and the surrounding region. 34 The Lakhmids, of course, were not the only Arabic-speaking group associated with Christian structures: the Ghassanids, for their part, have been associated with dozens of monasteries and churches. 35 Though they On the Monastery of Mār ʿAbidshōʿ and its reported foundation between 363 and 371, see Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne, 3:218–219; on Dayr Mart Maryam, built in the early fifth century, see 3:213; for the fifthcentury Dayr Qurra, see 3:217–218. 34 See Hauser, “Church,” 439–441. On Hira’s archaeology, see further Talbot Rice, “Hira”; idem, “Oxford Excavations at Ḥīra”; idem, “Oxford Excavations at Hira, 1931”; Ḥamīd, “Āthar”; al-Kaʿbi, “New Repertoire”; idem, “Report.” For Christian archaeological remains in the region of Hira, see Okada, “Early Christian”; idem, “Reconsideration”; Fuji et al., “Excavations”; Hunter, “Report,” and see the summary discussion in Horn and Hunter, “Christianity,” 1106–1109; cf. also Finster and Schmidt, “Sasanidische.” On Lakhmid construction, see also Genequand, “Archaeological Evidence,” 207–213. 35 Of particular importance for this question are the names of monks and monasteries found in the subscription to a letter written in Syriac in AD 569 and preserved in BL Add. 14,602. For the text of the signatures of this letter, see Wright, Catalogue, 2:709–714. Shahid, “Arab Christianity in Byzantine Palestine,” 232–233, believed that about 30 of the monasteries listed in the subscription were “associated with the Ghassānids” (233); see further his remarks on the Ghassānid connections in the letter in Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 1.2:824–838, as well as the fundamental study in Nöldeke, “Zur Topographie.” On the sixth-century Syriac letter and the connection of the Ghassanids to the monasteries it mentions, see the most recent study in Hoyland, “Late Roman”; cf. Millar, “Christian Monasticism”; see further Khalaf, Kanīsat, for a detailed discussion of all the monasteries mentioned in the letter. More generally, on churches, monasteries, and other construction associated with the Ghassanids, see Genequand, “Archaeological Evi33

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may have only patronized most of these, 36 it seems that they nevertheless did build as many as five churches and one monastery. 37 Christian construction has been discovered in other preIslamic Arabic-speaking contexts as well: at Dūmat al-Jandal, located in modern northwestern Saudi Arabia, silver bells discovered in the Byzantine layer beneath the ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb mosque have been interpreted as meant for liturgical use, which has led to the suggestion that this early mosque was built on top of a Christian church that perhaps dated to the early seventh century. 38 According to medieval sources, Najran, in modern southwest Saudi Arabia, had Christian structures: three churches, a monastery or even monasteries, and a Christian Kaʿba that commemorated martyrs and which rivaled the Kaʿba in Mecca. 39 Textual evidence also points to the existence of at least three pre-Islamic Christian monasteries in the Ḥijāz. 40 What is more, there is a medieval report of an image of Jesus and an image of Mary at the Kaʿba in Mecca, something which, if true, would be a clear indication of the presence of a knowledge of Christianity there, if not Christians, too. 41 Along these lines, it is also worth dence,” 172–207 (esp. 188–207); Fisher et al., “Arabs and Christianity,” 311–312. Cf. also Hainthaler, “Pre-Islamic Christianity,” 214–15; idem, Christliche Araber, 77–78; Satre, Trois études, 177–187. 36 See Genequand’s remarks in “Archaeological Evidence,” 180. 37 See Genequand, “Archaeological Evidence,” 181; cf. Hoyland, “Late Roman,” 120, for the view that there is “only one firmly attested example of Ghassanid building.” 38 See Loreto, “Results,” 161–162; cf. Nehmé, “New,” 154–155. 39 See Finster, “Arabia,” 75–76, and the detailed discussion in Shahid, “Byzantium in South Arabia,” 69–75. For churches in Zafar, see Finster, “Arabia,” 77; Beeston, “Judaism and Christianity,” 273. 40 See Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 526. 41 The images there also included an image of Abraham as well as images of angels. On this image and its importance, see Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 391–392; see also Finster, “Arabia,” 83–86. For the suggestion that a reference by al-Maqdisī to masājid

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pointing out that there was reportedly a Christian cemetery in Mecca. 42 There is in fact extensive evidence—textual and archaeological—for churches and monasteries more generally throughout the Arabian Peninsula in the pre-Islamic period, and future archaeological work will likely turn up more remains of Christian constructions in this area dating to the time before the rise of Islam. 43 When speaking about archaeology and pre-Islamic Arabicspeaking Christians, several caveats need to be made: the preIslamic Middle East and Arabian Peninsula were multilingual

Maryam, “mosques of Maryam,” between Mecca and Medina might indicate that these mosques were converted from a church or churches that had previously been dedicated to the Virgin, see Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 391. 42 See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 380. 43 The best summary of archaeological evidence for pre-Islamic Christian churches and monasteries in the Arabian Peninsula is Finster, “Arabia,” 70–100. See also, e.g., Calvet, “Monuments”; Bernard et al., “L’église”; Bernard and Salles, “Discovery”; Elders, “Lost Churches”; Insoll et al., “Excavations”; King, “Nestorian”; idem, “Some Christian”; Langfeldt, “Recently Discovered”; and more generally, cf. Sidney Griffith, “Church,” EQ, 1:335–336; Fowden, “Des églises”; Horn and Hunter, “Christianity,” 1110. Mention might be made here, too, of a monastery found in Kilwa in modern Northwestern Saudi Arabia, the precise dating of which is still under investigation by its excavators. On this monastery, see Farès, “Christian Monasticism”; on its inscription, see idem, “L’inscription,” and see further Hoyland, “Two New,” 330–336. For a medieval reference to the remains of churches on the Farasān islands, located in the Red Sea and part of modern Saudi Arabia, see C. F. Beckingham, “Farasān,” EI2, 2:787; see further Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 442. More generally, for textual evidence of Christianity among Arabic-speakers or in areas where Arabic speakers lived or with which they are associated, in pre-Islamic times, Cheikho’s al-Naṣrāniyya remains an unsurpassed collection of material.

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places, 44 home to numerous people and groups who could speak more than one language; in this world, it would not have been difficult to find an individual who spoke one language to family and friends and yet worshipped (or wrote) in a different language. 45 Such considerations mean that the mere presence of a Christian monastery or church in an area dominated by the Lakhmids or Ghassanids or at some place in the Arabian Peninsula does not mean that Arabic speakers necessarily worshipped there in Arabic. 46 But the possibility certainly exists. And, by the same token, we should be careful making inferences from the language of inscriptions in a given location to the actual everyday language of that place. The presence of Syriac or Greek inscriptions in a given place, for instance, no more means that Syriac or Greek was the language of everyday use there than the presence of Latin and Greek inscriptions on a modern university campus means that Latin and Greek are the language of everyday conversation there. 47 Similarly, a person with an Arabic name was not necessarily an Arabic speaker; for this reason, it is at times difficult to know when it was that Arabic speakers first converted to Christianity. 48 With this said, there is evidence of individuals with On the languages spoken and written in pre-Islamic Arabia, see alJallad, “Linguistic landscape”; Beeston, “Languages”; Macdonald, “Ancient North Arabian”; idem., “Reflections”; Müller, “Das Altarabische und das Klassische Arabische”; Nebes and Stein, “Ancient South Arabian”; Robin, “Les inscriptions”; idem, “Les langues.” 45 For an example of Greek written in Syriac script but showing the influence of Arabic pronunciation, see Brock, “Greek and Latin,” 40. For epigraphic evidence of diglossia among (Ancient) Arabic speakers, see Knauf, “Thamudic,” 482. Cf. also the observations in Robin, “L’épigraphie,” 17–20. 46 Note the comments of Shahid in Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 1.2:837. 47 I owe this modern analogy to Maria Mavroudi. 48 It is also the case that a person might be an Arab or an Arabic speaker, but have a non-Arabic name—see the observation and example in 44

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Arabic names becoming Christians as early as the second century, 49 and more generally, it seems to be the case that before the rise of Islam, there were Arabic speakers who were Christians who wrote in languages other than Arabic. 50 The Ghassanids, for instance, spoke Arabic but have nevertheless left us various Greek inscriptions. 51 The name Maʿnā, it has been pointed out, represents a combination of the Arabic Maʿan with the Aramaic ending –ā. This raises the possibility that various fifth-century Christian authors with the name Maʿnā could have come from families with Arabic-speaking backgrounds or ancestry, even if these figures themselves wrote in Syriac and Persian and translated from Greek. 52 John Rufus (d. after 515) may present a similar case. John, it has been suggested, was from an Arabicspeaking family, either in the Roman province of Arabia or in the region of Antioch, and yet he wrote in Greek. 53 The ecclesiastical activities of Theodore of Bostra (d. late sixth century), including time spent in Constantinople, suggest that he spoke and wrote Greek, and fragments of his writings survive in Syri-

Macdonald, “The Arabs,” 398; on names and “ethnicity,” see also the observation in Millar, “Christian Monasticism,” 102. 49 See the remarks Tubach, “Origin,” 230–231. 50 Cf. the observation in Hoyland, Arabia, 242. 51 See Hoyland, “Epigraphy,” 229–230; cf. Fisher, “Kingdoms or Dynasties?,” 263. 52 On the etymology of the name Maʿnā, see Tubach, “Origin,” 231. On fifth-century Maʿnā’s and their literary and translation activity, see Baumstark, Geschichte, 105–106. 53 For autobiographical details and the suggestion that John was “of Arab background” in the region of Antioch, see Horn, “Chapter,” 135– 139 (especially 137–139, quote at 137). See Di Berardino, Patrology, 255, for the claim that he was a “Christian Arab from Southern Palestine.” For John as from the Roman province of Arabia, see Schwartz, “Johannes Rufus,” 16.

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ac, but it has also been suggested that Theodore—also known as Theodore of Arabia—was “a monk of Arab origin.” 54 Admittedly, the claim that figures such as the various Syriac Maʿnās, John Rufus, and Theodore of Arabia were Arabicspeakers or even “Arabs,” or were descended from people who spoke Arabic or who would have called themselves (or been called) “Arabs,” is a speculative one—the connections between the languages people spoke, the languages they wrote, their names, and their places of geographic origin can be hard to pin down, and in the pre-Islamic period, the ethnonym “Arab” could have a variety of connotations, none of which were necessarily uniform among those who used it. 55 With this said, it is nevertheless worth pointing out that it has been suggested that a number of other pre-Islamic Christian figures were Arabs or Arabic speakers 56 and if our sources for the pre-Islamic Middle East were different and more detailed, it would be unsurprising to discover a number of Christians who were Arabic speakers but who wrote or prayed in Greek, Syriac, or even Persian. The existence of Arabic-speaking Christians is something that one can infer from evidence preserved in other languages, too. For example: One way pre-Islamic Syriac authors referred to

On Theodore, see Honigmann, Évêques et évêchés, 158–164; Di Berardino, Patrology, 294–295 (quote about his alleged “Arab origin” on 294); A. De Nicola, “Theodore of Bostra,” in Di Berardino, ed., Encyclopedia of Ancient Christianity, 3:740–741. 55 Cf. the observations in Hoyland, “Reflections,” 126–130, esp. 127 n. 60, where he speaks of a “narrower geographical/genealogical definition” of Arab giving way to a “broader linguistic-cultural” one in the period after the Muslim conquests. Fisher, “Kingdoms or Dynasties?,” is a good brief discussion of the difficulties that attach to attempts at understanding Arab identity in the pre-Islamic period. 56 See, e.g., Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 191– 96; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 1.2:963–965; cf. also idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fourth Century, 330–337, 344– 345. 54

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Arabs was to call them Ṭayyāyē, 57 and BL Add. 12,155 contains a Syriac treatise written by a certain Sergius, from the “Monastery of the Ṭayyāyē,” perhaps in the late sixth century. 58 Apart from this, we have several sixth-century Syriac references to a Monastery of the Ṭayyāyē, 59 and John of Ephesus (d. 589) refers at one point to two “Ṭayyāyē monks.” 60 We do not know the language that these Ṭayyāyē monks prayed in or the language(s) that they spoke in their everyday lives, nor do we know which language(s) were used at the Monastery of the Ṭayyāyē, but it would not be surprising if Arabic were among them. It is also perhaps worth noting that there is evidence that Arabicspeaking Christians would make pilgrimages to churches and monasteries throughout the Middle East and Arabian Peninsula in the pre-Islamic period. 61 Even given the potential reservations about whether any particular individual or group actually engaged in specifically Christian activities in Arabic, we can nevertheless say that the conversions of Arabic speakers to Christianity also meant that these Christians would now use the Arabic language as a means for communication in nonreligious areas of life, in addition to other languages like Greek and Syriac; in other words, the conversions of Arabic speakers to Christianity meant that Arabic, by definition, became a language used by Christians, even if it is difficult to know whether they used Arabic for Christian purposFor a helpful discussion of the various pre-Islamic terms used to refer to Arabic speakers, see Hainthaler, Christliche Araber, 12–28. For a discussion of the use of Ṭayyāyē in Syriac texts, see Tannous, Making, 525–531. 58 BL Add. 12,155, fols. 125b–126a; see Wright, Catalogue, 2:941; cf. Baumstark, Geschichte, 185. 59 See Wright, Catalogue, 2:706, col. 1, line 16; 2:708, col. 2, line 18 (in BL Add. 14,602). 60 John of Ephesus, Ecclesiastical History 6.19 (Brooks, 315). For two monks referred to as “Arabs” in a sixth-century Greek inscription, see Hoyland, God’s Path, 22 (n. 17). 61 See the discussion in Shahid, “Arab Christian Pilgrimages.” 57

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es. Some pre-Islamic Arabic poetry was composed by Christians, 62 and this poetry could at times show evidence of the author’s religious identity and knowledge of the Bible—as has been shown to be the case, for instance, with the Christian poet ʿAdī ibn Zayd (d. ca. 600). 63 What is more, references to conOn Christianity among pre-Islamic Arab poets, see the observations in Wellhausen, Reste, 233. The classic collection of poetry attributed to pre-Islamic Christian poets is Cheikho, Kitāb, vol. 1; see also idem, alNaṣrāniyya, 408–436. Cheikho, however, has been charged with claiming that a number of poets who were not Christians were in fact Christians and with moreover de-Islamifiying the poetry of early Muslim poets in his editions of their works as part of a confessional agenda to Christianize early Arabic literature. His work should be read alongside the critical assessment in Hechaïmé, Louis Cheikho, 159–185, and Schmid, “Louis Cheikho”; cf. also Tobkin, “Revisiting.” Apart from the question of Cheikho’s attempted Christianization of pre-Islamic poetry, there is the vexed question of the authenticity of this poetry more generally and whether it is actually pre-Islamic. The classic statements of skepticism about the authenticity of this corpus of poetry are Margoliouth, “Origins,” and Ḥusayn, Fī al-shiʿr al-jāhilī. For a summary of some of the most important contributions to the debate on this subject, see Jacobi, “Die altarabische,” 21; a longer discussion can be found in Sezgin, Geschichte, 2:14–33. See further Arberry, Seven Odes, 228–254, which summarized Margoliouth and Ḥusayn’s famous case against the authenticity of pre-Islamic poetry as well as criticisms—his own and those of others—against the skeptical view. Shahid, “Authenticity,” represents another discussion (and defense) of the authenticity of much of this literature. More recently, Sinai, RainGiver, 19–26, discusses the question of authenticity and attempts to offer an approach which, so to speak, separates the authentic wheat from the inauthentic chaff in this textual corpus. On the history of the controversy caused by Margoliouth and (especially) Ḥusayn, see El Shamsy, Rediscovering, 200–203. 63 On Christian elements in a poem of ʿAdī ibn Zayd, see Hainthaler, “ʿAdī ibn Zayd,” 168–169; for a poem of ʿAdī on creation which is clearly based on the biblical account, see Dmitriev, “Early”; ToralNiehoff, “Eine arabische.” On connections between a poem by the poet Umayya ibn Abī al-Ṣalt—who was likely neither Jewish nor Christian— 62

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cepts and words associated with Christianity, in addition to a large number of biblical figures and even Christian saints, can in fact be found in Arabic poetry that has traditionally been held to be pre-Islamic. 64 Arabic was also used as a language of inscriptions by Christians throughout the Middle East before Islam. In greater Syria, one can point to the Zebed inscription on a church lintel dated AD 512, 65 the Harran inscription on a martyrium dated AD 568, 66 and a sixth-century inscription in a double church in Umm al-Jimāl 67 as examples of pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions made by Christians in the Arabic script. One might also mention here a brief sixth-century inscription from a mosaic church floor in Nebo: scholars have disagreed as to whether the inscription is Arabic or Christian Palestinian Aramaic. 68 and the Protevangelium of James, see Horn, “Tracing.” On Umayya, see further Sinai, “Religious Poetry.” 64 See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyyā, 157–220; 227–234; 254–283; cf. Hirschberg, Jüdische und christliche. 65 RCEA 2 (2–3). On this inscription, see further Gruendler, Development, 13–14 and Macdonald, “Emergence,” 410–411. 66 RCEA 3 (3–4). On this inscription, see further Gruendler, Development, 14 and Macdonald, “Emergence,” 414–415. 67 RCEA 4 (4–5). On this inscription, see further Littmann, “Die vorislamisch-arabische”; Gruendler, Development, 14; see also the comments on it in Macdonald, “Emergence,” 416–417 (esp. 417): “once a credible reading can be made and if it shows that the text is indeed in Arabic, it will, like the Zabad and Ḥarrān inscriptions, provide evidence of Arabic as a written language of pre-Islamic Christians.” See also Macdonald’s comments in “Old Arabic,” 470, on the question of whether this inscription is actually pre-Islamic. 68 On this inscription as Arabic, see Knauf, “Bermerkungen”; idem, “Arabo-Aramaic,” 244; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 323. For the inscription as Christian Palestinian Aramaic and not Arabic, see Fisher, Between Empires, 147; Milik, “Notes,” 159. For a detailed study of the inscription (and the debate around it), arguing that it should be seen as Christian Palestinian Aramaic and not Arabic, see Hoyland, “Mount Nebo.”

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In the Arabian Peninsula, one can point to a cross accompanying an Arabic inscription dated to AD 470 69 as well crosses accompanying other undated but nevertheless pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions, 70 all of which have been found in Najran in modern southeastern Saudi Arabia, near Yemen. One can also point to an inscription near Dūmat al-Jandal in modern northwestern Saudi Arabia, dated AD 548-549, that seems to be accompanied by a cross and which, it has been suggested, was likely written by a Christian. 71 We should also mention the celebrated inscription of al-Hind, the wife of the Lakhmid ruler alMundhir III (d. 554), dating to around AD 560 on a monastery she had had built in Hira, located in modern southeastern Iraq; though this inscription is no longer extant and it is known only through literary sources, the authenticity and reliability of these reports is likely. 72 And, though my focus in this essay is on AraḤimà-Sud PalAr 1; see Robin, al-Ghabbān, and al-Saʿīd, “Inscriptions,” 1087–1092. 70 On the presence of Christianity in this region and the significance of Christian crosses in the inscriptions, see Robin, al-Ghabbān, and alSaʿīd,, “Inscriptions,” 1052–1054, and note especially 1054, where the authors observe, “Toutes les inscriptions de Ḥimà-Sud sont flanquée de croix,” and provide a typology of the three different kinds of crosses found on these inscriptions. For examples of such inscriptions from this article, see, e.g., Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 2 (1092–1093); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 3 (1093–1094); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 4 (1095); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 5 (1096– 1097); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 7 (1097–1099); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 8 (1099– 1102); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 9 (1102); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 10 (1102–1104); Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 11 (1104–1107); and Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 12 (1107–1109). 71 For DaJ144Par1, see Nehmé, “New,” 124–131. For the suggestion that a “+ sign” that accompanies the inscription should be interpreted as a cross, something that “would indicate the author is a Christian,” see 130, and see further on 154. 72 The Arabic text can be found in al-Bakrī, Muʿjam, 1:606; Yāqūt, Muʿjam, 2:542. For the Arabic text, see also Rothstein, Die Dynastie, 24; Shahid, Arabs in Late Antiquity, 11. For the Arabic text and English translation, see also Shahid, “Arab Christianity before the Rise of Islam,” 442. For a date ca. AD 560 and the judgment that the inscription 69

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bic as a Christian language, it is also perhaps worth pointing out that in addition to the existence of pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions written by Christians, there also exist pre-Islamic inscriptions written by Christians in South Arabian; 73 there is also possibly a Safaitic Christian inscription from the fourth century. 74 One notable characteristic of pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions in the Arabic script is the striking fact that a significant number of them are Christian. 75 Indeed, the oldest extant dated inscription in the Arabic script is Ḥimà-Sud PalAr1, the Christian inscription from Najran I have just mentioned, written in AD 470. 76 There are pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions that are not written in the Arabic script—written instead, for instance, with the Nabatean Aramaic, Dadanitic, and possibly Safaitic and Hismaic scripts 77—but if we focus on Arabic inscriptions written is in fact an authentic one, see Robin, “Les religions,” 239; Nehmé, “New,” 153; Rabin, “ʿArabiyya,” EI2, 1:564. 73 See the discussion in Beaucamp and Robin, “Le Christianisme,” 47– 48. 74 See al-Jallad and al-Manaser, “Pre-Islamic”; see further al-Jallad, “Jesus.” 75 I owe this observation to Christian Robin. Long ago, Chaim Rabin also pointed out the connection between early dated Arabic inscriptions and Christianity and suggested that it was Christian missionaries who were behind the creation of the Arabic script: see Rabin, “ʿArabiyya,” EI2, 1:564: “The Christian character of the dated inscriptions suggests that the Arabic script was invented by Christian missionaries, as were so many eastern alphabets.” See also Robin, “Les écritures,” 127; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 2.2:298. Note Hoyland’s observation in “Two New,” 335: “The fact that all pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions in the Arabic script are from a Christian context suggests that there is some connection between Christianity and the emergence of the Arabic script.” Cf. also Pedersen, Arabic Book, 9. 76 See Robin, “Arabie,” 54, where Ḥimà-Sud PalAr1 is called “La plus ancienne inscription datée en écriture arabe….” 77 See Macdonald, “Old Arabic,” 467–469; idem, “Emergence,” 399– 409; Hoyland, Arabia, 201–203; idem, “Epigraphy,” 53; al-Jallad, “Earliest Stages,” 322–324.

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in the Arabic script, it becomes apparent that the pre-Islamic use of the Arabic script was closely associated with what Christian Robin has termed “la propagande chrétienne.” This raises the question of whether—as was the case with other languages in late antiquity, such as Armenian and Gothic—when it came to Arabic, Christians played a role in the creation of a new script and its diffusion. As Robin has noted, however, it is difficult to determine whether it was Christians who actually invented the Arabic script or whether they used a preexisting script with a limited diffusion for their religious ends. 78 These Christian inscriptions are interesting for another reason as well. Pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions made by Christians from Syria, Najran, and Dūmat al-Jandal use ʿl-ʾlh—that is, alIlāh—as the name for the divinity: “It is,” Leila Nehmé has observed, “the normal Christian pre-Islamic Arabic name for God.” 79 Based on the popularity of the name “ʿAbdallāh” among Christians in early sixth-century Najrān, Christian Robin has in fact argued that al-Ilāh often would have been pronounced Allāh in everyday usage. 80 Though the authenticity of pre-Islamic poetry has been disputed and questions have been raised about See Robin, “L’arabie,” 70: “Par ailleurs, tous les documents récemment découverts suggèrent que l’usage de l’écriture arabe est étroitement associé à la propagande chrétienne, sans qu’on puisse établir si l’alphabet arabe a été créé pour la propagande chrétienne ou si la mission chrétienne s’est servie d’un instrument qui existait déjà, mais n’avait encore qu’une diffusion restreinte.” See also Robin’s 2006 remarks on the connection between the Arabic script and Christianity in his “La réforme,” 329–330. On the connection between Christianity and the development of the pre-Islamic Arabic alphabet, see further Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 418–419; Mumayiz, Society, 37–39. 79 For the point about the name of the Christian God in the Zebed inscription, Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 8, DaJ144Par1, and this quote, see Nehmé, “New,” 130. For six pre-Islamic Christian Arabic uses of al-Ilāh, see Robin, “L’Arabie,” 103; see further Robin, “Les noms,” 79–80. 80 See Robin, “L’Arabie,” 102–104; cf. Robin, “Les noms,” 83 78

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how many pre-Islamic poets were actually Christians, it is nevertheless perhaps useful here to remember that, long ago, Louis Cheikho pointed out the frequency of the usage of Allāh for the name of the divinity in pre-Islamic Arabic poetry attributed to Christians. 81 In other words, inscriptional evidence would seem to corroborate the observation Cheikho made based on literary materials. 82 The phenomenon of Christians using Arabic, written in the Arabic script, as a language of inscriptions over a broad geographic area before the rise of Islam raises the questions of whether they used it as a written language in this period and whether Arabic was used for explicitly Christian purposes. There is indirect evidence that this may have been the case. For instance: anecdotes from medieval sources suggest that reading and writing in Arabic was known among the Christians of Hira, 83 and the Arabic inscription in the monastery built by alHind in Hira, ca. 560—which mentions a bishop (usquf), asks God (al-Ilāh) to forgive the sin of Hind (khaṭī’atahā) and have mercy (yataraḥḥam) on her and her son, and also uses the expression dahr al-dāhir, “ages of ages”—has been seen as reflecting a pre-Islamic “liturgical Arab Christian vocabulary.” 84 Here it is also potentially significant that the inscription from a church in Umm al-Jimāl was written by a certain Ulayh, who describes himself as the “scribe” (kātib) to the leader of the Banū ʿAmr. 85 There are questions about the text due to its poor See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 159. On Allāh in pre-Islamic Arabic poetry, see now Sinai, Rain-Giver. 82 See further Sinai, Rain-Giver, 7–9, where Allāh in pre-Islamic poetry is discussed more generally, with reference to both Christian and nonChristian evidence. 83 Ghanīma, al-Ḥīra, 16–17. 84 Shahid, “Arab Christianity before the Rise of Islam,” 442; cf. Baumstark’s observation in “The Problem,” 293. On similarities between the language of this inscription and the Arabic translation of Matthew found in Vatican Arabic 13, see Kashouh, Arabic Versions, 170–171. 85 RCEA 3 (5). 81

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legibility, 86 but if future research can confirm this reading, this inscription might provide solid evidence of a self-described “scribe” to a tribal leader actually writing something in Arabic in the Arabic script. This would raise the possibility that Arabicspeaking tribal groups more generally had designated individuals who could write Arabic for official purposes. 87 A tantalizing reference to documents written out in the seprā Negrānāyā, the Najranite script or language, in a Syriac text dealing with the martyrs of Najran, has been argued to refer to Arabic and can potentially be seen as evidence for Christians using Arabic to write more than just inscriptions in the pre-Islamic period. 88 The text has been ascribed to the sixth-century Miaphysite Simeon of Beth Arsham, and if it does indeed date to the sixth century (or contain reliable traditions that go back to this period) and if seprā Negrānāyā does refer to Arabic, 89 this reference would be a precious witness to a world of writing in Arabic in the pre-

See Macdonald, “Emergence,” 416–417; cf. n. 67, above. Cf. Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 415. For a variety of evidence of things related to books and writing attested to in poetry attributed to pre-Islamic authors, see Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 220–224; Pedersen, Arabic Book, 7–8. For the example of a reference to a scribe in a pre-Islamic poem, see Ghabban, “Evolution,” 91. On the question of literacy in the pre-Islamic Arabian Peninsula, see Macdonald, “Ancient Arabia”; note in particular his argument (15) that “vast numbers of nomads were literate and covered the desert rocks with their graffiti.” 88 For the Syriac text, see Shahid, Martyrs of Najrân, xxix, ln. 23. Shahid’s argument that this refers to Arabic can be found on 242–250, and a defense of his view that this should be understood as Arabic can be found in Shahid, “Martyrs of Najrān,” 156–157. 89 Various scholars have contested Irfan Shahid’s attribution and dating of the Syriac letter on the Martyrs of Najran that he discovered. Most importantly, see Ryckmans, “Confrontation”; Shitomi, “Réexamen”; Taylor, “Stylistic Comparison.” For a defense of Shahid’s views, see his “Arab-Ethiopian Relations.” 86 87

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Islamic period that has largely vanished, 90 but which has been surmised to have existed on other grounds: scholars have suggested that the uniformity of formulae found in Arabic chancery documents across the vast geographical expanse of Muslim-ruled territories in the post-conquest period points to their common origin in Arabic-language pre-Islamic chancery and administrative practices. 91

A PRE-ISLAMIC ARABIC BIBLE?

Central to this issue of the use of Arabic by Christians is the long-debated question of whether some portion of the Bible was translated into Arabic before the rise of Islam. 92 Part of the enOn the different types of material used for writing (Beschreibstoffe), see Grohmann, Arabische, 1:66–117. Similarly, on types of writing materials in pre-Islamic Arabia and the precariousness of their survival, see Hoyland, Arabia, 204–205. Cf. also the remarks in Pedersen, Arabic Book, 10–11. 91 Sijpesteijn, “Arabic Script,” 441; cf. also idem, “Arab Conquest,” 447; al-Jallad, “Linguistic Landscape,” 119; and the observation by Sellheim and Sourdel in “Kātib,” EI2, 4:754–755. For the argument that some correspondence between the Roman and Sasanian empires and their Arab tribal allies in the fourth and fifth centuries could have potentially been done in Arabic, see Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 416–418; cf. Pedersen, Arabic Book, 10. 92 A great deal has been written on this subject and important contributions include: Arabache, “Bible”; Baumstark, “Das Problem” (an ET of which is now available in “The Problem”); Burkitt, “Arabic Versions”; Cheikho, “Nusakh”; Blau, “Sind uns Reste?”; Graf, Geschichte, 2:27–52; Griffith, “The Bible”; idem, The Bible, 41–53; idem, “The Gospel”; idem, “Les premières”; idem, “When Did?”; Kashouh, Arabic Versions, 319– 324; al-Maqdisī, “Naql”; Schoeler, Genesis, 24–27; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fourth Century, 435–443; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 422–429, 449–450; idem, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century, 2.2:295; idem, Martyrs of Najrân, 249–250; Vollandt, Arabic Versions, 40–52. Cf. also Hoyland, “Two New,” 335– 336. 90

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ergy that has kept this debate an active one for more than a century likely comes from the fact that the Qur’ān has traditionally been understood to be the first Arabic book; if a pre-Islamic translation of part of the Bible were made, the Bible—or perhaps some Christian liturgical work—would be the first Arabic book, not the Qur’ān. 93 If we step back for a moment and look at the first centuries of church history more broadly, we find that in a number of late antique cases, it was Christian translators who were responsible for either inventing new alphabets or for taking already-existing alphabets and helping to elevate particular dialects of languages into sacred and literary languages—through the translation of Christian texts into them using these new or newly-appropriated alphabets. 94 Viewed from a wider angle, therefore, the spread of Christianity across the late ancient and medieval worlds had important linguistic consequences: the Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic texts of the Christian Old and New Testaments were translated wholly or partially (and sometimes more than once) into a number of different languages; these included Armenian, Christian Palestinian Aramaic, Coptic, Geʿez, Georgian, Gothic, Latin, Nubian, Slavonic, Sogdian, Syriac, and Caucasian Albanian. Christian material was even translated into Chinese. Indeed, a notable characteristic of Christianity throughout its nearly two-thousand year history has been one of translation—all or This point was made in a pointed way by Baumstark in 1931: “Above all, the oldest book in Arabic was not the Koran, for the Koran was preceded by liturgical books of a Christian ritual celebrated in Arabic. First of all, we should consider Gospel books and Psalters in Arabic” (Baumstark, “The Problem,” 285). Contrast this idea with, for example, Pedersen, Arabic Book, 3: “The Arabic book owes its origin to Islam, and this has given it a character that it has retained.” Similarly, cf. Griffith, “Late Antiquity,” 7; idem, “When Did?,” 19. 94 For an explicit articulation of this two-step phenomenon and a discussion of it with reference to Syriac, Coptic, Geʿez, Armenian, Georgian, Glagolitic, and Slavonic, see Sawyer, Sacred, 86–90. Cf. also Baumstark, “The Problem,” 285–286. 93

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part of the Christian scriptures have been translated into more than two thousand languages. 95 Translation of Christian texts into Arabic certainly took place during the period after the Arab conquests: at least 22 different translations of the Gospels were made into Arabic, for instance, over the course of the medieval period, 96 and we have a story of members of Arabic-speaking Christian tribes translating the Gospels from Syriac into Arabic in the earliest years of Muslim rule in Syria, a story which suggests that members of Arabic-speaking groups in the seventh century (and presumably before) certainly had the ability to execute such a translation, had the motivation been there. 97 What is more, we have already seen that in the fifth and sixth centuries, inscriptional evidence points to the fact that Christians throughout the Middle East were making use of the Arabic script, and also that they had adopted a common way (al-Ilāh, i.e., “the god”) of referring to the deity called by Christians ho theos in Greek and Alāhā in Syriac. 98 It would seem, therefore, that the first step in the two-part pattern in Christian translation in late antiquity also occurred in the case of Arabic—Christians either appropriated a preexisting script or invented a new one and were using it. Is there any evidence that Christians took the second step in this pattern: did

On Christianity and translation, see Sanneh, Translating. For excerpts and/or information on the translation of all or portions of the Bible into 1399 languages (the total in 1972), see United Bible Societies, Book. The Wycliffe Bible Translators website states that, as of September 2021, the entire Bible is available in 717 languages; the entire New Testament is available in 1,582 languages; and portions of the Bible are available in 1,196 additional languages. Wycliffe Bible Translators, “Our Impact,” 2022, https://www.wycliffe.org.uk/about/our-impact/. 96 See Kashouh’s landmark identification and study of these various translations: Arabic Versions. 97 Michael Rabo, Chronicle 11.8 (Chabot, Chronique, 4:422 = 2.32). On this story, see Griffith, “The Gospel,” 135–137. 98 Cf. Robin, “Les noms,” 79 and idem, “L’arabie,” 103. 95

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they actually use this script to translate some portion of their scriptures into Arabic? Several factors—the existence of Arabic-speaking Christian communities for several centuries before the rise of Islam, 99 the existence of churches and monasteries in areas where Arabicspeaking Christians lived—especially at Hira and in Najran—and this larger tendency toward scriptural translation within the Christian tradition, would seem, prima facie, to suggest that Arabic-speaking Christians would have been no exception to the late antique (and later) impulse toward translation and would have, as others did, translated portions of the Christian scriptures into Arabic. As Anton Baumstark noted long ago, if Christians translated portions of the Bible or other religious texts into Arabic, they would have been no different from Christians who spoke any number of other late antique languages. 100 Various pieces of evidence found in medieval Muslim sources can perhaps help us think in more concrete detail about this issue. We read in the sīra of Muḥammad, for instance, about Khadīja’s uncle, Waraqa ibn Nawfal, who had converted to Christianity and read the Scriptures (al-kutub) and learned from Jews and Christians (wa-samiʿa min ahl al-Tawrāh wa-l-Injīl); 101 the sīra also reports a story of a group of Christians, from either Abyssinia or Najran, who recognized in Muḥammad what they had seen described in their scripture (kitābihim). 102 The Muslim historian Ibn Saʿd (d. 845) records a story in which a delegation comes from Najran to meet Muḥammad. Among those in the Note the observation of Baumstark in “The Problem,” 286. See his argument to this effect in Baumstark, “The Problem,” 286. Though now dated, Baumstark’s line of reasoning for the existence of Christian texts, written in Arabic, in the pre-Islamic period, still remains fundamental and has influenced my thinking on this subject and the shape of my arguments in this paper. 101 Ibn Hishām, Kitāb sīrat Rasūl Allāh, 153. On this incident, see Baumstark, “The Problem,” 286–287; see also Griffith’s discussion of various reports related to Waraqa in The Bible, 45–46. 102 Ibn Hishām, Kitāb sīrat Rasūl Allāh, 259. 99

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delegation is a certain Abu al-Ḥārith, who is called their bishop, religious authority, leader, and master of their schools (usqufuhum wa-ḥibruhum wa-imāmuhum wa-ṣāḥib madārisihim). 103 Other anecdotes have been adduced which suggest the presence of writing or written biblical material in areas like Najran or Mecca in the pre-Islamic period, or during the lifetime of Muḥammad. 104 Such testimonies admittedly come from sources written centuries after the events they purport to describe, and the questions and debates about the reliability of the medieval Muslim historical tradition for providing us with solid information about the events of the seventh century are well known. But these types of anecdotes are nevertheless suggestive: there were in fact Christians in Najran in the sixth and seventh centuries, and so it is not, on the face of it, implausible that these communities would have been in possession of copies of the scriptures, nor is it implausible that they would have established some sort of institutional framework—however small 105—to provide at least a small portion of their community with what can be termed a “liturgical literacy.” After all, other Middle Eastern Christian communities in late antiquity did precisely this. 106 There are other pieces of evidence outside of medieval Muslim sources that are helpful to think with as well: in the Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-Ṭabaqāt al-Kabīr, 1.2:84. See, e.g., Cheikho, “Nusakh,” 98; Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century, 427–430; idem, Martyrs of Najrân, 249–250; Schoeler, Genesis, 26. Griffith, The Bible, 44–49, discusses various anecdotes that have been put forward to suggest that a pre-Islamic translation of part of the Bible may have existed, but argues against their probative value. 105 It is important to note here that the meaning of the word “school” in this period might correspond to something much more modest and small than the meanings and images the word “school” can evoke in its contemporary usage; see Tannous, Making, 186 (esp. 186 n. 28). 106 For education among Christians in late antique Syria and Iraq, see Tannous, Making, 191–198. For the case of education in the late antique Church of the East, see Becker, Fear. 103 104

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anonymous Syriac text on the martyrs of Najran which has been attributed to Simeon of Beth Arsham, we find priests, deacons, subdeacons, readers, and monastics, along with laity, being brought into a church to be killed. 107 In other words, if this text indeed contains information that goes back to the sixth century, it would be a witness to the (unsurprising) fact that the Christians of Najran had the same types of clergy, secular and monastic, that other Christian communities in the late antique Near East had—and, moreover, that there were liturgies celebrated by this clergy. And, as we saw above, textual sources suggest the presence in Najran of three churches and one or perhaps more monasteries in the period before the rise of Islam. These small bits of testimony to a vanished world raise important questions: What language were these clergymen celebrating the liturgy in? What language were the church readers reading the Scriptures in, and where did they learn to read that language? If a monastery or monasteries in fact existed in preIslamic Najran, what languages were spoken there? What languages were used in their liturgies? 108 We can ask similar questions about the churches and monasteries of pre-Islamic Hira. What is more, if we find Ibn Saʿd’s notion that there were, in fact, Christian schools in late antique Najran to be a plausible one (even while withholding judgment about the historicity of Abū al-Ḥārith’s visit to the Prophet), we can ask further: what language was taught in those schools? It is difficult to answer such questions with confidence, much less with certainty. But the presence of Christian inscriptions, written in the Arabic script, from the area of Najran suggests that Arabic was, at the very least, one of the languages used by Christians there, in addition to other languages. 109 The Tashʿitā aw kit Sāhdutā d-Ṭubbānē Ḥmirāyē, VII (ed. Shahid); ET by Shahid in Martyrs of Najrân, 46–47. Cf. the types of Christians killed in Najran according to the Geʿez Acts of Azqīr: Jeffery, “Christianity,” 204. 108 Cf. Baumstark’s observation in “The Problem,” 293. 109 To be sure, Syriac correspondence with or about Najran by Jacob of Serug, Philoxenus of Mabbug, and Simeon of Beth Arsham can be taken 107

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now-lost sixth-century Christian inscription from the Monastery of Hind suggests a similar conclusion about Hira. The question of what languages may have been used in preIslamic churches and monasteries in places like Hira and Najran (and also in Dūmat al-Jandal) can help us focus our thinking on pre-Islamic uses of Arabic by Christians even further. As has been pointed out, if Arabic-speaking Christians did engage in translation in the pre-Islamic period, among the first texts to have been translated almost certainly would have been those needed to celebrate a liturgy: 110 the medieval Chronicle of Seert, for instance, reports that in the fifth century, Maʿnā, the leader of the Church of the East (sed. 420), translated metrical homilies, liturgical poetry, hymns, and “everything that the Persian church needed” and sent his translations to the regions of the Persian Gulf and India. 111 Liturgical texts are precisely what a church needs, to use the language of the Chronicle of Seert, in order to perform its most basic and necessary function—the celebration of the Eucharist. When thinking about Maʿnā and his translation of texts into Persian in the early part of the fifth century, it is also useful to recall that the late fifth century provides the earliest dated usage of the Arabic script, the Christian inscription from Najran dated to AD 470. But these pre-Islamic Arabic-speaking Christian communities have not survived to the present, 112 and, generally speaking, to suggest that at least some clergy there could read and write Syriac; on these texts, see Debié, “Les controverses.” 110 See the observation in Baumstark, “The Problem,” 285, and Shahid, Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fourth Century, 436. 111 Chronicle of Seert 2.9 (ed. Scher [PO 7.2], 25). I am grateful to George Hatke for making me aware of the importance of this report. 112 For the Christian community of Hira passing out of existence, perhaps in 1400, see Fiey, Assyrie chrétienne, 3:229, and for evidence of Christians in Yemen until around the year 900, see 230. On the tradition that ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb forced Christians to leave Najran in 641, see Lecker, “Najrān”; Tardy, Najrân, puts this purported event in 634. On the medieval abandonment of late antique Najran and the develop-

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the texts that we have from late antiquity are those preserved by religious communities that have survived from that period and have transmitted them to us. Well-known exceptions to this general principle—the Dead Sea Scrolls or the Nag Hammadi codices—prove the rule: these famous finds have opened up to us the thought and textual worlds of religious communities who did not survive to the present and who, as a result, were best known about laterally, so to speak, from reports found in texts preserved by adjacent, sometimes rival, groups whose ideological descendants did survive into the present and transmit texts. If these pre-Islamic Arabic-speaking Christian groups did translate some Christian works into Arabic, our best chance for having a glimpse of these texts would be in the texts of other groups from late antique Arabia which have survived to the present. Though there were Jews in late antique Arabia and a Jewish community survived in Yemen into the twentieth century, the most obvious (and largest) religious community to have survived from late antique Arabia to the present is the Muslim one. There is a vast body of Islamic literature that claims to report, in great detail, events and personalities from the seventh-century Ḥijāz. In this literature, there are indeed reports, as we saw above, that can be possibly taken to suggest that, by the time of the Muḥammad, some portion of the Bible had been translated into Arabic. What is more, dozens of places where the ḥadīth literature has close verbal parallels to this or that scriptural pas-

ment of an “Islamic” Najran, see Shahid, “Nad̲jr̲ ān,” EI2, 7:872. On the question of ʿUmar’s forcing non-Muslims out of the western Arabian Peninsula, see Munt, “‘No Two”; on archaeological evidence for Christianity in the Gulf during the first centuries of Muslim rule, see Carter, “Christianity.” The presence of Christians in eastern Arabia well after the rise of Islam raises the possibility that Christian communities in other parts of the Arabian Peninsula continued to exist for some time after the rise of Islam; for this observation, see Hoyland, “Two New,” 336.

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sage have been identified. 113 These parallels, as well as the stories like that of Waraqa reading the Gospel, however, are found in sources whose historicity and reliability for reporting actual events in the seventh century have been vigorously contested. It is therefore difficult and problematic to build a compelling historical argument on their basis.

THE BIBLE, THE QUR’ĀN, AND ARABIC-SPEAKING CHRISTIANITY

There is, however, one text that almost all scholars agree originated in seventh-century Arabia and which has been transmitted to the present: the Qur’ān. For our present purposes, one of the most notable characteristics of the Qur’ān is its intimate familiarity with the biblical tradition. Its pages are filled with references to characters from both the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament and the New Testament; indeed, it has been estimated that onefourth of the Qur’ān’s verses deal with biblical material. 114 Among the biblical figures who appear in the Qur’ān 115 are Aaron, 116 Abraham, 117 Adam, 118 Amram, 119 the Children of Israel, 120

See Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 307–325 (see, however, the critical assessment in Hechaïmé, Louis Cheikho, 69–74); and see further Goldziher, “Influences”; idem, “Neutestamentliche”; Rudolph, Die Abhängigkeit, 10–17. 114 See Reynolds, Qur’ān, 2. 115 Biblical figures and concepts that appear in the Qur’ān are discussed exhaustively in Reynolds, Qur’ān. 116 See, e.g., Q 2:248; 4:163; 6:84; 7:122, 142; 10:75. 117 See, e.g., Q 2:124–140, 258–260; 3:33, 65–68, 84, 95–97; 4:54, 125, 163; 6:74. 118 See, e.g., Q 231–37; 3:33, 59; 5:27. 119 See, e.g., Q 3:33, 35; 66:12. 120 See, e.g., 5:72, 78, 110; 7:105, 134, 137, 138; 10:90. On the Banū Isrā’īl in the Qur’ān (and the later Islamic tradition), see Goitein, “Banū Isrā’īl,” EI2, 1:1020–1022. 113

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David, 121 Elijah, 122 Elisha, 123 Ezra, 124 Goliath, 125 Haman, 126 Isaac, 127 Ishmael, 128 Israel, 129 Jacob, 130 Job, 131 Jonah, 132 Joseph, 133 Korah, 134 Lot, 135 the Midianites, 136 Moses, 137 Noah, 138 Pharaoh, 139 the Queen of Sheba, 140 Solomon, 141 Mary, 142 Zachariah, 143 John the Baptist, 144 Jesus, 145 and the Apostles 146; other biblical figures

See, e.g., Q 2:251; 4:163; 5:78; 6:84; 17:55; 21:78; 21:79; 27:15; 27:16. 122 See, e.g., Q 6:85; 37:123. 123 See, e.g., Q 38:48. 124 See, e.g., Q 9:30. 125 See, e.g., Q 2:249ff. 126 See, e.g., Q 28:6ff; 29:39; 40:24, 38. 127 See, e.g., Q 2:133; 6:84. 128 See, e.g., 2:127. 129 Q 3:93; 19:58 (where it seems to be another name for Jacob—cf. Ambros, Concise Dictionary, 307, s.n.; see also Horovitz, Koranische, 91). 130 See, e.g., 2:132ff; 3:84; 4:163; 6:84. 131 See, e.g., Q 4:163; 6:84; 21:83; 38:41. 132 Q 4:163; 6:86; 10:98; 37:139; Cf. Q 21:87. 133 See, e.g., Q 6:84; 40:34; 12:4, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 17, 21. 134 See, e.g., Q 28:76–84; 29:39; 40:24. 135 See, e.g., Q 11:70, 74, 81, 89; 15:59, 61; 22:43; 26:160, 161. 136 See, e.g., Q 9:70; 22:44. 137 See, e.g., Q 2:136, 246, 247; 3:84; 4:153; 4:164; 5:20, 22, 24; 6:84. 138 See, e.g., Q 4:163; 7:69; 9:70; 10:71; 11:32, 36, 42, 45, 46, 48, 49; 14:9; 17:3, 17. 139 See, e.g., Q 2:49, 50; 3:11, 7:103, 104, 109, 113, 127, 130, 137, 141. 140 See Q 27:22–44. 141 See, e.g., Q 2:102; 4:163; 6:84; 21:78-81; 27:15–44. 142 See, e.g., Q 2:87, 253; 3:36–37, 42–45, 156–157, 171; Q 19. 143 See, e.g., Q 3:37; 6:85; 19:2, 7; 21:89. 144 See, e.g., Q 3.39; 6.85; 19:7, 12; 21:90. 145 See, e.g., Q 2:87, 136, 253; 3:45–46, 55, 59, 84; 4:157, 163, 171; 5:46, 78, 110, 112, 114, 116. 146 See, e.g., Q 3:51–52, 5:111–112, 61:14. 121

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like Saul 147 and Terah 148 are potentially mentioned as well, using different names. 149 There are also biblical figures who are alluded to, but not explicitly named, like Nimrod 150 and Samuel. 151 Nonhuman biblical figures such as Gabriel, 152 Michael, 153 and Satan 154 (and angels more generically 155) also appear in the Qur’ān, as do Gog and Magog. 156 In addition to biblical figures, the Qur’ān alludes to other well-known incidents and objects in the Bible—for instance, the Ark of the Covenant, 157 the story of Cain and Abel, 158 the Burning Bush, 159 the Golden Calf, 160 and Noah’s Ark 161—as well as famous biblical locations, like Mt. Sinai. 162 The Qur’ān also uses ideas—of resurrection, inspiration, prophets, repentance, a final judgment, and heaven and hell— Cf. Q 2:247, 249. On the question of the relationship between Ṭālūt and Saul, see Horovitz, Koranische, 123; cf. Ambros, Concise Dictionary, 309, s.n. Ṭālūt. 148 In Q 6:74, Abraham’s father is called “Azar.” On this name as potentially having its origin in the name of Abraham’s servant, Eliezer of Damascus (Gen 15:2), see Horovitz, Koranische, 85–86. 149 In addition to Reynolds, Qur’ān, Speyer, Die biblischen, is an invaluable study of the Qur’ānic reception of biblical stories. Horovitz, Koranische, 78–155, is of greatest value for studying biblical (and other) proper names in the Qur’ān. 150 See 2:258 and 21:68–70; on these passages and their connection to Nimrod, see Reynolds, Qur’ān, 100–101, 512–513. 151 See Q 2:246–247; on this passage, see Reynolds, Qur’ān, 94–95. 152 See, e.g., 2:98. 153 Q 2:98. 154 See, e.g., 2:36; 7:20-21, 27. For Iblīs (e.g. Q 2:24, 7:11) as related to the Greek διάβολος, see Horovitz, Koranische, 87. 155 On which, see Webb, “Angel” in EQ, 1:84–92. 156 Q 18:94; 21:96. 157 Cf. Q 2:248. 158 See Q 5:27–31. 159 Cf. Q 20:9–16; 27:7–12; 28:29–35. 160 See, e.g., Q 2:51, 54, 92–93. 161 See, e.g., Q 11:37; 23:27–28. 162 E.g. Q 95:2; cf. 52:1. 147

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and mentions others—like the Sabbath—that would be known to anyone familiar with the biblical tradition. 163 And the Qur’ān, of course, is aware of previous Scriptures—the Torah, the Psalms, the Gospels—and makes a number of references to them. Not only are these figures, places, texts, concepts, and ideas referred to and used in the Qur’ān, but the text itself seems to assume that its audience will know who and what exactly these people, places, things, and categories are. Put slightly differently: the allusive style of the Qur’ān seems to presuppose a world in which biblical ideas and characters are reasonably well known. Such evidence suggests that, if we assume that the message of the Qur’ān would have been understood by its original hearers, we have to also assume that these hearers lived in a world in which the stories and ideas of the Bible (and postbiblical tradition) 164 were ones that were circulating in Arabic. The Qur’ān itself, therefore, serves as a powerful testimony for the presence in western Arabia of familiarity and knowledge of biblical material, concepts, and ideas in Arabic by the first decades of the seventh century. It bears witness to the penetration of Christian (and Jewish) ideas into Arabic-speaking milieux in the Middle East. But the Qur’ān does more than simply refer to biblical figures and at times—for instance, with Joseph (Q 12)—recount stories associated with them: it also seems at times to directly allude to the actual words of the Bible, and here it is useful to step back once more and look at the wider context of Christian practice in the world of late antiquity. If it was the case that texts necessary for making a liturgical celebration possible Cf. the observation in Reynolds, Qur’ān, 2. A related, but slightly different, issue (one less relevant to the question of a pre-Islamic translation of Christian texts into Arabic) is the question of the Qur’ān’s interaction with postbiblical traditions, Christian and Jewish. There is a large literature on this subject; see e.g. Witztum, “Syriac Milieu”; idem, “Foundations”; idem, “Joseph”; Reynolds, Qur’ān; Sinai, “Eschatological Kerygma,” 232–236. 163 164

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would have likely been at the front of the translation queue when Christianity met a new language, it is parts of the Psalter and/or the New Testament used in a liturgy that would have been the highest priorities for biblical translation in a liturgical context. In the medieval period, Bar Hebraeus (d. 1286), prescribed that the first thing a student should learn was the Psalter. Then he should study the New Testament. 165 This probably reflected a pattern that had roots in the Roman period: In the sixth century, for instance, when the East Syrian Mar Aba (d. 552) arrived at the school of Nisibis, the first thing he learned was the Psalms, and then he moved on to studying the rest of the Scriptures. 166 And already in 410, the Church of the East issued a regulation in which it forbade ordaining anyone as a subdeacon who could not recite the Psalter. 167 Such examples could be multiplied, 168 and it is difficult to overestimate the importance of the Psalms for the life of the late antique church. 169 If the Psalms were in fact one of the best known and most widely-memorized and studied texts among Christians in this period, it should not surprise us that the one biblical book the Qur’ān explicitly quotes is the Psalter: “We have written in the Psalms,” Q 21:105 reads, “after the Reminder, ‘The earth will be inherited by My righteous servants.’” 170 To this, we can compare Psalm 37:29: “The righteous shall inherit the land and dwell upon it forever.” 171 This citation is not a unique occurrence, eiBar Hebraeus, Ktābā d-Huddāyē 7.9 (ed. Bedjan, 107). History of Mar Aba, 217 (ed. Bedjan). 167 Synodicon Orientale, 29 (ed. Chabot). Cf. Taylor, “Psalm Commentary,” 69. 168 See the material collected in Tannous, Making, 186–187. 169 On Psalms in the ancient church, see further Gelineau, “Les Psaumes”; Trublet, “Psaumes,” cols. 2518––2519; Solignac, “Les Commentaires.” Cf. also Taylor, “Psalm Commentary,” 68–69. 170 All Qur’ānic translations are taken from Jones, The Qur’ān. 171 All biblical quotations use the ESV. Cf. Baumstark, “The Problem,” 287. On this citation, see further Baumstark, “Arabische”; Reynolds, Qur’ān, 3; Saleh, “Psalms”; see further Neuwirth, “Qur’ānic Readings.” 165 166

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ther: Heinrich Speyer identified 141 different places in the Qur’ān where the text seems to allude to the Psalms. 172 The Qur’ān, however, alludes to biblical books beyond the Psalter. Q 7:40 states of those who do not believe the Qur’ān’s message, “nor will they enter the Garden until the camel passes through the eye of the needle.” In Matthew 19:24, Jesus famously stated that “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of God.” Q 6:59 affirms, “no leaf falls without him knowing it.” In Matthew 10:29, Jesus stated, “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.” Speaking of the Torah, Q 5:45 states, “We prescribed for them in it: a soul for a soul; an eye for an eye; a nose for a nose; an ear for an ear; a tooth for a tooth; and wounds [carry] retaliation,” a passage which clearly echoes Exodus 21:23–45 and Matthew 5:38. Speyer in fact identified nearly 75 passages in the Qur’ān where allusions to the New Testament can be detected and dozens of other places where allusions to other parts of the Bible (and even the Mishna and the Talmud) seem to be made. 173 It is worth noting, too, that Qur’ānic testimony has other clues to offer us with regard to this question of an Arabic translation of the Bible as well. It assumes its audience has a familiarity with written texts: it speaks of a book or writing (kitāb) of some type or leaves of parchment (ṣuḥuf) that will be unfolded See Neuwirth, “Psalmen,” 157; idem, “Qur’ānic Readings,” 733; cf. Speyer, Die biblischen, 447–449. 173 See Speyer, Die biblischen, 442–461. Sinai, Qur’ān, 140, has a useful chart that shows examples of the Qur’ān quoting or alluding closely to texts from the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament, New Testament, and Mishnah. Cf. also Reynolds, Qur’ān, 3. The authenticity of the hadith literature has been hotly disputed and contested, but it is nevertheless worth pointing out that scholars have long noted parallels between material in this corpus and biblical literature—see, e.g., Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 306–325; Rudolph, Die Abhängigkeit, 10–17 (cf. n. 113 above). 172

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or unrolled at the Day of Resurrection and which people will read (cf. 17:13, 81:10). Beyond this, the Qur’ān’s famous descriptor for Jews and Christians as “People of the Book” or perhaps “People of the Scripture” (ahl al-Kitāb) presumes that the audience of the Qur’ān had a sense for what “book” or “scripture” might mean and knew that, for Jews and Christians, certain books had an authoritative status. 174 Indeed, the Qur’ān knows more than just the concept of written books: it also knows the concept of a written scripture (cf. 52:2), and it speaks of the possibility of a scripture being written on papyrus (qirṭās) (6:7; cf. 6:91) 175 and may refer to scriptures being written on parchment as well (cf. 20:133). 176 Unbelievers, it states, do not believe in the Qur’ān, nor do they believe in what came before it (34:31), presumably a reference to previous scriptures. The Qur’ān moreover condemns people who write out scripture with their hands and then sell it for a small sum (2:79). 177 Furthermore, the Qur’ān seems to suggest that the Jews who it addresses possess a scripture (2:41), recite it (2:44, cf. 2:113), and have certain members of their community who are particularly knowledgeable about it (26:197). The latter can perhaps be identified with the rabbis and religious experts Note that Christians are referred to as the “People of the Gospel” (ahl al-Injīl) at Q 5:47. On the “People of the Book,” see Vajda, “Ahl alKitāb,” EI2, 1:264–266; Sharon, “People of the Book,” EQ, 4:36–43. There are instances in the Qur’ān—24:33 and 27:28–29 where kitāb does not mean “book”; for this, see Madigan, “Book,” EQ, 1:242–251. 175 On the meaning of this word, ultimately from the Greek χάρτης (perhaps via the Syriac ‫)ܟܪܛܝܣܐ‬, see Bell and Watt, Bell’s Introduction, 33. 176 Cf. Ambros, Concise Dictionary, 165 (ṣawāmiʿ), 46 (biyaʿ), and 163 (ṣalawāt); Bell and Watt, Bell’s Introduction, 33. 177 Cf. also Q 2:41, 174; 3:77, 187; 5:44; 9:9; 16:95; and also 3:199, where some of those who sell God’s āyāt are People of the Book (3:199); for the possibility of understanding āya to mean “textual segment [of the Revelation],” see Ambros, Concise Dictionary, 32. If āya is taken in this latter sense, then the Qur’ān could perhaps be referring to the writing out of scripture for use in amulets. 174

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(aḥbār) that the Qur’ān speaks of (5:44, 63; 9:31, 34; cf. 3:79). 178 So far as Christians are concerned, the Qur’ān speaks of priests and monks (5:82; cf. also 9:31, 34; 57:27). 179 The Qur’ān even seems to suggest that priests and monks are among those who hear Muḥammad’s revelations proclaimed and that their reactions are positive—the truth of Muḥammad’s revelation causes them to weep and believe (5:83; cf. 17:107–109). It is worth adding, too, that the Qur’ān is aware of monastic cells (ṣawāmiʿ), churches (biyaʿ), and places where people prayed—perhaps synagogues (ṣalawāt) (22:40). 180 The Qur’ān is confident that its message is confirmed and corroborated by the message of previous scriptures (cf. Q 2:41, 89, 91, 97; 3:3; 4:47; 5:48; 6:92; 10:37; 12:111; 35:31; 46:30), and perhaps it has priests, monks, and Jewish religious leaders in mind when it advises its listeners that if they doubt what it reveals to them, they should ask those people who have been reading (or reciting) scripture before them (10:94; cf. 17:101). 181 At one point, the Qur’ān even admonishes its listeners, presumably some of whom were Jewish, to bring out the Torah and read (or recite) it (3:93). We can infer from such passages that at least some individuals in the Qur’ān’s audience knew and had access to other people who could read previous scriptures, though the language they read those scriptures in is not specified. In the case of Jews, Of course, this scripture almost certainly would have been in Hebrew, though note Ben Shammai, “Observations,” on the potential translation of Jewish scriptural materials into Arabic by this point (cf. n. 182 below). 179 On monasticism in the Qur’ān, see further Beck, Das christliche; Griffith, “Monasticism.” 180 Cf. Ambros, Concise Dictionary, 165 (ṣawāmiʿ), 46 (biyaʿ), and 163 (ṣalawāt). For words related to monasticism in pre-Islamic poetry, see Cheikho, al-Naṣrāniyya, 211–214. 181 Note also the Qur’ān’s admonition that those who do not know about the truth of its message should ask the ahl al-Dhikr, people of commemoration, about it (Q 16:43; 21:7). 178

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their scriptures would have likely been in Hebrew (and Aramaic). 182 For Christians, however, it is not clear what language their scriptures would have been in, and it is the uncertainty about the nature of these Scriptures—Arabic, Syriac, Geʿez, Greek, or otherwise—that has been a key point used by those who do not believe there to have been a pre-Islamic translation of some part of the Bible into Arabic. 183 These additional considerations broaden the picture the Qur’ānic evidence gives us: not only did at least some portion of the audience of the Qur’ān have familiarity with a host of biblical figures, stories, and concepts—at least some portion of the audience was also familiar with the idea of a written scripture, one recorded on papyrus and potentially parchment, 184 one which people read (or recited), one which certain people had a deep knowledge of, and one which certain people in the Qur’ān’s audience could ask others who had access to such scripture about. Trying to account for how the Qur’ān can assume that the stories and ideas of the Bible would be known by its audience and how the Qur’ān itself could be filled with close verbal parallels—and in one place, an explicit quotation of the Bible—brings us to the heart of the question of whether some portion of the Bible was translated into Arabic before Muḥammad’s proclamation began in the Ḥijāz in the first part of the seventh century. One obvious and easy way to account for these pieces of evidence is to assume that some portion of the Bible was available, Though, employing arguments not unlike those that have been used by scholars who have supported the claim that a pre-Islamic translation of portions of the Christian Bible or Christian liturgy existed, Haggai Ben Shammai has suggested that Jewish materials were translated into Arabic—either in writing or orally—before the rise of Islam; see Ben Shammai, “Observations.” 183 See, e.g., Griffith, The Bible, 48; idem, “Late Antiquity,” 7. 184 More generally, on the “familiarity with writing and writing materials at Mecca and elsewhere,” see Bell and Watt, Bell’s Introduction, 32– 33. 182

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in written form, in Arabic, by this point. 185 On this account, the priests and monks who the Qur’ān suggests were among those who heard Muḥammad’s Arabic proclamation would have had access to at least some portions of the Bible in Arabic, and at least some of the prayers that took place in the churches and monastic settings that the Qur’ān makes mention of were said in Arabic. 186 At least some of the Qur’ān’s audience would have been familiar with the figures, stories, and concepts it used because these had been made known, in Arabic, in Christian contexts. 187 Some scholars, however, have argued otherwise. If preIslamic Arabic-speaking Christians had access to biblical translations, it has been suggested, those translations would have been into Syriac, not Arabic. 188 A milieu where people were translating into Arabic in the context of non-Arabic liturgies and homilies, perhaps using private notes not meant for public circulation to help with their oral translations, is sufficient to explain the evidence we do have. 189 To support this idea that biblical mateOn the question of the Qur’ān’s audience and the existence of a preIslamic Arabic Bible (and this latter question more generally), see Hoyland, “Jewish,” which gives a circumspect discussion of this disputed question and outlines the major arguments that have been used for and against a pre-Islamic Arabic Bible. 186 It is worth noting, too, that the Qur’ān’s presumption that its hearers would be familiar with a wide variety of biblical figures, with notions of a written scripture, with ideas—such as prophecy, revelation, resurrection, Paradise, Hell, post-mortem judgement—found in the biblical tradition—jibes with the world of pre-Islamic Arabic Christianity that Louis Cheikho painstakingly described in his al-Naṣrāniyya, making use of poetry traditionally held to be pre-Islamic poetry and medieval Arabic sources. 187 And perhaps Jewish ones, too; see Ben Shammai, “Observations.” 188 See, Burkitt, “Arabic Versions,” 136, cf. Griffith, The Bible, 42–43, 98. 189 See, e.g., Arabache, “Bible”; Griffith, The Bible, 42–44, 46; idem, “The Bible,” 124; idem, “Christians,” 315; idem, “When Did?,” 9, 14; Rudolph, Abhängigkeit, 17–25; Sinai, “Eschatological Kerygma,” 241– 185

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rial would have been known through oral means, adjacent cases which might suggest a preference for orality over written documents can be invoked: the fact that pre-Islamic poetry was transmitted orally. 190 The Qur’ān also specifically calls itself an “Arabic Qur’ān” (Q 41:3), which sets itself apart from other scriptures in its context that were not Arabic. 191 What is more, and most importantly, it will be further argued, there is no solid and clear proof that a pre-Islamic translation of the Bible into Arabic actually took place. If a pre-Islamic translation of the Bible existed in the past, it is not something that we can physically point to now. 192 Such arguments are not persuasive ones. The existence of oral translations of the Bible can perhaps account for the broad knowledge of the identity of various biblical figures, stories, and concepts that the Qur’ān presumes at least some members of its audience have. But an oral translation, done on the spot, so to speak, would also vary from church service to church service and from translator to translator across space and time; such a proposed scenario, with a biblical text that is not fixed, uniform, or standard, is neither adequate nor satisfactory as an explanation for close verbal parallels and intertexts between the Qur’ān and the Bible. 193 242. Cf. Scholer, Genesis, 26–27, who allows that there may have been biblical translations made into Arabic as “aides-mémoire” and for “personal use,” but which were not meant for publication and circulation. 190 See, e.g., Griffith, “Christians,” 315. 191 Griffith, “Late Antiquity,” 7. 192 See the remarks in Griffith, The Bible, 41–42, 51; idem, “Late Antiquity,” 7; cf. idem, “The Gospel,” 156. 193 In addition to verbal parallels of the type identified by Speyer, one can point to less readily apparent but, for this reason, even more striking parallels between the Bible and the Qur’ān. The three descriptions of John the Baptist in Q 3:39 (sayyidan [lord], ḥaṣūran [ascetic], nabī mina al-ṣāliḥina [a prophet from among the righteous]), for instance, mirror closely the three clauses that descrbe John in Luke 1:15: “for he will be great [Syriac, rabb] before the Lord [cp. the Qur’ān’s sayyidan],

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Furthermore, an appeal to oral translation of biblical materials into Arabic does not explain why it was that Arabicspeaking Christians in the late fifth and sixth centuries began to make inscriptions in the Arabic script throughout the Middle East, nor does it explain why different Arabic-speaking Christians, from modern Syria and Iraq to modern southern Saudi Arabia, in this time began to use a common name for God—alIlāh—that was a precise calque on the Greek ho theos and Syriac Alāhā. Assuming that some portion of the Bible had been translated into Arabic would offer a simple and easy explanation for this epigraphic evidence: it was the appearance of an authoritative sacred text that led to these intriguing and important developments among the religious community whose members were now employing the Arabic script and a particular name for their divinity. Reference to the practice of transmitting poetry orally as an analogue for how knowledge of the Bible may have been transmitted orally is unpersuasive as well. As we have seen, there is a strong pattern across late antiquity (and into the present day) of Christians translating their scriptures into new languages. It is very conceivable that members of a linguistic community could have one attitude toward the transmission of its poetry— preferring that it be passed on orally—and a different attitude toward biblical and liturgical materials, one in which the late antique pattern of having these translated into their own language could have been followed. That there might be different attitudes in late antique western Arabia toward scripture is suggested by evidence of the Qur’ān itself, which criticizes the relationship between Jews and Christians toward their scriptures: it makes a connection more than once between their possession of

and he shall drink no wine nor strong drink [cp. the Qur’ān’s ḥaṣūran], and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit [cp. the Qur’ān’s nabī mina alṣāliḥīna].”

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scripture and their disagreement and division. 194 Here it is perhaps worth remembering that there is a strong emphasis in the Islamic tradition on the importance of Muslims differentiating themselves from Jews and Christians. 195 In other words, different Arabic-speaking religious communities in the pre-Islamic period (and after) could have had a variety of attitudes, consciously so, toward the questions of whether scripture should be translated and whether it should be written down. 196 It is moreover within the realm of imagination that missionaries or church leaders, who were not native speakers of Arabic and who did not share any preference for orally-transmitted poetry that native Arabicspeakers might have, could have sponsored the translation of some Christian materials into Arabic, much as Maʿnā, the leader of the Church of the East reportedly did with Persian in the fifth century. The Qur’ān’s self-designation as an “Arabic Qur’ān” or an “Arabic recitation” (e.g. Q 12:2, 20:113, 39:28, 41:3, 42:7, 43:3; cf. 46:12) could indeed be understood to mean that it was the only scripture that was actually in Arabic in western Arabia. But this would prove too much—for this argument would also seem to suggest that there was no qur’ān, or recitation (in the sense of the Syriac qeryānā, i.e., lectionary reading), of other scriptures in Arabic in the Qur’ān’s milieu. But this is precisely the scenarSee, e.g., Q 2:113; 3:65, 105; 42:13–14; 41:45; 98:4. There are, in fact, various reports which suggest that among early Muslims there was a real anxiety that differences and disagreements over the Qur’ān would lead to their community splintering, as had happened with the Christians. “O Commander of the Faithful,” Ḥudhayfa is supposed to have told ʿUmar, “I have heard people disagreeing over the Qur’ān with the disagreement of the Jews and Christians” (al-Dānī, al-Muqniʿ, 142). 195 See Kister, “‘Do Not Assimilate’”; Noth, “Problems.” Cf. also Tannous, Making, 405–411. 196 On different Muslim attitudes toward writing down tradition, see Cook, “Opponents.” For ʿAbd al-Jabbār’s criticism of Christians for translating Jesus’ message from its original language, see Sanneh, Translating, 260–261. 194

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io that has been put forward by those who reject the existence of a pre-Islamic Arabic translation of portions of the Bible—that biblical materials were made available to people through the oral translation of the Bible in the context of the liturgy. An alternative understanding of the expression qurʾānan ʿarabiyyan, Arabic Qur’ān, might be to simply take it as indicating that the original language of Muḥammad’s revelation was Arabic, not Hebrew, Greek, or Aramaic as was the case with the scriptures of Jews and Christians. It was for this reason that the Qur’ān was an Arabic revelation—not a non-Arabic (aʿjamiyyan) one (cf. 41:44)—and presumably in clearer or better Arabic as a result: put colloquially, the Qur’ān’s Arabic was free of what one might call “translationese” and therefore more easily intelligible (cf. Q 19:97). This understanding would agree with the Qur’ānic statement that God only sends messengers who speak the language of their people, so that they will be clear to them (wa-mā arsalnā min rasūlin illā bi-lisāni qawmihi li-yubayyina lahum; Q 14:4). 197 Finally, an appeal to the absence of any surviving preIslamic translation of the Bible is unconvincing as well, for the bare reason that, apart from inscriptions, almost no documentary evidence of texts of any kind has survived from pre-Islamic Arabic-speaking areas 198 and yet, as we have seen, scholars have

This contrast between pure Arabic and Arabic as a second/nonnative language can be seen elsewhere in the Qur’ān. When the Qur’ānic Messenger’s opponents accuse him of having been taught by an unnamed informant, its response is to point out that the person alluded to had a non-Arabic (aʿjamī) tongue, whereas the Qur’ān had a clear Arabic tongue (lisānun ʿarabiyun mubīnun) (Q 16:103). Since the charge seems to presume that the Messenger is able to communicate with the informant in Arabic, one might infer that this unnamed person could speak Arabic, but that he had a foreign accent when doing so. 198 For documents written on palm stocks in South Arabian as the most important exception to this statement (though, of course, South Arabian and [Old] Arabic were different languages), see Hoyland, Arabia, 204– 197

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suggested that writing in Arabic must have been taking place in western Arabia in the pre-Islamic period. 199 Viewed in the larger context of the almost complete absence of non-inscriptional texts from pre-Islamic Arabia, along with the fact that the preIslamic Arabic-speaking Christian communities of this area have long since ceased to exist, this absence of evidence is unsurprising—and, importantly, not evidence of absence. The indirect evidence that one finds in the Qur’ān is precisely the sort of thing one would expect, given the nature of the preservation of pre-Islamic Arabic written materials more generally. With this said, however, it is also worth pointing out that it has in fact been strongly argued that eighth- or ninth-century manuscript Vatican Arabic 13 contains a translation of the Gospels which was made, perhaps in Hira or Najran, either in the pre-Islamic period or around the time that Muḥammad was active as a prophet. 200 Until further research is done on Vatican Arabic 13 and a scholarly consensus emerges on it 201—or perhaps additional archaeological or textual discoveries that expand our knowledge of regions where pre-Islamic Arabic-speaking Christians lived— the case for a pre-Islamic translation of portions of the Bible or liturgy into Arabic must remain a circumstantial one. What needs to be emphasized for the purposes of this present essay, however, is a small but important point: Even if no translation 205. For more on the South Arabian practice of writing on palm stocks, see Stein, “Semitic Documents”; cf. Grohmann, Arabische, 1:93–94. 199 See n. 91 above. 200 Kashouh, Arabic Versions, 142–171 and see further, idem, Gospels, 93–198. 201 For a critique of Kashouh’s claims, see Griffith, The Bible, 49–51. Further studies of the Gospel text in Vatican Arabic 13 can be found in Monferrer-Sala, “Estrategias” and idem, “Early Christian Arabic.” Whereas Kashouh argues that Vatican Arabic 13’s archetype goes back to Hira or Najran and that it was based on a Syriac Vorlage, MonferrerSala understands it to be a Melkite translation based on a Greek Vorlage, but made with regular reference to Syriac.

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of the liturgy or portions of the Bible were made into Arabic in the pre-Islamic period—not even for private use by certain clergymen 202—the evidence from the Qur’ān shows the remarkable extent to which biblical stories, biblical concepts, and the notion of a written scripture had become known in Arabic by the first decades of the seventh century. Based on our knowledge of Arabic-speaking Christian communities in the pre-Islamic period, the places we would expect to find evidence for an Arabic translation of portions of the Bible would be Hira, Najran, or perhaps Syria, Jordan, or Iraq—not the Ḥijāz, which was not a wellknown center of Arabic-speaking Christianity. This makes the Qur’ānic evidence for the spread of biblical ideas in Arabic all the more remarkable.

CHRISTIANS AND ARABIC AFTER THE ARAB CONQUESTS

The Arab conquests of the seventh century meant that the use of Arabic as a Christian language and as a language of Christians would only expand: the previously Greek, Syriac, Aramaic, Coptic, Armenian, and Persian-speaking populations of these regions, among whom were some of the oldest Christian communities in the world, would gradually adopt the language of their conquerors. 203 It is this shift to Arabic which resulted in the vast corpus of writings that scholars will refer to with the shorthand

See Schoeler, Genesis, 26–27. On this question, see, e.g., Griffith, “Greek”; idem, “From Aramaic”; idem, “Syriac”; Haddad, “La phonétique”; Hoyland, “Language”; MacCoull, “Paschal Letter”; idem, “Three Cultures”; Mavroudi, “Greek Language”; Papaconstantinou, “‘They Shall Speak’”; idem, “‘What Remains’”; idem, “Why Did?”; Poliak, “L’arabisation”; Monferrer-Sala, “Between”; Richter, “Greek”; Rubenson, “Transition”; idem, “Translating”; Rubin, “Arabization”; Sidarus, “From Coptic”; Vollandt, Arabic Versions, 22–39; Vila, “Struggle”; Wasserstein, “Why Did?”; Zaborowski, “From Coptic.” 202 203

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designation “Christian Arabic.” 204 In the Iberian Peninsula, the Latin-speaking communities of al-Andalus would eventually produce Arabic writings as well, including translations from Latin; this corpus is referred to as Mozarabic literature. 205 The postconquest flowering of Christian literature in Arabic represents what might be termed a “second phase” in the history of Arabic as a Christian language, a sequel to the first, pre-Islamic phase of Arabic as a Christian language and a language used by Christians. Around the year 700, Muslim rulers began to shift the language of administration in the Umayyad caliphate to Arabic. 206 Though the move to Arabic did not happen instantly, this was nevertheless a consequential decision, one which represented a change in the Muslim empire’s linguistic incentive structure that would have ripple effects in the Christian community living under Muslim rule. For from the earliest period of Muslim rule in the Middle East, Christians worked for the Muslim state as secretaries and as government officials 207 and the shift in administra“Christian Arabic” as a phrase can have a more narrow linguistic meaning—referring to a kind of Middle Arabic that is found in Arabic manuscripts written by Christians—or a broader, cultural-religious meaning, referring to Arabic texts written by Christians. In this second, broader meaning, the texts are usually understood to be religious ones. On “Christian Arabic” viewed linguistically, see Blau, Grammar; Grand’Henry, “Christian.” For criticism of the notion that there was a type of Christian Arabic that was distinct from “Muslim” Arabic, see Holmberg, “Christian Scribes”; see further Samir, “La tradition,” 52–59. 205 On Mozarabic literature, see Aβfalg, “Mozaraber” in KLCO, 360– 361; Goussen, Die christlich-arabische; Koningsveld, “Christian Arabic.” 206 See Duri, “Dīwān,” EI2, 2:324. 207 See the evidence collected in Cheikho, Wuzarā’; Tritton, Caliphs, 18– 36; see also the discussion in Holmberg, “Christian Scribes”; see further the observations by Sellheim and Sourdel in “Kātib,” EI2, 4:755. Throughout the medieval period, the presence of non-Muslims working for states ruled by Muslims would generate debate among Muslims as to the propriety of such a situation; see Yarbrough, Friends. 204

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tive language no doubt encouraged Christians who worked for the state—or aspired to do so—to learn to read and write the language of the rulers. 208 By as early as the middle of the eighth century, Christians from communities which had not previously used Arabic were now writing theological works in the language of the conquerors; 209 it is in the eighth century, too, that we have the earliest dated translation of a Christian text into Arabic, 210 though it is possible that even before this date, Christians living under Muslim rule had begun translating texts into Arabic. 211 It was, in fact, Christians who played a fundamental role in translating the most important Greek texts of late antiquity into Arabic. Christians formed the overwhelming majority of translators at work in the fabled Greco-Arabic translation movement of Baghdad from the eighth to tenth centuries that translated vast amounts of Greek medical, philosophical, and scientific literature into Arabic, 212 as well as the lesser-known (but no less important) Greco-Arabic translation movement that took place in western I am grateful to Cecilia Palombo for making me aware of the important connection between Christians working for the Muslim state and the linguistic Arabicization of their communities. 209 See Khalil, “Earliest Arab” and see further, Swanson, “Fī tathlīth Allāh al-wāḥid,” in CMR, 1:330–333. 210 See Treiger, “Earliest Dated.” 211 See Witztum, “Ibn Isḥāq,” for citations of an Arabic translation of the Pentateuch attributed to Ibn Isḥāq (d. 767). If the attribution of these texts to Ibn Isḥāq is true, it would be evidence for Muslims making use of a biblical translation—presumably done by Christians—that was in existence probably by the first half of the eighth century at the latest. 212 For 59 of 61 translators in Baghdad belonging to one of a variety of Christian confessions, see Tropeau, “Le rôle,” 4. On the Christian role in the Baghdad translation more generally, see Stroumsa, “Philosophy”; Treiger, “From al-Biṭriq.” On the Greco-Arabic translation movement in Baghdad, see Endress, “Die Wissenschaftliche”; Gutas, Greek Thought; idem, “Origins”; idem, “Rebirth.” 208

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Syria, especially Antioch, and the Levant between the eighth and eleventh centuries and which focused on the translation of Greek (and Syriac) Christian texts into Arabic. 213 An enormous amount of patristic literature was translated into Arabic. 214 Different Christian communities began to use Arabic at different rates, 215 but the movement toward Arabic and away from Greek, Syriac, and Coptic would be a steady one. It was in the ninth century, in Baghdad, that the first Syriac-Arabic lexica started to be compiled by individuals associated with the GrecoArabic translation movement. 216 It is in the ninth century, too, that we begin to have bilingual Greco-Arabic biblical manuscripts, 217 and it is also in the ninth century we find the earliest evidence that certain Melkites in Palestine were beginning to use Arabic in their liturgies. 218 By the tenth century, the Coptic author known as Pseudo-Samuel of Qalamūn would write an On this “other” Greco-Arabic translation movement (which also included translation into Syriac), see Binggeli, “Early Christian”; Pataridze, “Christian Literature”; Treiger, “Arabic”; idem, “Beginnings”; idem, “Christian”; idem, “Greek into Arabic”; idem, “Syro-Arabic”; Roberts, Reason and Revelation. Cf. also Grand’Henry, “Transmission.” 214 On translations of Greek, Syriac, and Coptic Christian material into Arabic, see Graf, Geschichte, vol. 1; Nasrallah, Histoire, passim. Geerard, ed., Clavis Patrum Graecorum, passim, contains a great deal of information on Greek patristic works translated into Arabic, as does idem, ed., Clavis Apocryphorum, and Haelewyck, Clavis Apocryphorum. Alongside these, see Roggema and Treiger, “Bibliographic Guide,” and, more generally, the overview in Treiger, “The Fathers,” and, in particular, the contributions in Roggema and Treiger, Patristic Literature. 215 For Melkite monasteries of Palestine as the first groups to begin writing Christian literature in Arabic, see Griffith, “Monks.” On the development of a Melkite identity and on the medieval Melkite tradition, see idem, “Church of Jerusalem”; idem, “Islam”; idem, “Melkites”; and Kościelniak, Between. 216 Taylor, “Syriac Lexicography,” 392. 217 E.g. GA 0136+137 (9th century) and GA 0278 (9th century). For a list of bilingual Greco-Arabic manuscripts, see Parker, Codex Bezae, 60. 218 See Leeming, “Adoption.” 213

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Apocalypse which criticized Egyptian Christians who spoke Arabic rather than Coptic and who gave their children Arabic names rather than Christian Coptic ones. 219 In the early eleventh century, Ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. 1043) would state that he was gathering the exegetical views of approved doctors of the church to spread in Arabic because people in Iraq did not understand Syriac. 220 In the eighth century, one can point to a figure like Theophilus of Edessa (d. 785), who served as an astrologer to the Caliph al-Mahdī, as emblematic of the gradually changing linguistic situation among the Middle East’s Christian population. Theophilus wrote works in Arabic but also translated texts from Greek into Syriac, among which may have been the Iliad and the Odyssey. 221 Theophilus’s younger contemporary, Theodore Abū Qurra (d. ca. 820), wrote works in Greek, Syriac, and Arabic, 222 and the ninth century would witness other Christian figures— like Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq (d. 873)—who also knew these three languages. 223 A number of Christian authors in the medieval Middle East would know Arabic and another language—Greek, Syriac, or Coptic—and would write in (or translate between) more than one of these. As the various Christian confessions of the Middle East increasingly shifted to using Arabic as their language of worship and theological expression, their members would write texts in a variety of genres in Arabic: ascetic literature, biblical exegesis, canon law, hagiography, history, homilies, liturgical texts, poet-

See Papaconstantinou, “‘They Shall Speak.’” This fascinating text is lost in its Coptic original and only survives in Arabic. 220 Ibn al-Ṭayyib, Tafsīr al-mashriqī, 1:36. For this, see Faultless, “Ibn alṬayyib,” CMR, 2:676. 221 On Theophilus, see Van Rompay, “Theophilos.” 222 On Theodore, see, most conveniently, Lamoreaux, “Theodore,” CMR, 1:439–491. 223 On Ḥunayn, see Roggema, “Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq,” CMR, 1:768–779. 219

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ry, history, and more. 224 Perhaps the best-researched area of this second phase of the history of Christianity in Arabic is the enormous corpus of texts produced by Christians that deal in some way with the Christian encounter with Islam. 225 Though scholars have tended to focus on religious texts written by Christians in Arabic, it is important to point out that Christians used Arabic in nonreligious contexts as well in the post-conquest period. As I have already mentioned, Christians throughout the Middle Ages worked for states ruled by Muslims, and in their role as government officials, these individuals had to be able to write Arabic well. 226 In an oft-cited anecdote, the Muslim author al-Maqdisī (d. after 990) mentions that the scribes in Syria and Egypt were only Christians. 227 Throughout the medieval period, one can find numerous examples of Christians who were philosophers, physicians, translators, and scholars of all kinds. 228 The most important histories of Christian Arabic literature are Graf, Geschichte, and Nasrallah, Histoire. Other overviews include the following: Aβfalg, “Arabische-christliche”; idem, “Christliche literatur”; Atiya, “Literature”; Baumstark, Die Christlichen, 2:7–36; Breydy, Geschichte; Brockelmann, “Die syrische,” esp. 67–74; Coquin, “Arabic Christian”; idem, “Lange”; Griffith, Church in the Shadow; Reeves, “Christian Arabic”; Samir, “Christian Arabic”; idem, “La Littérature”; idem, “La tradition”; Teule, “Christian Arabic Historiography,” EI2, 12:807–809; Swanson, “Arabic Hagiography”; Treiger, “Arabic Tradition”; Troupeau, “La littérature.” 225 The monumental set of volumes under the editorship of David Thomas, Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographic History, attempts to describe this extremely large corpus of literature and contains a great deal of information about the history of Christian Arabic literature more generally. 226 Holmberg, “Christian Scribes.” 227 Al-Maqdisī, Aḥsan, 183. Cf. Tritton, Caliphs, 25; Holmberg, “Christian Scribes,” 109. 228 Cheikho, ʿUlāmāʾ, is a valuable collection of information on a wide variety of Christian scholars in the medieval Middle East. On Christian doctors in the medieval Middle East, see Carlson, “Garden.” 224

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The amount of literature, religious and non-, produced in Arabic by Christians is vast and has continued since the medieval period. This literature includes important Christian contributions to the Nahḍa in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, 229 modern religious texts and Biblical translations produced by Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant Christians in the Middle East, journalism, poetry, works of contemporary fiction, and much more. Going back to the earliest dated Arabic inscription in the Arabic script, Ḥimà-Sud PalAr 1 from AD 470, Christians in the Middle East have been speaking and writing Arabic for more than 1550 years—a history of continuous usage that is longer than the great majority of other languages used by Christians in the past two thousand years and longer than that of any European language, save Greek and Latin.

WORKS CITED Abbreviations

CMR = Thomas, David, et al., eds., Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographic History. 18 volumes. Brill: Leiden, 2009–2021. CoptEnc = Aziz S. Atiya, ed., The Coptic Encyclopedia. 8 vols. New York: Macmillan, 1991. EI1 = Ed. M. Th. Houtsma, et al., Encyclopaedia of Islam: A Dictionary of the Geography, Ethnography and Biography of the Muhammadan Peoples. 9 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1908–1936. EI2 = Ed. H. A. R. Gibb et al., The Encyclopaedia of Islam. 2nd ed. 13 vols. (Leiden: Brill, 1954–2008). EQ = Jane Dammen McAuliffe, ed., Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān. 5 vols. Leident/Boston, 2001–2006.

See Krimsti and Ghobrial, “The Past,” for an overview of some of the important Christian participants in the Nahḍa. 229

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GEDSH = Sebastian P. Brock, Aaron M. Butts, George Kiraz, and Lucas van Rompay, eds., Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage. Piscatway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2011. KLCO = Hubert Kaufhold, ed. Kleines Lexikon des Christlichen Orients. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2007. RCEA = Ét. Combe, J. Sauvaget, and G. Wiet, eds., Répertoire chronologique d’épigraphie arabe, vol. 1. Cairo: Imprimerie de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale, 1931. Primary Sources

Bakrī, al-. Muʿjam mā istaʿjam min asmāʾ al-bilād wa-l-mawāḍiʿ. Edited by Muṣtafā al-Saqqā. 4 vols. in 2. Beirut: ʿĀlam alKutub, 1983. Bar Hebraeus, Ktābā d-Huddāyē. Ed. Paul Bedjan, Nomocanon Gregorii Barhebraei. Paris/Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1898. Cheikho, Louis. Kitāb shuʿarāʾ al-Naṣrāniyya. 2 vols. Beirut: Maṭbaʿat al-Ābāʾ al-Mursalīn al-Yasūʿiyyīn, 1890–1891. Chronicle of Seert. Ed. and trans. Addai Scher et al., Histoire nestorienne inédite: (Chronique de Séert). Patrologia Orientalis 4.3, 5.2, 7.2, 13.4. Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1908–1950. Dānī, al-. Al-Muqniʿ fī maʿrifat marsūm maṣāḥif ahl al-amṣār. Edited by Nūra bint Ḥasan ibn Fahd al-Ḥamīd. Riyadh: Dār alTadmurriya, 2010. History of Mar Aba. Ed. Paul Bedjan, Histoire de Mar-Jabalaha: de trois autres Patriarches, d’un Prêtre et de deux Laïques, Nestoriens. Paris/Leipzig: Otto Harrassowitz, 1895: 206–274. Ibn Hishām. Kitāb Sīrat Rasūl Allāh. Ed. Ferdinand Wüstenfeld, Das leben Muhammed’s nach Muhammed ibn Ishâk. 2 volumes in 3. Göttingen: Dieterichs, 1858–1860.

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Schwartz, Eduard. Johannes Rufus: Ein Monophysitischer Schriftseller. Sitzungsberichte der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften. Philosophisch-historische Klasse. 16 Abhandlung. Heidelberg: Carl Winter’s Universitätsbuchhandlung, 1912. Segal, J. B. “Arabs in Syriac Literature before the Rise of Islam.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 4 (1984): 89–124. Segal, J. B. Edessa: ‘The Blessed City’. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970. Sezgin, Fuat. Geschichte des arabischen Schriftums. Band II: Poesie. Leiden: Brill, 1975. Shahid, Irfan. “Al-Masīḥiyya qabla ẓuhūr al-Islām.” In alMasīḥiyya ʿabra tārīkhihā fī al-Mashriq, edited by Ḥabīb Badr, Suʿād Salīm, Jūzīf Abū Nahrā, 429–446. Beirut: Majlis Kanā’is al-Sharq al-Awsaṭ, 2001. Shahid, Irfan. “Arab Christian Pilgrimages in the ProtoByzantine Period (V–VII Centuries).” In Pilgrimage and Holy Space in Late Antique Egypt. Edited by David Frankfurter, 373–389. Leiden: Brill, 1998. Shahid, Irfan. “Arab Christianity before the Rise of Islam.” In Christianity: A History in the Middle East, edited by Habib Badr, Suad Abou el Rouss Slim, and Joseph Abou Nohra, 435–451. Beirut: Middle East Council of Churches, Studies and Research Program, 2005. Shahid, Irfan. “Arab Christianity in Byzantine Palestine.” ARAM 15 (2005): 227–237. Shahid, Irfan. “Arab-Ethiopian Relations in the Aksumite Period: The Role of Simeon, Bishop of Bēth Arsham.” In Studies in Ethiopian Languages, Literature, and History: Festschrift for Getatchew Haile, Presented by His Friends and Colleagues, edited by Adam Carter McCollum, 95–120. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2017.

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Shahid, Irfan. The Arabs in Late Antiquity: Their Role, Achievement, and Legacy. American University of Beirut: The Margarety Weyerhaeuser Jewett Chair of Arabic, Occasional Papers, edited by Ramzi Baalbaki. Beirut: American University of Beirut, 2008. Shahid, Irfan. “The Authenticity of Pre-Islamic Poetry: The Linguistic Dimension.” Al-Abhath 44 (1996): 3–48. Shahid, Irfan. Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fifth Century. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1989. Shahid, Irfan. Byzantium and the Arabs in the Fourth Century. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1984. Shahid, Irfan. Byzantium and the Arabs in the Sixth Century. 2 vols. in 4 pts. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection, 1995–2009. Shahid, Irfan. “Byzantium in South Arabia.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 33 (1979): 23–94. Shahid, Irfan. “Islam and Oriens Christianus: Makka 610–622 AD.” In The Encounter of Eastern Christianity with Early Islam, edited by Emmanouela Grypeou, Mark Swanson, and David Thomas, 9–31. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Shahid, Irfan. “The Martyrs of Najrān: Miscellaneous Reflexions.” Le Muséon 93 (1980): 149–161. Shahid, Irfan. The Martyrs of Najrân. New documents. Bruxelles: Société des Bollandistes, 1971. Shahid, Irfan. “The Sixth Century Church Complex at Nitl, Jordan: The Ghassānid Dimension.” Liber Annuus 51 (2001): 285–292. Shamsy, Ahmed el-. Rediscovering the Islamic Classics: How Editors and Print Culture Transformed an Intellectual Tradition. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2020.

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Shitomi, Yuzo. “Réexamen des deux lettres attribuées à Siméon de Bêth Aršâm, relatives à la persécution des chrétiens de Nagrân.” In Études sud-arabes. Recueil offert à Jacques Ryckmans, edited by Christian Robin, 207–224. Louvain-laNeuve: Université Catholique de Louvain, Institut orientaliste, 1991. Sidarus, Adel Y. “From Coptic to Arabic in the Christian Literature of Egypt (7th–11th Centuries).” Coptica 12 (2013): 35– 56. Sijpesteijn, Petra M. “The Arab Conquest of Egypt and the Beginning of Muslim Rule.” In Egypt in the Byzantine World, edited by Roger Bagnall, 437–459. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007. Sijpesteijn, Petra M. “Arabic Script and Language in the Earliest Papyri: Mirrors of Change.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 49 (2020): 433–494. Sinai, Nicolai. “The Eschatological Kerygma of the Early Qur’an.” In Apocalypticism and Eschatology in Late Antiquity: Encounters in the Abrahamic Religions, 6th–8th Centuries, edited by Hagit Amirav, Emmanouela Grypeou, and Guy Stroumsa, 219–266. Leuven: Peeters, 2017. Sinai, Nicolai. The Qur’an: A Historical-Critical Introduction. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017. Sinai, Nicolai. Rain-Giver, Bone-Breaker, Score Settler. Allāh in Pre-Quranic Poetry. New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 2019. Sinai, Nicolai. “Religious Poetry from the Quranic Milieu: Umayya b. Abī l-Ṣalt on the Fate of the Thamūd.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 74 (2011): 397– 416. Solignac, Aimé. “Psaumes. V. Les commentaires.” In Dictionnaire de spiritualité, vol. 12.2, edited by A. Rayez, A. Derville, and A. Solignac, cols. 2562–2568. Paris: Beauchesne, 1986.

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Speyer, Heinrich. Die biblischen Erzählungen im Qoran. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1961. Stein, Peter. “Semitic Documents on Wood Sticks: Manuscript Writing in Pre-Islamic South Arabia.” In From Qom to Barcelona: Aramaic, South Arabian, Coptic, Arabic and JudeoArabic Documents, edited by Andreas Kaplony and Daniel Potthast, 24–54. Leiden: Brill, 2021. Stroumsa, Sarah. “Philosophy as Wisdom: On the Christians’ Role in the Translation of Philosophical Material into Arabic.” In Exchange and Transmission across Cultural Boundaries: Philosophy, Mysticism and Science in the Mediterranean World, edited by Haggai Ben-Shammai, Shaul Shaked, and Sarah Stroumsa, 276–293. Jerusalem: Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 2013. Swanson, Mark. “Arabic Hagiography.” In The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography, vol. 1, Periods and Places, edited by Stephanos Efthymiadis, 345–367. Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2011. Talbot Rice, D. “Hira.” Journal of the Royal Central Asian Society 19 (1932): 254–268. Talbot Rice, D. “The Oxford Excavations at Hira, 1931.” Antiquity 6 (1932): 276–291. Talbot Rice, D. “The Oxford Excavations at Ḥīra.” Ars Islamica 1 (1934): 51–73. Talib, Adam. “Topoi and Topography in the Histories of alḤīra.” In History and Identity in the Late Antique Near East, edited by Philip Wood, 123–147. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. Tannous, Jack. The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2018. Tardy, René. Najrân: chrétiens d’arabie avant l’islam. Beirut: Dar El-Machreq Éditeurs, 1999.

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Taylor, David G. K. “The Psalm Commentary of Daniel of Salah and the Formation of Sixth-Century Syrian Orthodox Identity.” Church History and Religious Culture 89 (2009): 65–92. Taylor, David G. K. “A Stylistic Comparison of the Syriac Ḥimyarite Martyr Texts Attributed to Simeon of Beth Arsham.” In Juifs et Chrétiens en Arabie aux Ve et VIe siècles. Regards croisés sur les sources, edited by Joëlle Beaucamp, Françoise Briquel-Chatonnet, and Christian Julien Robin, 143–176. Paris: Association des amis du Centre d’histoire et civilisation de Byzance, 2010. Taylor, David G. K. “Syriac Lexicography.” In Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Language, edited by Sebastian P. Brock, Aaron M. Butts, George A. Kiraz, and Lucas van Rompay, 391–393. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2011. Tobkin, Jennifer. “Revisiting Cheikho’s Assessment of Abū Tammām’s Christian Origins.” In Heirs of the Apostles: Studies on Arabic Christianity in Honor of Sidney H. Griffith, edited by David Bertaina, Sandra Toenies Keating, Mark N. Swanson, and Alexander Treiger, 310–332. Leiden: Brill, 2019. Toral-Niehoff, Isabel. Al-Ḥīra: eine arabische Kulturmetropole im spätantiken Kontext. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Toral-Niehoff, Isabel. “Eine arabische poetische Gestaltung des Sündenfalls. Das vorislamische Schöpfungsgedicht von ʿAdī b. Zayd.” In “Im vollen Licht der Geschichte”: die Wissenschaft des Judentums und die Anfänge der kritischen Koranforschung, edited by Dirk Hartwig, Walter Homolka, Michael Marx, and Angelika Neuwirth, 235–256. Würzburg: Ergon, 2008. Toral-Niehoff, Isabel. “The ʿIbād of al-Ḥīra: An Arab Christian Community in Late Antique Iraq.” In The Qur’ān in Context: Historical and Literary Investigations into the Qur’ānic Milieu, edited by Angelika Neuwirth, Nicolai Sinai, and Michael Marx, 323–347. Leiden: Brill, 2010.

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Toral-Niehoff, Isabel. “Late Antique Iran and the Arabs: The Case of al-Hira.” Journal of Persianate Studies 6 (2013): 115– 126. Treiger, Alexander. “Arabic.” In The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Literature, edited by Stratis Papaioannou, 642–662. New York: Oxford University Press, 2021. Treiger, Alexander. “The Arabic Tradition.” In The Orthodox Christian World, edited by Augustine Casiday, 89–104. London: Routledge, 2022. Treiger, Alexander. “The Beginnings of the Graeco-Syro-Arabic Melkite Translation Movement in Antioch.” Scrinium 16 (2020): 1–27. Treiger, Alexander. “Christian Graeco-Arabica: Prolegomena to a History of the Arabic Translations of the Greek Church Fathers.” Intellectual History of the Islamicate World 3 (2015): 188–227. Treiger, Alexander. “The Earliest Dated Christian Arabic Translation (772 AD): Ammonius’ Report on the Martyrdom of the Monks of Sinai and Raithu.” Journal of the Canadian Society for Syriac Studies 16 (2016): 29–38. Treiger, Alexander. “The Fathers in Arabic.” In The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Patristics, edited by Ken Parry, 442–455. Chichester, West Sussex: Wiley Blackwell, 2015. Treiger, Alexander. “From al-Biṭriq to Ḥunayn: Melkite and Nestorian Translators in Early ʿAbbasid Baghdad.” Mediterranea. International Journal on the Transfer of Knowledge 7 (2022): 143–181. Treiger, Alexander. “Greek into Arabic in Byzantine Antioch: ʿAbdallāh ibn al-Faḍl’s ‘Book of the Garden’ (Kitāb alRawḍa). In Ambassadors, Artists, Theologians. Byzantine Relations with the Near East from the Ninth to the Thirteenth Centuries, edited by Zachary Chitwood and Johannes Pahlitzsch, 227–237. Mainz: Verlag des RömischeGermanischen Zentralmuseums, 2019.

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Treiger, Alexander. “Syro-Arabic Translations in Abbasid Palestine: the Case of John of Apamea’s Letter on Stillness (Sinai ar. 549).” Parole de l’Orient 39 (2014): 79–131. Trimingham, John Spencer. Christianity among the Arabs in PreIslamic Times. London: Longman, 1979. Tritton, Arthur S. The Caliphs and Their Non-Muslim Subjects: A Critical Study of the Covenant of ʿUmar. London: Oxford University Press, 1930. Troupeau, Gérard. “La littérature arabe chrétienne du Xe au XIIe siècle.” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale 14 (1971): 1–20. Troupeau, Gérard. “Le rôle des syriaques dans la transmission et l’exploitation du patrimoine philosophique et scientifique grec.” Arabica 38 (1991): 1–10. Trublet, Jacques. “Psaumes.” In Dictionnaire de spiritualité, vol. 12.2, edited by A. Rayez, A. Derville, and A. Solignac, cols. 2504–2562. Paris: Beauchesne, 1986. Tubach, Jürgen. “Die Namen der edessenischen Könige und ihre Verbindung zur Welt der Nomaden.” In Geschichte, Theologie und Kultur des syrischen Christentums: Beiträge zum 7. Deutschen Syrologie-Symposium in Göttingen, Dezember 2011, edited by Martin Tamcke and Sven Grebenstein, 405–421. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, 2014. Tubach, Jürgen. “The Origin of the Christians in Eastern Arabia: Nomads and the Sedentary Peoples.” Harp 27 (2011): 225– 234. United Bible Societies. The Book of a Thousand Tongues. Rev. ed. London: United Bible Societies, 1972. Van Rompay, Lucas. “Theophilos of Edessa.” In Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Language, edited by Sebastian P. Brock, Aaron M. Butts, George A. Kiraz, and Lucas van Rompay, 409–410. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press, 2011. Vila, David. “The Struggle over Arabisation in Medieval Arabic Christian Hagiography.” Al-Masaq: Islam and the Medieval Mediterranean 15 (2003): 35–46.

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Vollandt, Ronny. Arabic Versions of the Pentateuch: A Comparative Study of Jewish, Christian, and Muslim Sources. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Wasserstein, David J. “Why Did Arabic Succeed Where Greek Failed? Language Change in the Near East after Muhammad.” Scripta Classica Israelica 22 (2003): 257–272. Webb, Peter. Imagining the Arabs: Arab Identity and the Rise of Islam. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2016. Wellhausen, Julius. Reste arabischen heidentums. Berlin: G. Reimer, 1897. Witztum, Joseph. “The Foundations of the House (Q 2:127).” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 72 (2009): 25–40. Witztum, Joseph. “Ibn Isḥāq and the Pentateuch in Arabic.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 40 (2013): 1–71. Witztum, Joseph. “Joseph among the Ishmaelites: Q 12 in Light of Syriac Sources.” In Gabriel Said Reynolds, ed., New Perspectives on the Qur’ān: The Qur’ān in its Historical Context 2. London/New York: Routledge, 2011: 425–448. Witztum, Joseph. “The Syriac Milieu of the Quran: The Recasting of Biblical Narratives.” PhD diss., Princeton University, 2011. Wood, Philip. “Al-Ḥīra and Its Histories.” Journal of the American Oriental Society 136 (2016): 785–799. Wood, Philip. “Christianity and the Arabs in the Sixth Century.” In Inside and Out: Interactions between Rome and the Peoples on the Arabian and Egyptian Frontiers in Late Antiquity, edited by Jitse H. F. Dijkstra and Greg Fisher, 355–370. Leuven: Peeters, 2014. Wood, Philip. “Hira and Her Saints.” Analecta Bollandiana 132 (2014): 5–20.

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Wright, William. Catalogue of Syriac Manuscripts in the British Museum Acquired since the Year 1838. 3 vols. London: Trustees of the British Museum, 1870–1872. Wycliffe Bible Translators. “Our Impact.” 2022. https://www.wycliffe.org.uk/about/our-impact/. Yarbrough, Luke. Friends of the Emir: Non-Muslim State Officials in Premodern Islamic Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019. Zahran, Yasamin. The Lakhmids of Hira: Sons of the Water of Heaven. London: Stacey International, 2009. Zaborowski, Jason R. “From Coptic to Arabic in Medieval Egypt.” Medieval Encounters 14 (2008): 15–40. Zwettler, Michael J. “Imra’alqays, son of ʿAmr: King of …???” In Literary Heritage of Classical Islam: Arabic and Islamic Studies in Honor of James A. Bellamy, edited by Mustansir Mir, 3– 37. Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, 1993. Zwettler, Michael J. “Maʿadd in Late-Ancient Arabian Epigraphy and Other Pre-Islamic Sources.” Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes 90 (2000): 223–309.

CHAPTER 2. THEODORE ABŪ QURRAH (D. CA. 825): NATURAL RELIGION AND ISLAM JOHN C. LAMOREAUX If a child were raised by wolves, would it grow up to be human? Would it have recognizably human emotions? Would it be capable of reason? Above all, would that child be religious? The question of the feral child long haunted the Enlightenment’s imagination. 1 If one were to find such children, they would offer unique insight into what our species was like in its infancy, apart from the later influence of culture. In short, they were a means to uncover the true essence of human nature, and this nature, once discovered, could then be used as a tool to critique culture. In trying to understand the natural state of our species, for instance, Rousseau appealed to specific examples of feral children, referencing not just the celebrated Peter the Wild Boy, discovered near Hanover in 1725, but also “savage” children

Candland, Feral Children; Newton, Savage; Douthwaite, Wild Girl; Nash, Enlightenment; Pardon, “Wolf-Boy,” 745–763. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter.

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discovered in Lithuania and the Pyrenees. 2 Other authors appealed to feral children to explore other aspects of human nature. So important had the feral child become in thinking about what it means to be human that Linnaeus, in the tenth edition of his Systema Naturae (1758), included Homo ferens as one of the six subspecies of Homo sapiens, citing as evidence the handful of feral children who had been discovered in Europe, including Peter the Wild Boy. 3 If feral children were rarely to be found in Europe, matters were otherwise on the fringes of Europe’s expanding empires, where they continued to be discovered every few years in the nineteenth century: sometimes raised by wolves, sometimes by dogs, once even by an ostrich. Such children were eagerly studied by early psychologists, anthropologists, and sociologists, in an effort to understand the boundary between human nature and human culture. 4 In much the same fashion, novelists used feral children as a literary device to explore similar questions: perhaps most famously, Rudyard Kipling in The Jungle Book (1894) and Edgar Rice Burroughs in Tarzan of the Apes (1912). In the end, the feral children of the novelists may well have been more real than the feral children studied by researchers, which children frequently turned out to be severely disabled or deliberate frauds. Pre-modern authors also appealed to feral children as a way of exploring the contours of human nature. In particular, the feral child could be used as a literary device to discern humanity’s natural religion: that form of religion that exists apart from culture and apart from revelation. Once discovered, this natural religion could then be called on to do service in the critique of revealed religion, or in its defense. Perhaps the most celebrated example is the Arabic tale of Ḥayy Ibn Yaqẓān (“LivGourevitch, trans., Rousseau, 201–203. Cf. Yousef, “Savage?,” 245– 263. 3 See Zingg, “Feral Man,” 487. 4 Taylor, “Wild Men,” 21–32; Rauber, Homo sapiens; Frazer, ed. and trans., Fasti, 2:375–381; Dennis, “Significance,” 425–432; Singh and Zingg, Wolf-Children; Sprehe, “Feral Man,” 161–167. 2

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ing the Son of Wakefulness”) by Ibn Ṭufayl (d. 1185). 5 In this philosophical romance, an infant finds himself alone on a desert island—perhaps, like Moses, having been cast adrift in a basket, or perhaps spontaneously generated. There, the infant is raised by a gazelle. Some of the skills he needs for living he learns by observing animals. Other, deeper matters he learns through his faculty of reason. In time, he comes to understand the rudiments of science, from which he attains an understanding of the soul. Rising from there, he eventually concludes that the world is created, that its Creator is deserving of worship, and that an ecstatic union with this Creator is possible. Together, these beliefs represented for Ibn Ṭufayl the essence of the natural religion—a religion that is superior to the veiled and symbolic truths of revealed religion, as Ḥayy Ibn Yaqẓān will later learn when he is introduced to the society of his fellow human beings. A similar work was written by Ibn al-Nafīs (d. 1288) in response to Ibn Ṭufayl. 6 Its protagonist is spontaneously generated on a desert island and matures in the womb of a cave until reaching the age of ten or twelve, whereupon he emerges into the world. Through the application of his faculties of observation and reason, the maturing child eventually comes to discover the main doctrinal tenants and ritual requirements of Islam. For Ibn al-Nafīs, unlike Ibn Ṭufayl, natural religion is called on to confirm revealed religion. If the feral children end up becoming Muslims in the works of Ibn Ṭufayl and Ibn al-Nafīs, the matter is otherwise in the text to be considered here: a theological romance in Arabic by Theodore Abū Qurrah (d. ca. 825), his Theologus Autodidactus. Its protagonist grows up alone on a mountain, apart from all human For an English translation, see Goodman, trans., Hayy Ibn Yaqẓān. For the work’s historical context and reception, see Conrad, ed., World; Attar, Vital Roots. 6 For an English translation, see Meyerhof and Schacht, eds. and trans., Theologus Autodidactus. For the author, see Fancy, Science and Religion. For the relation between the two works, see Kruk, “Neoplatonists,” 75– 85. 5

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society, and through the application of observation and reason becomes not Muslim, but Christian. Predating the works of Ibn Ṭufayl and Ibn al-Nafīs by centuries, this romance is seemingly the earliest extant work to reflect at length on the question of the feral child and natural religion.

ABŪ QURRAH’S LIFE AND WORKS

Theodore Abū Qurrah was born in the mid-eighth century C.E., perhaps in the city of Edessa, in what is today southern Turkey. At an unknown date, he was made the Orthodox bishop of Harran, a town located just to the south of Edessa. There, he devoted himself to the care of his flock, and to the defense of Christianity against the claims of rival religions, particularly Judaism and Islam. There, too, he sought to defend the Christology of Chalcedon against its Christian detractors. This latter task was especially pressing insofar as all Christian sects had now been reduced equally to minority status under the aegis of the Muslim empire. Chalcedonians, in particular, could no longer lay claim to imperial support in defense of their christological vision. While it is not known when Theodore died, there is evidence to suggest that he was alive as late as 816 C.E. 7 Theodore’s life corresponded with a number of momentous changes for Christians in the early medieval Near East. By the mid-eighth century C.E., these Christians had been living under Muslim rule for over a century and were beginning to adopt Arabic as a spoken language. At the same time, conversion to Islam was becoming more common, both in urban environments and in villages. Theodore was among the first Christians we know by name to take up the twin challenges of Arabicization and Islamization: to find a way to exposit traditional Christian For Abū Qurrah’s life and works, see Graf, Geschichte, 2:7–25; Nasrallah, Histoire, 2.2:104–134; Griffith, Abū Qurrah; Samir, “Al-jadīd,” 417– 449; Lamoreaux, “Theodore and John,” 361–386; idem, “Biography,” 25–40; idem, “Abū Qurrah,” CMR, 1:439–491; Treiger, “New Works,” 1–51.

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doctrine in Arabic, and to prevent conversion to Islam by defending Christianity against Muslim criticism. 8 Harran was one of the most diverse cities of the early medieval Near East. It was home to various religious traditions: not just Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, but also Manicheanism and Zoroastrianism, as well as an indigenous form of paganism, uniquely practiced in the area in and around Harran. 9 Similarly, Harran stood at the crossroads of the early medieval Near East’s various forms of Christianity. It was a home to Nestorians, with whom the Orthodox had split after the Council of Ephesus (431), who were accused by the Orthodox of having compromised Christ’s full divinity. As well, the city stood amidst a population that was largely Monophysites, who through their opposition to the Council of Chalcedon (451) were believed by the Orthodox to have compromised Christ’s full humanity. So too, in the region in and around Harran there were followers of Monothelitism, who believed that Christ had not two wills (one human and one divine), but a single, divine will. Originally proposed as a compromise to reconcile the Orthodox and the Monophysites, Monothelitism would later be condemned at the Sixth Ecumenical Council (680/681). A sizable portion of Theodore’s surviving works are devoted to the refutation of these alternative christologies, and to the defense of the Chalcedonian christological synthesis. His manner of argumentation in these works is for the most part conventional. Because he shares a common set of authoritative sources with his opponents, there is common ground on which to argue. They might dispute the meaning of the Biblical text or the meaning of the patristic heritage. As well, they might debate the authority of the various councils and the meaning of their rulings. But argument was possible because of these shared sources. On Arabicization and Islamization in this period, see Griffith, “Monks,” 1–28; idem, “Church,” 175–204; idem, Church. 9 For the indigenous paganism of Harran, see Chwolsohn, Ssabier; Hjärpe, Analyse; Green, Moon God; Pingree, “Ṣābians,” 8–35. 8

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In a similar manner, Theodore’s polemics with his Jewish interlocutors were based on shared sources—the books of the Hebrew Bible—on the basis of which Christians and Jews could profitably argue with one another. The situation was otherwise with the other religious traditions of the early medieval Near East. How was one to argue matters of religion with those with whom one shared no common authoritative sources? The problem was especially pressing with regard to Islam. Although Christians and Muslims had a common theological language, as well as a sacred history that included many of the same prophets, they shared no scriptural or other authoritative sources. While Muslims regarded the prophets of Judaism and Christianity as the recipients of divinely revealed scriptures, they also believed that later Jews and Christians had willfully corrupted those scriptures. Likewise, Christians rejected Muslim claims of scriptural status for the Qur’ān. How, then, were Muslims and Christians to argue with one another? What was needed was a method whereby the truth claims of the various religious traditions of the early medieval Near East could be adjudicated, such that Christians, Muslims, Jews, and others might be able to argue productively with one another, without appeal to authoritative sources. Using the literary device of the feral child to explore the character of natural religion, Theodore seeks in his Theologus Autodidactus for just such a method, whereby one might argue about religion across confessional boundaries. Such a method does not rely on revealed scriptures. At the same time, its arguments are made from premises generally acceptable to all of the rival religions: that human beings are created by a deity, that this deity makes moral demands of human beings, that this deity rewards or punishes them in accordance with their deeds, and so forth. It is not a question of a philosophical natural theology with premises based solely on reason or empirical evidence, but rather of a kind of shared generic theism. This, then, is the problem to which Theodore devotes himself in his Theologus Autodidactus. As preserved today, Theodore’s Theologus Autodidactus is found in his On the Existence of the Creator and the True Religion,

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a work which is divided into three clearly demarcated parts. 10 The first is a short treatise which seeks to show what the human mind, unaided by revelation, can discover about God and his attributes. 11 Its second part is the Theologus Autodidactus (Selftaught Theologian). 12 Its third part is a short treatise that first analyzes the various causes that lead people to accept any religion, and then argues that the earliest propagation of Christianity was unlike that of other religions, it being accepted solely because it had been attested by miracles. 13 It is likely that this work’s three parts were once separate treatises—or perhaps even just selections from separate treatises—which have been joined together by a later editor. 14 While all three parts deal with a similar set of questions, they do so in quite different ways. Furthermore, each of the three parts is self-standing, and there are no cross-references between them. Here, we are concerned with only the second part.

The standard edition is Dick, ed., Abuqurra. For a German translation, see Graf, trans., Abû Ḳurra. For an English translation, see Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 165–174, 1–25, 41–47. A slightly revised version of the English translation of the work’s second part can also be found in Noble and Treiger, eds., Orthodox Church, 60–89. For a discussion of the manuscripts of the work and for a bibliography of secondary literature, see Lamoreaux, “Abū Qurrah,” CMR, 1:448–450. For a newly discovered manuscript of the work, see Treiger, “New Works,” 27. Citations of the work in what follows are from Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah (BYU translation). 11 Lamoreaux, trans., Abū Qurrah, 165–174 (trans. under the title On Natural Theology), corresponding to Dick, ed., Abuqurra, 173–198. 12 Lamoreaux, trans., Abū Qurrah, 1–25 (trans. under the title Theologus Autodidactus), corresponding to Dick, ed., Abuqurra, 199–258. 13 Lamoreaux, trans., Abū Qurrah, 41–47 (trans. under the title That Christianity Is from God), corresponding to Dick, ed., Abuqurra, 259– 270. 14 See Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, xxxiv; idem, “Abū Qurrah,” CMR, 1:448. 10

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ABŪ QURRAH’S THEOLOGUS AUTODIDACTUS

Theodore opens the treatise by asking his readers to imagine that he is a feral child, and that he has been grown up alone on a mountain, where he has had no contact with humans. When one day he descends to the world of civilization, he finds that there are different groups of people who adhere to different religions, and that the claims made by these religions are inconsistent with one another, perhaps even irreconcilable. He meets adherents of the “first Hanifs,” that is, the indigenous pagans of Theodore’s episcopal see of Harran. As well, he encounters “Magians” (that is, followers of Zurvanism, the officially sanctioned form of Zoroastrianism in Sassanid Persia), Samaritans, Jews, Christians, and Manicheans. Similarly, he encounters followers of Marcion of Sinope and Bardaisan, both pre-Nicene heresiarchs, whose followers lived on in the region in and around Harran, perhaps even surviving until Theodore’s day. The adherents of each of these rival religions gives a short speech in which they explain what they believe about the nature of God, right and wrong, and future reward and punishment. Each then invites Theodore to join their religion. Last of all, Theodore is approached by some Muslims. They address him with the following words: Don’t listen to any of those you just met! They’re just a bunch of infidels who associate partners with God. The only true religion is Islam, which God sent to all people through his prophet Muhammad, who summons you to worship God alone and to associate nothing with him. He has charged you with the permitted and the doing of good and forbade you from the forbidden and the doing of evil. He has promised to raise the dead. For those who do good, the reward is Paradise. From underneath it, there will flow forth rivers of water, milk, honey, and wine—a delight for those who drink. In it, for pleasure, there will be women with black eyes, ones that neither jinn nor men have touched, as well as whatever other good things a person desires, in castles of emerald, ruby, gold, and silver, and so on, forever and ever. For those

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who do evil, he has promised Hell, the fires of which are not extinguished. 15

Nine such speeches are given in total: the adherents of each religion explaining what they believe and declaring the others to be wrong, and then inviting Theodore to join their faith. After meeting the adherents of so many religions, Theodore—in the person of the feral child—is perplexed. He begins to compare the points on which these various religions agree. He discovers that all believe in a deity of some sort, that some acts are permitted by this deity while others are forbidden, and that there is some sort of reward and punishment. But, he then notes, all of them disagree as to the nature of this deity, what is permitted and forbidden, and what the reward and punishment will be like—or even whether it will take place in this world or the next. How, then, is he to adjudicate between the claims of these rival religions, to determine which is the true religion? For he is convinced that one of them must be the true religion, insofar as God is “generous and kind” 16 and would not have left the world without a testimony as to what he is like, what he requires of human beings, and how he will reward and punish them. Theodore goes on to illustrate his problem with a lengthy parable about a hidden king and his son. 17 (A full translation of this parable can be found below.) This king is “hidden and veiled, whom no one had ever seen, apart from his closest and most intimate friends.” 18 Not even his own son had seen his father, the king. One day, this king dispatches his son to see to certain matters in a distant country. To ensure his son’s health, he also appoints a wise physician to accompany his son. On arrival in this distant land, the son disregards the physician’s advice, adopts bad habits, and falls gravely ill. When word of this Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 5–6. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 6. 17 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 6–9. 18 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 6. 15 16

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reaches the king, he writes his son a letter, wherein he describes himself, forbids his son from the bad habits that have caused his illness, and prescribes for him a certain medicine that will enable him to regain his health. The king then entrusts the letter to a messenger whom he dispatches to his son. On learning of the plight of the king’s son, enemies of the king try to foil his efforts to help his son. They each forge a letter of their own, attributing it to the king, but with false descriptions of the king, the misidentification of the habits that have led to the son’s illness, and prescriptions for false medicines. These letters they hand over to messengers, whom they dispatch to the distant country where the king’s son lies ill. The messengers travel with haste and overtake the real messenger, just as he is arriving to the king’s son. Confronted by so many messengers claiming to come from the king, the son is unable to discern which is the true messenger and which is the real letter from his father. On reading their letters, the king’s son found that all disagreed with one another—about the description of the king, about what his father had commanded and forbade, and even about the medicines…. As for the true messenger, he was right there among them, declaring [the other messengers] liars and being declared by them to be a liar. He had become as one of them, with nothing to set him apart. 19

It is the wise physician who solves the son’s dilemma, by contriving a method for identifying which is the true messenger. He first compares the son’s appearance to the descriptions of the king found in the various letters, finding that only one describes a king who resembles the son. That same letter describes the actual habits that have led to the son’s illness, unlike the other letters. And finally, the physician discovers, that same letter prescribes a medicine able to restore the son’s health, while the

19

Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 7.

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others prescribe poisons. Thus it is that the wise physician identifies the true messenger. Interpreting the parable for his readers, Theodore explains that the hidden king is God; the son who has fallen ill is Adam and his progeny; the wise physician is the mind that God has given to human beings; the king’s messenger and letter are the prophets and scriptures that God has sent to fallen humanity; the king’s enemies are the devils; the false messengers and false letters are the false religions these devils have contrived to lead humanity astray. “We must now act like the wise physician,” Theodore exhorts his readers: We must lay the books [of scripture] to one side and inquire of the mind, how, from the likeness of human nature, we might know God’s attributes, which our senses do not see and our minds do not comprehend. We must then inquire how this nature can teach us about what is good and what is evil, about what is commendable and what is reprehensible, and finally, how it can teach us about the eternal reward with which God blesses it and about its punishment and eternal wretchedness. 20

When once he has accomplished this, Theodore continues, he will then be able to compare the various religions he first encountered on his descent from the mountain, to determine which represents the true revelation of God. In effect, Theodore proposes to reason from an analysis of human nature to that of God’s nature, such that once he has understood what human nature is like, he can then identify what its Creator is like.

ABŪ QURRAH ON DISCERNING THE TRUE RELIGION

Theodore first turns to the question of God’s existence and nature. 21 As Theodore develops his thoughts in what follows, his argument will hinge on the nature of the relationship between 20 21

Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 9. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 9–13.

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God and his image in human beings. While human beings are similar to God and share his attributes, he explains, God also “transcends and is contrary” to such human attributes. 22 For instance, while human beings exist, their existence is bounded by time. They come into existence; they pass out of existence. God’s existence, however, “transcends and is contrary” to human existence, being without beginning or end. This relationship between the human and divine attributes Theodore compares to the relationship between an image in a mirror and the real object of which the image is a reflection. Theodore starts by asking what one can learn from human nature about the nature of God himself. From human nature’s existence, he infers that God exists. Likewise, from human nature being living and having knowledge, he infers that God is alive and has knowledge. The same holds for the other virtues of human nature: seeing and hearing; strength; goodness and generosity; righteousness; patience, mercy, and forbearance; justice. “Because Adam is thus we know that God is thus. Nonetheless, in these attributes, too, God transcends and is contrary to Adam.” 23 The best that may be found in human beings thus reflects an origin in God, who has those same attributes, but perfectly. Having established these general attributes of God, Theodore next turns to the question of the Trinity, and argues that the triune nature of God is likewise reflected in human nature. It was from Adam that Eve “proceeded” (in that she was made from Adam’s rib), and over her Adam exercised headship. Likewise, Adam begot children, and over those children he exercised headship. Had not Adam been head over Eve and his children, his life would have been incomplete. It was not enough for him to be head over things unlike himself, over “ticks, pigs, scarabs, and worms,” 24 for instance. Rather, to be fully human, Adam had to be head over things that partook of his own nature. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 9–10. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 11. 24 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 12. 22 23

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Likewise, Theodore continues, God cannot be head only of creatures. He must exercise headship over those who share his nature. And thus, he reasons, God, like Adam, must have begotten the Son and must have caused the Holy Spirit to proceed. But again, insofar as God’s attributes transcend and are contrary to human attributes, these divine acts of begetting and procession took place outside of time. Similarly, while there may be disagreements between Adam, Eve, and his children, this cannot be so with God, and thus, the Son and the Holy Spirit “agree with [the Father] in nature, will, eternity, and desire.” 25 In the present treatise, it is almost as if Theodore is presenting these arguments regarding the Trinity in outline format. While the overall structure of the arguments is clear, Theodore leaves it to his readers to fill in many of the details. Fortunately, these same arguments are developed at greater length in his other works: in particular, in works where he engages Jewish and Muslim interlocutors on the topic of the existence of the Son. 26 In his On Our Salvation, for instance, Theodore asks: 27 if God exercises dominion, over what does he exercise it? One cannot say that God’s dominion is only over creatures. To say this would entail that he did not have dominion before he created the world. It would also mean that his dominion is derived from creatures, and that God did not create the world out of his goodness, but due to his need for someone over whom he might exercise dominion. Likewise, he continues, were God’s dominion only over creatures, it would be the lowest form of dominion, with which not even a human being would be content. It would be as if a person were “to dominate ants or asses, or other beasts.” 28 And yet, the distance between human beings and such Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 12. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 140–142 (On Our Salvation), 162–163 (On the Method of the Knowledge of God), 232–233 (Greek Fragments). 27 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 140. 28 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 140. 25 26

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lowly creatures is less than the distance between God and creatures. “When compared to us, ants, asses, and lesser entities, however base, are not more base than the whole of creation compared to God’s exalted nature and essence.” 29 God surpasses such created beings just as a person surpasses a reflection in a mirror; or as a person, a picture of that person; or as a body, the shadow of that body. If, then, God cannot exercise dominion over created beings, it follows that his dominion must be over something like himself. To suggest otherwise would be as if someone were to approach a worldly king and hail him as the ruler of asses—such temerity would earn the gravest of penalties. “There is no escape. You must attribute to God a dominion that precedes creation and is eternal. You are compelled to this conclusion by the facts.” 30 How, then, does God exercise this dominion over something like himself? It cannot be by force, Theodore continues, as this would suggest that the dominated is weak. Moreover, a dominion by force would entail that God himself is weak, insofar as it has been acknowledged that the dominating and the dominated are equals. Neither can God exercise this dominion without the willing consent of the dominated, as this would make God’s dominion dependent on the dominated, who might withdraw his consent. God’s dominion over the dominated can only be “by nature,” 31 Theodore concludes. This is a dominion that is not compelled, can never cease, entails no misgivings on the part of the dominated, but is characterized by love between the dominating and the dominated, and their mutual joy in the relationship. There are those who would deny that God has one like himself over whom he exercises dominion, Theodore continues. 32 They are averse to saying that God begets, for fear that Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 140. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 141. 31 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 141–142. 32 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 142–144. 29 30

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this would entail predicating dishonorable things of God. Such a denial in fact deprives God “of a power greater than his power to create things from nothing.” 33 Similarly, he argues, those who deny that God has a Son do so thinking that God is “too lazy or too weak” 34 to endure the act of begetting, or that he refuses to do so out of an envy for one who will be like himself, or that he refrains from doing so because he does not know he has the ability. All such objections, Theodore concludes, are “simply too loathsome to be said of God and must be rejected.” 35 One must not think that God is prior to this one like himself over whom he exercises dominion, Theodore continues. While a human father precedes his son in time, it is not so with God. There was never a time when God was unable to beget one like himself, nor when he did not know that he was able to beget one like himself, nor when he did not will to beget one like himself. Indeed, “between his act of will and what he wanted, there was not even a fraction of a second.” 36 It is perhaps no surprise to hear here echoes of the Arian conflict. Indeed, elsewhere Theodore goes so far as to suggest that Muhammad himself had learned to reject the Son from a teacher who was an Arian. 37 Abū Qurrah on the Nature of Right and Wrong

Having established that God exists and is a Trinity of persons, Theodore next turns his attention to the second matter about which the religions disagree: the nature of right and wrong. 38 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 144. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 162. 35 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 162. 36 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 163. 37 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 225: “The Saracens are intent and zealous to deny the divinity of the Word of God…. eager to show that he is neither God nor Son of God. Indeed, it was only because their false prophet was a disciple of an Arian that he gave them this godless and impious teaching.” 38 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 13–15. 33 34

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Here, too, he believes that an introspective analysis of human nature can establish what is truly right and what is truly wrong. He begins by considering what sorts of actions we as human beings “instinctively” dislike and regard as wrong when they are done to us: when someone strikes us, for instance, reviles us, misleads us, “commits a loathsome act with our women folk,” 39 exercises compulsion against us, and so forth. All such things we “instinctively dislike” and recognize as reprehensible. Based on a comparison of all such acts, he continues, what is wrong can be defined as doing to one’s neighbor “something harmful that you would dislike him to do to you,” which he regards as a form of covetousness. 40 Theodore next turns to the kinds of actions we as human beings “instinctively” recognize as “good, proper, righteous, and permitted.” 41 Under this heading, he includes being treated with respect and generosity, being helped when we are in need, and being forgiven when we do wrong. Such actions can be defined as follows: doing to your neighbor such deeds “as you would like him to do to you.” 42 All such actions have as their foundation, he continues, that those who do them free themselves from covetousness, that is, from desire for the world and for what the world contains. All such actions also have “love” as their objective, that is, the preferring of others to one’s own self. To behave with love towards one’s neighbors—indeed, towards the whole of humanity—is to behave in a way that mirrors the nature of divine love. Such love is like: … the love of a king for an only begotten son born to him in his old age. He wishes him to inherit his kingdom…. He is unable to harm or make him sad in any way. Rather, for him he would sacrifice himself, his kingdom, and what he possesses. It is the same with those who are perfectly virtuous— Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 14. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 14. 41 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 14. 42 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 14. 39 40

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except that their love is directed toward all people. If we behave in this manner we are in the likeness of God. 43

God desires nothing for himself. He does not wish to see any person harmed or saddened. He bears with those who do him evil. In his generosity and kindness, he created the world and everything in it to serve the needs of humanity as a whole, not preferring the righteous to the unrighteous, but lavishing goodness on all. And thus, when human beings behave similarly, their behavior reflects God’s behavior. “This,” Theodore concludes, “is among the things our nature teaches us about what is forbidden and permitted in this world.” 44 Abū Qurrah on the Nature of Reward and Punishment

Theodore next turns to the third matter about which the various religions disagree—namely, the nature of reward and punishment. 45 Here, too, he believes that human nature can teach us how its Creator will reward and punish people in the next world. Theodore begins by analyzing the nature of felicity and wretchedness in this world, from which he will then infer the nature of felicity and wretchedness in the next world. Human beings, he argues, live lives characterized by impermanence and dependence. Without the support of external objects, their lives cease. Without food, water, air, clothing, and shelter, they die. This is why God implanted in human beings a desire for such external objects, and created the external objects to meet those needs. If the need exists, the desire exists, as also what is required to fulfill that desire—this follows from God being Creator and generous. Felicity in this world, he thus concludes, consists in the fulfillment of one’s desires for such external objects, while wretchedness consists in their non-fulfillment.

Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 14. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 15. 45 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 15–18. 43 44

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Even as we can recognize the desires that God has implanted in our natures and the objects God has created to fulfill these desires, Theodore continues, we can also see that there are “yet other desires implanted in our nature” 46—desires which cannot be fulfilled by the objects of this world. Human beings desire to live forever. They yearn for bodies that cannot be touched by decay, disease, or injury. They long to see all and know all, to have perfect knowledge of what is, as well as of what is permitted and forbidden. They hunger for a boundless ability to repulse what is evil and do what is good. They thirst after a wealth that does not fail, so as to be able to distribute it to all. “Each of us desires to be merciful and gentle, pure, good, and just, and—the summit of every virtue—to love all and be loved by all.” 47 No such desires can be satisfied by the things of this world. Instead, he concludes, they can only be fulfilled by God himself, who is the object of all such desires. Insofar as we know that God is generous, Theodore continues, we can be certain that God will grant himself to us, so that we come to dwell in him, participate in his nature, and enjoy him forever, ourselves becoming gods. In a word, “the summit of our nature’s felicity is that we become gods and enjoy God.” 48 This is not to say that our created human nature will be changed so as to become the divine nature. God alone is uncreated, and the created cannot become uncreated. Rather, while remaining human, we shall be infused by the divine nature. It is as when a blacksmith heats a piece of iron in the fire. The iron remains iron, but it comes to be infused with fire, such that it can perform acts characteristic of fire, being now able to burn, to give off light, and to emit heat. “So also, our nature without change contains and encompasses God’s nature.” 49 Our deepest longings, therefore—those which are incapable of fulfillment in this Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 16. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 16. 48 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 17. 49 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 17. 46 47

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world—have God himself as their object and receive their fulfillment only in God himself. If such theosis is our future reward, being deprived of God will constitute our future punishment. “It is this that our nature teaches us.” 50 So, Which Religion Is True?

Now that Theodore has established from his own nature that God exists and is triune, that all ethics can be reduced to the love of God and the love of neighbor, and that theosis is our future reward, he returns to the various religions he encountered when he descended from the mountain. 51 “If we find one that agrees with what our own nature has taught us, we shall know for certain that it is true, that it is from God, and that through it alone God is to be worshipped.” 52 In effect, Theodore can now play the role of the wise physician in his parable of the hidden king, to determine which of the religions of the early medieval Near East was indeed revealed by God. Firstly, Theodore argues, Christianity alone proclaims that God is a Trinity, which is “exactly what our own nature taught us, as a result of its being in the likeness of God.” 53 As for the other religions, some worship the stars; others teach that there are two gods (one good and one evil); others posit three gods (one just, one good, and one wicked); yet others say that there are five gods. As for Islam, while it recognizes just one God, its God is “one, eternal, who did not beget and was not begotten,” 54 he continues, citing sūra 112 of the Qur’ān. And thus, he concludes, Christianity alone is true, insofar as it “offers us what our own nature taught us.” Secondly, regarding the permitted and the forbidden, Theodore argues that Christianity alone evinces an ethic that “acLamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 18. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 18–23. 52 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 18. 53 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 18. 54 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 19. 50 51

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cords with what our own nature has taught us about refraining from evil and doing good.” 55 Ready to hand is the Golden Rule (Matt 7:12), which Theodore cites in the following form: “Behold, what you do not like other people to do to you, do not do it to them, and what you like other people to do to you, do it to them.” 56 This overarching moral principle, he continues, can be subdivided into four basic rules for ethical conduct, all of which he illustrates with extensive citations from the gospels: the rejection of the things of the world, the love of God above the world, the love of humanity above the world, and the need to imitate God by foregoing retaliation, by forgiving, and by rewarding evil with good. Thus, he concludes, “the gospel … commands us to do the same perfect good that our nature teaches.” 57 As for the other religions Theodore encountered on his descent from the mountain, they encourage their followers to pursue worldly goods, he argues—even pandering to the desire for them. They command not love of God and neighbor, but vengeance and revenge. “Indeed, they were not satisfied with vengeance, but went even further. They abuse but do not accept abuse, and if abused, they strike, and if struck, they kill.” 58 Their followers take up the sword against those who have not wronged them, killing or seizing them as spoils. “All the [other] religions consider this acceptable.” 59 Christianity alone forbids such behavior. While Theodore may here have Islam in mind, elsewhere in his works he uses similar language to describe the manner in which religions are normally propagated. In his treatise That Christianity is from God, for instance, Theodore contrasts the manner of Christianity’s spread with that of all other religions. The Jews, he says, are “the most wretched and odious nation in the world,” and the apostles were “the Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 19. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 19. 57 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 20. 58 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 20. 59 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 20. 55 56

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most despised and lowly” 60 of that nation. The apostles had no rank or nobility. They were impoverished, having “neither wealth nor dwelling nor place of refuge, neither two pieces of clothing nor food for two days, not even a bag.” 61 They had no political or military authority. They possessed no worldly wisdom. Moreover, the religion to which the apostles summoned was both “new and strange.” 62 Doctrines such as the Trinity, the incarnation, the crucifixion, and the resurrection were absurd and unacceptable to both the wise and the vulgar. Furthermore, this religion refused to cater to physical desires, but instead demanded the renunciation of “the world, its many women, and its delights.” 63 It obliged its adherents to undertake harsh fasts, to forgo marriage, concubinage, and adultery, to wear simple clothes, and to sleep on mats on the ground. It required its followers to distribute their wealth and possessions to the poor, to wander the deserts and to sleep in caves. It demanded of them that they bear insults patiently, forgive their enemies, bless when cursed, and love when hated. It is not so with Theodore’s interlocutors in this treatise: “You insult, but cannot bear insults. You strike, but will not be struck. Indeed, if you are insulted, you strike, and if you are struck, you kill.” 64 How, then, were men of such low station as the apostles able to convince people to accept Christian doctrine and discipline? To Theodore’s mind, this could only have happened if the earliest spread of Christianity had been attested by signs and wonders. In this, he argues, Christianity differs from all other religions, which were propagated through an appeal to baser motives. Some such religions were spread by offering converts access to power and wealth; others, because their founder pandered to the appetite. Some were devised by the clever, and thus Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 43. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 43. 62 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 43. 63 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 43. 64 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 45. 60 61

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attracted the wise as converts, while others preached doctrines that were intellectually agreeable to the minds of the common people. But above all, it was through compulsion and the threat of force that religions spread. 65 Theodore concludes, with language remarkably similar to the present treatise: … is it any wonder that people submit to one who goes and summons to a religion if at the same time he strikes with the sword those who do not follow it and exalts those who do, pandering to them with the comforts of this world, its glories and its wealth, providing generously for their appetites for it and its delights and pleasures? 66

Of the various religions of the early medieval Near East discussed in the introduction to the present text, all of them—like Christianity—were living as religious minorities under Islamic rule, and thus in no position to exercise compulsion. The force of Theodore’s argument turns not on the situation at present, but on how each of these religions was initially propagated. In this regard, the true comparison to his mind is between the age of the apostles and such events as the Israelite conquest of Canaan under Joshua or the Islamic conquest of the Near East under the first caliphs. In effect, says Theodore, all religions other than Christianity were first spread in a manner no different from how Nebuchadnezzar propagated the worship of his idol of gold, as described in the book of Daniel. 67 Thirdly, Theodore turns to the final thing our nature has taught us, namely, that our future reward is to be united with God through the process of theosis. Here, too, he finds that the gospel alone accords with what our nature teaches. Accordingly, just as our own nature taught us that it desires God, yearns to see him and to dwell in him, and to become,

Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 41–42. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 42. 67 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 42. 65 66

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like him, a god, enjoying his eternal life and his unceasing blessing, so too the gospel has taught and promised. 68

This he illustrates with a lengthy series of quotations from the gospels, 69 mostly from John, all of which establish that “the dwelling place of the righteous is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in heaven, while the dwelling place of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is also the righteous, and they are one with him in heaven.” 70 So, too, he continues, the gospels teach that the future life does not consist of eating, drinking, and sexual relations. Such pleasures are unworthy of the highest aspirations of human beings, but are instead physical pleasures shared with “asses, pigs, and other animals.” 71 In the next life, we shall not give or be given in marriage. Instead, like angels of God, [we] will arise together and become the children of God, having become children of the resurrection and gods with him in eternal life—not in nature, but through the communion of life, according to the example we gave above: the piece of iron that becomes fire without destroying its nature or changing from it. 72

As for the other religions, Theodore continues, they describe the future state differently. “All they can think about is the earth, food and drink, fornication and the pleasures of the body. They know nothing else. Like beasts, it is for this alone that their souls yearn and it is of this alone that they think.” 73 Theodore’s exposition here is brief, but his meaning can be illustrated by how he described the messages of the various religions he encountered when he first descended from the mountain. The pagans of Harran, for instance, are described as believing that reLamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 22. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 21. 70 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 22. 71 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 22. 72 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 23. 73 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 23. 68 69

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ward consists solely of good luck and prosperity in this world, with punishment being its opposite. 74 Similarly, the Samaritans are said to believe that the ultimate reward is a pleasant life in this world, with no eternal life and no resurrection, while the highest hope of the Jews is a resurrected life to be lived in this world, in the land of Palestine, from whence they shall rule over all nations. 75 Muslims, in much the same fashion, are presented as believing that, following the resurrection, they shall be gathered to Paradise, there to live lives characterized by physical pleasures. 76 Addressing Potential Objections

Before finishing the treatise, Theodore is required to dispose of a potential objection—an objection that could equally have been raised by a Muslim or Jewish interlocutor as by a fellow Christian. 77 Theodore has characterized the one true religion and distinguished it from the false religions. The latter reject the Trinity, are committed to the requital of wrongdoing, and place their hope in physical rewards, either in this world or in the next. What, then, does he say about the religion of ancient Israel? It would seem that Theodore must reject Moses and deny that he was sent by God, the interlocutor suggests—and not just Moses, but the other prophets of ancient Israel as well. It would appear to follow from Theodore’s logic that the religion of ancient Israel was both defective and contrary to what our nature teaches. In effect, the logic that drives Theodore’s rejection of Islam and the other religions of the early medieval Near East also seems to necessitate his rejection of ancient Israelite religion. The objection is apropos, and rightly appreciates the force of Theodore’s argument. How he answers it is surprising. Theodore does not seek to show that intimations of the Trinity can be Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 1. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 2–3. 76 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 6. 77 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 23–25. 74 75

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found in the Hebrew Bible, or that the gospel’s ethic is somehow contained inchoately in it, or that its notions of the afterlife are anything other than what they obviously seem to be, viz. directly contrary to the hope of Christianity. Instead, and most surprisingly, he accepts his interlocutor’s conclusion in its entirety. Based on what we learn from our nature, says Theodore, we are forced to conclude that Moses and the other prophets of ancient Israel were not true prophets. Indeed, “with regard to reason, we do not think that it should be accepted that Moses was from God. The same holds for what the other prophets brought”—and this, because their message is “contrary to what our nature teaches.” 78 That said, he continues, his purpose in the present treatise has been “to confirm our religion by reason, not by scripture.” 79 If the religion of ancient Israel cannot be confirmed by reason, it can be confirmed by scripture. Insofar as we know that the gospel is divinely revealed, he reasons, we must accept everything in it, and the gospel tells us that Moses and the prophets were indeed sent by God. Why, then, did God decide to reveal a defective religion to ancient Israel? Why did he hide the Trinity from the Israelites and reveal only the Father? Why did he teach a defective understanding of right and wrong? Why did he make no mention of theosis? For answers to these questions, Theodore argues, we must turn to the gospel, which teaches us that it was the weakness of the Israelites which led God to reveal to them this defective religion. The Israelites were mired in the errors of polytheism, and God could thus not reveal his real nature to them. At most, he could hope to train them up in monotheism, to prepare them for that future time when he would be able to reveal the existence of the Son and the Holy Spirit. A similar logic holds with regard to the permitted and the forbidden. Because the Israelites were addicted to the ways of the Gentiles, the most that God could hope to do was to teach them what they were not 78 79

Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 23. Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 23.

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supposed to do. Only once they had received this initial training, in the fullness of time was he able to teach them what they were supposed to do. In much the same fashion, regarding reward and punishment, God was not able to reveal humanity’s true final end. Because the Israelites were immersed in worldly desires and sought only immediate physical gratification, the most that God could do was to lead them on with the promise of the land of Palestine. An understanding of their true end would have to await the coming of the gospel. It is thus, Theodore concludes, that one must believe in Moses, notwithstanding the defects in what he brought. “If not for the gospel, however, we would not believe that Moses is from God. Indeed, on the basis of reason, we would reject him most earnestly.” 80 While Theodore accepts that the prophets of ancient Israel spoke beforehand of the events of Christ’s life, those prophecies do not confirm the gospel. Rather, turning the traditional argument from prophecy on its head, Theodore concludes that it is the gospel and Christ that confirm Moses. 81 “In short, we do not believe in Christ and his mission through the books of the prophets. Rather, we believe that they are prophets, first, because Christ called them prophets, and secondly, because we see his deeds described in their books.” 82 And with that, Theodore draws his treatise to an abrupt conclusion.

CONCLUSION

While the quest for feral children had largely ceased by the end of the nineteenth century, the questions occasioned by the feral child continued to be asked in different forms, not least by the founders of the discipline of comparative religion. In the period of euphoria that followed the Darwinian revolution—but preceded its apotheosis in the death camps of National Socialism— Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 24. Theodore develops this argument at greater length in his treatise Against the Jews (Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 36–39). 82 Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 25. 80 81

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comparativists like E. B. Taylor, Max Müller, Andrew Lang, and James Frazer believed that the world still held groups of human beings existing at or near the state of nature, human but barely so, having only just crossed the line separating primates and modern humans. 83 Everywhere they looked, they found such primitives: tribes of hunter-gatherers frozen in time, survivals of an earlier age, like insects preserved in amber. Comparativists eagerly read the travelers’ accounts of these primitive tribesmen and their religions, and to such prehistoric survivals they applied the comparative methods that they had learned from evolutionary biologists, in hopes of discovering the origin of human religion more broadly: the original religion of our species, that from which all others had evolved through descent with modification. The quest for this original, natural religion was not a purely academic pursuit. Most early comparativists also had theological interests. Often with a view toward reforming Christianity or crafting a global theology, they were convinced that the discovery of our species’ natural religion would allow them to subject contemporary religions to the test of naturalness: to determine which accorded more with nature, and which did not. Such questions consumed the attention of comparativists until the Second World War, only to be set aside as the ranking of human groups on an evolutionary scale fell into disrepute, and as researchers discovered that the cultures of hunter-gatherers were not primitive survivals, but adaptations as complex as those that characterized modern, industrialized nations. Feral children and primitive tribesmen once offered researchers, as they believed, a hesitant glimpse into the true nature of humanity, before it had fallen under the refining and corrupting influences of culture. When once one understood this true nature, one could then determine which cultural practices accord with that nature, and which do not. In short, feral children and primitive tribesmen could be used as a tool to judge Sharpe, Comparative Religion, esp. chaps. 1–3; Masuzawa, In Search; Preus, Explaining Religion.

83

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the naturalness of cultural practices—not least, religious traditions. The problem Theodore set himself to solve in his Theologus Autodidactus is similar. In response to the new context ushered in by the expansion of Islam, he sought a method that would allow him to adjudicate between the irreconcilable truth claims of the various religions of the early medieval Near East. Insofar as these religions shared no common sources on the basis of which one might argue, he turned to the literary device of the feral child, through which he endeavored to understand the contours of human nature in its primitive simplicity, and in turn to deduce the outlines of a natural religion—the religion that most nearly accords with our own nature. With this as his standard, he was then in a position to evaluate the naturalness of the competing religions, all of which he found to be essentially unnatural, excepting Christianity. It alone, Theodore argued, has an understanding of God that accords with our nature: that he is a triad of coeternal persons in loving harmony with one another. Similarly, Christianity alone has a moral vision in harmony with what our nature teaches, wherein one must reject the things of this world, love God and all of humanity, and imitate God’s love by forgiving rather than retaliating. So too, Christianity alone understands the final end of human beings in a manner congruent with what our nature teaches, such that human beings were created to “become gods and enjoy God” through the process of theosis. These were the lessons that Theodore, in the person of the feral child, believed he could derive from an analysis of human nature.

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A TRANSLATION OF ABŪ QURRAH’S “PARABLE OF THE HIDDEN KING” 84

After meeting all these people, 85 I began to reflect on what each had said and realized that all of them both agreed and disagreed about three things. As for what they agreed on, each claims to have a god, to have something permitted and forbidden, and to have a reward and a punishment—with one or two exceptions. As for what they disagreed on, they disagree with one another as to the attributes of their gods, as to what is permitted and forbidden, and as to what the reward and the punishment will be. Again, I reflected: Because God is kind and generous, when he saw his creation deviating from the true worship, he would have sent them messengers and a book, both in order to show them the true worship and to return them to it from their sins. And yet, there are many messengers and many books, and they disagree with one another! One of two things must be the case: either not even one of these messengers has come from God, or there is among them just one true messenger. Because of what we know about God’s generosity and about how he cares for his creation, the latter must be the case. But how to recognize this one true messenger? It was then that I realized that my situation was like that of a king’s son, one with a father who was hidden and veiled, whom no one had ever seen, apart from his closest and most intimate friends. When a need arose in a certain country, he sent his young son to take care of it. To protect him from disease, he also sent one of his physicians, whom he appointed his son’s wazir. (Neither the son nor the physician had ever seen the king.) The youth went to that land, where he neglected the physician and fell gravely ill. On learning of this, the father’s love Reprinted from Lamoreaux, Abū Qurrah, 6–9 (corresponding to Dick, ed., Abuqurra, 211–218), but omitting footnotes. 85 That is, the adherents of the various religions he encountered on his descent from the mountain. 84

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for his son would let him neither leave him in this state nor neglect him. He thus wrote his son a letter. In it, he spoke of three matters. First, he described himself. Secondly, he described for the youth his disease and what habits had brought it about, forbidding him also from continuing to practice them. Thirdly, he described for him a medicine and how it would heal him, as well as how to conduct himself in the future in order to enjoy health and ceaseless felicity, that no illness might befall him ever again. He also ordered him to continue drinking that medicine even after he had regained his health. The king then summoned one of his messengers and gave him the letter, ordering him to travel to his son and deliver it. The messenger took the letter and set off to take it to the youth. The king had many enemies, and there were many people who envied him. Because of his might, however, there was no way for them to harm him. When they learned that the king’s son had taken ill, that his father was disturbed by this, and that he had thus sent his son a messenger and a letter—when they learned of this, I say, in that they may have found an opportunity to hurt the king through his son, each of them quickly got ready a messenger and forged a letter in the king’s name. In these letters, they described the king, but falsely, and forbade the king’s son from what is helpful while at the same time ordering him to do what is harmful. They also sent him a medicine, which would kill him if he drank it. Their messengers took the letters and began their journey, overtaking the king’s true messenger before he could deliver his letter. Having arrived together at the residence of the king’s son, the messengers delivered their letters. On reading their letters, the king’s son found that all disagreed with one another—about the description of the king, about what his father had commanded and forbade, and even about the medicines. He thus summoned them. When they had come into his presence, one began by saying, “I’m the king’s messenger, and his is the letter I delivered.” Another said, “He’s a liar. He’s not the king’s messenger. I’m his messenger, and his is the letter I delivered.” Another said, “They’re both liars. I’m the king’s messenger.” They thus began to declare one another and all the others to be liars,

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while at the same time affirming themselves to be the true messengers. As for the true messenger, he was right there among them, declaring them liars and being declared by them to be a liar. He had become as one of them, with nothing to set him apart. The king’s son was confused, not knowing whom to believe. The physician then said to him, “Send them away for now. I’ll find a way to distinguish among them. After all, I’m a physician and I understand these matters, which fall within the purview of my profession. Observe that their letters are at variance with one another. Among these letters, there can be only one from the king—if, indeed, there is even one. All their letters touch on three matters: first, the king’s description to you of himself; secondly, his declaration to you of the habits that made you ill, his forbidding you from them, and his guiding you to a state that will make you healthy; and thirdly, the medicine that will give you health and ease in a life forever untouched by illness. As I said, I’m a physician and I too understand the habits that cause illness and the states that lead to health. Further, I know your father’s attributes from your own likeness, for you are his son— even though I’ve never seen him. Come, let’s first examine these messengers’ medicines, what the king forbids and commands you in his letters, and his description of himself. If someone has a medicine that does good constantly; if there is in someone’s letter a description of the habits that I know lead to illness and these he forbids you, while at the same time he commands you to do what leads to health; if there is in it a description of your father that, on comparison, is found to agree with your likeness—if all this is true, I say, he must be the true messenger of your father. Him we shall accept; all who disagree with him we shall reject.” They collected the medicines, and the physician examined them. All were contrary to one another. All also forbade the king’s son from doing what was beneficial, while at the same time commanding him to do what leads to illness—with one exception. There was one letter in which there was a beneficial medicine. It was forbidding him from what would make him sick and commanding him to do what would make him healthy.

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The same held for the king’s description of himself. The physician compared all the descriptions to the youth’s attributes. And again, there was only one with a description that resembled him, and it was in the same letter that had given the true description of his illness and of the beneficial medicine. He thus took that letter and the medicine, and, putting his trust in it, he acted accordingly. He also summoned the one who brought it and declared him the true messenger of the king. The others he declared liars and drove away harshly. The hidden king is God. May he be blessed and exalted! His son is Adam and his seed, whom God created. The physician is the mind, which God gave to Adam. By it, he is to recognize God. By it, he is to recognize and do what is right, while at the same time recognizing what is wrong and abstaining from it. The son’s neglect of the physician and his falling ill is Adam’s neglect of the mind, his falling into sin, his going forth from paradise to the earth, and his causing the mind to incline to the life of this world, a life like that of the beasts. The king’s sending him a messenger represents God’s sending, in truth, a messenger and a book to his creation. In this book, he gives them a true description of himself, according to which he is to be worshipped. In it, he forbids them from every form of evil and insolence and commands them to do good in this world. In it, he proclaims for those who do good their blessedness in the next world, as well as unending comfort, while for evildoers he promises hell, the fire of which is not extinguished. This is the one true religion. As for the king’s enemies, those who wanted to harm the king through his son, those who prepared messengers and letters and sent them so as to destroy him, these are the devils, who have done the same thing. The messenger of God and his true book have come into the world. Against him, each of those devils gathered, each declaring the others to be liars and summoning humanity to himself. Among them was the true messenger, and he, till now, was as one of them, unrecognized. These messengers are those I described above, those who met me one after another when I descended from the mountain, each inviting me to join him—namely, the Hanifs, Magians, Samaritans, Jews, Christians, Manicheans, Marcionites, and Bardai-

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sanites. (In the real world, there are yet other religions and still more disagreement. We, however, have restricted ourselves to the aforementioned eight or nine and explained what each proclaims with regard to the attributes of God, the permitted and forbidden, and reward and punishment.) We must now act like the wise physician. We must lay the books to one side and inquire of the mind, how, from the likeness of human nature, we might know God’s attributes, which our senses do not see and our minds do not comprehend. We must then inquire how this nature can teach us about what is good and what is evil, about what is commendable and what is reprehensible, and finally, how it can teach us about the eternal reward with which God blesses it and about its punishment and eternal wretchedness. When we have discussed and come to understand these subjects, we shall compare those books that are in our possession. If we find a book with these things in it, we shall know that it is from God. That book we shall confess and accept; every other book we shall reject.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Attar, Samar. The Vital Roots of European Enlightenment: Ibn Tufayl’s Influence on Modern Western Thought. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2007. Candland, Douglas K. Feral Children and Clever Animals: Reflections on Human Nature. New York: Oxford University Press, 1993. Chwolsohn, Daniel. Die Ssabier und der Ssabismus. 2 vols. St. Petersburg: Buchdruckerei der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1856. Conrad, Lawrence I., ed. The World of Ibn Ṭufayl: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on Ḥayy Ibn Yaqẓān. Leiden: Brill, 1996. Dennis, Wayne. “The Significance of Feral Man.” American Journal of Psychology 54 (1941): 425–432.

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Dick, Ignace, ed. Théodore Abuqurra: Traité de l’existence du Créateur et de la vraie religion. Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale, 1982. Douthwaite, Julia V. The Wild Girl, Natural Man, and the Monster: Dangerous Experiments in the Age of Enlightenment. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. Fancy, Nahyan. Science and Religion in Mamluk Egypt: Ibn alNafis, Pulmonary Transit and Bodily Resurrection. London: Routledge, 2013. Frazer, James, ed. and trans. The Fasti of Ovid. Vol. 2. London: Macmillan, 1929. Goodman, Lenn E., trans. Ibn Tufayl’s Hayy Ibn Yaqẓān: A Philosophical Tale. 2nd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009. Gourevitch, Victor, trans. Jean-Jacques Rousseau: The First and Second Discourses. New York: Harper Torchbooks, 1986. Graf, Georg, trans. Des Theodor Abû Ḳurra Traktat über den Schöpfer und die wahre Religion. Münster: Aschendorff, 1913. Graf, Georg. Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur. Vol. 2. Vatican City: Biblioteca apostolica vaticana, 1947. Green, Tamara M. The City of the Moon God: Religious Traditions of Harran. Leiden: Brill, 1992. Griffith, Sidney H. The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque: Christians and Muslims in the World of Islam. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008. Griffith, Sidney H. “The Church of Jerusalem and the ‘Melkites’: The Making of an ‘Arab Orthodox’ Christian Identity in the World of Islam (750–1050 CE).” In Christians and Christianity in the Holy Land: From the Origins to the Latin Kingdom, edited by Ora Limor and Guy G. Stroumsa, 175–204. Turnhout: Brepols, 2006.

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Griffith, Sidney H. “The Monks of Palestine and the Growth of Christian Literature in Arabic.” Muslim World 78 (1988): 1– 28. Griffith, Sidney H. Theodore Abū Qurrah: The Intellectual Profile of an Arab Christian Writer of the First Abbasid Century. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University, 1992. Hjärpe, Jan. Analyse critique des traditions arabes sur les sabéens harraniens. Uppsala: Skriv Service AB, 1972. Kruk, Remke. “Neoplatonists and After: From Ibn Ṭufayl to Ibn an-Nafis.” In The Neoplatonic Tradition: Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Themes, edited by Arjo Vanderjagt and Detlev Pätzold, 75–85. Köln: Dinter, 1991. Lamoreaux, John C. “The Biography of Theodore Abū Qurrah Revisited.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 56 (2002): 25–40. Lamoreaux, John C. “Theodore Abū Qurrah and John the Deacon.” Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 42 (2001): 361– 386. Lamoreaux, John C. “Theodore Abū Qurrah.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 439–491. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Lamoreaux, John C. Theodore Abū Qurrah. Provo, UT: Brigham Young University, 2005. Masuzawa, Tomoko. In Search of Dreamtime: The Quest for the Origin of Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993. Meyerhof, Max, and Joseph Schacht, eds. and trans. The Theologus Autodidactus of Ibn al-Nafis. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969. Nash, Richard. Wild Enlightenment: The Borders of Human Identity in the Eighteenth Century. Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2003.

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Nasrallah, Joseph. Histoire du mouvement littéraire dans l’Église Melchite du Ve au XXe siècle. Vol. 2.2, (750–Xe s.). Louvain: Peeters, 1989. Newton, Michael. Savage Girls and Wild Boys: A History of Feral Children. London: Faber & Faber, 2002. Noble, Samuel, and Alexander Treiger, eds. The Orthodox Church in the Arab World, 700–1700: An Anthology of Sources. Dekalb, IL: Northern University Press, 2014. Pardon, Mireille. “Louis Guyon’s Wolf-Boy of the Ardennes: Motherhood and Magic in Early Modern France.” Sixteenth Century Journal 50 (2019): 745–763. Pingree, David. “The Ṣābians of Ḥarrān and the Classical Tradition.” International Journal of the Classical Tradition 9 (2002): 8–35. Preus, J. Samuel. Explaining Religion: Criticism and Theory from Bodin to Freud. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987. Rauber, August. Homo sapiens ferus, oder, die Zustände der verwilderten und ihre Bedeutung für Wissenschaft, Politik und Schule. Leipzig: Denicke, 1885. Samir, Samir Khalil. “Al-jadīd fī sīrat Thāwudūrus Abī Qurrah wa-āthārihi.” Al-Mashriq 73 (1999): 417–449. Sharpe, Eric J. Comparative Religion: A History. 2nd ed. La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1986. Singh, J. A. L., and Robert M. Zingg. Wolf-Children and Feral Man. New York: Harper, 1942. Sprehe, J. Timothy. “Feral Man and the Social Animal.” American Catholic Sociological Review 22 (1961): 161–167. Taylor, E. B. “Wild Men and Beast Children.” Anthropological Review 1 (1863): 21–32. Treiger, Alexander. “New Works by Theodore Abū Qurra Preserved under the Name of Thaddeus of Edessa.” Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 68 (2016): 1–51.

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Yousef, Nancy. “Savage or Solitary? The Wild Child and Rousseau’s Man of Nature.” Journal of the History of Ideas 62 (2001): 245–263. Zingg, Robert M. “Feral Man and Extreme Cases of Isolation.” American Journal of Psychology 53 (1940): 487–517.

CHAPTER 3. ʿABD AL-MASĪḤ AL-KINDĪ (D. CA. 830): AN ARAB EXPOSITION OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH MOURAD TAKAWI There are perhaps few Christian apologetical works against Islam which compare in importance or sophistication to that of the Risāla (Epistle) composed by the ninth-century Arab Christian writer ʿAbd al-Masīḥ ibn Isḥāq al-Kindī. Not unlike Origen’s apology for the Christian faith against the writings of the philosopher Celsus in the third century, Kindī’s Epistle stands out as the culmination of the whole Christian apologetic movement of the early centuries of Islam. 1 Indeed, the Epistle is considered a “‘summa’ of Islamo-Christian polemical literature”— unquestionably “the best-known Christian Arabic apology in both east and west.” 2 Here I am riffing on the prefatory words of Henry Chadwick to Origen’s Contra Celsum: “The contra Celsum stands out as the culmination of the whole apologetic movement of the second and third centuries.” Origen, Contra Celsum, ix. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. I am thankful to Jack Tannous for sharing this analogy between Origen’s Contra Celsum and Kindī’s Epistle with me in a private conversation. 2 Bottini, “Apology,” CMR, 1:589. 1

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It is therefore hardly surprising that the Epistle continues to garner scholarly attention. Three interrelated reasons can be said to fuel this scholarly interest. First and perhaps more evidently, the Epistle’s bold language and its rather comprehensive survey of key apologetic points—which at once sets it apart from other contemporary Christian Arabic apologies while also situating it as the acme of the consolidating Christian apologetic movement in the early centuries of the ever-growing Islamic Empire. Second, its relatively early witness to Islamic beliefs and practices, and particularly the question of the canonization of the Qur’ān. 3 And lastly, its unmistakable influence on Latin Christian attitudes to Islam, 4 as is evident in the works of pivotal western medieval theologians Thomas Aquinas and Ramon Lull, among others. 5 Kindī’s Epistle is set up as a Christian response to a shorter letter by a Muslim author, ʿAbdullāh ibn Ismāʿīl al-Hāshimī, with the latter extending a rather friendly invitation to the former to embrace Islam—possibly the earliest extant Muslim missionary tract specifically targeting Christians. 6 While the epistolary exchange is preserved as a single work, the two missives appear to have been written by different authors. 7 In the introThus Sidney Griffith notes, “the fact remains that [Kindī’s Epistle] is one of the earliest testimonies to the process of the Qur’an’s canonization.” Griffith, “Prophet,” 105. 4 See Samir, “La version,” 33–82. 5 Thus Emilio Platti notes, “It seems obvious that even Thomas Aquinas’ appreciation of Muhammad in his Contra Gentiles I, chapter 6, is directly or indirectly inspired by al-Kindī’s Apology.” Platti, “al-Kindī,” 66 (see also the references in p. 66 n. 2). For the influence on Ramon Lull’s later polemics, see Burman, “Influence,” 197–228. 6 Thus Georges Tartar opines that Hāshimī’s letter is the “first missionary call to Islam (awwal daʿwa tabshīriyya islāmiyya) that has reached us.” Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” ‫و‬. 7 In the following, I will use the Arabic edition by Tartar (“Ḥiwār”): pp. 2–32 for Hāshimī’s letter and pp. 34–211 for Kindī’s Epistle (my translations of the Hāshimī-Kindī exchange are based on Tartar’s edition). See 3

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ductory lines, we learn that the exchange is reported to have taken place during the reign of the ʿAbbāsid Caliph Ma’mūn (r. 813–833), which dates the authors’ activity to the early ninth century. 8 We also learn that both authors were courtiers in Baghdad and appear to have been on friendly terms. We are then informed that they both employ pen names though no specific reason is given. In fact, the two pen names appear to be pseudonyms used to distinguish Christians and Muslims genealogically—in particular Arab Christians and Arab Muslims. Thus, the Christian is named the Servant of Christ (ʿAbd al-Masīḥ), the descendent of Isaac (Ibn Isḥāq), who belongs to the Arab Christian tribe of Kinda as his surname suggests (and whom Kindī proudly describes as the “kings of the Arabs” throughout his letter), while the Muslim is named the Servant of Allāh (ʿAbdullāh, i.e., ʿAbd Allāh), the descendent of Ishmael (Ibn Ismāʿīl), who belongs to the Hāshimite clan of the of the Meccan tribe of Quraysh—the de facto ruling clan. 9 Thus, the two pen names evince the fusing of two superimposed areas of contest in the exchange: one inter-religious and the other intra-Arab. Indeed, and as will be further discussed shortly, Kindī’s apology for Christianity and his polemic against Islam are inextricably linked to his self-ascribed superior Arab status. That said, virtually nothing is known about the author of Kindī’s Epistle, with the only reliable information available being deduced from his missive, his only known work and the main subject of this present investigation. While the author’s real also the French translation of the correspondence: Tartar, Dialogue. For a list of the extant manuscripts, editions, and scholarly work, see Bottini, “Apology,” CMR, 1:585–594. See also Keating, “Manipulation,” 50 n. 1. 8 While the exact dating of the epistolary exchange remains unsettled, Bottini notes that a majority of scholars situate the writings during the reign of the Caliph al-Ma’mūn “on the basis of internal historical references”—a view to which I subscribe. For more on the dating of the Epistle, see Bottini, “Apology,” CMR, 1:587–588. 9 See Samir, “La version,” 33–34.

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name and identity remain shrouded in mystery, there is little reason to doubt the broad contours of his profile which can be conjured up from the text: 10 hailing from the Arab tribe of Kinda, the author was an Arab Christian whose life spanned the early ninth century, where he was likely a habitué of the court of the ʿAbbāsid Caliph Ma’mūn. 11 Notably, and more importantly for our purposes, the author exhibits formidable knowledge of the Islamic faith and of the Qur’ān, which at once foils his apology for the Christian faith while offering a unique witness to the intellectual culture in Baghdad in the early ʿAbbāsid period in general, and the development of Christian Arabic theology at the time in particular.

CONTEXTUALIZING KINDĪ’S RESPONSE: AN OVERVIEW OF HĀSHIMĪ’S MISSIVE

As noted earlier, Kindī’s Epistle is set up as an elaborate apology for the Christian faith in response to a shorter letter by the fellow courtier Hāshimī. Given the intimate connection between the two missives—which, as the correspondents assure us, appears to reflect the mutual love and respect between them—it is fitting to begin the present investigation with a brief overview of Hāshimī’s letter. In the following, I will highlight three overarching motifs in Hāshimī’s missive that subsequently inform Kindī’s response: the appeal to the true faith of Abraham, who is believed to have been the progenitor of all Arabs; the perusal of the sacred texts of both Christianity and Islam; and, lastly, the affirmation of reason as the ultimate arbiter in deciding the true religion. In a similar vein, there is little reason to question the authenticity of the epistolary exchange. For a cogent defense of the authenticity of the exchange, see Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” ‫كط‬-‫يا‬. See also Samir, “La version,” 33– 41. 11 While the question of Kindī’s ecclesiastical affiliation remains open, there seems to be a scholarly tendency to associate him with the Church of the East. Bottini, “Apology,” CMR, 1:585. 10

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From the onset, Hāshimī candidly states his motivations for authoring his hortative missive. Foiled in the language of brotherly love, Hāshimī enumerates his fourfold incitations, which can be summarized as follows: first, Hāshimī’s love for Kindī, which in turn obligates the former to seek the best interest of the latter; second, the Prophet Muḥammad’s instruction to love one’s neighbor; third, Kindī’s demonstrable love for Hāshimī; and fourth, the love that the Caliph Ma’mūn—whom Hāshimī introduces as his cousin—exhibits to Kindī. 12 The epistolary exchange is therefore cast as an exercise in love between two siblings who, in their own right, instantiate two rival claims to Arab nobility. Indeed, this becomes apparent in Hāshimī’s subsequent claim that Muslims are sincere adherents to the religion of Abraham, which he dovetails to his prefatory evocation of brotherly love: I have deemed it good to accept for you that which I have accepted for myself, for my family, and for my children: to offer you my most sincere advice and to unveil the matter of our religion which God wills for all creatures. Through it, God promised us the best reward in the Hereafter and protection from punishment in the Place of Return [i.e., the Hereafter]. For God—blessed and exalted—says, “The creed of Abraham is ḥanīf (Q 2:135).” 13 And he says—exalted and glorified—the word of truth, “Those of you who believed in Our signs and submitted [lit. were Muslims] (Q 43:69).” He also says in confirmation, “Abraham was not a Jew, nor a Christian, but he was a ḥanīf, a Muslim (Q 3:67).” 14

Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 6. The full verse provides helpful context: “They say, ‘Be Jews or Christians, and then you will be rightly guided.’ Say: ‘No! The creed of Abraham the ḥanı̄f. He was not one of the idolaters.’” All translations of the Qur’ān are adapted from Droge, Qur’ān. 14 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 6–7. 12 13

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The rivalry over Arabness and the true religion (of the Arabs) is thus presented genealogically as a quarrel over who can be called the true heirs of Abraham—their common ancestor and the contested forefather of their respective faiths. To this end, Hāshimī evokes the testimony of the Qur’ān in support: Hāshimī’s religion, he maintains, is at once faithful to the Islam of Abraham and its veracity is buttressed by numerous divine signs. Kindī, expectedly, takes issue with this dual appeal. Not only does Hāshimī evoke the Qur’ān, but he also appeals to the Christian sacred scripture. Hāshimī thus selfdescribes as an avid student of religions “having thoroughly studied and examined the different religions and having read many of their books.” 15 Assuring his addressee of his careful reading of “the books of the Old and the New Testaments which God revealed to Moses and Jesus, as well as to other Prophets— peace be upon all of them,” 16 Hāshimī goes on to list the different books of the Christian canon, 17 and further demonstrates his intimate familiarity with the Christian faith and his learned discussions with prominent Christian figures, including Patriarch Timothy I (d. 823), the famed catholicos of the Church of the Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 8. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 8. 17 From the Old Testament, Hāshimī enumerates “the Torah, the Book of Joshua son of Nun, the Book of Samuel the Prophet, the Book of the Psalms of David, the Wisdom of Solomon son of David, the Book of Job the Righteous, the Book of the Twelve Prophets, the Book of Jeremiah the Prophet, the Book of Ezekiel the Prophet, and the Book of Daniel the Prophet.” He further adds from the New Testament “the Gospel, which is in four parts, the first is the Good News of Matthew the Publican, the second is the Good News of Mark the nephew of Simon known as Peter, the third is the Good News of Luke the Physician, and the Fourth is the Good News of John son of Zebedee... and the Book of the Acts of the Apostles and their sayings and chronicles after the ascension of Jesus into heaven that was written by Luke, one of the disciples of Christ [sic.] as well as the fourteen letters of Paul.” Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 8– 9. 15 16

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East. 18 In this way, Hāshimī presents his extended invitation to embrace Islam as a comparative theological exercise whose objective is ascertaining the true religion. 19 Having presented his credentials, Hāshimī then produces a succinct exposition of the Islamic faith, urging Kindī to renounce “the apostasy, aberration, wretchedness, and affliction” of his Christianity, 20 and to embrace Islam, “the straight religion, whose easy approach, just laws, and broad path God willed for the pious among his servants.” 21 Hāshimī, however, reassures his Christian addressee of his freedom to reject the invitation to embrace Islam, but urges him to state his reasons: If you reject [Islam] out of perseverance, obduracy, or persistence in apostasy and transgression [then] write to us presenting an exposition of your faith and your arguments [in remaining on it]. Write in all safety and tranquility and do not hold back nor conceal your position or your beliefs…. Indeed, I set you and your arguments completely free lest you reproach us with injustice or iniquity, both of which are unbecoming to us. 22

Giving full rein to his addressee, Hāshimī concludes his missive with an avouchment of the supremacy of reason, the ultimate arbiter “that is only partial to justice as long as it is not domiTartar, “Ḥiwār,” 9–15. Timothy had an eventful career as catholicos of the Church of the East from his ascension to the patriarchal throne in 780 until his death in 823. A prominent apologist for the Christian faith, Timothy dialogued with key Muslim figures, including his renowned two-day debate with the ʿAbbāsid caliph Mahdī (r. 757–785), Ma’mūn’s grandfather. For a brief biography on Timothy and an overview of his works, see the entries by Heimgartner and Roggema, “Timothy I,” in CMR, 1:515–531. 19 On this theme, see Griffith, “Comparative Religion,” 63–87. 20 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 29. 21 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 30. 22 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 31–32. 18

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nated by passion: the very reason according to which God takes and gives.” 23

ʿABD AL-MASĪḤ AL-KINDĪ’S RESPONSE

According to the edition by Georges Tartar, Kindī’s Epistle spans five chapters, in addition to an introduction and an epilogue (altogether amounting to a little over six times the size of Hāshimī’s missive in the Arabic edition). In many ways, the above discussed motifs in Hāshimī’s exhortation both shape and illuminate the different aspects of Kindī’s response such as his choice of topics, argumentative structure and style, as well as his overtly defiant tone. Kindī therefore structures his response in a tripartite movement so as to address the different allegations raised by his Muslim correspondent: starting with a preliminary defense and apology for Christianity (chap. 1 according to Tartar’s edition), followed with a rather exhaustive critique of Islam (chaps. 2–4), and concluding with an exposition of the Christian faith (chap. 5). 24 Kindī starts his preliminary apology by laying out the groundwork for the remainder of the Epistle. He initially addresses Hāshimī’s overarching claim to the religion of Abraham, and insists that Christians, and not Muslims, are the true heirs of Abraham. Taking his cue from his interlocutor, Kindī then establishes himself as a close reader of sacred texts, which at once calls into question his interlocutor’s reading while justifying his own invocations of biblical and Qur’ānic testimonies. This in turn paves the way for Kindī’s two-pronged defense of the triunity of God through scripture and reason, which comprises the bulk of the first part and its high theological point. 25 Kindī’s Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 32. Here I am following the tripartite structure presented by Platti in “alKindī,” 67. According to Platti, pt. 1 of the Epistle comprises chap. 1 in Tartar’s edition (“Ḥiwār,” 34–58), pt. 2 spans chaps. 2–4 (pp. 60–170), and pt. 3 comprises the concluding chap. 5, (pp. 172–210). 25 On this, see Takawi, “Trinity,” 445–452. 23 24

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apologetic techniques in the first part—his preliminary appeal to the faith of Abraham followed by his careful interweaving of systematic rationalist examination with his invocation of the testimony of the Old Testament and the Qur’ān in his defense of the triunity of God—are evidently prompted and shaped by Hāshimī’s exhortation. In the second part, Kindī embarks on a detailed critique of Islamic beliefs, traditions, and customs, which rests on three key axes: Muḥammad’s prophethood, the revelatory status of the Qur’ān, and Muslim practices and customs (corresponding to chaps. 2, 3, and 4, respectively, in Tartar’s edition). Given its rather detailed examination of key topics in Islamic faith and practice, Kindī’s discussion in this part offers a precious window into the world of the second Islamic century. It is not surprising, therefore, that Kindī’s discussions on Muḥammad’s prophethood and the revelatory status of the Qur’ān (chaps. 2 and 3 according to Tartar’s edition) continue to attract the bulk of scholarly attention to the Epistle—particularly its usage of the Qur’ān 26 and its codification, 27 as well as its evocation of the early Islamic See more recently the two chapters in the same edited volume on Kindī and the Qur’ān: Keating “Manipulation,” 50–65; Platti, “al-Kindī,” 66–82. 27 Kindī charges that the powerful (and, as later remembered, infamous) Umayyad governor of Iraq Ḥajjāj b. Yūsuf al-Thaqafī (d. 714) altered the Qur’ān. More specifically he states that Ḥajjāj collected the different extant copies of the Qur’ān and added and removed some verses—in particular the verses that mention the Umayyads. Kindī adds that Ḥajjāj then sent six copies of his redacted version to the major centers throughout the empire and destroyed the other texts in boiling oil. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 117. The connection between Ḥajjāj and the codification of the Qur’ān is a recurring motif in early Christian polemics against Islam. On this see, e.g., Tim Greenwood, “The Letter of Leo III in Ghewond,” CMR, 1:203–208; Barbara Roggema, “The Affair of the Qur’ān,” CMR, 1:595–596. Jack Tannous notes that this charge was not particularly Christian and may have been shared by some Muslims at the time: “the charge that the Qur’ān was altered… might have a specifically 26

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traditions on the Prophet Muḥammad. 28 By contrast, there is a conspicuous silence on Kindī’s presentation of Muslim practices and customs (chap. 4 in Tartar’s edition), part of which will be discussed more thoroughly in the following chapter in this volume. Corresponding to the preliminary apology, the third part concludes with an exposition of the Christian faith. Although it similarly remains largely overshadowed by the scholarly attention given to chapters 2 and 3 in Tartar’s edition, 29 the concluding discussion presents the apex of the Epistle as a whole. Indeed, the third part picks up the different threads Kindī weaves throughout his apology in order to present the veracity of the Christian faith against Hāshimī’s—and, more generally, Muslim—allegations. The end result is a distinctive presentation of the Christian faith in Arabic idiom: a vision of Christianity from the perspective of an Arab devotee of the faith and, indeed, a unique witness to Arab Christian self-expression in the second Islamic century. In the following, I will shed light on Kindī’s presentation and defense of his Arab Christian faith. I will start with Kindī’s response to Hāshimī’s appeal to the faith of Abraham (discussed at the beginning of the Epistle and evident throughout), which paves the way for his eventual exposition of the Christian faith in the third and concluding part to the Epistle—an excerpt of which will be rendered in translation below. The True Heirs of Abraham

Perhaps the most striking feature of the Epistle is the boldness of its language and the breadth of its apologetic scope, which sets Umayyad context: both Muslims and non-Muslims accused the Umayyads of changing the Qur’ān.” Tannous, Making, 303. 28 See, e.g., Szilágyi, “Prophet,” 131–171; Platti, “Criteria,” 3–25. 29 An exception to this general observation is Kindī’s response to Muslim allegations of the falsification of scripture (taḥrīf) which attracted some scholarly attention. See, e.g., Schaffner, “Bible,” 342–346.

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it apart from other Christian Arabic writings at the time. So unusual is “the bluntness with which it dismisses the religious claims of Muslims, in an impudent tone of voice that disparages the Qur’ān and Muḥammad,” that, as Sidney Griffith opines, “it is hardly credible that any Muslim intellectual [i.e., Hāshimī], even in the court of al-Ma’mūn, would have been party to the summary portrayal of Islam found here.” 30 As Griffith further elucidates, the Epistle is more “reminiscent of the Byzantine antiIslamic polemical treatises written in Greek from the ninthcentury onward” than it is of Syriac or Arabic apologies produced within the Islamic empire. 31 Indeed, if read in translation, one would be inclined to place the Epistle amidst the anti-Islamic tracts produced beyond the bounds of the Islamic Empire, and certainly not among Christian Arabic writings originating in the caliphal capital. Yet, the Epistle does not merely present an apology for the Christian faith: it presents a defense of the faith of a member of ancient régime Arab nobility. Surely, Kindī’s tone and style may be explained in part as a realization of Hāshimī’s guarantees, or more generally as evidence of the overall atmosphere of intellectual freedom in the caliphal court, 32 but the author’s self-styled Arab noble lineage which permeates the Epistle ought not be understated. Not only does Kindī’s Arab pride unequivocally shape the apologetic agenda and language of his Epistle, but it also effectively sets him apart from his contemporary wellknown Arabophone Christian writers. Thus, whereas his Arabicized Christian contemporaries produced apologies for the Christian faith in response to Muslim allegations, Kindī’s defense of Christianity is inextricably linked to his Arab identity and self-ascribed superior Arab status. After all, Arabness became Griffith, Church, 87. Griffith, Church, 87. 32 On the presentation of the caliph Ma’mūn in early Arabic Christian writings, see Bertaina, “Melkites,” 17–36; Swanson, “al-Ma’mūn Tradition,” 63–92. 30 31

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increasingly defined in the ʿAbbāsid imperial idiom through the cultural (and religious) domination of the pre-Islamic Arab past. Kindī’s Epistle, therefore, captures an instance in intra-ʿAbbāsid processes of defining Arabness in which the Arab Christian writer carves out a space for his faith and his fading ancient régime Arab status in the unfolding imperial project. It is no surprise, then, that Kindī begins his missive with a discussion of Abraham—the progenitor of all Arabs—and calls into question Hāshimī’s operative premise connecting Islam to the religion of Abraham. Following thanks and salutations, Kindī concludes his prefatory chapter with an invocation of “Christ, our Lord and savior of the world” to provide guidance in addressing Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace his religion, “the ḥanīfiyya, that [he] was on the religion of Abraham, as well as [his] claim that Abraham was a ḥanīf, a Muslim.” 33 Indeed, reclaiming the contested Abrahamic heritage is unequivocally Kindī’s first item on his apologetic agenda as well as the harbinger of his apology and exposition of the Christian faith. Granting, at least momentarily, his interlocutor’s soi-disant fluency in the sacred texts, Kindī rehearses the biblical narrative of Abraham, infusing it with select motifs from the Islamic tradition. Kindī therefore relates that Abraham had been an idolater for ninety years and had engaged in the worship of the goddess ʿUzzā—not incidentally the Arabian deity worshipped by the tribe of Quraysh prior to the advent of Islam, according to the Islamic tradition—until God appeared to him, at which time he revoked his “ḥanīfiyya, which is the worship of idols, and became a believer in the One God.” 34 Here, Kindī appears to capitalize on the double entendre between the Islamic understanding of the Arabic Qur’ānic term ḥanīf, which denotes a believer in Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 35–36. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 38–39. On the pre-Islamic worship of ʿUzzā and its special status in the pantheon of Quraysh, see Ibn al-Kalbī, Kitāb alaṣnām, 17–27. In addition to Lāt and Manāt, ʿUzzā is among the prominent pre-Islamic Arabian deities mentioned in the Qur’ān (Q 53:19–20).

33 34

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the one God who is neither a Jew nor a Christian, and the dominant Syriac usage of its cognate ḥanpā, which is typically rendered as “pagan”—and opts to employ the Syriac to gloss the Qur’ānic usage. 35 Accordingly, Kindī reads the Qur’ānic characterization of Abraham the ḥanīf as an allusion to his idolatrous past, for, as he elucidates, “we find the ḥanīfiyya in God’s revealed books to denote the worship of idols.” 36 Kindī thus qualifies the key issue not as one of faithfulness to Abraham’s religion, as Hāshimī suggests, but rather whether to profess faith in the one God who appeared to Abraham or to the gods of his idolatrous past, when he was still a ḥanīf worshipping the idol ʿUzzā. 37 Anticipating his Muslim interlocutor’s expected disavowal of idolatry, Kindī insists: But if you invite me to espouse the situation of Abraham in his faithfulness, and the righteousness this incurred to him The term ḥanīf appears in the Qur’ān twelve times in twelve verses, ten in the singular and two in the plural. Of the ten singular occurrences, eight directly refer to Abraham: Q 2:135; 3:67, 95; 4:125; 6:79, 161; 16:120, 123. On the term ḥanīf in the Qur’ān, see Rubin, “Ḥanīf,” EQ, 2:402–403. Gabriel Said Reynolds suggests a continuity between the Qur’ānic and Syriac Christian usages of the term, noting that while the term ḥanpā typically renders “pagan,” it is also used to denote “gentiles”—in particular the “Greeks” in the Syriac New Testament: “the point of the Qur’ān, however, is also that Abraham believed in God naturally, independently from Jewish and Christian revelation (as he lived before Moses and Jesus: Q 3:65). Thus, ḥanīf includes within it the sense of ‘gentile’.” Reynolds, Qur’ān and Bible, 430. 36 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 39. 37 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 41. Kindī’s discussion on the Muslim devotion to Abraham the ḥanīf who had worshipped the idol ʿUzzā in his days of paganism evidently rehearses the Syriac and Arabic Christian references to Muslims as crypto-idolaters or new pagans. On this, see Roggema, “Crypto-Idolaters,” 1–18. See especially pp. 6–11 on Christian allusions to the Arab worship of the goddess ʿUzzā and pp. 13–14 for Christian appellations of Muslims as pagans (ḥanpe/ḥunafā’). 35

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MOURAD TAKAWI for professing faith in the one God, then the Jew the son of Abraham, O my friend, is more deserving than you to grant [me] this invitation, for he is the heir of Isaac who inherited this belief in the one God from Abraham his father. Surely [the Jew] is more deserved and more qualified than you in this matter. 38

For Kindī, Isaac the son of Abraham’s free wife Sarah—and not Ishmael, son of the concubine Hagar—is the true heir to the divine promises made to Abraham. Consequently, the Jews descending from the line of Isaac are more deserving of Abraham’s legacy than Arab Muslims descending from the line of Ishmael. However, from amidst the descendants of Isaac, Christians have a superior claim to Abraham over the Jews, for, as he further expands, “from the line of Isaac, the son of Sarah the free woman, Jesus the savior of the world was born.” 39 In this way, Kindī establishes a hierarchical scheme according to which the descendants of Isaac supersede those of Ishmael, and Christians supersede the Jews from among the descendants of Isaac as heirs to the divine promises to Abraham. Kindī’s discussion on the meaning of ḥanīf undergirds his overall apology in two interrelated ways, and therefore deserves a closer examination. First, it serves to cast a cloud of suspicion over Hāshimī’s reading of the Qur’ān in particular and of sacred scriptures in general, while upholding Kindī’s self-styled superior hermeneutic approach to the sacred texts. In other words, not only does Kindī’s discussion on the meaning of ḥanīf call into question Hāshimī’s appeal to Abraham, but it also challenges his self-ascribed intimate knowledge of religions and their sacred texts. By contrast, it presents Kindī’s suggested reading for ḥanīf as more probable, and more generally credits him as a reliable and careful reader of the Bible and the Qur’ān. Later in his Epistle, Kindī uses his understanding of ḥanīf to provide his own rendition of the Islamic exegetical contours of sūrat al-Ḍuḥā 38 39

Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 42. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 39.

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(Q 93:7): “Did He not find you astray and guide you.” Concurring that God is addressing Muḥammad in allusion to his idolatrous past, Kindī in effect fuses his own understanding of the meaning of ḥanīf with the Islamic tradition’s connection between Abraham and Muḥammad to advance his own reading of the verse, explaining, “for your master [i.e., the Prophet] was not Jewish, nor a Christian, nor a Magi [i.e., a Zoroastrian]—but a ḥanīf who worshipped Isāf and Nā’ila, the two idols worshipped by Quraysh and the other tribes [before] God favored him with the knowledge of divine unicity (tawḥīd).” 40 Secondly, and most importantly for this study, Kindī’s discussion on the term ḥanīf sets the stage for his own dual claim to Abraham as an Arab and a Christian. In a way, this claim ties in to Kindī’s overall polemic against Islam that at once fuses his own proud sense of Arabness with his belief in the veracity of the Christian faith. This fusion is particularly palpable in Kindī’s response to Hāshimī’s appeal to the miraculous nature of the Qur’ān and its language, believed to have been revealed in the tongue of Quraysh—to whom the Prophet and the de facto ruling clan belong. Marshalling a host of objections to Hāshimī’s claim—including ones that may be expected from a detractor, such as pointing out the foreign vocabulary in the Qur’ān and its biblical allusions, among others—Kindī launches what amounts to a vitriolic dressing-down of his interlocutor for overstating the status of Quraysh over the rest of the Arabs: 41 358F

Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 169. According to Ibn al-Kalbī, Kitāb al-aṣnām, 9, 29, the idols of Isāf and Nā’ila were placed close to the Kaʿbah at the heart of the Meccan sanctuary and worshipped by Quraysh and other Arab tribes. Aziz Al-Azmeh further notes that Isāf and Nā’ila “are likely to have been the original deities of Quraysh, brought to them from their erstwhile territories and worshipped continually along with the regnant deities of Mecca and its environs, including al-ʿUzzā.” Al-Azmeh, Emergence, 199 (see especially p. 199 n. 204). 41 For Kindī’s full critique of Hāshimī’s, and more generally the Muslim, views of the Qur’ān, see Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 106–125. 40

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MOURAD TAKAWI If you say that the Qurashites are the most eloquent of Arabs, that they are prevalent in argument, and that they are the masters [lit. knights] of elocution and oration, we will object to you with [counterarguments] which you can neither deny nor recant. We will remind you that the daughter of Nuʿmān, from the tribe of Kinda, exclaimed to your master [i.e., the Prophet Muḥammad] when he sniped her and had her [in his house]: “A queen beneath a commoner?!” Indeed, you and we have no doubt that Quraysh were the traders of the Arabs and their commoners while Kinda were the kings entrusted with authority over all the Arabs.” 42

Kindī appears to deliver a double blow to Hāshimī’s tribal and religious affiliation. On the one hand, Kindī reminds his Qurashī interlocutor of the erstwhile relatively inferior status of his clan vis-à-vis Kinda—which appears to have been a well-rehearsed talking point in intra-Arab tribal disputations after the advent of Islam and the subsequent consolidation of the power of Quraysh. On the other hand, Kindī employs a sacred genealogical scheme to establish his own spiritual claim to Abraham as a Christian through the line of Isaac. Indeed, Kindī concedes that, as an Arab himself, he is a descendant of Ishmael in the flesh. But whereas Hāshimī and other Arab Muslims have no more than a fleshly claim to Abraham through Ishmael, Kindī has a dual claim: in flesh through Ishmael and spiritually through Isaac. He therefore affirms, “religion for me is more honorable than noble descent… for I too am from the sons of Ishmael and to him I trace my lineage. But I am a Christian man, and through this religion I have precedence in my noble lineage and honor.” 43 Decrying the overstatement of fleshly lineages, Kindī inverts Hāshimī’s call and, instead, extends an invitation to share with him the superior spiritual descent from Abraham through Isaac. To this end, Kindī concludes his Epistle with his distinctive presentation of his faith as an Arab Christian. 42 43

Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 124. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 139.

ʿABD AL-MASĪḤ AL-KINDĪ: CHRISTIAN FAITH Exposition of the Christian Faith

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In many ways, Kindī’s apologetic gale reaches its crescendo in his concluding exposition of the Christian faith. As noted earlier, the exposition comes as a direct response to Hāshimī’s request to “present an exposition of [his] faith” if he rejects Islam. 44 Having presented his thorough rejection of the different aspects of the Islamic faith in the second part of the Epistle, Kindī presents his Muslim interlocutor with his coup de grace, the anticipated exposition of the faith he continues to uphold so pertinaciously. Kindī, therefore, structures his exposition in a way that is readily intelligible to his Muslim interlocutor without compromising the very faith he is defending. The end result is a distinctive overview of the Christian faith from the perspective of a member of the dwindling Arab Christian nobility. Indeed, Kindī’s awareness of his own waning rarefied status, which shapes his language and style throughout the Epistle, becomes strikingly evident in the exposition. Not only is this readily manifest in the author’s blunt language infused with acerbic wit—which too often verges into sarcasm and outright ridicule—but it is palpable in Kindī’s argumentative techniques as well. Thus, while Kindī proceeds to indulge Hāshimī’s request to present an exposition of the Christian faith, he nevertheless recalcitrantly opines that the burden of proof ought not fall on him, but rather on the claimant—especially given the latter’s soi-disant “careful study of the books and what he examined of the different writings” and his self-styled devotion to “reason and knowledge.” 45 Even when responding to Hāshimī’s charge of the falsification (taḥrīf) of scripture, Kindī does not simply rest at pushing against the charge itself, but further launches a counteroffensive against the Qur’ān and the prophethood of Muḥammad. Yet at the same time, the reader of the Arabic text may readily identify different Islamic idioms and turns of phrase 44 45

See n. 22 above. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 172.

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which Kindī effortlessly interweaves into his exposition without compromising his presentation of his Christian faith. Thus, Kindī observes the Islamic honorifics whenever he pens the name of God “Allāh,” which he immediately follows by commonly used Islamic formulations such as “blessed and exalted (tabāraka wataʿālā)” or “exalted and glorified (ʿazza wa-jalla).” Kindī also uses Islamic theological categories in his exposition. Thus, he begins his exposition by asserting the lordship (Ar. rubūbiyya) and divinity (Ar. ulūhiyya) of Jesus—clearly employing the two categories of the unicity of God (tawḥīd) in the Islamic tradition and applying them to Christ: the unicity of lordship (tawḥīd alrubūbiyya) maintaining that there is only one omnipotent Creator God, as well as the unicity of divinity (tawḥīd al-ulūhiyya) affirming that worship is only due to God. 46 It is worthy to note that, in addition to the use of Islamic idioms and turns of phrase, the very structure of the exhortation is meant to resonate with a Muslim audience. Indeed, undergirding the exposition is a prophetological scheme that both echoes as well as supplants its Islamic counterpart. For Kindī, Christ— and not Muḥammad—is the culmination and fulfillment of all anteceding prophecies. Thus, Kindī starts his exposition with a sequence of prophecies from the Christian Old Testament, all of which, he maintains, were fulfilled in the life and ministry of Christ. Against this backdrop, three key movements may be identified in Kindī’s exposition: first, a rehearsal of Old Testament prophecies; second, Christ’s fulfillment of these prophecies; and third, a presentation of the Christian kerygma, which both responds to Hāshimī’s allegations as well as contrasts with Kindī’s earlier presentation of Islam. The following excerpt is a translation of the first part of the exposition. Interestingly, Kindī opts for using the shared Christian Arabic and Qur’ānic nomenclature, “the Christ (al-Masīḥ),” in lieu of opting for the contested name for Jesus: “yasūʿ” in Christian Arabic and “ʿIsā” in the Qur’ān. On the name of Jesus in the Qur’ān, see Reynolds, “Muslim Jesus,” 237–258; Dye and Kropp, “Le nom,” 171–198. 46

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CONCLUSION

Read together, this chapter and the following one explore the ninth-century correspondence between Hāshimī and Kindī against the backdrop of the intellectual culture in Baghdad in general and the intra-ʿAbbāsid processes of defining Arabness in particular. Paying close attention to Kindī’s unique exposition of his Christian faith as a member of a dwindling Arab nobility, the chapter demonstrates that Kindī’s apology for Christianity and his polemic against Islam are inextricably linked to his selfascribed superior Arab status. Not only does Kindī’s Arab pride shape the apologetic agenda and language of his Epistle, but it also effectively sets him apart from his contemporary wellknown Arabophone Christian writers. The chapter thus features a discussion and translation of Kindī’s exposition of the Christian faith which concludes his Epistle. While it remains largely overshadowed by the scholarly attention given to other parts of Kindī’s missive, the concluding exposition presents the apex of the Epistle as a whole, indeed picking up the different threads woven throughout Kindī’s apology in order to present the veracity of the Christian faith against Hāshimī’s—and, more generally, Muslim—allegations. The end result is a distinctive presentation of the Christian faith in Arabic idiom: a vision of Christianity from the perspective of an Arab devotee of the faith and, indeed, a unique witness to Arab Christian self-expression in the second Islamic century.

AN EXCERPT OF KINDĪ’S EXPOSITION OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH 47

Now, let us begin with purifying our hearts and hearing, and with sanctifying our tongues in order to announce the origins of The following is my translation of a selection of Kindī’s exposition as presented in Tartar’s edition (Ḥiwār, 172–180). Given that Kindī gives Arabic renditions of the biblical text, the biblical references will be directly translated from the Epistle. 47

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the pure and sacred Good News. Let us begin with some of the testimonies of the prophets whom God entrusted with his mystery, and with whom he spoke through his revelation. He commanded them to proclaim to everyone how he intends, in his prescience, to perfect his blessings upon them and send his beloved son—who is himself his creative word—that he may take a human flesh like theirs and become a man. To him, therefore, is due glory, worship, and obedience by angels, humans, and demons, with due submission to the lordship (Ar. rubūbiyya) in union with him, and the divinity (Ar. ulūhiyya) dwelling in him. He came to teach humankind, addressing them plainly proclaiming that the One God in Three Persons—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—is one absolute deity, so that they may have the fulness of grace and knowledge. God, exalted and glorified, thus consummated his generosity and benevolence towards them by revealing to them his hidden secret. He established his decisive argument against them that he may put an end to the pretexts of the obstinate and dissipate the words of those who claim that the knowledge [of God] was not made available to them: that it was veiled from them and shrouded in mystery beyond apprehension. There is, therefore, no excuse for those who renounce the truth, and no justification for those who remain in opposition to it—as Paul the Apostle of Christ says, “so that every mouth be silenced and that the whole world may be condemned [before God].” 48 God, blessed and exalted, declared on the tongue of the prophet Moses in the Torah, in the first book which is the Book of Genesis, that Jacob who is known as God’s Israel, called his sons when his end drew near. He blessed them, apprised them of what is bound to take place at the end of time, and entrusted them with this mystery. As he was giving his blessings to one after another, he reached Judah—from whose progeny the exalted Mary, mother of Christ our God and Lord, and Savior of whoever believes in him—and said, “Thus is the oracle of God: 36F

48

Rom 3:19.

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‘To you, O Judah, your brothers shall submit, and your hand shall be on the shoulders of your enemies. The progeny of your father shall prostrate before you. Judah is a lion’s whelp; for from the prey, my son, you have gone up. The scepter shall not depart from you until he to whom it belongs shall come; he whom the nations await.’” 49 Now observe—may God honor you—these words spiritually and scrutinize them with the eye and understanding of justice. For he who does not understand them will find them to be allegorical, but he who understands will find their meaning to be literal. Can this oracle from God [pronounced] on the tongue of his servant Israel—his interlocutor and chosen one—refer to any other than Christ our Lord? Indeed, Christ was the one who sprang forth from Judah by his humanity, and to whom the Israelites submitted when they accepted his call. The hand of the Romans, which was his hand, was placed on the shoulders of his enemies from among the Israelites who revoked his lordship and disbelieved in him. Therefore, the Romans massacred them and utterly dispersed them so that they may never rise again—and they will remain debased until the end of the world. He was the one who was resurrected from the dead three days after the crucifixion. He was the one before whom the Israelites prostrated when they saw the wonders and signs that he manifestly performed before them. He is the lion’s whelp for he is the Son of God, the Powerful, the Almighty, the Omnipotent. Indeed, the prophetic succession did not cease in Israel until Christ, the hope of humanity, arrived. He whom all the prophecies foretold—exclaiming his coming, testifying for his apparition, and proclaiming his advent. Thus, when Christ came all prophecies ceased from Judah and the Israelites. No prophet arose, nor will any prophet arise, after the coming of the one whom all the nations awaited and for whom all the peoples hoped. Just as the sending forth of messengers is futile after the king makes an appearance, the sending forth of prophets is futile 49

Gen 49:8–10.

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after the advent of God the Christ who is in truth king as the preceding prophets have proclaimed him to be king. Thus, the prophet Zechariah prophesized, shouting aloud by the Holy Spirit on the Word of God, blessed and exalted: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, the king comes to you; he is faithful, savior, and humble riding on a donkey—on a colt, the foal of a jenny. With his coming the chariots from Ephraim and the horses from Jerusalem will be destroyed. He will cut off the bow of the nations and proclaim peace and safeness.” 50 Was this prophecy— may God grant you comprehension—fulfilled by [anyone] apart from our Lord the Christ? Indeed, he came with faithfulness, salvation, and humility. With his coming he destroyed all the chariots and horses prepared for war and fighting in Jerusalem. With his coming the bow that was prepared for fighting—and indicative of it—was cut off. He humbly rode on the donkey: the colt, the foil of a jenny. He proclaimed peace and safeness to the gentiles, which are the nations; he brought them into the inheritance of his vocation and made them the children of the kingdom of heaven, which is the promise of God—may his name be blessed! Behold the prophet David, whose tongue bears the word of 51 God, declare: “God said to me—meaning, the Christ—‘You are my son; today I have begotten you. Ask of me, and I will give you the nations as your inheritance’”—i.e., they are intent on accepting your call and your dominion which extends to the ends of the earth. 52 [David] also said: “O kings, be wise! O rulers of the earth be instructed! Worship God with fear and praise him with trembling. Receive the Son lest he be angry, and lest you perish by his wrath.” 53 This statement means: receive what the Son—who is the Christ—brings to you, and what he utters to 368F

371F

Zech 9:9–10. Lit. “the tongue of God” (Ar. lisān Allāh). See 2 Sam 23:2. 52 Ps 2:7–8. 53 Ps 2:10–12. 50 51

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you with his lips and tongue. Now if you fail to accept, he will be angry and he will destroy you by his wrath. For in a short while his wrath will flare up against the Jews who deny his lordship. “Blessed are all those who trust in him” means those who believe in him and accept his teaching. 54 David also prophesized: “The Lord said to my lord, ‘Sit at my right hand until I place your enemies below your feet.’ For the Lord will send forth the scepter of might from Zion and you will rule over your enemies.” 55 Comprehend, therefore, this statement of the prophet David for it contains a mystery the knowledge of which is necessary for whoever looks into this scripture of ours—that it may be clarified to them and correctly discerned when illuminated. Indeed, it has been the custom of the Hebrews since the time of Moses—the confidant of God—to write the name of God, exalted and glorified, in disjointed letters, and that they do not use them to write anything else. These letters were inscribed in the two tablets that God—may his name be exalted—gave to Moses his prophet. 56 Therefore, the statement of the prophet David regarding God, exalted and glorified, “The Lord said to my lord,” refers to the two nouns written in the letters—called “the disjointed letters”—with which only the name of God, blessed and exalted, is written. Both Jews and Christians—and they are two feuding nations—attest to this with neither disagreement nor doubt and without collusion. Comprehend, therefore, this mystery that God, exalted and glorified, entrusted to his prophet [i.e., David]. If you contemplate the matter, you will find it expounding his statement, “The Lord said to my lord.” Elsewhere the Prophet David also said, “The Lord looked down from the height of his sanctuary. From heaven, the Lord appeared on earth to hear the groan of the prisoner and to dePs 2:12b. Ps 110:1–2. 56 Here, Kindī refers to the Tetragrammaton, the most holy name of the God of Israel. See Exod 20:2–7; Deut 5:6–17. 54 55

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liver the children from death”—meaning the death of sin, which is the worship of idols and the severance of hope in the promise of eternal life that our Lord the Christ promised us on the Day of Resurrection—“that they may cogitate the name of the Lord in Zion”—the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, which is the name of the Mighty Lord in truth and perfection— “and that they praise him in Jerusalem when the nations and the kingdoms gather together to worship the Lord.” 57 The prophecy of David was truly fulfilled. Indeed, all the nations gather in Jerusalem, which is the Abode of the Sanctuary, 58 to cogitate the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit— the concealed divine name. They glorify the name of Christ our Lord with various doxologies and different forms of praise, with different tongues and unfamiliar dialects, throughout the night and during the day—without tiring, nor abating, nor diminishing the adoration that is due to him. They come to Jerusalem from remote lands and from all regions of the earth. Whoever remains resistant to this, my friend, is deemed by the righteous (lit. people of truth) no more than an ignorant and a denying disbeliever who is blinded by ignorance and whose heart is blotted out by envy. Behold the blessed Isaiah prophesy and cry out at the top of his voice, saying, “God, blessed and exalted, said: ‘Be strong, O feeble hands; O palsied knees, be steady. Say to the feeblehearted, “Be strong and do not fear, for your living God will come; a redeeming God, he will redeem you.”’ Then the eyes of the blind will be open, the ears of the deaf will hear; at that time the lame will leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute Ps 102:19–22. Here, Kindī identifies bayt al-maqdis (lit. “the Abode of the Sanctuary”), which in the early Islamic centuries referred to the Temple or to the city as a whole, with the city of Jerusalem (Ūrshalīm)—the latter nomenclature is predominantly used by Arabophone Christians. On Jerusalem in the early Islamic centuries, see Grabar, “al-Ḳuds,” EI2, 5:322–331. 57 58

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will speak.” 59 Certainly you know—may God guide you to the sincere truth—that your book [i.e., the Qur’ān] testifies that Christ, the redeeming God, accomplished all of this: He cured the lame who was crippled for thirty-eight years saying, “Arise, take up your bed, and go home.” Immediately the man arose, carried his bed, and hastened back to his house. 60 Jesus was the one who cured the man with leprosy. 61 He was the one who cured the demoniac deaf-mute whose account is expounded in the Truthful Gospel, which also relates what the incredulous and slanderous Jews said as they witnessed the healing of the man and how he emerged unscathed from all the illnesses that had befallen him—it also relates how our Lord censured them and refuted their arguments. 62 Elsewhere Isaiah the Prophet proclaims—regarding the birth of Christ, “Hear now, O House of David, behold the virgin will conceive and give birth to a son and will call his name Immanuel,” which means that God is with us. 63 What else is there that can be more evident than this prophecy? Indeed, these are some of the prophecies proclaimed by the Prophets regarding the coming of our Lord the Christ, the life of the world. I would have added more testimonies, but I decided not to prolong the epistle lest the reader grows weary. The evidence I have provided is sufficient for one who does not resist the truth and does not wrong oneself. 64 It seems to me that you have referred to the issue of falsification (Ar. taḥrīf) in this regard: that we [Christians] have disIsa 35:3–6. John 5:5–8; cf. Matt 9:2–7; Mark 2:3–12; Luke 5:18–25. Interestingly, healing the lame is not listed among the many miracles attributed to Jesus in the Qur’ān. More generally on Jesus in the Islamic tradition, see Takawi and Reynolds, “Muslim Perceptions,” CMR, 15:123–151. 61 Matt 8: 1–4; Mark 1:40–45; Luke 5:12–16; cf. Luke 17:11–17. 62 See Matt 12:22–30; Mark 3:22–27; Luke 11:14–23. 63 Isa 7:13–14. 64 Here, Kindī appears to echo the Qur’ānic idiom “to wrong oneself.” See, e.g., Q 2:54, 57; 3:117, 135; 4:64; 18:35; 27:44; 28:16; 35:32; 37:113. 59 60

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placed (lit. falsified; Ar. ḥarrafnā) the words from their contexts, 65 and that we have altered the Book and changed it. You have sought refuge in this allegation and turned it into a cavern in which you seek shelter. I am, therefore, obliged to tell you the truth, so heed it and accept it. Indeed, my words are not those of a man who is a wrongdoer, envious, or obdurate, but an earnest response from me to you—for my religion instructs me to give counsel to all. I pity you for this excessive and overpowering folly, whose consequences can be dire. For I have never heard an argument that is as deficient and as easily invalidated as yours regarding the issue of falsification and alteration. I am truly surprised that you and [learned] people like you—those who have inspected the writings of truth and are of sound mind capable of distinguishing [truth from falsehood]—can be deceived by such claims. You know very well that we [Christians] and the Jews—the obdurate and incredulous enemies of what the Christ, our Lord and Savior and light of the world, has brought—indeed concur, without possibly colliding, on the veracity of the Book and that it is revealed from God with neither falsification nor alteration and neither addition nor subtraction. Nevertheless, given that you are the one charging the allegation of falsification and alteration, I extend to you an invitation that would do justice to us both. If you are indeed earnest, bring forth this unfalsified and unaltered book whose veracity is confirmed by the marvelous signs—in the same way that the miracles performed by the Prophets and the Disciples testify to the veracity of this Book, a testimony we have accepted from them. Verily, the same Book is in our hands and in the hands of the Jews with neither addition nor subtraction. However, I am certain that you are incapable of procuring [this unfalsified and unaltered book] that I may receive it from you. How then can you charge these allegations while your book [i.e., the Qur’ān] gives the ultimate testimony to the veracity of what we [Christians] hold in our hands? For it declares, “If you 65

Cf. Q 4:46; 5:13, 41.

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are in doubt about what We have sent down to you, ask those who have been reciting the Book before you. The truth has come to you from your Lord, so do not be one of the doubters.” 66 Your book further expounds and asserts this, acknowledging the virtue we have been given: “Those to whom We have given the Book recite it as it should be recited. Those (people) believe in it. But whoever disbelieves in it—those (people)—they are the losers.” 67 Comprehend, therefore, how your Book testifies to the validity of our recitation. Indeed, it commands him [your master, i.e., the Prophet Muḥammad] to ask us [about our Book] and to accept all what we say to him. How then can you claim that we have falsified and altered the words from their contexts? Are these propositions, therefore, not contradictory? Is the contradiction not apparent to everyone? For you testify to the validity of our recitation and then you backpedal and gainsay your testimony and belie yourself by charging the allegations of falsification and alteration—the utmost absurdity and abomination. For if neither you nor others are capable of fulfilling the condition that I have stipulated (which is impossible for you to fulfil), why then do you engage in casting aspersions, [an act] which is neither in your manners nor in your traits? Why do you accuse us of manifest falsehood, which is against your creed? How then can you accuse us of falsifying and altering God’s revelation, while we validly recite it as your Book testifies and confirms regarding your master? Do your own reason justice and seek to please God as reasonable people ought to do, and adjudicate who is the one falsifying and altering. Is it us [Christians]—we who received the Book from the people who attested to its veracity by bringing forth divine signs and marvels that are beyond human capabilities, and whose veracity is further confirmed by the concurrency of the nations with their different languages, predispositions, religions, and in different remote places, who are virtually inca66 67

Q 10:94. Q 2:121.

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pable of plotting a conspiracy? Or is it the one who accepts a book with no evidence, no proof, and no testimony from a prophet, and without even the mention of a marvel that testifies to its veracity—but only accepts it from a person who transmits it in his and his people’s own tongue, using it as proof of its veracity? Indeed, he [your master] claims that the book—the state and account of which we know—is on par with the splitting of the sea, resurrecting the dead, and curing the blind, the leper, and the cripple. He took this book from a people consumed by malevolence and violence—with each one adding or taking away from it—and having the audacity to attribute it to God, blessed and exalted, he claimed that it is a proof of the veracity of its prophet’s prophethood and that it is a just witness to him as the messenger of the Lord Almighty. However, not content with this he went further saying, “the one who fails to accept my book, to recognize that it is revealed from God, and to accept that I am a messenger-prophet—this person I will kill, claim his money, take captive his children, and defile his women.” This is how [his book] was accepted: out of dread and fear from the threat of such affliction and suffering, with neither argument nor proof. Therefore, I implore you—may God enrich you—to use your perceptive and discerning reason on this matter. Reflect on it and espouse that to which [your reason] will guide you and believe in it. I trust that your reason will prove faithful to you and never deceitful, for God—may his name be exalted—fashioned reason as the criterion of justice. Apply that with which God favored you and you will never fail to grasp the [different] truths. Amen! Let us now return to our exposition of the origins of the pure Good News. We reiterate that those who possess genuine reason and are invested in the pursuit of knowledge and inquiry concluded through reasoning and consensus—and without collusion—that the prophecies revealed by God, Exalted and Glorified, which the prophets deposited in their books, have been accomplished and fulfilled with the coming of the anticipated Christ.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Azmeh, Aziz al-. The Emergence of Islam in Late Antiquity: Allāh and His People. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014. Bertaina, David. “Melkites, Mutakallimūn and al-Ma’mūn: Depicting the Religious Other in Medieval Arabic Dialogues.” Comparative Islamic Studies 4, nos. 1–2 (2008): 17–36. Bottini, Laura. “The Apology of al-Kindī.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 585–594. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Burman, Thomas E. “The Influence of The Apology of al-Kindī and Contrarietas Alfolica on Ramon Lull’s Late Religious Polemics, 1305–1313.” Medieval Studies 53 (1991): 197–228. Droge, Arthur J. The Qur’ān: A New Annotated Translation. Sheffield: Equinox, 2014. Dye, Guillaume, and Manfred Kropp. “Le nom de Jésus (ʿĪsā) dans le Coran, et quelques autres noms bibliques: remarques sur l’onomastique coranique.” In Figures bibliques en islam, edited by Guillaume Dye and Fabien Nobilio, 171– 198. Brussels: E. M. E. & InterCommunications, 2011. Grabar, Oleg. “Al-Ḳuds.” In The Encyclopaedia of Islam, vol. 5, KHE–MAHI, edited by C. E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, B. Lewis, and Ch. Pellat, 322–331. 2nd ed. Leiden: Brill, 1986. Greenwood, Tim. “The Letter of Leo III in Ghewond.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 203–208. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Griffith, Sidney H. The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque: Christians and Muslims in the World of Islam. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010.

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Griffith, Sidney H. “Comparative Religion in the Apologetics of the First Christian Arabic Theologians.” In The Beginnings of Christian Theology in Arabic: Muslim Christian Encounters in the Early Islamic Period, 63–87. Aldershot: Ashgate/ Variorum, 2002. Griffith, Sidney H. “The Prophet Muḥammad: His Scripture and His Message According to the Christian Apologies in Arabic and Syriac from the First Abbasid Century.” In La vie du prophète Mahomet: colloque de Strasbourg octobre 1980, edited by Fahd Toufic. Bibliothèque des Centres d'Etudes Supérieures Spécialisés. Travaux du Centre d'Etudes Supérieures Spécialisé d'Histoire des Religions de Strasbourg. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1983. Heimgartner, Martin, and Barbara Roggema. “Timothy I.” Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 515–531. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Ibn al-Kalbī, Abū al-Mundhir Hishām. Kitāb al-aṣnām. Edited by Aḥmad Zakī Bāshā. Cairo: Dār al-Kutub al-Miṣriyya, 1995. Keating, Sandra Toenis. “Manipulation of the Qur’an in the Epistolary Exchange between al-Hāshimī and al-Kindī.” In Arab Christians and the Qur’an from the Origins of Islam to the Medieval Period, edited by Mark Beaumont, 50–65. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Muir, William. The Apology of Al Kindy, Written at the Court of Al Mâmûn, (A.H. 215; A.D. 830): In Defence of Christianity against Islam. London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1882. Origen. Contra Celsum. Translated and notes by Henry Chadwick. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980. Platti, Emilio. “ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī on the Qur’an.” In Arab Christians and the Qur’an from the Origins of Islam to the Medieval Period, edited by Mark Beaumont, 66–82. Leiden: Brill, 2018.

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Platti, Emilio. “Criteria for Authenticity of Prophecy in ʿAbd alMasīḥ al-Kindī’s Risāla.” In Books and Written Culture of the Islamic World: Studies Presented to Claude Gilliot on the Occasion of His 75th Birthday, edited by Andrew Rippin and Roberto Tottoli, 3–25. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Reynolds, Gabriel Said. “The Muslim Jesus: Dead or Alive.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 72, no. 2 (2009): 237–258. Reynolds, Gabriel Said. The Qur’ān and the Bible: Text and Commentary. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018. Roggema, Barbara. “The Affair of the Qur’ān.” In ChristianMuslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600– 900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 595– 596. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Roggema, Barbara. “Muslims as Crypto-Idolaters—A Theme in the Christian Portrayal of Islam in the Near East.” In Christians at the Heart of Islamic Rule: Church Life and Scholarship in ʿAbbasid Iraq, edited by David Thomas, 1–18. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Rubin, Uri. “Ḥanīf.” In The Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān, vol. 2, E– I, edited by Jane Dammen McAuliffe, 402–403. Leiden: Brill, 2004. Samir, Samir Khalil. “La version latine de l’Apologie d’al-Kindī (vers 830 ap. J. - C.) et son original arabe.” In ¿Existe una identidad mozárabe? historia, lengua y cultura de los cristianos de al-Andalus (siglos IX–XII), edited by Cyrille Aillet, Mayte Penelas, and Philippe Roisse, 33–82. Madrid: Casa de Velázquez, 2008. Schaffner, Ryan. “The Bible through a Qur’ānic Filter: Scripture Falsification (Taḥrīf) in 8th and 9th-Century Muslim Disputational Literature.” PhD diss., The Ohio State University, 2016. Swanson, Mark N. “The Christian al-Ma’mūn Tradition.” In Christians at the Heart of Islamic Rule: Church Life and Schol-

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Szilágyi, Krisztina. “A Prophet like Jesus? Christians and Muslims Debating Muḥammad’s Death.” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 36 (2009): 131–171. Takawi, Mourad. “The Trinity in Qur’anic Idiom: Q 4.171 and the Christian Arabic Presentation of the Trinity as God, his Word, and his Spirit.” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 30, no. 4 (2019): 435–457. Takawi, Mourad, and Gabriel Said Reynolds. “Muslim Perceptions of Jesus.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 15. Thematic Essays (600–1600), edited by Douglas Pratt and Charles L. Tieszen, 123–151. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 40. Leiden: Brill, 2020. Tannous, Jack. The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018. Tartar, Georges. Dialogue Islamo-chrétien sous le calife al-Ma’mûn (813–834): les épitres d’al-Hashîmî et d’al-Kindî. Paris: Nouvelles Éditions Latines, 1985. Tartar, Georges. “Ḥiwār islāmī masīḥī fi ʿahd al-khalīfa al-Ma’mūn (813–834): risālat al-Hāshimī wa-risālat al-Kindī.” PhD diss., Université des Sciences Humaines, 1977. Thomas, David, and Barbara Roggema, eds. Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900). History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009.

CHAPTER 4. ʿABD AL-MASĪḤ AL-KINDĪ (D. CA. 830): ON THE PATH OF GOD AND DISCERNING THE TRUE RELIGION MOURAD TAKAWI In many ways, the ninth-century epistolary exchange between ʿAbullāh al-Hāshimī and ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī opens a precious window into the world of the early ʿAbbāsid period. 1 In the previous chapter, we explored the correspondence against the backdrop of the intellectual culture in Baghdad in general and intra-ʿAbbāsid processes of defining Arabness in particular— paying close attention to Kindī’s unique exposition of his Christian faith as a member of a dwindling Arab nobility. Following up on our previous exploration, this chapter investigates a relatively overlooked excerpt of Kindī’s Epistle where he presents a riposte to Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace conquest (Ar. ghazw) and fighting (Ar. qitāl; jihād) in the path of God (fī sabīl Allāh), which throws open yet another window into exploring the viAll references to the epistolary exchange are drawn from Tartar’s Arabic edition; see Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 2–32 (Hāshimī’s letter), 34–211 (Kindī’s Epistle). Translations from the Arabic are mine. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 1

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brant intellectual scene of ninth-century Baghdad. To this end, I will begin with a synopsis of the excerpt, followed by an exploration of two key themes in the refutation against the backdrop of the contemporaneous ʿAbbāsid culture and religious debates, and conclude with a translation of the excerpt.

KINDĪ’S REFUTATION OF HOLY WAR: AN OVERVIEW

Kindī’s discussion on holy war comes in the fourth chapter of the Arabic edition by Georges Tartar in conclusion to the second part of the Epistle where the author gives a rather exhaustive critique of the Islamic traditions and customs. 2 Taken together, the different topics in the chapter respond to and expand on the themes in Hāshimī’s hortative missive, such as embracing the five daily prayers, fasting the month of Ramadan, practicing circumcision, pilgrimage to Mecca, embracing fighting in the path of God—our primary focus in the present study, as well as accepting Muslim beliefs on the afterlife, among others. Presented as a direct response to Hāshimī’s invitation to his Christian interlocutor to embrace conquest and fighting in the path of God, Kindī starts his exhaustive refutation with a nearverbatim quote from the former’s invitation: Then you say, “I invite you to the path of God, which is the conquest of opponents and disbelievers and the fighting of polytheists with the sword and through pillaging and taking them captives, 3 until they enter into the religion of God and

As noted in the previous chapter, Kindī’s detailed critique of Islamic beliefs, traditions, and customs—which constitutes the core of his polemical riposte—spans three chapters of the Epistle in the Tartar’s Arabic edition: Muḥammad’s prophethood (chap. 2), the revelatory status of the Qur’ān (chap. 3), and Muslim practices and customs (chap. 4; the focus of the present discussion). For an overview of the overall structure of Kindī’s Epistle, see the previous chapter. 3 The concoction of the path of God (Ar. sabīl Allāh) with the subsequent description of fighting evokes the Qur’ānic locution “fighting (Ar. 2

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bear witness that there is no god but God and that—he whose name I loathe to mention—is his servant and prophet, 4 or until they pay tribute out of hand and they are disgraced.” 5

Kindī then unpacks his critique of Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace holy war, which largely rests on two key interrelated themes: first and foremost, an insistence that Islamic holy war is qitāl; jihād) in the path of God.” See, e.g., Q 2:190, 218, 244, 246; 3:13, 167; 4:74–76, 84, 85; 5:35. 4 This is likely a reference to the tradition according to which the Prophet Muḥammad proclaims, “I have been commanded to fight the people until they bear witness that there is no god but God and that Muḥammad is the messenger of God.” The tradition is well attested and preserved in ninth-century hadith collections by contemporaries of Hāshimī and Kindī. See, e.g., al-Ṣanʿānī (d. 829), Muṣannaf, 6:66–67 (K. Ahl al-Kitāb 15, nos. 10020–10022); Ibn Abī Shayba (d. 849), AlMuṣannaf, 11:121–122 (K. al-Siyar 28, no. 33669, 33673–33675). See also Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, 42–43 (K. al-Īmān 1, nos. 32– 36); al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī, 16 (K. al-Īmān 2, no. 25) and 727 (K. al-Jihād wa-l-Siyar 56, no. 2946). 5 Here Kindī echoes the language of the concluding part of Q 9:29: “Fight those who do not believe in God or the Last Day, and do not forbid what God and His messenger have forbidden, and do not practice the religion of truth—from among those who have been given the Book—until they pay [Ar. yuʿṭū] tribute out of hand, and they are disgraced.” Kindī, however, does not use the Qur’ānic yuʿṭū translated here as “they pay,” but instead employs the near synonym yu’addū—the same word that Hāshimī employs in his own rendition of the same verse. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 19 (Hāshimī also employs the singular yu’addī on p. 16). As noted above, these lines present a near-verbatim rendition of Hāshimī’s invitation to Kindī in his missive: “I then invite you to the path of God, which is the conquest of opponents, war against the rebellious disbelievers, and the fighting of polytheists with the sword and through taking them captives and pillaging, until they enter into the religion of God and bear witness that there is no god but God and that Muḥammad is his servant and prophet, or until they pay tribute out of hand and they are disgraced” (pp. 18–19).

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not divinely sanctioned; and second, a discussion of the various criteria for discerning the veracity of religion. In the following, we will explore these two intertwined key themes against the backdrop of the contemporaneous ʿAbbāsid culture and religious debates.

HOW CAN FIGHTING BE IN THE PATH OF GOD?

Having reproduced Hāshimī’s offer, Kindī hastens to reject it, rebuking his addressee for the mere invitation “to partake in Satan’s ruthless work” and to perform deeds “that are contrary to human nature, and which oppose the nature of God.” 6 Hāshimī’s invitation and Kindī’s knee-jerk rejection deserve a closer look. After all, why did Hāshimī invite Kindī to embrace holy war if the latter is primed to reject it? Correspondingly, why did Kindī readily renounce the Muslim call to fight in the path of God as against God’s nature, especially given that he is not in principle opposed to wielding the sword in fulfilment of God’s commandment as is clear in his response? Here, the early ʿAbbāsid context provides a helpful point of departure. So why did Hāshimī invite Kindī to embrace fighting in the path of God? As we explored in the previous chapter, Hāshimī begins his hortative missive with boasting his soi-disant knowledge of Christianity: that he had carefully perused its sacred texts, closely and appreciatively encountered its pious and ascetic expressions, and engaged in learned discussions with prominent Christian figures. 7 Given the breadth of his knowledge of and encounters with Christianity, it is likely that Hāshimī was both rehearsing and appealing to certain contemporaneous Christian attitudes that would not readily dismiss the conquests as demonic, as Kindī charges, and that would even in some way resonate with the Islamic view holding that the early Arab conquests of the seventh century were divinely ordained—

6 7

Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 145. See Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 8–15.

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albeit as part of the unfolding drama of divine providence and not as proof of the veracity of the Islamic kerygma. Indeed, for a variety of historical, ecclesiastical, and theological considerations, some Christian voices in the early Islamic centuries viewed the early Arab conquests as divinely ordained. Thus, the late seventh-century Christian Syriac apocalyptic text The Gospel of the Twelve Apostles unequivocally understands the conquests of the Persian Empire and large swaths of the Byzantine empire as ordained by God, “the Holy One of Heaven,” and even prescribed in the Torah. 8 Writing around the same time, the Syriac Christian writer John bar Penkāyē espouses a similar stance, noting that God had long preordained the Arabs to be instruments of chastising the Persians and the Byzantines and urging his Christian readers “not to think of the advent of [Muslims] as something ordinary but as due to divine working.” 9 A century later, Patriarch Timothy I—the famed catholicos of the Church of the East with whom Hāshimī reportedly engaged in learned discussions—similarly insisted in his dialogue with the Caliph Mahdī (r. 775–785) that the Muslim conquests were divinely ordained to bring low the Persian and Byzantine empires as punishment for their perceived paganism and wrongheaded theology, respectively: Because of this God honoured him [i.e., Muḥammad] exceedingly and brought low before his feet two powerful kingdoms which roared in the world like a lion and made the voice of their authority heard in all the earth that is below the heaven like thunder, viz: the Kingdom of the PerGospel of the Twelve Apostles, 36. The Gospel in fact takes a strong stance against those who deride Muḥammad and his followers, for “their kingdom and authority is from God” (p. 37). As David Cook opines, “The Christian apocalyptists used the fear generated by the Muslims’ successes to impose their belief system on their society, and to some extent the two sides were able to draw from each other, using the others’ scenario as a bogeyman.” Cook, Studies, 6. 9 Brock, “North Mesopotamia,” 57–58. 8

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While such views were far from held up by all Christian groups at the time, 11 they appear to have been more widespread among Christians living under former Sassanid rule, particularly adherents of the Church of the East—of whom Hāshimī speaks highly and even considers the closest to Muslims. 12 Not only was the view that the early conquests were divinely ordained circulating in certain Christian circles with whom Hāshimī engaged in learned discussions, but Christians by and large were far from opposed to instances of divinely sanctioned militancy as well. In the centuries leading up to the epistolary exchange, militant piety became a prominent feature of late antique Christianity—particularly of its ascetic expressions—and later of Islam. 13 The early Muslims, Thomas Sizgorich notes, “drew upon the semiotic koinê they shared with the communities around them to cast certain crucial events of the first/seventh-century Arab conquests as episodes within a specifically Muslim narrative,” thereby presenting the conquerors as ascetic warriors of the faith, “monks by night, horsemen by day.” 14 Indeed, militant piety was a common denominator beMingana, “Apology,” 62. As the Catholicos of the Dyophysite Church of the East, Timothy is critical of the Chalcedonian theology espoused by the Byzantine Empire. 11 For instance, the eighth-century Melkite theologian John of Damascus famously describes Islam as the “people-deceiving practice of the Ishmaelites” and “the forerunner of the Antichrist.” See Schadler, John of Damascus, 219. 12 See Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 10. 13 On late antique Christian militant piety, see Gaddis, No Crime, 151– 250; Sizgorich, Violence, 108–143. 14 Sizgorich, Violence, 149. 10

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tween different expressions of late antique and early ʿAbbāsid Christianity and Islam to the extent that, as Christian Sahner observes, ʿAbbāsid literature preserves “tantalizing stories” of Christian ascetic converts to Islam embracing its pious militancy: an interesting phenomenon, he elucidates, not merely for portraying “improbably kinds of conversion [but because of] how they portray these conversions as not improbable at all.” 15 Sahner further explains: There is no sense of the monk as the errant religious “other” or as the man abandoned by God and caught in the grip of demonic possession, as Christians so often portrayed their enemies in Late Antiquity. Rather, what we have here is a self-consciously muted religious shape-shifting, one that assures the reader by emphasizing a seamless transition, not rupture, between two discrete spheres. 16

Far from anomalous, therefore, Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace fighting in the path of God fits squarely into the late antique ethos of militant piety that continues to be celebrated in ʿAbbāsid literature. If militancy continued to be an acceptable expression of piety in the early ʿAbbāsid period across religious and communal lines, and indeed Kindī himself is not against it as he shortly explains during his riposte, why does he readily renounce Hāshimī’s call to embrace fighting in the path of God? It is quite possible that Kindī understood Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace conquest and fighting on the path of God as a call to support Muslim military campaigns against the Christian Byzantine Empire, the bitter rival of the ʿAbbāsid Empire. On the one hand, not only were these anti-Byzantine campaigns “the focus of military activities of Umayyad and ʿAbbāsid Caliphs,” as Hugh Kennedy notes, 17 but they were also championed by the non-stateSahner, “‘Monasticism,’” 179. Sahner, “‘Monasticism,’” 179. 17 Kennedy, Armies, xiv. 15 16

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led volunteer warriors of the faith fighting on the Byzantine frontier at the time. 18 On the other hand, it appears that, unlike the aforementioned Christian voices characterizing the conquests as instances of divine reckoning of the perceived wayward Persian and Byzantine empires, the Christian author sees the Roman Empire as an instrument of divine economy. Later in his exposition of the Christian faith, which we discussed in the previous chapter, Kindī writes: Christ was the one who sprang forth from Judah by his humanity, and to whom the Israelites submitted when they accepted his call. The hand of the Romans, which was his hand, was placed on the shoulders of his enemies from among the Israelites who revoked his lordship and disbelieved in him. 19

This arresting instance of Kindī’s adversus judaeos motif, which permeates the Epistle, palpably identifies the Byzantine Empire as an instrument of Christ. To accept Hāshimī’s invitation, therefore, is tantamount to fighting Christ himself. Be that as it may, it is also highly likely that Kindī and other ʿAbbāsid-era Christian writers, who vehemently renounce militant Islamic piety, were responding to contemporaneous Muslim narratives which cloaked the early Islamic conquests in an aura of miraculousness. As Sizgorich notes, these narratives glorified the early Muslim conquests of the seventh century as “a kind of military miracle in which the will of God was manifested in the lightning conquests of the Persian Sassanian Empire and much of the eastern Roman Empire by ragged Arab armies organized around Muḥammad’s revelation.” 20 At its heart, Kindī’s repudiation of Hāshimī’s invitation is in no small part a rejection of the miraculousness of the conquests. As we will further exOn the shift from caliphal state-sponsored jihād to more privatized forms led by volunteer warriors of the faith (mutaṭawwiʿa), see Tor, “Privatized Jihad,” 555–573. See also idem, Violent Order, 39–89. 19 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 148. 20 Sizgorich, Violence, 2. 18

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plore in the following section, a central pillar of Christian antiIslamic polemic is the emphasis on miraculous signs and wonders as criteria for discerning the veracity of religion. As Mark Swanson explains, From the time of the very earliest Christian-Muslim debates, as far as the available evidence suggests, they identified fulfilled prophecy and evidentiary miracles as positive signs by means of which the true religion might be discerned—and tacitly or explicitly called the prophethood of Muhammad into question because of their presumed absence in his career. 21

For Kindī as well as other early ʿAbbāsid Christian apologists, the refutation of conquest and the wielding of the sword play a crucial role in the overall rejection of the Islamic kerygma. After all, so the Christian apologetic line of thinking goes, nascent Islam only resorted to spreading by the sword given the apparent lack of signs and wonders that would have otherwise buttressed its veracity. It is nevertheless important to recall that, far from issuing a blanket repudiation of militant piety, Kindī’s targeted rejection is tailored first and foremost against Muslim appeals to the miraculousness of the conquests. Indeed, as Kindī contends, wielding the sword does not ipso facto call into question the veracity of a prophet’s message if they first produce miracles supporting their truthfulness. Thus, anticipating a Muslim rejoinder that Moses “fought the infidels and the idol worshippers,” Kindī insists that Moses and his successor Joshua both wielded the sword after having first established the veracity of their prophethood through numerous wonders—unlike Muḥammad who produced no miracles in support of his message, as he further reminds his interlocutor. 22 Not unlike the author of The Gospel of Twelve Apostles and John bar Penkāyē, Kindī maintains 21 22

Swanson, “Apology?,” 390. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 147.

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that God ordains earthly powers to chastise wrongdoers. Thus, as we saw above, he argues that God sanctioned the Romans’ massacring and dispersing of the Jews for failing to believe in Jesus. 23 Here again, while Kindī grants the divine sanctioning of sacred militancy to prophets like Moses and Joshua as well as to the dominating powers of this world like the Roman Empire, miraculous signs and wonders—and not the sword—constitute a necessary condition for establishing the veracity of religion.

DISCERNING THE TRUE RELIGION

By and large, Kindī’s emphasis on miraculous signs follows the broad contours of the early ʿAbbāsid Christian “true religion apology”—to use Swanson’s fitting nomenclature. 24 According to this strategy, Christian controversialists in the early Islamic centuries concocted a number of positive categories in support of the veracity of the Christian faith, as well as negative criteria, as Sidney Griffith observes, “devised specifically in the effort to exclude Islam from any claim to be the true religion.” 25 Thus, in his response to a Muʿtazilī question disputing the veracity of Christianity, Kindī’s contemporary and likely acquaintance the Jacobite theologian and apologist Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī (d. ca. 835) suggests that there are two kinds of compulsion in religion: “compulsion by the sword or compulsion by signs from God.” 26 Christians, he concludes his short tract, “have been compelled by signs, not by the sword. Signs are the surest proof that the religion in which they appear is the true religion, according to God, the Powerful and Mighty.” 27 Further expanding on this theme, the ninth-century East Syrian polymath Ḥunayn ibn Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 148. Swanson, “Apology?,” 394. 25 Griffith, Church, 98. 26 Keating, Defending, 342 (Ar.), 343 (Eng. trans.). On the possible connection between Abū Rā’iṭa and Kindī, and the former’s likely influences on the latter, see Keating, “Manipulation,” 52–53. 27 Keating, Defending, 344 (Ar.), 345 (Eng. trans.). 23 24

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Isḥāq (d. 873) in his tract, “On How to Discern the Truth of Religion,” outlines six main reasons for accepting falsehood and four reasons for espousing the true religion. Taken together, the six reasons reverberate some of Kindī’s objections to embracing fighting in the path of God, including being “compelled to accept against his will what has been imposed upon him,” seeking deliverance from “unbearable hardship and oppression,” seeking “power over humiliation, distinction over abasement, strength over weakness,” being deceived by the proponent of a religion who “varnishes falsehood” and “exploits the ignorance” of others, and lastly, due to “natural kinship between the one invited [to accept a false doctrine] and the other person.” 28 Not surprisingly, Ḥunayn’s first reason for accepting truth “is witness to signs that are beyond the powers of a human being to perform.” 29 In broad strokes, the early ʿAbbāsid Christian “true religion apology” rests in no small part on the twin themes of emphasizing signs and miracles in support of Christianity coupled with questioning the motives of conversion to Islam. Nevertheless, while Kindī’s response by and large fits into the wellrehearsed scripts of the early ʿAbbāsid Christian “true religion apology,” a closer look at his response unmasks a rather peculiar application of this apologetic device—one that also fortuitously opens a window into the inter- and intra-religious theological debates at the time. Indeed, one would be remiss not to situate the Christian “true religion apology” within the interreligious context of ninth-century Baghdad and the corresponding enterprise of comparative religion that is part and parcel of the ʿAbbāsid intellectual project. Successfully hegemonic as it was, the ʿAbbāsid imperial ideology constantly pulled the many “others” within its ever-shifting frontiers into the heart of the constantly negotiated Cucarella, “‘How to Discern,’” 167–168. See also the critical Arabic edition by Samir Khalil Samir, “Maqālat Ḥunayn b. Isḥāq fī ‘Kayfiyyat idrāk ḥaqīqat al-diyāna,’” al-Mashriq 71, no. 2 (1997): 345–363. 29 Cucarella, “‘How to Discern,’” 168. 28

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imperial formations of its elite culture and community. ʿAbbāsid religion and imageries of Arabness thus became increasingly defined in the imperial idiom through the religious and cultural domination of the pre-Islamic Arab past and the non-Arab other within the fledgling empire—and it is against this backdrop that we explored Kindī’s insistence on his own soi-disant superior Arab standing and faith in the previous chapter. This becomes all too apparent in the massive ʿAbbāsid-led translation project which rendered Greek, Syriac, Persian, and, to a lesser extent, Sanskrit literature as the cultural spoils of the Islamic empire. 30 This is similarly apparent in the corresponding interest in comparative religion, the aim of which is to demonstrate the superiority of the imperial religion by absorbing insights from the vibrant array of religious traditions including Christianity, Judaism, Zoroastrianism, Hinduism, and Buddhism. After all, not only were these religious traditions espoused by subjects of the far-flung empire, they were also vividly represented in the rich tapestry of ʿAbbāsid intellectual culture as courtiers, high ranking intellectuals, and advisers to the caliph. 31 It is in this context As Hayrettin Yücesoy opines, the translation movement was “as an act of conquest in which the translator/receiving culture collects, surveys, classifies, and categorizes the source text to manage and control its content according to the demands of a new context. Translation helped ‘Abbāsid elites imagine a historical past that had seemed chaotic and extraneous as a fixed, coherent, and relevant heritage whose multiple aspects could be situated at various points of distance from the ‘Abbāsid ideological and cultural epicenter.” Yücesoy, “Translation,” 557. More generally on the ʿAbbāsid-led translation project, see the magisterial work by Gutas, Greek Thought. 31 While the role of Christians and Jews is rather well documented in scholarship on ʿAbbāsid intellectual life and society, relatively little attention is given to Indian as well as certain expressions of Iranian components of ʿAbbāsid culture. As an incisive corrective and valued contribution, see Kevin van Bladel’s study on the famed Barmakid family who hailed from Buddhist Bactrian origins and who rose to prominence in the early ʿAbbāsid period. The study also surveys different loci 30

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that Hāshimī presents his extended invitation to embrace Islam as a comparative theological exercise whose ultimate objective is to ascertain the true religion. It is also in this light that I propose to explore Kindī’s “true religion apology,” and particularly his references to other religions. Given the religiously pluralistic context of the early ʿAbbāsid period and the great interest that ʿAbbāsid elite took in foreign cultures, Kindī must have evoked the different examples of religious beliefs and practices with the expectation that his interlocutor is in some degree familiar with them. Thus, in his critique of Muslim pilgrimage and rituals prior to his extensive discussion of jihād, Kindī anchors his polemic in drawing parallels with Indian as well as pre-Islamic Arab rituals with the aim of conjuring up familiar examples to his Muslim interlocutor— indeed, Kindī insists that Hāshimī and his fellow Muslims are aware of the pre-Islamic polytheist pilgrimage rituals. 32 After all, the potency of this exercise in comparative religion ultimately rests on drawing parallels with other religions to cast doubt or at least question the divine origins of the Islamic pilgrimage rituals. Here again, Kindī’s decisive coup de grace, however, remains the perceived conspicuous lack of miracles in the Islamic sacred sites. He therefore asks his interlocutor: “have you learnt of a sick person who went [to the sacred sites] and was healed? … Have you learnt of a leper who was cured from his leprosy? Or a blind person who at this spot was able to open his eyes?” 33 For Kindī, signs and miracles are the criteria not only for discerning the true religion, but for establishing the efficacy of its rituals and sacred sites as well. In a similar vein, Kindī invokes support from other religious traditions in his rebuttal to Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace conquest and holy war. Prefacing his comparative examples, of encounters between Arab, Iranian, and Indian cultures and religions. Van Bladel, “Bactrian Background,” 43–88. 32 See Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 140–141. 33 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 142.

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Kindī insists that no “gospeler attracted people to what he preaches and invited them to acknowledge the truthfulness of what he proclaims forcibly and coercively, or through beating them down with the sword and threatening to pillage and take them captive.” 34 Centering miraculous signs and wonders, and not the wielding of the sword, as the criterion for discerning the veracity of religion, Kindī then follows up with an array of case studies: first, reminding his interlocutor of the aforementioned discussion on Moses, followed by the examples of both Zoroaster and the Buddha—all of whom brought forth wondrous signs in support of their message. 35 Anticipating his interlocutor’s probable rebuttal that this comparative religious exercise undermines Kindī’s own case by attesting signs and wonders to religious traditions that neither the Christian nor the Muslim correspondents would accept as true, Kindī adds: Indeed, we find that none of these gospelers—whether calling for right or wrong—failed to procure a testament or a valid proof to elucidate their otherwise outwardly burnished and meretricious message (until it is put through an ordeal by scales, which will make clear truth from falsehood). It is thusly that all those proclaiming a message acted with their people—except your master. 36

For Kindī, therefore, signs and miracles are a necessary condition, and not a sufficient one, for discerning the veracity of a religious message. A religion that lacks signs and miracles is ineluctably a false one. Here it is worthy to note that Kindī’s rejection of Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace conquest is not a mere syllogistic consequence of the inferred invalidity of the Muslim kerygma given Muḥammad’s perceived lack of signs and miracles—one that is contrasted by invoking evidence from other religions. For Kindī, Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 149. Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 149–150. 36 Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 150. 34 35

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Hāshimī’s invitation stands firmly against the very nature of God: Do you then want me to oppose the commandment (Ar. amr) of God, blessed be his name, and beat [people] with the sword, rob them, and take them as captives? This would surely be intransigent against God and his commandments: a transgression against his grace, a disavowal of knowing him, a denial of his goodness, and an ingratitude for his kindness. 37

Recapitulating Kindī’s response, Emilio Platti opines: “these terrible things are contrary to human nature (al-ṭābīʿa al-insāniyya) and they contradict God’s law (ṭabīʿat al-ilāh): God is full of compassion and kindness towards all his servants.” 38 But this is far from the complete picture; after all, as we explored above, Kindī grants divinely sanctioned militant expressions of piety to both prophets and empires. There is more to Kindī’s vehement rejection beyond the mere pontification that conquest runs against God’s compassionate nature. Indeed, the above passage functions as a prelude to the supposed Muslim interlocutor’s anticipated remonstrance, which in turn paves the way for Kindī’s follow-up argument: If you say: “We may observe that God, exalted is his remembrance, causes [people] to die and afflicts them with sickness and agony, what then prevents you from following his example?” 39 […] I will bring forward a well-prepared and precise answer… and affirm that God, blessed and exalted, only afflicts his servants and causes them to die not out of an inTartar, “Ḥiwār,” 152. Platti, “Criteria,” 19. 39 Lit. “imitating [God] (Ar. tashabbuh bihi).” While the supposed Muslim interlocutor would have likely steered clear from the sheer anthropomorphism evoked by the locution “imitating God,” the wording of the question clearly evokes Christian incarnational theological motifs that would resonate with the intended Christian audience. 37 38

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While Kindī’s response is evidently constructed as an aporetic device that employs the classic Kalām-style argumentative structure in currency at the time (employing the format: if you say… we respond), 41 it is not unlikely that the author could have encountered a similar Muslim retort. After all, the well-rehearsed Christian polemic against Muḥammad’s militancy must have evoked a variety of Muslim responses. In other words, not only was Kindī likely addressing genuine Muslim responses to Christian critiques of the early Islamic militancy, but he was also entertaining these retorts using the very argumentative idiom used by contemporaneous Muslim theologians. Kindī’s presentation of the supposed Muslim expostulation and his riposte deserves a closer look as it sheds light on yet another dimension of his “true religion apology” and his rejection of Hāshimī’s invitation. The Muslim demurral, which is evidently tailored against Christian objections to the early conquests, can be summarized as follows: for the Christian apologist, the conquests are against the compassionate nature of God; however, if God afflicts people with sickness and agony, and therefore such affliction is not contrary to God’s nature, why would not these Christians imitate God and extend the divine will? In response, Kindī emphasizes the good of the afflicted as the ultimate end of all endured hardships. Unlike the conquests which benefit the conqueror to the detriment of the conquered, God afflicts his servants for their own betterment—not unlike a physician whose procedures may cause pain but ultimately cure the Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 152. Kindī employs such Kalām-style argumentation throughout his letter. For a discussion on an earlier example of such usage in the Epistle, see Takawi, “Trinity,” 447–449. On the chronology of the Kalām argumentative style and its roots in the Christological debates of the fourth/fifth centuries, see Benevich, “‘Wenn Sie sagen,’” 181–201. More generally on the origins of Kalām, see Treiger, “Origins,” 27–43.

40 41

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patient. Interestingly, Kindī’s argument and imagery appear to echo late antique rhetorical techniques deployed in support of religious coercion: what Maijastina Kahlos identifies as the paternalistic “We’re doing this for your own good” technique, which not incidentally, “frequently employs medical analogy: coercion was often rationalized using the metaphor of disease and its remedies.” 42 Here again, conquest and militancy are not ipso facto against God’s will: their end goal is. After presenting an overview of the context and key themes in Kindī’s detailed riposte to Hāshimī to espouse jihad, the last section in this chapter will feature a translation of Kindī’s response. The reader will note the author’s use of both the style and content of interreligious disputations at the time, interspersed with Islamic idioms and turns of phrase. Ultimately, and similar to our exploration in the previous chapter, Kindī structures his response in a way that is meant to resonate with his contemporaneous Muslim audience.

CONCLUSION

In the same vein as our earlier exploration, this chapter investigates another relatively overlooked excerpt of Kindī’s Epistle, where he presents a riposte to Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace conquest and fighting in the path of God. To this end, the chapter sheds light on two interrelated key themes undergirding Kindī’s response: his insistence that Islamic holy war is not divinely sanctioned, and his proposed criteria for discerning the veracity of religion. Read together, the two chapters showcase, by way of desiderata, the ways in which Kindī’s Epistle throws open a precious window into exploring the vibrant intellectual scene of ninth-century Baghdad from the oft-overlooked perspective of the dwindling Arab Christian nobility. Thus, both chapters shed light on peculiar aspects of Kindī’s response that set it apart from other contemporaneous Christian apologies. Against this backdrop, this chapter situates Kindī’s detailed re42

Kahlos, Forbearance, 3.

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jection of holy war—offered in translation in the following section—within the interreligious context of ninth-century Baghdad and the corresponding imperial enterprise of comparative religion that is part and parcel of the ʿAbbāsid intellectual project.

A TRANSLATION OF KINDĪ’S RESPONSE TO HĀSHIMĪ 43

Then you say, “I invite you to the path of God, which is the conquest of opponents and disbelievers and the fighting of polytheists with the sword and through pillaging and taking them captives, until they enter into the religion of God and bear witness that there is no god but God and that—he whose name I loathe to mention—is his servant and prophet, or until they pay tribute out of hand and they are disgraced.” Was it then your intention, O wise and sage one, to invite me to partake in Satan’s ruthless work? He who had dumped his grudge against Adam and his posterity onto a group of people whom he had seduced: into whom he unloaded his poison and his ire filling them with his wrath and fury and turning them into his weapon—turning them into servile allies to whose will they bend, whose goals they strive to realize, to whose pleasure they serve, and to whose obedience and love they profess subjection by killing and pillaging? Tell me, therefore, who would dare say that these grave deeds—ones that are contrary to human nature and which oppose the nature of God whose mercy and compassion encompass all his servants—that these may be in the path of God, exalted and glorified? Far be it! God is exalted above all these heinous failings. Tell me, then, how would I reconcile your two contradictory sayings? For you gainsay what your book—which you claim to be revealed from God—asserts: “Let there be one community of you, calling people to good, and commanding right and forThe following is my translation of a selection of Kindī’s response as presented in Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 145–154. All biblical references are directly translated from the Epistle. Translations from the Qur’ān are adapted from Droge, Qur’ān.

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bidding wrong. Those—they are the ones who prosper.” 44 Also, you write, “Their guidance is not dependent on you, but God guides whomever He pleases.” 45 You then adduce, “If your Lord had so pleased, whoever was on the earth would indeed have believed—all of them together. Will you compel the people until they become believers? It is not for any person to believe, except by the permission of God.” 46 Do you not see how you impugn these statements? Indeed, you also write, “Say: ‘People! The truth has come to you from your Lord. Whoever is rightly guided, is guided only for himself, and whoever goes astray, goes astray only against himself. I am not a guardian over you.’ Follow what you are inspired with, and be patient until God judges, for He is the best of judges.” 47 Elsewhere you write, “If your Lord had so pleased, He would indeed have made the people one community, but they will continue to differ, except for the one on whom your Lord has compassion, and for that purpose He created them.” 48 Indeed, you write in your missive, in confirmation to all these statements, that [the Prophet] “was sent with mercy to all the people.” 49 What kind of mercy is this, that uses killing, pillaging, and taking captives?

Q 3:104. Q 2:272. 46 Q 10:99–100. 47 Q 10:108–109. 48 Q 11:118–119. 49 Kindī’s description of the prophetic mission recapitulates Hāshimī’s prefatory note: “[The Prophet] would start addressing people by wishing them peace and mercy, without differentiating between neither a Muslim nor a dhimmi, and neither a believer nor a polytheist. He said: ‘I was sent to all humanity with the best character, and I was not sent with harshness and surliness.’ God bears witness to this saying, ‘He is kind and compassionate with the believers’ [Q 9:128].’” Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 5. See also Q 21:107: “We have sent you only as a mercy to the worlds.” Kindī’s wording also appears to evoke the hadith, according to which the Prophet said, “I was not sent as a denouncer; rather, I 44 45

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I often recall how some Jewish detractors call your book self-contradictory. While I would not ascribe such a heinous characterization to your book, I nevertheless impute it to your words, for they are indeed self-contradictory: you would claim one thing, and then you would renege and retract what you said. Pray tell, then, what would “the path of Satan” comprise? Would it not consist of killing, shedding blood, pillaging, taking captives, and robbing? Would anyone dare say otherwise? If you retort that Moses—the confidant of God, blessed and exalted—fought the infidels and the idol worshippers, we will rejoin by saying: harken back to what you have read in the Torah—how many marvels did Moses perform in order for us to believe that the warring and the fighting of the idol worshippers were ordained by God, may his name be blessed? Similarly, when Joshua son of Nun stopped the sun and the moon, and they indeed stood still in response to his command 50—this was indeed a marvelous sign which no one is able to perform apart from the pious devotees of the Lord of the worlds. 51 It is because of this that we believe that whatever he did was ordained by God, exalted and glorified. Now then, which sign are you able to invoke? Can you report any marvel that your master [i.e., the Prophet] performed—one that can be put forth as a witness to him, and according to which we are compelled to believe that which he proclaims especially killing people by his command, plunder their possessions, take their children captive, and robbing them? was sent as mercy.” Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim, 1045 (K. al-Birr wa-l-Ṣila wa-l-Ādāb 45, no. 2599). 50 Cf. Joshua 10:12–13. 51 Here Kindī evokes the Qur’ānic locution “Lord of the worlds (rabb alʿālamīn).” See Q 1:2; 2:131; 5:28; 6:45, 71, 162; 7:54, 61, 67, 104, 121; 10:10, 37; 16:16, 23, 47, 77, 98, 109, 127, 145, 164, 180, 192; 27:8, 44; 28:30; 29:75; 32:2; 37:87, 182; 40:64, 65, 66; 41:9; 43:46; 45:36; 56:80; 59:16; 69:43; 81:29; 83:6. As Gabriel Reynolds notes, the locution “Lord of the worlds” “seems to mean simply ‘Lord of all people.’” Reynolds, Qur’ān and Bible, 30.

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This pertains to a people who are pious devotees of God, ever persevering in his worship and upholding his prescribed obligations and ordinances. Indeed, God wills to make abundant their reward and to remit their wrongdoings—those who pour out their hearts for his religion, believe in his Christ, and truly live in his fear—and therefore he guided them to the straight truth; their faces are illuminated in this world and in the hereafter. Verily, it is only when you called it “the path of God” that you were able to let yourself be convinced. But far be it for God, exalted and glorified, that this be his path. Far be it that one who commits any of these atrocities be counted among his pious devotees and among his faithful obedient. For God, exalted and glorified, does not love the fomenters of corruption. 52 What else do I add apropos the contradiction and incongruity of this matter? For again, you write, “There is no compulsion in religion.” 53 You also claim that God, blessed and exalted, stated, “Say to those who have been given the Book, and to the common people: ‘Have you submitted?’ If they submit, they have been rightly guided, but if they turn away—only dependent on you is the delivery of the message. God sees His servants.” 54 Indeed, you are the one maintaining, “If God had so pleased, those who came after them would not have fought each other, after the clear signs had come to them. But they differed, and there were some of them who believed and some of them who disbelieved. If God had so pleased, they would not have fought each other. But God does whatever He wills.” 55 You also state, “Say: ‘You disbelievers,’” which you conclude with, “To you your religion and to me my religion.” 56 And then you say, “Do not dispute with the People of the Book except with what is 437F

The language of the concluding sentence echoes Q 5:64 and Q 28:77. Cf. Q 2:205. 53 Q 2:256. Hāshimī evokes this verse in conclusion to his missive. See Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 32. 54 Q 3:20. 55 Q 2:253. 56 Q 109:1, 6. 52

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better.” 57 Nevertheless, you call for the killing of people, beating them by the sword, robbing them, and taking them captive, until they coercively enter into your religion. How then do I reason with you? Which of your propositions do I take to be valid: the first or the second? Percolating into what you say are the “abrogating and the abrogated”. 58 Indeed, while you are the one invoking it [i.e., the issue of the abrogating and the abrogated], you have little knowledge of it for you do not know which is the abrogating and which is the abrogated. Perhaps what you take to be the abrogating is the abrogated; therefore, what you are saying— that which you take to be abrogated is the abrogating—turns against you. Given that you admit your ignorance in this regard and that you have little knowledge of the matter and no valid argument for it—indeed you are incapable of procuring a valid proof when presented with such a request—there appears to be no need for us to discuss the matter.

Q 29:46. Ar. nāsikh wa-mansūkh. Abrogation is an Islamic legal theory whereby one revealed text may be interpreted as repealing another contradictory text that was revealed prior to it. More generally on abrogation, see Burton, Sources. Here Kindī is specifically pointing out how Hāshimī’s invitation, which is based on the Qur’ān and the Prophetic authority to embrace conquest and fighting in the path of God, contradicts other Qur’ānic evidence such as Q 2:256, “There is no compulsion in religion,” cited in both letters (see n. 53 above). Kindī’s critique apparently hinges on intra-Islamic debates on criteria and applications of abrogation, and indeed he points out that determining which texts are abrogated and which are abrogating remains far from settled—at least in his own estimate. This notwithstanding, Hāshimī’s invitation to embrace conquest and fighting and his reassurance that “There is no compulsion in religion” may be best seen not as a potential application of abrogation, but rather in light of the missionary genre of Hāshimī’s letter. After all, the different rhetorical devices deployed in Hāshimī’s hortative missive aim, first and foremost, to entice Kindī to embrace Islam. 57 58

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We have therefore reached the conclusion that you contradict yourself. You nullify what you say, you refute your own argument and gainsay your proposition: on the one hand, you claim that your master was sent with mercy and kindness to all people; while on the other hand, you maintain that you are to beat people by your sword, that you are to rob them and take them captive until they coercively enter into your religion, forcibly adhere to your views, and compellingly proclaim your proclamation of faith. If, after all this, we have reached thus far in our discussion without apprehending the truthfulness of either of your sayings—indeed we failed to establish the veracity of either, nor were we able to distinguish the true from the false, or the revealed from the customary—then it is incumbent upon you to conclude, from these presuppositions, that both sayings are void and untrue. For what you may take to be true (and which ought to be espoused) may well be false and must be abandoned. Indeed, God, may his praise be exalted, commanded neither. Have you ever learned—may God have mercy on you—or have you ever read in books, revealed or otherwise, that a gospeler attracted people to what he preaches and invited them to acknowledge the truthfulness of what he proclaims forcibly and coercively, or through beating them down with the sword and threatening to pillage and take them captive—other than your master? 59 You have already learned the story of Moses and the wonderous signs he had brought. You have also learned the stories of the prophets after him, whose acts confirm and bear It is worthy to note that, in this present discussion, Kindī employs a variety of words connected to the Arabic root daʿā (lit. to call, to invite, to supplicate) which cover a wide range of meanings. The list includes daʿā, which, in addition to the aforementioned meanings, may also evoke the Islamic usage of calling someone to embrace Islam; dāʿī, rendered above as gospeler, but which can also generally mean a caller or inviter; iddaʿā which comprises to allege, to pretend, or to claim; as well as daʿwa (lit. a call, an invitation, or supplication) which also has specific “missionary” undertones. On this, see Kuiper, Da’wa. 59

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witness that what they had brought is indeed from God. Even the impure Magians (i.e., the Zoroastrians) vainly allege and claim regarding Zoroaster: 60 having received the revelation while he was in mount Ceylon, he proclaimed [the message] to king Vishtaspa and his people—which have accepted his message and yielded to the former when he showed them through his magic, deception, and misdirection what they mistook to be a supernatural sign, like the dead horse which he revived and the mumbling ravings (Ar. zamzama) which allegedly comprise all languages and the perfection of human speech. 61 These he inscribed in twelve thousand parchments made from buffalo skin and called “the Avesta”—meaning the book of religion—of which, when asked about interpreting it, they [i.e., the Magians] deny their knowledge and admit their ignorance. Similarly, the Buddha (Ar. al-Budd) in India produced—so it is claimed—a mythical gryphon in whose belly a maid trumpeted and annunciated the truthfulness of all that the Buddha proclaimed and 45F

46F

The “impurity” of the Magi is likely an aperçu of their sexual practices, which Kindī describes on different occasions in his Epistle. For instance: “The impure Magians, who have intercourse with mothers, daughters, and sisters; who purify themselves with aged urine and whose priests pour aged urine on women’s postpartum sexual organs.” Tartar, “Ḥiwār,” 141. Also elsewhere, “The impure Magians, worshippers of the sun and fire, whose debauched and impure laws make permissible sexual relations with mothers, sisters, and daughters as well as similarly filthy customs” (p. 168). 61 While zamzama may denote mumbling in general, here Kindī appears to capitalize on the term’s connection to Zoroastrian practices, in particular the mumbling of prayers during mealtime—a practice that the caliph ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb (d. 644) reportedly sought to prohibit a year before his death. On the meaning of the term more generally, see Ibn Manẓūr, Lisān, 12:273–274. For the traditions on ʿUmar’s prohibition of the Zoroastrian practice of zamzama, see, e.g., ʿAbd al-Razzāq alṢanʿānī, al-Muṣannaf, 6:49 (K. Ahl al-Kitāb 15, no. 9972), 10:180–181 (K. al-Luqaṭa 29, nos. 18746, 18748), 10:367 (K. Ahl al-Kitābayn 31, no. 19390). 60

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taught. 62 These are some of the stories of such claimants and their stratagems. Indeed, we find that none of these gospelers— whether calling for right or wrong—failed to procure a testament or a valid proof to elucidate their otherwise outwardly burnished and meretricious message (until it is put through an ordeal by scales, which will make clear truth from falsehood). It is thusly that all those proclaiming a message acted with their people—except your master. Indeed, we have only seen him call people by the sword and through pillaging, taking captives, and expulsion from homes; we have heard none other than him proclaim, “whoever fails to admit my prophethood and that I am the messenger of the Lord of the worlds, I will beat with the sword, pillage his house and take his children captive”— providing neither argument nor proof. 63 As for the Christ, Lord of humanity and giver of life to the world: may his honor be exalted, and his status glorified, above the invocation of his message in this place. 64 For you are well aware of the account [that is, of Christianity] and how it came to be—indeed your knowledge is sufficient. Do you then deem it reasonable for someone like you—may God enrich you—who are sagacious and cultivated, and a seeker of what is best, to invite someone like me, who closely studies and examines the different matters, to that which you had invited me? Especially as I recite the words of my Lord the Christ night and day—he with whom I am clothed and covered 65—and I hear him say, “Be This may be a reference to the kalaviṅka, a creature with a bird's body and a female human head famed for the sublimely beautiful voice with which it preaches the Buddha's teachings in paradise. I am thankful to Robert Gimello for this reference. 63 See n. 4 above. 64 Here Kindī employs the Islamic honorific formulation “exalted in his honor and glorified is his status glorified (taʿālā dhikruhu wa-jalla qadruhu)” praising God in affirmation of the divinity of Christ. 65 Ar. shiʿārī wa-dithārī; the former (shiʿār) is the clothing that covers the flesh of the person (lit. covering the hair on one’s flesh), and the latter (dithār) is the outer garment that goes on top of the former. See Ibn 62

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gracious to all people and be merciful that you may be like your merciful father who is in heaven, who makes his sun rise on the good and on the wicked, and who sends down his rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” 66 How then can you expect someone like me when Christ addresses me in this speech—I who was raised in this grace and who prospered with this blessing that runs like blood through my loins and my body, and like marrow through my bones; I who came out of this favor and mercy and on which my flesh and hair grew—to harden my heart and devilishly rebel until I become in the image of Satan, the murderous enemy? [How can you expect me] to beat and kill the people of my race: the descendants of Adam who was created by the hand of God, blessed and exalted, and in his image, by whose creation he was made superior to all other creations? [He] who is served by the spiritual angels, 67 and who is addressed by divine revelation? 68 [He] to whom the inhabitants of the heavens and of the earth hasten to serve, procuring to him what is beneficial and pushing away

Manẓūr, Lisān, 4:412–413, 276. Taken together, the expression affirms Kindī’s devotion to Christ, perhaps evoking the Pauline language of being clothed with Christ (see Rom 13:14; Gal 3:27). It is worthy to note that this expression is also used by the famed Muslim jurist and polymath Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfiʿī (d. 820) in conjunction with the remembrance of God: “O Lord, your remembrance is my clothing and covering (Allahumma dhikruka shiʿārī wa-dithārī),” which was reportedly uttered in the presence of the ʿAbbāsid caliph Hārūn al-Rashīd (r. 786-809), the father of caliph Ma’mūn. See al-Subkī, Ṭabaqāt, 2:153. 66 See Matt 5:44–45. 67 On the prostration of the angels to Adam in the Qur’ān, see Q 2:34; 7:11; 15:29–30; 17:61; 18:50; 20:116; 38:71–73. On pre-Islamic Jewish and Christian traditions on the prostration of the angels to Adam, see Reynolds, Qur’ān and Bible, 251–252. 68 This Christian presentation of Adam also evokes references to God directly addressing Adam in the Qur’ān (see, e.g., Q 2:31) or more generally humankind (see, e.g., Q 42:51).

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the harmful: 69 night and day, without growing weary or tiring from performing all that is in his interest and that leads to his benefit? Indeed, he is the king of the earth, and to his rule is added the kingship of heaven. For the Word of God was incarnated and united with him and gave to him all lordship (Ar. rubūbiyya), divinity (Ar. ulūhiyya), dominion, and power that is [the Word’s]. 70 Thus, the angels prostrate before him, and glorify his name and praise his remembrance in the same way that they would praise the name of God and his remembrance— without any difference. To these graces is added the grace of sitting on the right of the Mighty One thereby honoring this body that was taken from our humanity, which is from the line of Adam. 71 Furthermore, God graciously gave him— demonstrating his honoring and favoring of him—all dominion in the heavens and the earth, 72 and granted him the authority to govern (Ar. tadbīr) all creation. 73 He rendered to him the resurrection and the last judgement (Ar. dīn), 74 and ordained that his decree (Ar. ḥukm) applies to angels, humans, and demons. 75 Do you then want me to oppose the commandments of God (Ar. The language of procuring what is beneficial or good (Ar. jalb almaṣāliḥ) and pushing away the harmful or evil (Ar. dar’ al-mafāsid) evokes the Islamic juridical language on the purposes of divine law (Ar. maqāṣid al-sharīʿa). 70 See Matt 20:18–19. On the juxtaposition of the Arabic expressions rubūbiyya and ulūhiyya, see the previous chapter. 71 The imagery of Jesus sitting on the right hand of God pervades the New Testament. See, e.g., Acts 5:55; Rom 8:34; Eph 1:20; Col 3:1. 72 See Matt 28:18. 73 Here Kindī evokes the Christian theological conception of divine economy, often rendered in Arabic Christian writings as al-tadbīr alilāhī. Cf. the Qur’ānic locution “those directing (mudabbirāt) the affair” in Q 79:5. 74 Cf. Q 1:4. 75 Here Kindī employs the Qur’ānic turn of phrase that judgement (Ar. ḥukm) belongs to God (see, e.g., Q 6:57, 62; 12: 40, 67; 13:41; 8:26; 28: 70, 88; 40:12) in order to emphasize the divinity of the Incarnate Word. 69

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amr Allāh), blessed be his name, and beat them [i.e., the descendants of Adam] with the sword, rob them, and take them as captives? This would surely be intransigent against God and his commandments: a transgression against his grace, a disavowal of knowing him, a denial of his goodness, and an ingratitude for his kindness. May God protect me from being forsaken (by God) and from his wrath. If you say: “We may observe that God, exalted is his remembrance, causes [people] to die and afflicts them with sickness and agony, what then prevents you from following his example?” To this I will readily retort with an accurate rejoinder— unlike your own response about the spirit (Ar. amr al-rūḥ), when you were asked about the spirit and your reply was, “The spirit comes from the command of the Lord,” an answer the likeness of which no one has ever heard. 76 Nevertheless, I will bring forward a well-prepared and precise answer—unlike yours—and affirm that God, blessed and exalted, only afflicts his servants and causes them to die not out of an intent to harm them nor out of abhorring them, but for their own good. Indeed, had God abhorred them [i.e., his servants], he would not have created them out of his goodness, favor, and grace. For by creating them, he brought them from void to being and from nonexistence to existence, so that he brings them from this world— which is evanescent and not lasting, ephemeral and not eternal, deficient and not perfect—to immortality: everlasting, eternal, See Q 17:85, “They ask you about the spirit. Say: ‘The spirit (Ar. rūḥ) comes from the command (Ar. amr) of my Lord. You have only been given a little knowledge of it.’” The Islamic tradition largely understands the divine interlocutor to be instructing the Prophet Muḥammad on how to respond to detractors inquiring about the spirit. Kindī, however, replaces the prophetic addressee with contemporary Muslims, including Hāshimī, who uphold different interpretations of the Qur’ānic response, that the spirit is from God’s command—interpretations that Kindī evidently find to be less than satisfactory. For an array of possible interpretations of this verse in in the early ʿAbbāsid period, see alṬabarī, Tafsīr, 15:66–73.

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and perfect. For it is never said that when someone moves [another] from a wretched place to an exalted city that he intended harm to his friend or unjustly treated him, but he is first and foremost generous and munificent. As for what you claim that God afflicts [people] with painful sickness and agonizing harm—to this we respond that he employs these that they may be meriting their recompense and reward, and that he, blessed and exalted, in his graciousness be doubly benevolent to them in both states [i.e., in this life and the hereafter]. Like a skillful and compassionate physician who cures the patient with bitter and malodorous medicine, and perhaps cauterizes some of them with fire or amputates parts of their bodies, or even prevents them from consuming desired food or drink—out of goodwill and compassion. Can we therefore say that [the physician] does this to them out of enmity and hatred? To the contrary, he intends their wholesomeness and the soundness of their bodies, to cure them from sickness and harmful illnesses, and to deliver them from the adversity in which they find themselves to well-being. But if you say: “God could have manifested his benevolence and reward [to the people] without tormenting them with sickness and agony;” I will say: “God could also have not created the world: he could have only created the afterlife and paradise, and predestine people to everlasting bliss with neither ordeal, nor affliction, nor merit.” Granted, this would have been possible out of God’s omnipotence, but it would nevertheless be an erroneous thinking. For the skeptic will revisit [this line of inquiry] only to conclude that God was only able to create but one creation. God, exalted and glorified, therefore created this world and made it evanescent: a place of ordeal and a place where his pious devotees amass rewards. 77 He created its inhabitants as travLit. a place of trade for his pious devotees (Ar. matjar awlīyā’ih). Notably, this expression is also employed as a characterization of the world in a tradition attributed to ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib. Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, Bahjat, 2:280. Kindī’s apologetic presentation of this world (Ar. dunyā;

77

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elers sojourning in it (as they would taverns: not seeking residence, but only with the intent of sojourning) from whence they are brought to the abode of [eternal] residence: the ultimate destination, in which they are bound to dwell [forever]. This is the sound thinking. Thus, [God], blessed and exalted, created them out of his goodness, and inflicted sickness and agony on them for their own benefit (in a passing evanescent age and an absconding life) to requite and reward them, out of his benevolence, their merited recompense—thereby fulfilling his grace towards them in the hereafter in which their lives will have no end, their bliss will never be blotted out, and their joy and happiness will never cease. As for your master, to whom you attribute whatever you attribute and have invited me to follow—he kills people with his sword, robs them, takes them captive, beats them with his scourge, takes their children captive, and ousts them from their homes. Had he done this intending their well-being, he would have acted—by my life—faithfully, generously, and charitably [towards them] thereby following the example of the work of God, 78 may his name be blessed and exalted. But he did not do what he did with this intention—indeed it never even crossed his mind nor gave it a thought. He only sought his own personal benefit and to attract the evildoers seeking to kill, rob, pillage, take captives, and to commit what God, exalted and glorified, had prohibited in order to establish his polity. The proof is that he says, “until they pay tribute out of hand, and they are disgraced.” 79 Do you then not see—O discerning one—that he did not intend by his actions to deliver them from what he deems to be a state of idolatry and disbelief to what he claims to be the true religion out of consideration for them and seeking their as opposed to the hereafter) is in many ways reminiscent of the contemporaneous Muslim ascetic tradition. See pp. 278–300 (Bāb dhikr aldunyā) for a collection of Islamic traditions appraising the world. 78 Lit. “imitated the work of God (Ar. tashabbaha bi-fiʿl Allāh).” 79 See n. 5 above.

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benefit and wellbeing, but that he wanted to establish his polity and consolidate his dominion in the way of the victors? For he states in his book that he claims to be revealed, “Say to those who have been given the Book, and to the common people: ‘Have you submitted?’ If they submit, they have been rightly guided, but if they turn away—only dependent on you is the delivery of the message. God sees His servants.” 80 Do you not see how he claims that he was commanded to proclaim with his tongue and was forbidden from killing in this context? Now, discern what is being said, contemplate its contradictions, and comprehend.

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Kuiper, Matthew J. Da’wa: A Global History of Islamic Missionary Thought and Practice. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2021. Mingana, Alphonse. “The Apology of Timothy the Patriarch before the Caliph Mahdi.” Woodbrooke Studies 2 (1928): 1– 162. Muslim ibn al-Ḥajjāj, Abū al-Ḥusayn. Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim. Edited by Abū Ṣuhayb al-Karmī. Riyadh: Bayt al-Afkār al-Dawliyya, 1998. Platti, Emilio. “Criteria for Authenticity of Prophecy in ʿAbd alMasīḥ al-Kindī’s Risāla.” In Books and Written Culture of the Islamic World: Studies Presented to Claude Gilliot on the Occasion of his 75th Birthday, edited by Andrew Rippin and Roberto Tottoli, 1–25. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Reynolds, Gabriel Said. The Qurʾān and the Bible: Text and Commentary. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018. Sahner, Christian C. “‘The Monasticism of My Community Is Jihad’: A Debate on Asceticism, Sex, and Warfare in Early Islam.” Arabica 64 (2017): 149–183. Samir, Samir Khalil. “Maqālat Ḥunayn b. Isḥāq fī ‘Kayfiyyat idrāk ḥaqīqat al-diyāna.’” Al-Mashriq 71, no. 2 (1997): 345– 363. Ṣanʿānī, ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-. Al-Muṣannaf. Edited by Ḥabīb alRaḥmān al-Aʿẓamī. Beirut: Al-Maktab al-Islāmī li-l-Ṭibāʿa wa-l-Nashr, 1983. Schadler, Peter. John of Damascus and Islam: Christian Heresiology and the Intellectual Background to Earliest Christian-Muslim Relations. Leiden: Brill, 2017. Sizgorich, Thomas. Violence and Belief in Late Antiquity: Militant Devotion in Christianity and Islam. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009. Subkī, Tāj al-Dīn Abū Naṣr al-. Ṭabaqāt al-shāfiʿiyya al-kubrā. Edited by ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ Muḥammad al-Ḥulww and

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Swanson, Mark N. “Apology or Its Evasion? Some Ninth-Century Arabic Christian Texts on Discerning the True Religion.” Currents in Theology and Mission 37, no. 5 (2010): 389–399. Ṭabarī, Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-. Tafsīr al-Ṭabarī: Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan tafsīr āy al-qur’ān. Edited by ʿAbdullāh alTurkī. Cairo: Dār Hajr, 2001. Takawi, Mourad. “The Trinity in Qur’anic Idiom: Q 4.171 and the Christian Arabic Presentation of the Trinity as God, his Word, and his Spirit.” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 30, no. 4 (2019): 435–457. Tannous, Jack. The Making of the Medieval Middle East: Religion, Society, and Simple Believers. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2018. Tartar, Georges. “Ḥiwār islāmī masīḥī fi ʿahd al-khalīfa al-Ma’mūn (813–834): risālat al-Hāshimī wa-risālat al-Kindī.” PhD diss., Université des Sciences Humaines, 1977. The Gospel of the Twelve Apostles, Together with the Apocalypses of Each One of Them. Edited by J. Rendel Harris. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1900. Tor, Deborah. “Privatized Jihad and Public Order in the PreSeljuq Period: The Role of the Mutatawwi’a.” Iranian Studies 38, no. 4 (2005): 555–573. Tor, Deborah. Violent Order: Religious Warfare, Chivalry, and the ʿAyyār Phenomenon in the Medieval Islamic World. Würzburg: Ergon Verlag, 2007. Treiger, Alexander. “Origins of Kalām.” In The Oxford Handbook of Islamic Theology, edited by Sabine Schmidtke, 27–43. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016. van Bladel, Kevin. “The Bactrian Background of the Barmakids.” In Islam and Tibet: Interactions Along the Musk Routes, edited by Anna Akasoy, Charles Burnett, and Ronit Yoeli-Tlalim, 43–88. London: Routledge, 2016.

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CHAPTER 5. ABŪ RĀ’IṬA AL-TAKRĪTĪ (D. CA. 835): A DEFENDER OF THE “PEOPLE OF TRUTH” AGAINST ISLAM SANDRA T. KEATING Ḥabīb ibn Khidma Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī (d. ca. 835), a Syrian Orthodox (Jacobite) lay theologian, was one of the foremost Christian writers engaged with the increasing challenge of Islam in the ninth century. Associated with the ancient Christian city of Takrīt in Iraq, he was apparently consulted by numerous authorities who encountered Muslims and were asked to give clear and concise responses to a variety of questions about the Christian faith. Abū Rā’iṭa is one of the first Arabic-speaking Christian writers whose name is known, and he represents the early transition of Syriac speakers to Arabic as the lingua franca both in everyday and intellectual life. Very little is known about Abū Rā’iṭa’s personal life. To date, only three unrelated traditions mention his activities early in the ninth century. The first is the Armenian record, found in several chronicles, of an invitation from the ishxan (ruler, prince) Ashot Smbāt Msaker (r. 804–826) to Abū Rā’iṭa to visit his court for a debate with the Melkite Bishop Theodore Abū Qurrah. The latter was reportedly on a missionary journey to Armenia and was intent on converting the ishxan to the diaphysite Chalcedonian faith. Abū Rā’iṭa was unable to make the trip, but sent his relative Archdeacon Nonnus of Nisibis armed with a 201

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letter of introduction defending the Miaphysite doctrine of the Syrian Orthodox Church. Based on contemporary accounts, this event can be dated sometime between 815 and 817. A second reference is made in a short treatise entitled ‘A Christological Discussion’ that describes an exchange among Abū Rā’iṭa, Abū Qurrah, and a metropolitan from the Church of the East named ʿAbdīshūʿ (probably ʿAbdīshūʿ ibn Bahrīz) before an unnamed Muslim official. If this report is historical, the event can be dated around 820, when all three are thought to have been active. The latest mention of Abū Rā’iṭa is in the Chronicle of Michael the Syrian, in connection with a local synod at Reshʿayna in 827/8. 1 At this synod, Abū Rā’iṭa apparently assisted Archdeacon Nonnus in bringing charges against a bishop who was later removed from office. This reference is significant, since it depicts Abū Rā’iṭa as having less ecclesiastical authority than Nonnus, contradicting later sources which identify him as a bishop. It is more likely he was a teacher, as the Armenian sources suggest. In these, he is called a vardapet—the title given to apologists and teachers of theology. Abū Rā’iṭa himself uses the term malpōnō, the Syriac equivalent of vardapet, when referring to Ephrem the Syrian, indicating the position was known in his milieu. The title is an apt description of Abū Rā’iṭa’s activities and fame at the height of his career, as he became known as a skilled Christian apologist far from Takrīt. 2 These references, along with his full name found in several manuscripts, allow the conclusion that Abū Rā’iṭa’s life can be dated approximately between 775 and 835. He was closely connected to the city of Takrīt, which was a hub of the Syrian Orthodox Church, and was actively engaged in the pressing theological questions of the early ninth century. Recognized as a teacher and skilled apologist, he and his works were held in Keating, “Ḥabīb,” CMR, 1:568–569. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 2 Keating, “Ḥabīb,” CMR, 1:567. 1

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high regard in the Coptic and Syrian Orthodox Churches for centuries.

ABŪ RĀ’IṬA’S MAIN WORKS

Currently, nine extant writings can be attributed to Abū Rā’iṭa. References and excerpts found in Coptic manuscripts further indicate that he produced at least eleven texts which were in circulation in the Miaphysite community. 3 These writings can be divided into two categories: those concerned primarily with intra-Christian disputes and those concerned with responding to the challenge of Islam. Writings Defending Christian Miaphysite Teachings Min al-risāla l-thālitha (or: al-thāniya) 4 li-Abī Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī fī lradd ʿalā l-Malakiyya fī l-ittiḥād (From the Third [or second] Epistle of Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrīti in Refutation of the Melkites concerning the Union [of the Divinity and Humanity in Christ]). Al-Risāla l-thālitha li-Abī Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī iḥtijājan ʿan al-thalāth taqdīsāt li-lladhī ṣuliba ʿannā li-Abī l-ʿAbbās al-Baṭrīq Ashūṭ ibn Sinbāṭ min ʿAbdallāh Yasūʿ al-Masīḥ Ḥabīb ibn Khidma (The third Epistle of Abū Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī Vindicating the Trisagion Addressed to the One “Who was Crucified for Us,” to Abū al-ʿAbbās al-Baṭrīq Ashūṭ ibn Sinbāṭ, From the Servant of God, Jesus Christ, Ḥabīb ibn Khidma). Maqāla li-Ḥabīb ibn Khidma l-maʿrūf bi-Abī Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī lYaʿqūbī fī iḥtijāj ʿan al-thalāth taqdīsāt li-lladhī ṣuliba ʿannā (A treatise of Ḥabīb ibn Khidma, known as Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī the

The known manuscripts were used to produce an edition and German translation by Graf, Schriften. An English translation of the texts concerning Islam may be found in Keating, Defending. For a definition of “Miaphysite,” see the glossary. 4 Manuscripts differ on the title given to the text. 3

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Jacobite, on the Vindication of the Trisagion Addressed to the One “Who was Crucified for Us”). Al-Risāla l-rābiʿa li-Ḥabīb ibn Khidma l-maʿrūf bi-Abī Rā’iṭa lTakrītī al-Yaʿqūbī. Radd ʿalā l-Malakiyya (The fourth Epistle of Ḥabīb ibn Khidma, Known as Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī the Jacobite. Refutation of the Melkites). These texts, which remain under-studied, explicate the Miaphysite teaching that God became human and dwelt on earth in a single, physical fully human and fully divine person. Abū Rā’iṭa avoids characterizing the nature of the union between human and divine in Christ, but does tend to underscore the opening of John’s Gospel—rather than the Council of Chalcedon—as the model for Christian teaching. He is concerned that the Council rejected Cyril of Alexandria’s doctrine that Christ was “one nature after the union of human and divine,” and instead legitimated Nestorius’s teaching of two natures. Abū Rā’iṭa also defends the use of the Trisagion 5 acclamation in the liturgy, arguing that it is an ancient prayer, and that, properly understood, it affirms the true divine nature of Christ (rejected by Nestorius) and the reality of the Crucifixion (rejected by Muslims). Writings Addressing Questions Asked by Muslims: Risāla li-Abī Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī fī ithbāt dīn al-naṣrāniyya wa-ithbāt alThālūth al-muqaddas (An Epistle of Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī on the Proof of the Christian Religion and the Proof of the Holy Trinity). Al-risāla al-ūlā fī l-Thālūth al-Muqaddas (The First Epistle: On the Holy Trinity).

This three-fold prayer praises the Persons of the Trinity and became the subject of much controversy in the fifth century with the addition of a reference to the Crucifixion that some thought implied that God had suffered, denoting the heresy of theopaschism. 5

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Al-risāla al-thāniya li-Abī Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī fī l-tajassud (The Second Epistle of Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrīti: On the Incarnation). 6 Shahādāt min qawl al-Tawrāt wa-l-anbiyā’ wa-l-qiddīsīn (Witnesses from the Words of the Torah, the Prophets and the Saints). Min qawl Abī Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī al-Suryānī usquf Nasībīn mustadillan bihi ʿalā ṣiḥḥat al-Naṣrāniyya l-maqbūla min al-dāʿīn almubashshirīn bihā bi-l-Injīl al-muqaddas (From the Teaching of Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī, the Syrian, Bishop of Nisibis, 7 by which He Demonstrates the Authenticity of the Christianity Received from the Evangelists who Called to it by the Holy Gospel). 8 This group of texts includes what have become the standard responses of Christians to the questions of Muslims about Christian doctrine and practice. Abū Rā’iṭa focuses primarily on explaining the Trinity and the Miaphysite doctrine of the incarnation, providing numerous proof texts from the Bible and Church Fathers that can be useful in defending the faith, and outlining authentic and inauthentic reasons for converting to another religion. Together, these writings represent a coherent program designed to address what Abū Rā’iṭa identified as the greatest threat to the Christian community of his day—the temptation to convert to a new faith either because of a weak understanding of true doctrine, or because of the worldly advantage it might offer. During his lifetime, Abū Rā’iṭa saw demographics in his native Iraq shift from less than ten percent Muslim to nearly His third Risāla (Epistle) in the set of three on the “Holy Trinity and the Incarnation” is no longer extant. 7 This reference to Nisibis seems to be an error of the copyist; to date, no connection between Abū Rā’iṭa and that city has been established apart from his relative Nonnus, who was an Archdeacon in that diocese. See Keating, Defending, 40–48. 8 He also wrote Risāla lahu ilā man bi-l-Baḥrīn min Naṣāra l-maghrib (His Epistle to those of Baḥrīn, from the Christians of the West), but it is no longer extant. 6

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thirty percent as the ʿAbbāsid dynasty took hold. 9 This was especially true near the booming city of Baghdad, which eventually eclipsed Takrīt as the major city of the area. For this reason, his writings in response to other Christians do not simply represent another episode in centuries of Christian intra-communal squabbles. Abū Rā’iṭa was convinced that the Church of the East and Melkite theology of the incarnation contained fatal flaws that lent credence to an Islamic view of Jesus. According to Abū Rā’iṭa, Diaphysite formulations do not accurately describe the union of human and divine in Christ, which leads to a weakened doctrine of the incarnation. This in turn allows for a belief that Christ is not truly divine and could be a mere prophet, a position further bolstered by the Qur’ān’s apparent rejection of the Crucifixion and Resurrection, which eliminates salvation through Christ alone. Consequently, the Islamic belief that Jesus should not be worshipped “as a god beside Allah” (cf. Q 5:116) becomes more compelling. Abū Rā’iṭa is careful not to criticize his powerful rulers directly, but instead takes on the Christological debates in his refutations of the Melkites and of Nestorius and his followers, arguing for the authority of Cyril’s formulation of the union between human and divine in the one person of Christ. 10 In texts more specifically concerned with Islam, Abū Rā’iṭa identifies reasons why someone might be persuaded to accept another religion, and then proceeds to explain why the Christian faith is superior to all other faiths, even when it does not offer social or material advantages to the believer. 11 The texts are preserved in several different formats, including rasā’il (letters, treatises), biblical and patristic testimonia, and a formal proof. Each is tailored to a particular audience and The definitive study of this demographic shift remains Bulliet, Conversion, especially pp. 80–91. 10 Cf. Graf, Schriften, 130:70–71; 131:88–89. 11 Especially relevant here are the Proof of the Christian Religion, §§2–14, and the text demonstrating the authenticity of Christianity. Keating, Defending, 83–101, 342–345. 9

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purpose. As a whole, the corpus represents nearly two decades of intensive engagement with the rapidly changing milieu in which Christians found themselves at the turn of the ninth century. Abū Rā’iṭa uses traditional arguments and apologetical strategies established in Christian debates with pagans and Jews, but he faces a new challenge: a religious community which recognizes important Judeo-Christian concepts (such as monotheism, God the Creator, prophets and revelation, and the Final Judgment), but places the authority of the Bible under the scrutiny of their own Prophet and revelation. In each case where Muslims and Christians differ, the Qur’ān is believed to function as a confirmation and a correction of what had been sent down to previous prophets (cf. Q 5:48). Abū Rā’iṭa and his coreligionists are therefore compelled to rework traditional strategies and responses to adequately address the current challenge. In doing so, he masterfully collects potential questions and objections to Christian faith and answers them using both timehonored responses and innovative approaches. Like other apologists of his day, his overall project is concerned with translating Christian concepts, particularly relating to the Trinity and incarnation, into the language of Arabic, which was heavily determined by the vocabulary and worldview of the Qur’ān. At the heart of the undertaking, Abū Rā’iṭa recognizes the need to give the burhān (proof) demanded by the Qur’ān (2:111; 28:75) that will be acceptable to Muslims, and to defend Christian doctrine from the charge that it is irrational—a task further complicated by the Qur’ān’s claim that the Bible has been corrupted. By taking advantage of the rising interest of Muslim intellectuals in the ancient philosophers resulting from the great Arabic translation project of the period, he underscores philosophical concepts as a way of establishing common ground with his opponents. His goal is to lead his reader to the conclusion that Christian doctrine is not irrational, but rather the necessary outcome of careful thinking about commonly held beliefs such as the unity of God, revelation, and creation. With this aim in mind, Abū Rā’iṭa’s audience is two-fold. While his answers are constructed to give a coherent response to the “People of the South” (as he identifies them in his Risāla On

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the Holy Trinity, it seems unlikely that he expected his arguments to convert his questioners away from Islam. Indeed, there is no evidence that such conversions happened with any regularity. Rather, his primary goal is to support his fellow Christians—he is a true apologist, defending his faith against those who challenge it and providing a multitude of means to bolster those doubting the truth of their religion. Consequently, he draws on biblical and revered Christian witnesses and analogies, as well as the philosophers and the rational methods they propose. Abū Rā’iṭa offers a comprehensive apologetic that was useful in a variety of situations. It is for this reason his writings were passed down for generations by those who lived side by side with Muslims and desired to preserve their Christian faith.

ABŪ RĀ’IṬA’S MAIN APPROACHES TO ISLAM

As a whole, Abū Rā’iṭa’s writings are careful not to address the particularities of Islam directly, only mentioning the beliefs and teachings of his opponents when they are relevant to illustrate a point he is making about Christianity. In many cases, he simply states a variation of “those who differ from us say …” and gives a rational response to the issue. His purpose is apologetical, not polemical, and he hopes to draw both Christians and Muslims into the truth of Christian doctrine. Consequently, Abū Rā’iṭa does not address Muḥammad or the Qur’ān directly, apart from a few references to “your prophet” or “your book,” and only draws attention to the sources of the teachings of his opponents when he thinks it will clarify the point he is making. Trinity

Early on, Christians recognized that the religious movement that arose around Muḥammad and his revelations shared many common concepts and revered figures with their own community. Thus, it is not surprising that Christians such as St. John of Damascus categorized Islam as a heresy; he thought that, like other movements of late antiquity, Muslims could be regarded as a group who had been led astray from orthodoxy and proper understanding of the biblical account of Jesus Christ. To be sure,

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this misunderstanding was thought to have serious moral and spiritual consequences. However, it is important to recognize that apologists such as Abū Rā’iṭa began with the assumption that common ground could be found with their opponents, and the search for theological truth was a shared goal. One sees this approach clearly in the structure of Abū Rā’iṭa’s major writings regarding Islam: his Proof of the Christian Religion and the Proof of the Holy Trinity, and the three-part set of rasā’il (epistles) beginning with On the Holy Trinity. 12 In these two longer writings, he begins his explanation of Christian faith by acknowledging that his opponents 13 claim to agree with Christians in their “description of God as one.” 14 However, there are also those opponents who say that Christians “describe God as three gods, in that [they] affirm [God is] three hypostases and a single one in number.” 15 These apparently opposing teachings lead Abū Rā’iṭa to a complex presentation of (primarily Aristotelean) principles of genus, species, and number, and analogy with regard to language about God. Here we see his exploitation of the scholarly interest in philosophy coincide with the Arabic translation movement. But he also provides analogies that are accessible even to the uneducated. In the Proof, Abū Rā’iṭa begins with a sophisticated explanation of how analogy should be utilized for describing difficult teachings, then shares several analogies widely used by Christians to illustrate the Trinity. He states it is imperative, however, that one acknowledge all analogies are limited, and “that for which the analogy is sought is above every analogy” that can be identified among perceptible and intelligible things. 16 Among Only two of the rasā’il are extant; the third is mentioned in manuscripts, but apparently lost. Keating, “Ḥabīb,” CMR, 1:576. 13 Abū Rā’iṭa never mentions Muslims by name, instead referring to them as “our opponents,” “those who disagree with us,” etc. It is clear from the text, however, who his intended adversaries are. 14 Keating, Defending, 169. 15 Keating, Defending, 103. 16 Keating, Defending, 105. 12

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the analogies that appear throughout Abū Rā’iṭa’s works are three lamps which shed a single light in a room that cannot be separated, and three pieces of gold which remain gold although they are distinct—both illustrating the relationship between the divine ousia and individual hypostases. That the divine ousia does not exist apart from the three hypostases can be exemplified with the analogy of the disc of sun and its light and heat, or a burning coal and its light and heat; neither the single entity of the sun nor the burning coal exist apart from their multiple constituent characteristics. Abū Rā’ita is also perhaps the earliest Arabic-speaking Christian writer to cite the analogy of Adam, Eve, and Abel to explain the relations of the hypostases—Adam is the sole source of Eve, while Abel ‘proceeds’ from the two sources of Adam and Eve. Together they form one human family; perfects from perfects, distinguished by their relations. Similarly, the Father begets the Son, and the Holy Spirit proceeds from both; one God, three Persons. 17 Yet Abū Rā’iṭa is aware that some of his readers may be skeptical of the usefulness of analogies for understanding the divine being. Christians have a strong tradition of recognizing an affinity between Creation and Creator based on the notion that human beings are made in the image and likeness of God (Gen. 1:27). Because of this relationship, one can anticipate some truths about God will be accessible to the rational, discerning human mind. Christians continued to mine the scriptures and nature for indications of God’s divine being, and Abū Rā’iṭa participates in this tradition by seeking analogies of the Unity and Trinity of God and the incarnation in the world around him. The Qur’ān, on the contrary, insists that ‘nothing is like God’ (Q 112:1–4), and ‘God is above what [human beings] describe’ (Q 37:159, 180). At the turn of the ninth century, there was Keating, Defending, 105–121, 185–191. The analogy of Adam, Eve, and Abel is found frequently in the Fathers, especially Gregory of Nyssa, Cyril of Alexandria, Gregory of Nazianzus, and John of Damascus, underscoring Abū Rā’iṭa’s favored sources.

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growing interest among Islamic intellectuals regarding the usefulness of analogy, especially tied to anthropomorphic references in the Qur’ān, with several scholarly circles rejecting it for theological purposes. 18 Consequently, Abū Rā’iṭa includes such analogies to illustrate his explanations for those who find them helpful, but he recognizes they will not be accepted by everyone. With the effectiveness of analogy and scripture (as we shall examine shortly) as tools for the defense of Christian doctrine significantly reduced, Abū Rā’iṭa is forced to introduce an innovative way to communicate the reality of the Holy Trinity. It is here that he makes his most lasting contribution—drawing a direct line between some of the Divine Names of God (asmā’ Allāh), revered by Muslims as well as Christians, and the essential attributes of God (ṣifāt Allāh). This is a complex and difficult argument which he lays out most clearly in On the Holy Trinity. At the beginning of this Risāla, he includes an extensive catalogue of descriptions (ṣifāt) of God upon which Muslims and Christians agree: one, eternal, living, knowing, seeing, Creator, unseen, powerful, etc. (§4). 19 From this list, he begins by making distinctions concerning how ‘one’ is defined (genus, species, or number), whether these are eternal or acquired, essential or contingent (§§7–12). He reduces the number of agreed-upon attributes to living, knowing, hearing, and seeing—without which God has never existed. From these, he draws attention to three attributes—existence, knowledge, and life, which he says all rational people will recognize as God’s essential attributes (§§12–15). These, he argues, are the distinctions within the divine ousia, eternal and essential, that Christians identify as FaA topic of special interest here is how Muslims are to understand references to God on or above the Throne (cf. Q 10:3; 11:7; 39:75, etc.), which Abū Rā’iṭa mentions in On the Incarnation. Keating, Defending, 259. Some intellectuals claimed that such anthropomorphic language should be avoided; others, such as Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal, argued these verses must be accepted bi-lā kayfa (without asking how). 19 For an analysis of this unique list, see Keating, “Early List,” 339–355. 18

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ther (being), Son (knowledge), and the Holy Spirit (life). They are distinguishable, but God has never been without them: one ousia (jawhar), three hypostases (aqānīm) united, yet separated in substantial, natural relations (§19). 20 The text also includes lengthy discussions on the possibility of how a thing, a hypostasis, can be simultaneously identical and distinguished in its being from another thing, and why there are precisely three hypostases, no more and no less. In each of these, he follows traditional arguments, exploiting both rational and biblical evidence for the Christian position. The argumentation in the Risāla is often not as sharp as one would like, as it assumes the reader is well-versed in the philosophical tradition, and Abū Rā’iṭa does not always clearly explain some of the moves, such as his elimination of hearing and seeing from the original agreed-upon list. Nonetheless, Abū Rā’iṭa’s explanation is copied and developed by a wide variety of subsequent and contemporary scholars, most notably Yaḥya ibn ʿAdī (d. 974), and ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī (d. ca. 830), through whose treatise knowledge of such arguments became known in medieval Europe. Abū Rā’iṭa uses all available tools to take on the attack against a key doctrine of Christianity, in a manner not done previously which sets a solid foundation for Christian apologetics in Arabic. Incarnation

At the heart of Abū Rā’iṭa’s overall theological project is his interest in defending the reality of the Christian belief that “We accept the teaching about His incarnation and becoming human without change or alteration, even though [our] understanding fails to comprehend it” (Proof of the Christian Religion, §32). 21 In nearly every extant text, he emphasizes the centrality of a proper doctrine of the incarnation for a correct understanding of Keating, Defending, especially pp. 173–191. Keating, Defending, 125. This chapter uses capitalization for divine pronouns. 20 21

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God, with the source of this doctrine being the Bible and ancient prayers of the Church. 22 The most complete examination of this topic may be found in his second Risāla, On the Incarnation, which is much longer than the first Risāla associated with the Holy Trinity. Following the strategy he develops in the first Risāla, he focuses on laying out arguments (along with biblical proof texts and analogies) and providing a burhān to show that what appears to be incoherent can be proven as logically true through careful human reasoning. Since it summarizes his most pertinent responses to questions raised by Muslims about the incarnation, we will focus on the second Risāla here. The text makes a transition from the Risāla On the Holy Trinity, continuing with an explanation of first the relationship between the divine ousia and the second of the three Persons who is incarnated in a body. As might be expected, the interlocutors raise a number of questions related to the possibility of how God can enter into a finite created being, and whether that incarnation compromises God’s divinity or unity. Especially problematic, they argue, is that, if God has taken on a body, He has become both a composite (of humanity and divinity) and constrained by the limitations of that body, and this cannot be said of God. 23 Abū Rā’iṭa responds to the first by explaining that each of the Persons of the Trinity has its own manner (qiwām) of being, which distinguishes it from the other two (Incarnation, §5). 24 An appropriate analogy here is the sun disc, its heat, and its light – the sun is never found without one of the three, but they are each distinguishable from the other two. An inappropriate analogy is water—the single substance of water frozen into various indistinguishable pieces of ice; further, one might also point to The latter is Abū Rā’iṭa’s primary claim in his treatises defending Miaphysite use of the Trisagion prayer in the liturgy. 23 In this chapter, the author capitalizes divine pronouns. 24 Abū Rā’iṭa is not as clear here as he is elsewhere. He is referring to the distinctive missions and modes of being of the three Persons of the Trinity. 22

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water as ‘appearing’ in different forms—steam, liquid and ice— but this is not an accurate comparison. Concerning the divine Person Who has become human, it is like something immaterial such as fire, when it is embodied in something else, such as a piece of coal. Abū Rā’iṭa also includes the analogy of the unity of the human being, favored by Miaphysite authors and associated especially with Severus of Antioch (d. 538). Just as a human being is a soul and a body unified into one single thing, the incarnation is human and divine united into one single Person. 25 He writes: Just as the fire is embodied in some corporeal bodies, and the sun in the disc, and the soul in the body, without any of them being transformed from its ousia [into something else], just so is the teaching about the Word [of God], and even more so than this, in that He has no space and no measure. [The Word] is incarnated in a corporeal body, possessing a rational soul in a true, eternal, necessary incarnation, without separation, alteration or change. It is the Word [of God] eternally, and the body a body eternally, 26 without that in which they are joined together being two. Rather the one incarnated hypostasis is true God, and He is a true human being; He is one, not two, as we have mentioned. (Incarnation, §10)

Abū Rā’iṭa is careful here to insist on the Miaphysite understanding of the incarnation as resulting in a single physis and single hypostasis. He continually emphasizes that the incarnation is one single hypostasis resulting from a “real and eternal union … and [the human and divine] are not drawn to become two. Yet, a substantial distinction” is inherent and enduring in it (Incarnation, §14). 27 God humbles Himself, freely and truly becoming human so as to restore Creation to its fullness and perKeating, Defending, 225–231. He means here that the body will never become something else. 27 Keating, Defending, 237. 25 26

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fection. The union of human and divine can never be destroyed. Jesus Christ is human and he is divine. Abū Rā’iṭa wants to be sure his audience does not open the door to a temporary or weak union in the incarnation, which could allow for the argument that Jesus was only human, only a prophet, only a messenger, and that God did not effect salvation though him. The major part of this treatise is taken up with a question familiar to Christians: Why did God choose to save Creation through Jesus Christ? The discussion follows a logical trajectory, beginning with God’s decision to create human beings who have the power to sin and His plan for the renewal of Creation. Unlike Abū Rā’iṭa’s other writings, this Risāla engages claims of the Qur’ān more directly, at some points giving very brief quotes from it. The interlocutor asks whether it would not have been better had God sent an angel or a messenger or prophet to deliver and save the people, rather than limiting Himself in a body or even subjecting Himself to suffering and death. Keeping to the answers given by venerable Church Fathers, Abū Rā’iṭa explains the necessity of the incarnation, God’s love and mercy for Creation, and whether Christ shared divine foreknowledge while he was on earth. The final section of the treatise includes an extensive exploration of Christ’s free choice to be crucified, prompted by the question of whether the Jews are responsible for his death. 28 In this treatise, Abū Rā’iṭa generally does not turn to the highly technical language of the Christological debates, but rather keeps his explanations understandable to the informed listener. Responses concerning the accomplishment of salvation through God incarnated are tailored to obvious questions arising from the Qur’ān’s claims about Jesus and Mary, and his expectation is that such demands will be made of educated and uneducated Christians alike. As in his defense of the Holy Trinity, he accrues many possible arguments from scripture, theological tradition, analogy, and logic, hoping that one or more will be 28

Keating, Defending, 243–297.

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convincing to his audience. They were apparently successful enough to earn him a place among the most revered apologists of his day. The Problem of Taḥrīf (Falsification)

The Islamic claim that biblical texts have been altered and manipulated—usually referred to as taḥrīf—is complex, and the exact development of this hermeneutical principle is a matter of considerable debate among Islamic scholars. Some modern authors argue that it is a concept only fully articulated centuries after the beginning of Islam, particularly by al-Ṭabarī in the later ninth century. 29 Nonetheless, the roots of the view are found in the Qur’ān 30 and it is clear that Christians were being confronted with the charge earlier, sufficiently so that intellectuals such as Abū Rā’iṭa sought apologetical strategies which could circumvent charges of taḥrīf. 31 Until the early ninth century, Christian apologists appear to have relied heavily on scriptural proof texts, following the lead of the Church Fathers in their engagement with the Jews. The widespread use of this tactic draws attention to the early recognition that Muslims shared a great deal religiously with Christians and Jews, and the expectation that deviations from the true faith—what some such as John of Damascus labeled heresy—could be overcome with proper interpretation of the scripture. Abū Rā’iṭa continues to use this type of proof text testimonia throughout his writings, but only as one of many kinds of evidence and often directed primarily towards his Christian readers. However, Abū Rā’iṭa believes that the claim of the Bible’s corruption has become a significant obstacle for meaningful theological discussion with Muslims, which leads him to seek One of the clearest explications of this position is found in Nickel, Narratives. 30 Cf. Sura 4:46; 5:13, 41; 2:75. 31 For a complete examination of this topic, see Keating, “Refuting,” 41–57. 29

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common philosophical ground as the foundation for theological agreement. He argues that careful logical reasoning will lead to the conclusion that Christian doctrine is true. Although Abū Rā’iṭa does not address the issue of taḥrīf systematically, the entirety of his corpus should be read through the lens of his concern about its consequences. This will lead to a full appreciation for his contribution to Christian engagement with Islam. At the heart of the problem is the reliability and authority of the Bible: If differences between the teachings of the Qur’ān and the contents of the Torah and Gospels can be attributed to manipulation (whether intentional or accidental), then the Bible can have no real authority on its own. Jewish and Christian scriptures remain under constant scrutiny for error and are interesting and useful only insofar as they support or fill in details already found in the Qur’ān. This makes references to the Bible untenable as solid evidence in the eyes of Muslims. It seems apparent that, by the early ninth century when Abū Rā’iṭa is writing, Christians have come into contact with this view frequently enough that he has tailored his responses to avoid the accusation of taḥrīf. The evidence for this is two-fold. First, as noted above—in the examination of Abū Rā’iṭa’s contribution to rendering the Christian doctrines of the Trinity and incarnation into the Arabic idiom—he carefully and explicitly draws on the neutral method of Greek logic and terminology. This is, of course, available to him because of the rising interest in translating ancient philosophical texts into Arabic. It may be coincidence that Abū Rā’iṭa exploits the translation movement in a new way at the beginning of the ninth century, seizing an opening that presented itself to Christian intellectuals. Second, however, there are indications that he was well aware that the accusation of taḥrīf undermined many scriptural texts put forward as evidence, and that new strategies were necessary to counter the charge. One senses a development in his writing, to the extent this can be determined, as his arguments to encourage his Christian readers become more articulated and distinguishable from his defense of Christianity in response to Muslim questions. Whereas the former readily accept the authority of

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the canonical biblical texts, the latter are skeptical of their authenticity. In two places, Abū Rā’iṭa makes explicit reference to the problem of taḥrīf, using the terms found in the Qur’ān. The first is at the end of an extensive section in his Risāla On the Holy Trinity where he explains the perfection of the Trinity based on the relationship between the one divine substance and three individual Persons: he states that his explication uses analogy (qiyās) correctly, following the “witnesses of the [sacred] books.” His examples are intended to caution those who disagree and give support to those who follow Christianity, “even if the ones who differ from us on it declare it to be false when they claim we have altered (taḥrīfunā) [the sacred books] by adding to them and taking away from them” (§33). 32 This is followed by an extensive list of verses drawn from the Old Testament, as well as references to “your book,” which is certainly the Qur’ān, illustrating plurality in the single Godhead. In this passage, Abū Rā’iṭa alludes to the charge that discrepancies between the Bible and the Qur’ān are the result of manipulation of the true revelation—either by placing words into the mouths of prophets or by concealing what was received. 33 Near the conclusion of the same Risāla, Abū Rā’iṭa notes that his opponents may “deny this teaching [on the Holy Trinity], and reject it, saying: ‘The prophets did not say this, rather, you have altered the words from their places, and you have made [the prophets] say what is false and a lie.’” 34 The term used here, ḥarrafa, meaning “to alter, corrupt or change,” is the same root found in the Qur’ān, as in Q 2:74, 4:46, etc. Abū Rā’iṭa then makes two arguments as to why one should not accept the charge of alteration. First, the books used by the Jews are identical to those used by the Christians, but they would Keating, Defending, 201. See, for example, Q 2:42, 140, 146; 3:71, 78, 187; 4:46; 5:13, 41, and many others. 34 Keating, Defending, 207–209. 32 33

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differ if they had been manipulated. Abū Rā’iṭa says that Christians are accused of changing (ghayyara) and substituting (baddala) words, yet these are in harmony with the books of “our enemies” the Jews. Secondly, he admits that one might claim the Jews are deceiving the Christians and keeping accurate copies of the scriptures to themselves. But, he says, there is no evidence that the books used by the Jews and Christians diverge in any way. Rather, someone who seeks to deceive another is careful not to delude himself, and if the Jews possessed different texts that were genuine, there would be indications. Thus, no one can accept this charge of taḥrīf. 35 It is notable in these two passages that Abū Rā’iṭa uses the terminology found in the Qur’ān verses that speak of alteration of the scriptures. Although systematic classification of the various types of taḥrīf became widespread after Abū Rā’iṭa, his use of these terms is likely purposeful—he is responding to concerns he has heard directly or indirectly from those who have been asked about the authenticity of Christian scripture. In particular, the terms ghayyara (“to change”) and baddala (“to substitute one thing for another”) call to mind the Qur’ān’s description of the alteration of the Bible. The Qur’ān uses numerous terms to indicate distortion that has occurred in the biblical texts, but we do not have space to explore them here. It is sufficient to note that baddala is used in numerous verses indicating taḥrīf, and the term ghayr (“another” or “different”) is commonly found with it. For example, one finds in Q 7:162: “But the evildoers among [the people of Moses] substituted (fa-baddala) the word with something different (ghayr) from that which had been said to them [by God] ….” There are numerous types of taḥrīf mentioned in the Islamic scripture, ranging from misunderstanding and mishearing to intentional substitution of one word for another. The most serious of these is obviously the last, the category of manipulation called tabdīl. Not only does it indicate an intentional desire to deceive, but for Christians it also meant that 35

Keating, Defending, 209.

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any verse(s) that support the doctrines of the incarnation or Holy Trinity could be dismissed as substitutions of the original authentic texts. 36 Abū Rā’iṭa is aware that he needs to do more than argue for the implausibility that the Jews could accomplish widespread deception regarding the scriptures. One of the noticeable aspects of Abū Rā’iṭa’s approach to apologetics is his emphasis on the Old Testament as a source for proof texts, which may seem counterintuitive. Throughout his writings, one finds lengthy sections of proof texts—often citing only the Old Testament—as well as a separate testimonia list entitled Witnesses from the Words of the Torah, the Prophets and the Saints. This includes approximately eighty short excerpts taken from the Jewish scriptures which focus on themes commonly found in Christian apologetic that address Muslim questions. Broadly speaking, they cover plurality in the Godhead, characteristics (especially humility and suffering) of the Messiah, messianic expectations, and the importance of miracles. 37 In his own writings, he often follows these biblical verses with examples from “their book” or “your book” which show parallels with the Qur’ān. 38 Given the ubiquity of such verses throughout his writings, it is clear that Abū Rā’iṭa was not willing to abandon the Bible in the face of the charge of taḥrīf. Rather, his strategy is twofold. First, he wants to demonstrate the overall coherence of the Bible to his Christian (and perhaps Muslim) audience. By identifying verses from the Old Testament that anticipate and elucidate Christian doctrine concerning Jesus Christ and the Trinity, he can establish that these doctrines are based on a solid foundation. Further, he can show that the New Testament is organiKeating, “Refuting,” 49–51. Keating, “Use and Translation,” especially pp. 263–271. 38 Although these examples are brief and do not quote the Qur’ān directly, they are identifiable to Muslims. For example, he states that “your book” gives accounts from the sayings of Moses and Daniel that God has said, “We created,” “We commanded,” “We destroyed,” etc. Keating, Defending, 203. 36 37

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cally connected to the Jewish scriptures; for example, the suffering and crucifixion of the Messiah is to be expected and was ordained by God—it is not proof that the New Testament has been altered. Since it would be impossible for Jews and Christians to collaborate on this kind of deception, he claims this substantiates the veracity of the Gospels. Second, Abū Rā’iṭa hopes to identify biblical verses that would be acceptable to Muslims, as well as those that parallel expressions in the Qur’ān, as a way to argue that Christian (and Jewish) interpretations of the texts are not illegitimate. While this may not convince Muslims of Christian doctrine, it may at least allay the suspicion that these teachings are irrational. The accusation of taḥrīf is not defeated by Abū Rā’iṭa; indeed, it becomes more problematic for Christians in the following centuries. Ultimately, his strategy of turning to philosophical methodology seems to indicate his recognition that traditional proof texts will have only minimal success in Christian engagement with Muslims. At the same time, it is clear that he wants to encourage Christians who may be questioning the authenticity of the Bible by showing its coherence.

MUḤAMMAD AND THE QUR’ĀN

As noted already, Abū Rā’iṭa is careful not to make specific references to Muḥammad in his responses to Muslims, although there are a few allusions to “your prophet” throughout his writings. The same can be said about the Qur’ān, which has a greater presence in texts such as On the Incarnation. His reasons for such indirect engagement are not explicit, but may fall into one of two categories. At the beginning of On the Holy Trinity, Abū Rā’iṭa lays out the parameters for participation in discussions about religious differences, warning that one should not join in if one is under threat. It is unclear what he thinks the nature of this threat is, but one can surmise there were dangers attached to offending one’s rulers. He may have hoped that indirect speech would afford some protection. A second possibility is that he recognized that his apologetical strategy could be compromised or derailed if the arguments devolve into polemic against Islam. Abū Rā’iṭa is primarily con-

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cerned with defending Christianity, not with defeating Islam. He seeks to establish common ground with his opponents through rationality and shared scriptural concepts and stories, to demonstrate that Christianity is not absurd. One sees this in his engagement with prophets—especially Moses, but also Abraham, David, Noah, etc. This is also true of his emphasis on the oneness of God and shared beliefs in the Creator as merciful, all powerful, knowing, and just, among others. The answer may be one of these or both. In any case, Abū Rā’iṭa maintains a careful distance from the specific faith commitments of his opponents.

FUTURE RESEARCH AVENUES

Although several of Abū Rā’iṭa’s writings have been the subject of careful analysis for several decades, there is still a great deal to be studied. This can be broadly seen in two categories: that specific to his Miaphysite church, and that related to Islam. While he can certainly be located in early ninth century Takrīt, very little is known about his particular situation and the church as he experienced it. What was his role in his church? How exactly did he come to his knowledge of Islam and the Qur’ān? Were the conversations he writes of based on personal experience? Were they staged or informal debates? Are they merely hypothetical exercises? It is also significant that, to date, there is only a German edition (by Georg Graf) of Abū Rā’iṭa’s writings in defense of Miaphysite doctrine. He certainly saw the proper Christological teaching as a necessity for confronting the challenge of Islam and has a particular Miaphysite assessment of the religion of his opponents. Throughout his writings, he seems to argue that Diaphysitism (Melkite and Nestorian) is particularly susceptible to Islam. His insights into this issue might shed some light on both the unwillingness of the divided churches to cooperate in their new situation under Islamic rule and their own perception of the differences between their teachings. Finally, although Abū Rā’iṭa has only recently become known outside of the Miaphysite Churches, he has long been considered among the great apologists and theologians of the

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Syriac, Arabic, Armenian, and Coptic traditions. The legacy of his apologetical approach has not been studied or carefully situated within Late Antiquity. He was certainly a man of his time, well educated in biblical, Patristic and philosophical literature and methods, making his works valuable sources for understanding the transmission of knowledge, educational and ecclesiastical structures, and the role of apologetic in this complex period. There is much work to be done to better understand his contribution to the long history of relations between Muslims and Christians.

EXCERPT: THE FIRST RISĀLA OF ABŪ RĀ’IṬA AL-TAKRĪTĪ ‘ON THE HOLY TRINITY’

4. The first [issue] is the following. The People of the South [Muslims] say: “The evidence is in our possession and the proof is in our teaching. For you agree with us, and give witness to the truth of what we possess, in as much as you do not deny our description of God as one, always was and always will be, living, knowing, seeing, hearing, having no partner in His ousia or in His dominion. And He is the first and the last, Creator of what is seen and what is unseen, without want, perfect [in] His being, He is not described by those who [wish to] describe Him, [He is] exalted above diminishing and weakness, not described by division, nor by [having] an envoy, Ruler, powerful Doer of what He wishes, not seen, not sensed, not comprehended, not limited, comprehending everything [in His] knowledge. The obvious demonstration that our teaching is the truth and our religion is the correct one (and that the one who follows another [religion] is among those who are lost), is in your confession and your assent to our teaching in which we describe God by His true description. However, if your claim and your description of God is threeness, together with His oneness, then this is

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not [something] which is incumbent upon us, because we reject it and deny it.” 39 [Here Abū Rā’iṭa begins his refutation of the claim made by the “People of the South”] …. 7. Do you say that “one” may only be spoken of in three ways: either as genus, or as species, or as number? 40 No one among you who is reasonable will regard this as an innovation. For we only engage those among you who are intelligent and judicious, firmly grounded in knowledge [and interested in] penetrating the issues …. 8. [Which] of the ways that we have mentioned in the [above] descriptions (in genus, or in species, or in number) is the way you actually describe God? If you say in genus, then [God] becomes a common one, encompassing various different species; this is not permitted in a description of God. And if you say [God is] one in number, then this is a contradiction of your statement that nothing is like [God]. 41 … 9. Now if you say that He is one in species, “species” is [comprised of] different beings, not one single [being], even if [they] are one in ousia. 42 It is necessary for us to ask you: according to you, is the description “one in species” different [from] the description “one in number”? Truly, you mean “one in species” [in the sense of] “one in number.” For if you say that they are different, we shall say: according to the People of Wisdom 43 the term “one in species” is a name encompassing various numThis creed-like summary of the beliefs of Abū Rā’iṭa’s opponents is unusual and has not been identified with a particular school of Islamic thought. See Keating, “Early List,” 339–355. 40 Cf. Aristotle, Metaphysics 5.6 (1016b–1017a). Abū Rā’iṭa does not include analogy in his list, probably because it is problematic for many of his Muslim opponents. 41 Cf. Sura 112:4. 42 The Arabic fī l-jawhar wāḥid is the equivalent to ὁμοούσιος. 43 I.e., the philosophers. 39

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bers, 44 and the term “one in number” according to them, is what does not encompass [something] other than itself. … If the meaning of your teaching is that “one in species” is “one in number,” and you do not define what “one in species” is and how it is, then you return to your first statement, that [God] is “one in number.” However, this is a description of creatures, just as we explained it [previously]. 10. If you say, “How are you able to describe God as ‘one in number’ neither [as] a part, nor as a perfect [whole]?” It should be said to you: We describe Him as one perfect in ousia, not in number, because he is in number (that is, in hypostases) three. [This] description of Him is perfect in both ways: When we describe Him as one in ousia, then He is exalted above all His creatures, be it His perceptible or His intellectually comprehensible creation—nothing is comparable to Him, nothing is mixed with Him, He is simple, without density, incorporeal, His ousia approaches everything closely without blending or mixing. And [we describe Him] in number because He encompasses all of the species of number. For number can only be counted in two species: even and odd. These two types are included in the three hypostases. In whatever manner we describe Him, nothing is equivalent to His perfect description. So you know: we describe God as one, [but] not as you describe Him.… 11. As for your description of God as living, knowing, hearing, and seeing, and your presumption that we agree with you in this and witness to what is correct [in your view], we wish to examine everything closely concerning these descriptions of living and seeing and knowing. [Are they] single, absolute names, or predicative names, 45 indicating the prediction of one thing to another thing? … 46 Cf. Aristotle, Categories 5 (2a–2b). Cf. this distinction in Basil, Contra Eunomius (Patrologia Graeca 29, cols. 497ff.). 46 Keating, Defending, 173–177. 44 45

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….

[Here Abū Rā’iṭa explains the relationship between absolute and predicative names and the thing they describe. Turning to God, he asks whether the names, or attributes (ṣifāt) are acquired by God, or whether they belong to him eternally.] 12. … If you are saying that [those term] by which you describe Him, [such as] living and knowing and wise, are on the contrary derived from Him, and that he merited them just as He merited everything by which He is named [after] he completed it by His act, as when He is described as having existed and having had no creation and no creatures until He came to this by the act [of creation], it should be allowed as a consequence to say in the same way that God existed and had no life, no knowledge and no wisdom until the attributes of life and knowledge and wisdom began to exist in Him. And it is a contradictory statement [to say] that God, May He be praised! was for [even] a blink of an eye, lacking life and knowledge. 47 ….. [Abū Rā’iṭa provides numerous ‘witnesses’ from the sacred books to support his use of analogy to explain the Holy Trinity. Introducing that section of his argument, he states:] 33. Now it is necessary for us to notice in the teaching about analogy that “God” is not counted as a single one, in keeping with the witnesses of the [sacred] books, cautioning the one who differs from us, and strengthening with support the one who follows us, even if the ones who differ from us on it declare it to be false when they claim we have altered [taḥrīf] [the sacred books] by adding to them and taking away from them…. 48 [This is followed by quotes and references to the Old Testament and the Qur’ān.] 39. Now, if they deny this teaching and reject it, saying: “The prophets did not say this, rather, you have altered the words 47 48

Keating, Defending, 179. Keating, Defending, 201.

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from their places, and you have made [the prophets] say what is false and a lie,” it should be said to them: If these books were only in our possession, and not [also] in the hands of our enemies the Jews, then, By my life! One could accept your teaching that we have changed [them] and substituted [words for other words]. However, if the books are also in the hands of the Jews, no one can accept your teaching, unless it were found that the books that we possess differ: [but] what is in the hands of the Jews is in harmony with what we possess. If they say: “Those who are responsible for the alteration [of the books] are the Jews, who are attempting to deceive you with this,” 49 we should say to them: If the matter were as you have described, then there ought to be in their possession genuine [copies which have] not been altered. Because the one who seeks the destruction of another does not seek his own destruction. Now we find what they possess and what we possess to be one [and the same], with no difference in it, just as we have pointed out. [Consequently,] no one can accept what you have reported about alteration. 50 …..

EXCERPT: THE SECOND RISĀLA OF ABŪ RĀ’IṬA AL-TAKRĪTĪ ‘ON THE INCARNATION’

2. Our opponents say: “Tell us about the incarnated One, as you claim–[is he] a god or human?” It should be said to them: According to us, the incarnated One is God become human. If they say: “If according to you the incarnated One is God, and at the beginning of your account [of your teachings] you [argued] it is necessary that God is [several] hypostases, then the incarnated One is three hypostases. How do you claim that the incarnated One is one of the three hypostases and not three [himself]?” it should be said to them: According to us, the name 49 50

Cf. Sura 2:75; 4:46; 5:13, 41. Keating, Defending, 207–209.

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‘God’ is [both] general and specific. 51 The three are in general divinity and each one of them is the same as the other in quiddity, just as we have described concerning gold—all of it may be characterized as gold, even the smallest piece of it is also gold. However, we mean [here] that the incarnated One is divine, that is, one of the hypostases, and He is the Son, the living Word of God, eternally, divine, not three hypostases. 3. If they say: “Tell us about the incarnation of the incarnated One. Is he an act [of God] or a part [of God]?” it should be said to them: You have asked us about the incarnated One. Now, you are asking about an incarnated being, in which the body and the incarnation are united, because it is not possible to describe [something] incarnated without incarnation and body. But in which manner? You have asked us whether He is an act or a part [of God]. [In asking] is it a part or an act, you are speaking about the body of the incarnated One, that is His ‘becoming a body.’ However, we say that the incarnation of the incarnated One is something other than an act or a part, rather it is a means to the act. If when you say “incarnation,” you mean by this the body, [and ask] is it a part of the incarnated One, or an act, we will argue, asking you, too: Do you say that the body is a part of the incarnated being, or do you only mean a part of that from which the incarnated being is composed and constructed? Then, if you say: “Is he a part, that is, a part of the divine Being?” we deny that the body is a part [of the divine Being], because the divine Being is above division or separation. If you say: “Is it a part of the composite of the being of God and the body?” we must [say] to you it is a part and an act. 52 ….

This distinction is made in Aristotle, Categories 5 (2a) with regard to primary and secondary substances. 52 Keating, Defending, 223–225. 51

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5. … If they say: “Clarify for us the act of the three [hypostases]: is it a proper act of one or of each one of them apart from the others?” it should be said to them: From the perspective of creating and willing, everything that happened or is happening through [the hypostases] is one. As for manifestation and revelation, each one of [the hypostases] is in any act or state it wills, and this is specific, not common [to all of them]. This is because a mode of being distinguishes each one of them. If the three of them were one and not three, then the revelation of something from them or a manifestation in any way, would be a revelation and manifestation of the three of them. However, although each one of the hypostases is coincident in its being with the being of that which is not itself of the [individual] hypostasis, it is [still] a particular hypostasis distinct from the others, so there is no doubt that what [an hypostasis] wills belongs only to itself. For one of them willed to become incarnated, possessing a rational soul, through the pure Virgin Mary. And the revelation in the incarnation is a property of one of them exclusive of the other two. As for the creation of the body or their will for one of them to become incarnated, [this] is common to the three of them. 53 …. 13. If they say: “Verily, can something dwell in something [else] without being encompassed by it?” [Here Abū Rā’iṭa provides several well-known analogies] …. 14. The sun and its light, and the coal and its fire, and the soul and its body are a mysterion for the incarnation of the Word of God in the body. For just as each one of these three things mentioned is embodied in what embodies it, without change in its state or alteration in its ousia, and without the thing with which it is embodied being two, but rather that it is in truth one, just so is it in the teaching on the Word of God: [it is an] incarnation [of the Word in] a body possessing a soul, through Mary, the 53

Keating, Defending, 227.

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immaculate, without change in its state nor alteration in its ousia, without being limited by the body; rather, the body is limited by [the Word]. And [the Word] and the body are one in a real and eternal union, without difference [like that which] occurs in number, and they are not drawn to become two. Yet, a substantial distinction is inherent in [the body] and enduring in it, just like the substantial distinction between the sun and the fire and the soul, and those [things] which are embodied by 54 them. 55

BIBLIOGRAPHY Editions

Keating, Sandra Toenies. Defending the “People of Truth” in the Early Islamic Period. The Christian Apologies of Abū Rā’iṭah. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Graf, Georg. Die Schriften des Jacobiten Ḥabīb Ibn Ḫidma Abū Rā’iṭah. 2 vols. Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium 130–131. Louvain: L. Durbecq, 1951. Secondary Literature

Bulliet, Richard W. Conversion to Islam in the Medieval Period: An Essay in Quantitative History. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979. Dakkāsh, Salīm. Abū Rā’iṭa l-Takrītī wa-risālatuhu “Fī l-Thālūth almuqaddas”: Dirāsa wa-naṣṣ. Beirut, 1996. Dakkāsh, Salīm. “Polémique, logique et élaboration théologique chez Abū Rā’ita al-Takrītī.” Annales de Philosophie 6 (1985): 38–88. The text is somewhat confusing here, but clearly refers to the light, fire and soul, which are embodied by the sun disc, the coal and the body. 55 Keating, Defending, 235–237. 54

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Griffith, Sidney H. “Ḥabīb ibn Ḫidmah Abū Rā’iṭah, a Christian mutakallim of the First ʿAbbāsid Century.” Oriens Christianus 64 (1980): 161–201. Griffith, Sidney H. “‘Melkites,’ ‘Jacobites’ and the Christological Controversies in Arabic in Third/Ninth-Century Syria.” In Syrian Christians under Islam: The First Thousand Years, edited by David Thomas, 9–55. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Keating, Sandra Toenies. “Abū Rā’iṭah al-Takrītī and God’s Divine Pedagogy.” In Christian Theology and Islam, edited by J. J. Buckley and M. Root, 31–33. Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2013. Keating, Sandra Toenies. “An Early List of the Ṣifāt Allāh in Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī’s ‘First Risāla “On the Holy Trinity.”’” Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam 36 (2009): 339–355. Keating, Sandra Toenies. “Ḥabīb ibn Khidma Abū Rā’iṭa alTakrītī.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 567–581. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Keating, Sandra Toenies. “The Rationality of Christian Doctrine: Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī’s Philosophical Response to Islam.” In Heirs of the Apostles: Studies on Arabic Christianity in Honor of Sidney H. Griffith, edited by David Bertaina, Sandra Keating, Mark Swanson, and Alexander Treiger, 157–178. Leiden: Brill, 2019. Keating, Sandra Toenies. “Refuting the Charge of Taḥrīf: Abū Rā’iṭa (d. ca. 835) and his ‘First Risāla on the Holy Trinity.’” In Ideas, Images, and Methods of Portrayal: Insights into Classical Arabic Literature and Islam, edited by Sebastian Günther, 41–57. Leiden: Brill, 2005. Keating, Sandra Toenies. “The Use and Translation of Scripture in the Apologetic Writings of Abū Rā’iṭa al-Takrītī.” In The Bible in Arab Christianity, edited by David Thomas, 257– 274. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Nickel, Gordon. Narratives of Tampering in the Earliest Commentaries on the Qur'ān. Leiden: Brill, 2011.

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Patrologia Graeca. Edited by Jacques-Paul Migne. 162 vols. Paris, 1857–1886. Samir, Samir Khalil. “Création et incarnation chez Abū Rā’itah. Étude de vocabulaire.” In Mèlanges en homage au professeur et au penseur libanais Farid Jabre, 187–236. Beirut, 1989. Suermann, Harold. “Der Begriff Ṣifah bei Abū Rā’iṭa.” In Christian Arabic Apologetics during the ʿAbbāsid Period (750– 1258), edited by S. K. Samir and J. S. Nielsen, 157–171. Leiden: Brill, 1994. Suermann, Harold. “Ḥabīb ibn Ḫidma Abū Rā’iṭa. Portrait eines miaphysitische Theologen.” Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 58 (2006): 221–233. Suermann, Harold. “Trinität in der islamisch-christlichen Kontroverse nach Abū Rā’iṭah.” Zeitschrift für Missionswissenschaft unde Religionswissenschaft 74 (1990): 219–229. Swanson, Mark N. “A Frivolous God? (a-fa-ḥasibtum annamā khalaqnākum ʿabathan).” In A Faithful Presence: Essays for Kenneth Cragg, edited by David Thomas and Clare Amos, 166–183. London, 2003.

CHAPTER 6. ʿAMMĀR AL-BAṢRĪ (D. CA. 850): AN EARLY SYSTEMATIC THEOLOGIAN IN THE ISLAMIC CONTEXT MARK BEAUMONT ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī was an East Syrian Dyophysite (Nestorian) theologian active in the first half of the ninth century, whose birth and death dates are unknown. He wrote two apologetic works to defend Christian beliefs in the face of Muslim criticisms, Kitāb al-masā’il wa-l-ajwiba (The Book of Questions and Answers) 1 and Kitāb al-Burhān (The Book of the Proof concerning the Course of the Divine Economy). 2 Since Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf (d. ca. 840) wrote a “Refutation of ʿAmmār the Christian in his reply to the Christians,” according to Ibn al-Nadīm’s Fihrist, 3 it is probable that ʿAmmār was attempting to answer this leading Muʿtazilī thinker. 4 The Book of the Proof Concerning the Course of the Divine Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 93–265. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 2 Al-Baṣrī, Proof, 19–90. See also Mikhail, “ʿAmmār.” Mikhail has produced an English translation of The Book of the Proof in an appendix. 3 See Dodge, Fihrist, 1:388. 4 See Griffith, “Concept,” 169–90, 180–181; also idem, “ʿAmmār,” 145– 181, 169–172. See also Thomas, “Abū al-Hudhayl,” CMR, 1:544–549. 1

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Economy may be the later of the two treatises because it contains a reference to the Caliph al-Muʿtaṣim (r. 833–842), who attacked Amorium in 838 just before the death of Abū alHudhayl al-ʿAllāf. 5 While The Book of Questions and Answers may attempt to answer the questions raised by Abū al-Hudhayl alʿAllāf in his lost refutation of ʿAmmār, The Book of the Proof appears more in the form of advice for Christians in dealing with Muslim concerns about the beliefs and practices of Christians. The Book of Questions and Answers discusses four topics: the Creator and the creation, the authenticity of the Bible, the Trinity, and the incarnation. The Book of the Proof has a longer list of issues: the existence of God, the true religion, reasons for the acceptance of Christianity, the authenticity of the Bible, the Trinity, the incarnation, the crucifixion, Baptism, the Eucharist, veneration of the cross, and eating and drinking in the afterlife. This chapter will deal with the way The Book of the Proof develops apologetic arguments in light of Muslim attitudes toward Christian beliefs, while the following chapter will concentrate on ʿAmmār’s handling of fifty-one questions about the incarnation, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus found in The Book of Questions and Answers.

PROOF OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD

The first section of The Book of the Proof concerns the existence of God. This might seem unnecessary given that Muslims were devoted to the certainty that God exists, but it gives ʿAmmār the opportunity to establish common ground between Christians and Muslims before dealing with differences between them. He opens by appealing to Greek sages, such as Plato and Aristotle, who bear witness that God exists. Aristotle argues that there must be a cause of everything, that is “the true God … who reg-

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 38. Michel Hayek argues of this identification in his introduction on pp. 19–20. 5

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ulates the planets, one in number, unchanging and eternal.” 6 This is a reference to Aristotle’s belief in a mover of all that exists which moves without being moved, a being that is eternal, substantial and actual, expressed in his Metaphysics. 7 Plato said that “the forms of everything were in the knowledge of the Benificent.” ʿAmmār reports Plato’s argument in his Timaeus that a demiurge created intelligence in the soul and the soul in the body, such that his work was the fairest and the best. 8 Then he notes that the three largest religious communities—Jews, Christians, and Muslims—all believe that there is one God who created all that exists. The Magians, the Manichaeans, and the Daysanites, who believe in two eternal beings, say that one of them is a good god and the other is a devil—so they actually believe that there is only one god. Worshippers of idols hold that there is a god higher than all spiritual beings, above whom there is nothing else. 9 ʿAmmār concludes that the whole of humanity known to his readers agrees that there is one God above all else. This argument enables Christians to confess their faith in the one Creator of the universe by putting them in the same situation as Muslims who proclaimed that God is the Creator and all creatures owe their existence to Him. The fact that ʿAmmār quotes from Plato and Aristotle shows how indebted Christians were to the Greek philosophical inheritance. By the early ninth century, many of the works of these philosophers had been translated into Arabic by Syriac-speaking Christians and these writings had been discussed by Muslim intellectuals such as Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf, who appealed to them to support the Muslim belief in the existence of the one Creator. 10 In other words, Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 22–23. See the German translation by Maróth, ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī. 7 See Aristotle, Metaphysics 12.7 (1072a, p. 23–26), in Works, 2:1694. 8 See Plato, Timaeus 30bc, in Plato, 1162–1163. 9 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 22–23. 10 One illustration of this Greek impact comes from an older contemporary of ʿAmmār, the Patriarch of the East Syrian church, Timothy I (Pa6

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there were communities of intellectuals in Baghdad and Basra, including Jews, Christians, and Muslims, who referred to ancient Greek ideas in order to interpret their scriptures. ʿAmmār evidently belonged, along with Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf, to the group of debaters in Basra.

PROOF OF THE TRUE RELIGION

ʿAmmār now turns to what divides Christians and Muslims by arguing that Christianity is God’s chosen religion for humanity. He begins by attempting to prove that God desired humans to worship Him in one particular way. Firstly, He is a generous God who did not need to make the world, but freely chose to set it up as a habitation for creatures, especially human beings. Then, He is a wise God who would not make something in order to destroy it, but would instead want to renew it by bringing it to life again. With respect to humans, God only destroys their bodies in order to renew them through raising them to eternal life. 11 So far, Muslims would most likely agree with these arguments. It was axiomatic for Muslims that God created the world freely without being compelled to do so, and that God would raise human beings after death to appear before Him on the Day of Judgment to be separated into two groups who would sent either to the fire of punishment or to the garden of bliss. Howtriarch 780–823), who was asked by Caliph Hārūn al-Rashīd (r. 786– 809) to translate the works of Aristotle into Arabic. With a small group of translators, Timothy delivered several Aristotelian writings to the Caliph. See Bidawid, Les Lettres, 37–38, 66. Timothy also records having a dialogue encounter with a Muslim Aristotelian at the court of the Caliph, which he said formed the basis for his treatise on the Language of God, which is an extended study of Aristotle’s understanding of Language. See Cheikho, Dialectique. See also Husseini, Christian-Muslim Debate, 161–186, for a discussion of the use of Greek philosophical ideas by ʿAmmār and other Christian authors in the eighth and ninth centuries. 11 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 24–25.

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ever, ʿAmmār goes on to state, “We should know that God has commanded people to do good and to make an effort to serve for this reason, and that He set this down in a book so that it would not be forgotten, and so that future generations might inherit eternal life by doing these things.” 12 While reference to a book could easily be read by Muslims as the Qur’ān, it is obvious that the New Testament is in mind even if not stated. The book God sent also contains God’s commands that humans love one another and do not harm each other. If people strive to follow these commands, they will take pride in achieving what God has willed. Here, the New Testament emphasis on love for one another is presented without comparison to the teaching of the Qur’ān, but the assumption is already made that this is a unique characteristic to Christianity without it being openly debated. ʿAmmār concludes that there is clearly one religion that God desires for humans to follow, yet different religions claim to be that one true religion. He sets up two tests for these religions; firstly, there must be signs in the religion that could only come from God, and secondly, there must be signs in the history of the religion that could only come from God, even though they may not be experienced today. 13 While each religion makes these claims, only careful investigation will lead to their verification or falsification. He does not accept the argument that the truth of a religion can be discovered without reference to signs from God. Some people say that the books of each religion can be studied for "The truest meaning, the soundest doctrine and the most correct teaching,” 14 but most people are not capable of this work. God would not have set up His one true religion for only an elite section of humanity to grasp. Philosophers have produced volumes that fundamentally disagree with one another, so how can ordinary people be sure of their truth? ʿAmmār refers Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 26. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 26. 14 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 27. 12 13

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to Qur’ān 22:78, “He has chosen you and has not imposed difficulties on you in religious duties,” when he says, “May God be above making demands of people beyond what they can bear.” 15 God decided to make His one true religion very clear to everyone through signs. By granting signs that they could not perform, God satisfied their quest for truth in a way that would clearly distinguish truth from falsehood. He proceeds to back up this reliance on Qur’ānic teaching by announcing that the key to the solution of the search for the true religion is to be found in the principle that God has given signs to humanity of His reality and activity. ʿAmmār indicates that he has a Muslim audience in mind when he says, “According to what you stubborn people have stated, God sent His messengers and revealed His signs through them, signs that could not be copied.” 16 He comes closer here to actual quotation from the Qur’ān, which in at least four places supports his interpretation. Qur’ān 2:23–24, 10:38, 11:13, and 52:33–34 repeat the challenge to the hearers of the message of the Prophet to come up with their own message from God since they reject his, calling Muḥammad a fraudulent forger of sayings. Yet, they can only bring false messages from gods that do not exist. ʿAmmār concludes that, “God wants to entrust to His people His signs that cannot be imitated.” 17 As for the signs from God, it is always possible for humans to argue that humans achieved something without these signs. In the case of Judaism, God gave signs to the Jews, but some might attribute these signs to earthly causes. Christianity was established by many great signs from God which He suspended after a time, but some might wish to ignore the original signs. Yet, intelligent people cannot argue that there were no signs from God at the outset of the Christian religion. 18 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 28. For a fuller treatment of his references to the Qur’ān, see Beaumont, “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī,” 83–105. 16 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 28. 17 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 28. 18 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 28–29. 15

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ʿAmmār begins by examining Judaism. This was not a religion that God desired for the whole of humanity; He designed it for one particular group that eventually died out, along with its kings, priests, and offerings. Although God did not design this religion for the whole of humanity, it did testify to a religion that would follow it which was designed for everyone. 19 Here, ʿAmmār does not decide openly for either Christianity or Islam, which both claim to have been promised by Jewish prophets. He takes a roundabout route to distinguish between them. What if people colluded together to accept a religion on the basis of signs from God which had not actually been demonstrated by the founder of that religion? What if they imposed this religion on others by force of the sword, and said that God did not send signs because of the disbelief of people, and that when these disbelieving people asked the one who had brought this religion to perform signs from God, he did not perform them? In posing these questions, ʿAmmār quotes Qur’ān 17:59, “We prevented ourselves from sending the signs only because former generations did not believe in them, and we sent a female camel to the Thamud to open their eyes, but they treated her badly, and we had only sent the signs to terrify them,” 20 and comments that this occurred after they had demanded signs and God reminded them of what Moses and Jesus had done. The signs that Moses brought are referred to in Qur’ān 17:4, but there is no reference to Jesus in this context. However, the signs of Moses and Jesus are mentioned in several places in the Qur’ān. 21 ʿAmmār quotes again from the Qur’ān at 6:109, “They swear with their strongest oaths by God,” that if they saw a sign they would believe. “Say … if they came, they would not believe.” 22 He refers to the interpretation of Ibn ʿAbbās (d. 687– Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 30. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 31. 21 The signs performed by Moses are mentioned in Q 3:3; 5:44; 6:91; 11:17; 46:12; 62:5. Jesus performed signs according to Q 2:87, 253; 3:49–50; 5:110, 112–115. 22 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 31. 19 20

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688), who was a cousin of the Prophet Muḥammad and was one of the first interpreters of the Qur’ān, who said, “The Christians, the Jews and the polytheists met together and swore by God that if they saw a sign from the Prophet they would believe, and God revealed this about them.” 23 In conclusion, ʿAmmār argues that Judaism and Islam do not match the criteria for the one true religion that God desired for the whole of humanity since they do not testify to the signs of God being demonstrated clearly to all people.

REASONS FOR THE ACCEPTANCE OF CHRISTIANITY

ʿAmmār turns to defend the way Christianity spread throughout the known world. Having argued that the Christian faith depended on the clear demonstration of signs from God performed by Jesus and his apostles, ʿAmmār attempts to fend off the criticism that, in reality, the Christian message was promoted by entirely other means. He canvasses six of these possible means: “The first is the sword, the second is desire for wealth, authority, and power, the third is fanaticism, the fourth is approval, the fifth is permission in law, and the sixth is trickery by magic and things like it.” 24 The first is the sword: immediately, ʿAmmār identifies a stark contrast between the use of the sword by Jews and Muslims and the refusal to wield the sword by Christians. The Torah describes how the sword was used, and “The religion of Islam uses the sword and does not reject it but describes its strength and depicts how territory was invaded by using it.” 25 However, Jesus prohibited his apostles from carrying swords and it is inconceivable that they would disobey him when they went out on their preaching mission to the nations. Jesus said to them, “Whoever uses the sword dies by the sword.” 26 None of the naAl-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 32. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 32. 25 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 33. 26 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 35. See Matt 26:52. 23 24

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tions that received the apostles mentioned that they came bearing weapons. Instead, they claimed that, “Those who proclaimed to them this religion were weak fishermen.” 27 It is historically inaccurate to allege that they used the sword. The second is desire for wealth, authority, and power: since they were poor fishermen, it is inconceivable that they had the financial means to bribe people to accept their teaching. Their leader, Simon, said to a crippled man at the gate of Jerusalem who had begged from him, “We have no gold or silver to give you, but we have what our Lord has given us. In the name of the Messiah, rise up, take your mattress, stand up and go to your home.” 28 Given such an example, argues ʿAmmār, there was no opportunity for the apostles to influence people by handing out largesse. The third is fanaticism: while it might be possible to allege that Jews are fanatical because their religion is exclusively for their ethnic group, Christianity was accepted by many different nations. “How is it possible to mention fanaticism among different groups of people who would surely oppose someone who was not from their group? Rather, this is entirely absent from them.” 29 The fourth is approval: what the apostles proclaimed was often contrary to common sense and reason. ʿAmmār lists ten items that would have been hard to accept. They said that a young virgin became pregnant without intercourse. They said that she gave birth without losing her virginity. They said that this child was God’s son. They said he was crucified, died, and was buried. They said that, after his death and burial, he was raised and came out of the tomb alive. They said that, after his resurrection from the tomb, he ascended into heaven. They said that, after his ascension into heaven, he will descend to earth to raise the dead and to send the good to the place of bliss and the Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 35. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 35. See Acts 3:6. 29 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 36. 27 28

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wicked to hell. At the beginning of their message, they said that a young virgin became pregnant without intercourse or impregnation, and this had never been witnessed in the world. They called for the worship of the crucified one. They proclaimed another world. They called them to believe in God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 30 As a result of this list of irrational beliefs, ʿAmmār concludes that, “The Christian religion was not established through being accepted by rational people.” 31 The fifth is permission in law: people like a religion that makes life easy and enjoyable. However, “There is no religion under the sun which prohibits desire more, and destroys pleasure more and has more restrictive commands than the Christian religion,” argues ʿAmmār. 32 He points out that the teaching of the New Testament is much more restrictive concerning desire for women than the Old Testament, which allowed for a man to have more than one woman. He refers to two figures linked together in Qur’ān 21:78–79, 27:15–16, 34:10–14, and 38:30, David and Solomon, who both were overcome by the desire for more than one woman. “David the prophet, despite his purity, desired women so intensely that he murdered a man for his wife, and Solomon, son of David, a spring of wisdom and a sea of proverbs, so desired women that they defeated his wisdom.” 33 Since the Messiah taught that a man could only marry one woman and could not divorce her, it follows that, Those who proclaimed the Christian religion commanded kings and others who had been overcome by desire for women and excessive demand for them, that a man should marry only one woman. And even if she is afflicted by all kinds of illness, which in turn would not allow them to be Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 36–37. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 37. 32 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 38. 33 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 38. See 2 Sam 11:1–27; 1 Kgs 11:1– 13. Note how David is called a prophet showing ʿAmmār’s awareness that David is given this title in Q 4:163; 17:55. 30 31

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together, he is forbidden to look at a woman besides her, until death. 34

On the contrary, those who promoted Christianity often practiced asceticism by fasting from pleasurable food and drink, so they cannot be accused of offering lax behavior to their hearers. The sixth is trickery by magic: those who proclaimed the teaching of the gospel also performed miracles of healing which were by no means illusory tricks performed by magicians. In fact, says ʿAmmār, “They warned people to be on their guard against magic and advised them not to be deceived by it, and on the contrary, they healed the sick and chronically ill.” 35 ʿAmmār sums up by stating that the Christian religion was “accepted and established by clear miracles from God, and His true signs have spread throughout all the different nations …. [I]f the apostles had not performed miraculous signs, then these nations would neither have agreed to accept their book, nor would they have agreed to testify that they performed them.” 36

DEFENSE AGAINST THE CHARGE THAT THE GOSPELS HAVE BEEN CORRUPTED

ʿAmmār is aware that Muslims were alleging that the gospels did not represent the true teaching of Jesus. 37 One example of this tendency comes from the earliest extant refutation of Christianity by al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhīm, who wrote his critique after debating with Christians in Egypt between 815 and 826. 38 He says that the four gospels contain knowledge of what Jesus taught, Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 38–39. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 39. 36 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 41. 37 See the extended treatment of his defence in both The Book of the Proof and The Book of Questions and Answers in Beaumont, “Alleged Corruption,” 241–256. 38 See Ibn Ibrāhīm, “Refutation,” 301–331. See also Madelung, Der Imām, 89–90. 34 35

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but that Christians had altered its meaning afterwards by changing the text. He quotes extensively from the Sermon on the Mount but opens with, “Our Lord in heaven,” and does not quote Jesus calling God his Father. 39 This enables al-Qāsim to argue that Jesus never claimed to be the unique Son of God in the gospels, but rather encouraged his disciples to believe that they were sons of their heavenly Father. “The testimony of the Messiah to his disciples was that they were all sons of the Father. If God was the Father of all of them then it demonstrates that the interpretation of fatherhood and sonship is not what you Christians say in your teaching.” 40 The irony of his removal of “Our Father in heaven” from the Sermon on the Mount is that this was the very evidence for the corporate sonship that alQāsim insisted on. By the early ninth century, Muslims were arguing that Christians had either misinterpreted their gospels or had altered the text to suit their developed views. ʿAmmār makes five points in defense of the authenticity of the gospels. Firstly, the preachers of the message proved its authenticity by signs from God. “As the message was accepted by means of the force of the signs, no corruption would have been accepted after the message became deeply rooted in people’s hearts.” 41 It is simply improbable that those who received the message accompanied by signs could turn around and alter the contents of the message. They would be faithful to every last word of the preacher. Secondly, the fact that Christians have differed in their interpretations of the message proves that it would have been extremely difficult for them to agree on a corrupted text. The various denominations of Christians exist because of disagreement regarding the interpretation of the same texts. “Their differences in interpretation show the impossibility of the accusation against them that they agreed to corrupt the

Ibn Ibrāhīm, “Refutation,” 328. Ibn Ibrāhīm, “Refutation,” 324. 41 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 42. 39 40

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revealed scriptures.” 42 Thirdly, it might be alleged that a powerful leader, such as the Roman Emperor, made the alterations and forced the corrupted text on his subjects. 43 But Christians laid down their lives for the message, so how could they have done this for a message invented by the one who was putting them to death? In actuality, the gospels exist in several languages so it is unlikely that a court of law would indict the Roman Emperor for producing a corrupt text in one language when the various versions all agreed. “Surely a court would acquit the Roman Emperor of changing his gospel as a result of the witness of all the gospels in many languages that were not in his hands, and had not been subjected to his teaching, since they agree with it and it agrees with them in wording?” 44 Blaming the Roman Emperor shows a disregard for the course of history. Fourthly, it is absurd to allege that other rulers would have forced a corrupt text on their people. This would mean that the different versions in a variety of languages were corrupted at the same time and place. “Where did they gather together? And in which of their kingdoms? For there is no doubt that they all would have met together in the kingdom of one of the kings. So who was he? And how did they trust each other, and how did each one commit himself to the other? 45” This is historically implausible. The fifth point relates to a different type of allegation of corruption. Some Muslims do not say that Christians altered the text of the gospels, but that they corrupted the meaning of the words. This is based on the assumption that the gospels would not contain any teaching contrary to what is found in the Qur’ān. ʿAmmār argues that the gospels contain teaching which is clearly contrary to that of the Qur’ān. “The gospel commands that we baptize people in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 42. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 43. 44 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 43. 45 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 43. 42 43

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Spirit, and announces that the Word is eternal and divine, by whom everything was created, that the Spirit is Lord, and that there is no marriage, food or drink in the afterlife …. See if your book agrees with any of this.” 46 ʿAmmār drives home his argument by outlining the teaching of the Qur’ān on these points. Concerning the Father, you do not know Him by your denial of the Son; concerning the Spirit, you say the spirit is from the Lord whereas God’s book says that the Spirit is the Lord; concerning the Word, you say the word was created whereas the gospel says the Word is eternal and is God; concerning marriage, eating, and drinking in the afterlife, you hold to them whereas the gospel annuls them. So how can the gospel be altered to the meaning of your book? That is not at all possible. 47

The denial of the Son is found in Qur’ān 19:90–91 and 2:18, which ʿAmmār quotes verbatim, showing God’s anger at Christians and His threat to punish them for calling Jesus God’s Son. He refers to Qur’ān 17:85 where the spirit is commanded by God, and alludes to Qur’ān 4:171, which calls Jesus God’s word at his conception. He refers to Qur’ān 37:45–48, 38:51–52, 44:54–55, and 52:19–20, which depict believers eating, drinking, and enjoying sexual pleasure in the afterlife. He concludes by stating that the allegation that Christians have a sound text but do not interpret it correctly is even more absurd than the allegation that they have altered the text itself.

DEBATING THE TRINITY

ʿAmmār opens his discussion of the Trinity by engaging in debate with a Muslim about the oneness of God. 48 Given that the

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 45. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 45. 48 See my analysis of ʿAmmār’s defense of the Trinity from his Book of Questions and Answers, in Beaumont, “Speaking,” 111–127. See also 46 47

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Muslim believes that God is living, does he believe that the life of God is essential to Him, or an added attribute that is not essential to Him? For example, humans have life, but not when they are dead. Inanimate things are called living even though they have no life of their own. If the Muslim admits that God has life in Himself, in His essence, then he agrees with Christians. 49 Furthermore, humans can think and speak, but animals cannot. The essence of a human being is in the soul that has the capacity to reason and use language to communicate. Animals have life but not speech. Humans have both life and speech. “Animals are not called ‘speaking,’ because they do not have speech in their essences, but we call the soul of a human being ‘living’ and ‘speaking’ because it has ‘life’ and ‘word’ in its essence.” 50 However, it is clear to ʿAmmār that Muslims do not hold that God has life in His essence. If that is the case, why do Muslims call God ’living’? 51 The Muslim replies that God is called ’living’ in order “to deny that He is dead.” 52 Here, ʿAmmār is representing the Muslim as a Muʿtazilī thinker like Abū alHudhayl al-ʿAllāf, who held that the names of God in the Qur’ān were not essential to Him because God is beyond description in human language. Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf reportedly denied that the names of God referred to actions of God. The statement ‘God is knowing’ means ‘There is an act of knowing that is God’ and ‘There is an object that He knows.’ 53 Abū al-Hudhayl alʿAllāf defended God’s unity by denying that there could be an entity called ‘knowledge’ which is identified in God. The many names given to God in the Qur’ān were a concession to human weakness to aid human beings in worshipping Him. God transcends what He created yet condescended to describe Himself in Sara Husseini’s analysis of ʿAmmār’s handling of the Trinity in Husseini, Christian-Muslim Debate, 105–140. 49 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 46. 50 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 47. 51 God is called “living” in Q 2:255; 3:2; 20:111; 25:58; 40:65. 52 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 47. 53 See Frank, Beings, 12.

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relation to what He created. ʿAmmār attacks this conception by arguing that there are inherent qualities in God—life and speech—which are quite different from actions that God performs but are not inherent in Him. Wageeh Mikhail argues cogently that ʿAmmār particularly understood that the Qur’ānic accusation that Christians believe in three gods was the new challenge for Christian theologians, which “shifted the focus of the Trinitarian formulations and made the oneness of God the focal point of the defense.” 54 ʿAmmār then argues that, if God is not essentially living, it is possible that He could die. The only way to guard against the death of God is to affirm categorically that He is living in His essence. 55 He turns to another name for God ‘seeing’ and applies the normal use of this term in human speech. It is as if you say, “This person is ‘seeing,’” and we ask you, “Does he have ‘sight’?” If you answer, “No,” then you lied in calling him ‘seeing’; for the name ‘sight’ is right for someone who has ‘sight.’ Your saying, “I did not want to establish ‘sight’ in him by my saying that he is ‘seeing,’ but I wanted to deny blindness in him,” shows that when you wanted to deny the establishment of blindness, you denied ‘sight’ to the one who was blind while establishing his blindness. 56

The Muʿtazilī approach to the names of God implies negation of the reality of the content of the names. If denial is at the heart of the naming, then what can be affirmed of God’s nature? This is detrimental to the revelation of who God claims to be in His books. God claims to have life and speech in the Bible and the Qur’ān, but Muslim intellectuals like Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf have denied them to Him. ʿAmmār protests that the Muslim,

Mikhail, “ʿAmmār,” 175. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 47. 56 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 47–48. God is called “seeing” 29 times in the Qur’ān. 54 55

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has necessitated that God is not living and not speaking since he flees from establishing ‘the Word’ and ‘the Spirit’ so that he will not make three realities necessary in the essence of the Creator and nullify the confession of His oneness. He has ended up completely nullifying the Creator, making Him an inanimate being, without ‘life’ or ‘word,’ similar to the idols which are called gods. 57

The confession of the oneness of God meant for the Muʿtazilī intellectuals that there was a necessary gap between the essence of God and what He created. They believed that only God in Himself was eternal, and all that existed in the creation was passing and contingent. Even the speech of God is within time and contingent rather than being eternal. Therefore, the Qur’ān was a timebound communication that was to enable humans to turn to God despite Him not being knowable in His essentiality. However, this doctrine results in God being essentially incapable of communicating with humans in their language. This, according to ʿAmmār, means that the God of Islam is no better than a lifeless, dumb idol of the polytheists which the Qur’ān mocks. 58 ʿAmmār turns to the Old Testament for references to God speaking of Himself as having ‘Spirit’ and ‘Word.’ David says, “by the word of God He created the heavens and by His spirit all the hosts of heaven.” 59 Job says that, “The spirit of God created me.” 60 Isaiah says, “The word of our God stands forever,” 61 which is repeated by David, “The word of our God stands firm in the heavens.” 62 As a result, it is not appropriate for Muslims to accuse Christians of believing in three gods. 63 What Christians Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 48. Idols are ridiculed in Q 6:71, 74; 7:138–140; 14:35; 21:52–71; 22:30– 31. 59 See Ps 33:6. 60 See Job 33:4. 61 See Isa 40:8. 62 See Ps 119:89. 63 As is apparent in Q 4:171; 5:73. 57 58

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hold to is the teaching of the Old and New Testaments that God is one. When we speak of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we only want to affirm the teaching that God is ‘living’ and ‘speaking.’ The Father is the One we refer to as having ‘life’ and ‘word.’ ‘Life’ is the Holy Spirit, and ‘word’ is the Son. This is not, as our opponents attribute to us, that we make for God a female companion and a son from her. May God be greatly exalted above that! 64

Despite the Qur’ān alleging that Christians invented a female partner for God—through whom He supposedly had a son—and affirming that God is exalted far beyond this, ʿAmmār urges his Muslim debater to accept the testimony of the Christian scriptures, that the Trinity concerns the life and speech of God. Furthermore, Christians do not worship three gods. This can be seen by analogy with the triadic nature of the human soul, fire, and the sun. “We see that the soul does not become three souls after ‘word’ and ‘life’ are confirmed in it, nor does a fire become three fires after ‘warmth’ and ‘light’ are confirmed in it, nor does the sun become three suns after ‘light’ and ‘heat’ are confirmed in it.” 65 ʿAmmār is fully aware that Muslims claim that no analogy from the created world is suitable for understanding the nature of God. He concedes, “We give these analogies, but since there is nothing like God, the analogies are given concerning Him according to similarity.” 66 One of the central principles of the Muʿtazilī intellectuals was the affirmation of Qur’ān 42:11, “There is nothing like Him.” Thus, drawing analogies from the world was ruled out by Muʿtazilī thinkers such as Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf. ʿAmmār points out that similarity does not mean equivalence. The perfection of God is not found in Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 48–49. Q 6:101 states that God has no son because he has no female companion. Q 7:190 says that God is greatly exalted above those they associate with Him. 65 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 49. 66 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 50. 64

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anything that He has made, so there cannot be perfect resemblance between the human soul, a fire, the sun, and the One who made them. In the final analysis, Christians do not want Muslims to think that the created world can be equal to the task of explaining the nature of the Creator. “We do not mean that the Creator has any equivalent.” 67 However, the Creator is actually described by Muslims in terms taken from the created world. While not quoting from the Qur’ān, ʿAmmār alludes to the continual depiction of God as having body parts such as hands and eyes, and sentiments of anger and mercy. But since Muʿtazilī scholars interpreted such descriptions as not undermining the transcendence and oneness of God, they fail to realize that they are limiting God to a false concept of oneness. ʿAmmār drives his point home. Christians should say to Muslims, “According to your narrow description of Him, you have no room to grant Him ‘life’ and ‘word’ so that He is complete in His essence by His ‘life’ and His 'word.’” 68 Christians call the essence of God His ‘substance’ and the description of God as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit His ‘hypostases.’ These hypostases are “lacking nothing in themselves, needing nothing and having no defect, such as accidents which are in need of the substances.” 69 A Muslim could point out, Just as you have called Him ‘living’ and ‘speaking,’ and have established that He has ‘life’ and ‘word’, so you should also call Him hearing, seeing, wise, knowing, powerful, authoritative, merciful, forgiving, compassionate, generous, gracious, willing, and other similar names. 70

Christians ought to reply, “We have reached this conclusion because we have found that ‘life’ and ‘speech’ belong to the founAl-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 51. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 51. 69 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 52. 70 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 52. 67 68

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dation of the essence and structure of the substance.” 71 No other attributes of God are similar to these. As far as ‘hearing’ and ‘seeing’ are concerned, God has no body with which to hear and see. When God is said to hear and see, it means that He is aware of what is happening in His creation. He condescends to us in describing Himself this way so that we can understand Him. “God has spoken to us by what we can comprehend. He affirmed in Himself what is in us to enable us to understand His comprehension of things, because we would not have understood what He comprehended apart from these descriptions.” 72 As for ‘Justice,’ ‘compassion,’ ‘generosity,’ ‘kindness,’ ‘favor,’ ‘mercy,’ and ‘forgiveness,’ these are actions of God when He deals with people, and are attributed to Him when he speaks to them. It is because He has speech that He can be described in these various ways. His speech is essential to Him, and the varieties of judgments He makes concerning human behavior all relate to this essential quality of speech. Human beings share these qualities with God. They, too, can reflect His different judgements because they can communicate. However, animals cannot replicate this. “We do not say, ‘We have seen a just lamb, or a favorable or generous elephant, or a merciful and gracious horse, or a merciful and forgiving bull,’ because animals lack speech, from which the qualities of these and similar actions come.” 73 ‘Power’ and ‘strength’ do not imply physical actions, but rather spiritual actions seen in God’s commands and prohibitions. He speaks and things happen. Human beings are also capable of spiritual actions through speech, whereas animals are only capable of physical actions. Just as humans have a soul as well as a body, so they can use power and strength in two ways, physical and spiritual. “The power and strength of God are not in members as we have described bodily power since He has no Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 52. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 53. 73 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 53. 71 72

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body. But they are like the power of the soul which we have mentioned, that is, His Word, by which heaven and earth were established.” 74 ‘Wisdom’ and ‘knowledge’ are only attributed to a speaker who has wisdom. ʿAmmār argues that humans are only called wise and knowledgeable after they have spoken. “We do not call ‘wise’ or ‘learned’ that which does not speak. We do not say, ‘I saw a knowledgeable donkey or a wise bull.’ But we call speakers wise and knowledgeable.” 75 When God is described as having wisdom and knowledge, He is being described as One who speaks with wisdom and knowledge. We say that the Word of God is wise and knowledgeable, “When we see Him knowing things as they are, we call it ‘knowledge.’ When we see Him governing and directing everything, we call it ‘wisdom’.” 76 ʿAmmār concludes that only ‘life’ and ‘speech’ “belong to the structure of the substance and its essential nature.” 77 This is why, “The Holy Gospel and the Books which preceded it, attribute the Spirit and the Word to the essence of the Creator.” 78 There is no possibility of division in God when ‘life’ and ‘speech’ are acknowledged in Him, since He has no body. As a result, Christians believe that, “God is one substance known in three hypostases, who surrounds the heavens and the earth without being limited, and that He is invisible, eternal, unceasing, and that He lasts forever and ever.” 79 While the refutation of ʿAmmār by Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf is no longer extant, the refutation of the Trinity by another Muʿtazilī thinker critiques ʿAmmār’s conceptualization of the Trinity. Abū ʿĪsā al-Warrāq (d. 860) produced the most thorough of any of the Muslim refutations of the Trinity in the early IsAl-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 54. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 55. 76 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 55. 77 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 55. 78 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 55. 79 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 55. 74 75

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lamic period. 80 He does not usually refer to individual Christian writers, but prefers to speak about the teaching of the three main Christian communities of his time. However, he says that, One Trinitarian theologian has presented arguments in support of the essence and the hypostases, that the one he worships lives eternally by ‘life’ and speaks eternally by ‘speech’, and that life and speech are two properties which confer perfection on His essence. 81

This choice of life and speech as the essential properties of God reflects ʿAmmār’s way of writing, and he is probably the unnamed theologian here. Abū ʿĪsā al-Warrāq counters this by examining the concept of ‘essence’ in this presentation. If the essence is specified by ‘life,’ then the definition of any essence in the created world must also be specified by ‘life’ and even stones would have to be specified as ‘living,’ which is absurd. But if the essence is specified by ‘life’ by a cause which is other than the essence, then an eternal cause other than the essence and the hypostases has been established, and this falsifies the argument. He finds the appeal to the generation of word from intellect, light from the sun, and heat from fire as analogies for the generation of the Son from the Father to be useless to support the Christian case for the Trinity. No matter whether Christians intend to compare the generation of the Son by the Father directly or only approximately with these other types of generation, they cannot escape from giving the eternal Father the same status as a created being or object. 82 Abū ʿĪsā al-Warrāq, like other Muʿtazilī Muslim thinkers, rejected analogies from the created and temporal world for the uncreated and eternal God, since there is nothing like Him (Q 112:4). The problem with Christians is precisely that they think it appropriate to compare God with what He resembles with the result that, “They are Al-Warrāq, “Refutation,” 66–181. Al-Warrāq, “Refutation,” 130–131. 82 Al-Warrāq, “Refutation,” 166–171. 80 81

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openly introducing anthropomorphism, and they do not remove anthropomorphism from their teaching.” 83

TEACHING ABOUT BAPTISM

ʿAmmār notices that Muslims mock Christians for practicing baptism. But he also notices that Muslims practice washing in water to make themselves pure before coming before God in prayer. He could mock Muslims for thinking that they are spiritually pure from merely washing in water. 84 They are surprised at baptism, which is an illustration of the resurrection from the dead. The Messiah our Lord, since he died in the humility of his humanity, was buried and was raised, wanted to confirm this to us, and to represent it to us in a manner that we will not forget, and so we will be reminded that we will be resurrected from the grave just as he was resurrected. 85

The choice of baptism in water for remembering the death and resurrection of Jesus reflects the way God made the world out of the four elements of fire, air, earth, and water. God wanted to provide an illustration of the death and resurrection for us, so he chose water as the means. Since humans do not come back to life after dying, the best illustration available was burial in water and resurrection from it. “There was nothing in this world closer to us than water by which he could illustrate to us his burial in the earth and his resurrection from it, because we have been formed from water and dust, and water in his body is closAl-Warrāq, “Refutation,” 168–169. The next three sections of The Book of the Proof deal with the nature of the union of divinity and humanity in Jesus Christ, and the way this works out in the incarnation and in the crucifixion. These topics will be dealt with in the following chapter which analyses ʿAmmār’s treatment of Christology in his Book of Questions and Answers, so they will not be considered here. 84 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 81–82. 85 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 82. 83

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er to air than to earth and fire.” 86 Jesus commanded Christians to remember his death and resurrection by, “Burying our bodies in the water and rising from it.” 87 ʿAmmār points to the fact that God created the first human being, Adam, from water and dust. After Adam disobeyed God, he was condemned to death. Yet God wanted to grant his descendants eternal life and chose to illustrate this through the death and resurrection of Jesus. For Christians, then, baptism in water gives the hope of resurrection to eternal life. Just as a potter restores a spoiled pot that he is making by submerging it in water to remake the clay, so God the Creator restores our spoiled nature when it is submerged in water. 88 ʿAmmār concludes by arguing that baptism signifies the removal of sin from us and the granting of another life in which there is no sin. This illustrates that sin will end after we die and will have no impact on us after we come into the afterlife. 89

TEACHING ABOUT THE EUCHARIST

ʿAmmār turns to the second sacrament after baptism, the Eucharist, which Muslims fail to comprehend. They object to the notion that Jesus asked his disciples to eat his body and drink his blood. 90 However, they do not realize that Jesus did not intend the bread and wine to become his body and blood in a literal sense. Rather, he wanted a tangible reminder of his death and resurrection to help them focus on their resurrection from death. In this sense, the Eucharist has a similar function to baptism as a reminder of burial and resurrection. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 82. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 82. 88 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 83. Khalil Chalfoun points out that Theodore of Mopsuestia (d. 391) made the same allusion to a potter in his discussion of baptism. Theodore was the founding theologian for the East Syrian Church. See Chalfoun, “Baptême,” 321–334, 325. 89 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 84. 90 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 84. 86 87

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He named the bread and the wine which he made an offering of his body and his blood, because when the Messiah our Lord announced this the whole intention of his announcement was to show the eternal world and the resurrection from death. For there is nothing harder in this world for people than death, and nothing more valuable for them than salvation from it and attaining life which will not pass away and after which death will not happen. 91

Using bread and wine would reinforce the joy that Christians would have as they take the bread and wine in their hands, because “there is nothing more certain for humans than what they hold in their hands.” 92 When he said, “Eat, this is my body which is offered for the forgiveness of sins, and this is my blood which is poured out for the forgiveness of sins,” 93 he did not intend that the essence of that bread and that wine was his body and his blood, because his teaching was not about the essence of bodily things which do not have the power to show life or salvation from death. But his teaching had the meaning which was revealed in his body being resurrected from the grave, and to his victory over death. 94

Here, there is no transformation of the bread and wine into the body and blood as has been the tradition in the Catholic church. It is also said that his sacrifice was for the world. 95 This was necessary because the sin of Adam brought death to all of his descendants, and the righteousness of the Messiah, the second Adam, brought freedom from death to all of Adam’s descendants. 96 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 85. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 85. 93 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 85. See Matt 26:28. 94 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 85. 95 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 86. See John 1:29. 96 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 86. See Rom 5:12–21. 91 92

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TEACHING ABOUT VENERATING THE CROSS

ʿAmmār changes course at this point to deal with the Muslim objection to Christians venerating the cross. Perhaps there was a connection in his mind between the touching of the cross in church and the handling of the bread and wine. These were tangible signs of the presence of Jesus among his people. He says that Muslims mock Christians for venerating the cross, but Muslims venerate a stone which polytheists previously venerated. “The wood of the cross is more fruitful than the stone.” 97 ʿAmmār is aware that Muslims were encouraged to kiss a black stone in Mecca during the Ḥajj, in imitation of the Prophet who had kissed the stone. If Muslims say that the stone is venerated because it came down from heaven, ʿAmmār recommends that Christians should ask them, We heard that God has forbidden the honoring of stones he had created in this world, and has forbidden humans from taking them as idols to worship. So, what makes honoring and venerating that which came down from heaven more worthy than that which is from the things of this world; for God is the Creator of it all? 98

ʿAmmār has in mind the description in Qur’ān 5:90, of sacred stones as an abomination of Satan. The worship of objects as deities is attacked forthrightly in the Qur’ān, particularly in the recounting of Abraham’s challenge to his family to give up worshipping their idols in Qur’ān 6:74, 14:35, 19:41–50, 21:51–71, 26:69–86, 29:16–26, and 37:83–99. When ʿAmmār goes on to quote the Muslim interlocutor defending the kissing of the black stone ‘Because of Abraham,’ he implies without spelling it out that Muslims are capable of outright contradiction in their beliefs, and replies, “So, you venerate a stone because of Abraham, and reject the veneration of wood because of the veil of the Cre97 98

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 87. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 87.

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ator, I mean the human nature of the Messiah!” 99 In other words, Muslims who accuse Christians of idolatry because they adore a wooden model of the cross ought to look to their own blindness in their adoration of a stone in the Meccan mosque. It is a blindness that prevents them from seeing the glory of the divine nature under the veil of the human nature of Jesus Christ. The last recourse of the Muslim is to say that God required them to venerate the stone. ʿAmmār suggests, “You should not say God has commanded us to do this, since you confess that he prohibited you from doing such a thing, and he ordered you to fight the polytheists because of it.” 100 He refers to Qur’ān 9:3, 5, 7–9, 12–14, 17, 28–29, 33, and 36, where Muḥammad is commanded to fight polytheists until they submit to Islam. ʿAmmār believes he has the upper hand and finishes by telling his Christian reader he does not think that Muslims can give a reasonable answer.

DEBATE ABOUT EATING AND DRINKING IN THE AFTERLIFE

The final section of ʿAmmār’s Book of the Proof deals with the afterlife. He already drew attention to the distinctive teaching of the gospels concerning the manner of life for believers in the hereafter. In his defense of the authenticity of the gospels as revealed scripture, he mentioned that, if Christians had wanted to corrupt their scriptures, “They would have put into them what they thought would be pleasant in the hereafter; marriage, eating, drinking and such things.” 101 Jesus taught that there would be no marriage in heaven in Matthew 22:30 and Luke 20:35–6. However, in Matthew 26:29, he promised that his disciples would drink wine with him in his Father’s kingdom. In Luke 22:30, he looked forward to eating and drinking with his disciples at his table in his kingdom. The testimony of the fourth gospel is rather different. In John 3:14, Jesus told the woman at Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 87. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 88. 101 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 44. 99

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the well that, if she drank the water he could give her, she would never thirst again. In John 6:27, Jesus challenged those who had eaten the food he had multiplied to believe that he was the bread of life, and that those who came to him would never go hungry. Paul’s argument in Romans 14:17, that the kingdom of God is not about eating and drinking, could be taken in a Johannine sense to depict eternal life as the absence of physical food and drink. ʿAmmār shares a developed tradition of reading the New Testament with Johannine and Pauline eyes. ʿAmmār repeats the point twice more in the conclusion to his section on the authenticity of the gospels. “See if your book agrees with the gospel … that there will be no marriage, food or drink in the hereafter,” and “You hold to marriage, eating and drinking in the hereafter whereas the gospel annuls them.” 102 The Qur’ān does depict believers eating, drinking and enjoying sexual pleasure in Qur’ān 37:45–48, 38:51–52, 44:54–55, and 52:19–20. When he returns to this issue at the end of his work, he lays out the Christian conception of heaven. God has shown in His book that He will make human bodies in that world perfectly strong and not weak. They will not need food or drink …. They will be sustained by the power of the Creator … in a state that is not sustained by the taste of one kind of food or drink after another, or of sexual intercourse time and again. 103

He then invites Muslims to compare the experience of believers with that of angels in the afterlife. Both Christians and Muslims believe that humans will join with angels in the experience of heaven, “Sharing in rank, power, dignity, endurance, and eternal joy with God’s holy angels forever and ever.” 104 Yet Muslims hold that humans will continue to have physical needs and deAl-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 45. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 89. 104 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 89. 102 103

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sires, while angels will not. ʿAmmār cannot imagine that Muslims truly believe that the reward of Gabriel, Michael, and all the other angels is inferior to the reward of humans. 105

CONCLUSION

The Book of the Proof has been called, by Michel Hayek who edited the Arabic text, the earliest known systematic theology in Arabic written in an Islamic context. 106 ʿAmmār developed a systematic theology for his Christian community based on an apologetic interaction with the dominant Islamic culture of the early ninth century. The truth of Christianity was defended by arguing that the first Christian disciples spread the faith not by human means, but by reliance on divine signs that—according to the Qur’ān—could not be copied. When Muḥammad brought signs from God, they were in continuity with earlier signs, such as the gospel that Jesus brought. Therefore, Muslims must accept that Christianity was accompanied by these signs to which the Qur’ān testifies. However, the message of the Qur’ān was not actually in continuity with the message that Jesus brought in the Christian Gospels. Since Muslims allege that Christians must have corrupted the pure teaching of Jesus, ʿAmmār mounted a defense of the authenticity of the Gospels by expressing astonishment that the disciples would have invented such a distasteful religion that centered on the worship of a crucified man, or such a narrow-minded religion that prohibited re-marriage after divorce. The accusation of corruption is turned against Muslims, who have to account for how the Qur’ān has altered the teaching of the Gospels. The Muslim denial of threeness in God is dealt with by appealing to Biblical and Qur’ānic references to God’s word and spirit as essential to His nature. God’s spirit and word are essential attributes, rather than merely actions of God. ʿAmmār accused Muslims of rendering God lifeless and speechless if the 105 106

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 89–90. See Hayek, “ʿAmmār,” 69–133.

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word and spirit are not essential properties of God. The sacraments of baptism and the Eucharist are explained to Muslims as tangible reminders of the death and resurrection of Jesus and the hope of the resurrection to eternal life for Christians. Muslim distaste for Christian veneration of the cross is dealt with by turning attention to the kissing of the black stone by Muslims on pilgrimage to Mecca. ʿAmmār did not think that the kissing of the stone could be defended by Muslims from the taint of idolatry. The contrast between physical and spiritual bodies in the afterlife closes ʿAmmār’s theological dialogue with Muslims. The signs of God revealed in the New Testament show that humans who are granted life in the afterlife do not have the same bodily needs there. The Qur’ān’s vivid description of eating, drinking and sexual relations runs counter to the earlier testimony of the signs of God. This is a theology of engagement that demonstrates attention to Muslim concerns, relies on carefully reasoned argument, and models for future generations of Christians, even to our own times, a respectful apologetic stance that does not refrain from asking Muslims the most difficult questions about the Qur’ān.

TRANSLATION

Given that Muslims had three main criticisms of Christianity, it seems best to present the translation of ʿAmmār’s responses to these issues. Here, his treatment of the accusations that the Bible had been altered and that the oneness of God was diluted by the Trinity will be presented. His response to the denial of the incarnation will be presented in the following chapter on ʿAmmār’s Book of Questions and Answers. Defense against the Allegation of the Corruption of the Bible

If we imagine one city from among the cities in which there are different kinds of religions, our minds cannot conceive the agreement of one of them to corrupt their scriptures because of the variety of peoples’ opinions and the lack of their compliance with each other, without someone who unites them on one

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thing. The proof of this is that we see a division in each religion in the interpretation, where some disagree with others so are not compliant with each other. If it was possible for people to agree to join together to alter what was brought down to them when they disagreed over the interpretation, their difference in interpretation makes obvious the impossibility of what is claimed about their agreeing to alter what had been brought down to them. If there was compliance to agree on one thing or another concerning altering what had been brought down to them, then they would also have agreed on one thing in the interpretation. Therefore, it is evident that they did not agree and did not alter their scriptures unless someone gathered them together for one thing and prompted them to do it, because there was no one king among the kings of the Christians in the world who gathered them together to prompt them to alter the scriptures. It is clear that this would have been impossible. [p. 42] You may say that the apostles differed among themselves. I wish I knew what they wanted with all of this desire for altering! Was it the exaltation of Christ that they wanted? Then why did they not remove from the Gospel what demeans him from the description of childhood, upbringing, eating, drinking, crucifixion, death, burial, and other things? [p. 43] Why did the Jews and the other nations at that time neglect to record this and to inform them about it, when we see them claiming that the apostles did what they did not do? Or was it his demeaning that they wanted? Then why did they not withdraw his book at the beginning, since their aim was to demean its owner by removing from it what exalts him, such as his saying that he is the judge on the Day of Judgment, the Lord of the worlds, God the Creator of all things, and what is like these? Or did they want to remove his commands that were hard for them, and to affirm what was easy? Then why did they not withdraw the book at the beginning, when it would have been easier for them? They could have invented a book for themselves as they desired, and could have set down in it; that when the Jews wanted to kill the Messiah and came near him, he breathed on them and burned them; that he was raised to heaven alive; that death did not overcome him; that suffering did not

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affect him; and that a man may marry as many women as he wants. They could have forbidden the discipline of their bodies by fasting, commitment to prayers, and the abandonment of pleasure, just as the Magi did. This would have been more pleasurable and easier for them. Yes, and they could also have set down in it what they thought would be pleasurable for them in the afterlife: sexual intercourse, eating and drinking and the like, since their contempt for the Book of God had reached the point that they corrupted it as they wished. Yet they did not remove the hard things from it, such as his call to them to worship one who was crucified—I do not know anything harder for kings and those who have authority, majesty, and glory than belief in the worship of one who was crucified—such as his forbidding a man to marry more than one woman, such as his command to them to be humble and submissive, to bear injustice, to desist from pleasures and desires, and to be committed to fasting and prayers, and what is similar to them. Since they did not change what was burdensome for them to what was easy for them, as we have described, it is clear that they did not change one letter of the Book of God from its place. [p. 44] Debate about the Trinity

Tell me, oh you who believes in the ‘One,’ do you say He is ‘living?’ If he says, Yes, we say, Does He have life in His eternal essence, as the soul of a human being has life in his substantial essence, or, is this life accidental, as a body has life which it receives from the outside and does not have life in the essence of its substance? If he says, He has life in His eternal essence, then, he says what we say. But, if he says, He does not have life in His eternal essence, nor does He have accidental life, we say, Then you do not say He is ‘living’ to confirm that He has life [p. 46] in His eternal essence and that it is not accidental. If he says, Yes, we say, How are you entitled to use the name ‘the living One’ when the name ‘the living One’ is derived from life, because we call a human being ‘living’ as long as life is in him, but when his living spirit leaves him, we call him ‘dead’? Since you are permitted to call Him ‘living’ when his life is neither essential, nor permanent, and is not accidental by account of nature

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or nurture, you must call earth ‘living’ even though it has no life, and you must call water ‘living’ even though it has no life, and similarly, air, fire, and sky, and other inanimate things. This is because we only know what a thing is called by what it has. It is not called by what it does not have. Therefore, these four elements and what is similar to them are not called ‘living’ because they have no ‘life’ in their essences. Animals are not called ‘speaking,’ because there is no ‘speech’ in their essences. But the soul of a human being is called ‘living’ and ‘speaking’ because it has ‘life’ and ‘speech’ in its essence. [p. 47] It is clear that he does not call Him ‘living’ since he does not affirm that He has ‘life’ and ‘speech’ as we have explained, and he deprives his God of ‘life’ and makes Him lifeless. May God be greatly exalted above that! We will ask him again, Why do you call Him ‘living’ when you do not want to attribute ‘life’ to Him? If he says, In order to deny that He is dead, we say, You must affirm what you have fled from in your saying that you have denied this, because if you call Him ‘living’ in order to deny that He is ‘dead’, you are absolutely obliged to attribute ‘death’ to Him when you deny Him ‘life’ and do not make it necessary for Him. This is because there is no difference between calling Him ‘living’ in order to deny that He is ‘dead,’ and not making ‘life’ necessary to Him, so you have made ‘death’ necessary to Him, because if the name ‘living’ denies the name ‘death,’ then ‘life’ remains under the name ‘death.’ Similarly, we witness that everything which does not necessarily have life, whether it is essential or accidental, must without doubt be subjected to death since death is the opposite of ‘life’. [p. 47] Since he has fled from affirming ‘the Word’ and ‘the Spirit’ in order to avoid making three realities necessary in the essence of the Creator and nullifying his confession of the oneness of God, he has ended up completely nullifying the Creator, making Him lifeless, without ‘life’ or ‘speech,’ like idols which are called gods. But, in His Books, God condemns those who worship them because they worship gods that have no ‘life’ and no ‘speech.’ [p. 48] If the questioner says, Since you have affirmed that God has ‘the Word’ and ‘the Spirit,’ and you have said that He and these

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two are three hypostases, why do you not also affirm in Him, ‘hearing,’ ‘sight,’ ‘wisdom,’ ‘knowledge,’ ‘power,’ ‘authority,’ ‘mercy,’ ‘understanding,’ ‘compassion,’ ‘kindness,’ ‘generosity,’ ‘grace,’ ‘will,’ and other similar substantial qualities? Just as you have called Him ‘living’ and ‘speaking,’ by affirming ‘life’ and ‘word’ in Him, so you should also call Him ‘hearing,’ ‘seeing,’ ‘wise,’ ‘knowing,’ ‘powerful,’ ‘authoritative,’ ‘merciful,’ ‘forgiving,’ ‘compassionate,’ ‘kind,’ ‘gracious,’ ‘willing,’ and similar names. We say, We have arrived at this because we have found that ‘life’ and ‘speech’ belong to the origin of the essence and structure of the substance, and all the other qualities lack what these two have. We see that earth is inanimate and that bodies have been made out of it because the reality of ‘life’ separates it from what was formed from it, and for this reason we call bodies ‘animate beings,’ but not the earth. We also see that animate beings are divided by the reality of speech, so some of them are called ‘speaking,’ I mean human beings, and the rest that remain ‘speechless’ deserve to be called beasts and animals. Hearing, sight, mercy, forgiveness, compassion, kindness, and generosity are united together in the situation of the substance and there is no separation between them, because we see in one substance hearing and non-hearing, seeing and non-seeing, forgiving and merciful, and unforgiving and unmerciful, generous and kind, and ungenerous and unkind. Substances are not subject to these differences, and they do not change their situation so that they become divided into other substances, as we have seen the reality of ‘life’ separating from the earth what is formed from it [p. 52], so that they are called animate beings while it remains inanimate and lifeless. We have also seen the reality of speech separating the substance of animate beings so that some of them are called ‘beasts’ and ‘animals’ while others are called ‘speaking.’ For this reason, we have affirmed ‘life’ and ‘speech’ in our description of the substantial essence of the Creator, since we have found that these two are original to the substance. Indeed, God has attributed them to Himself, and testimonies in His Books attest to this. [p. 53]

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Aristotle. Metaphysics. In The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation, 2 vols., edited by Jonathan Barnes, 2:1552–172. Bollingen Series 71:2. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984. Baṣrī, ʿAmmār al-. The Book of Questions and Answers (Kitāb almasā’il wa-l-ajwiba). In ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: apologie et controverses, edited by Michel Hayek, 93–265. Beirut: Dār alMashriq, 1977. Baṣrī, ʿAmmār al-. The Book of the Proof Concerning the Course of the Divine Economy (Kitāb al-Burhān). In ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: apologie et controverses, edited by Michel Hayek, 19–90. Beirut: Dār al-Mashriq, 1977. Beaumont, Mark. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: Ninth Century Christian Theology and Qur’anic Presuppositions.” In Arab Christians and the Qur’an from the Origins of Islam to the Medieval Period, edited by Mark Beaumont, 83–105. History of ChristianMuslim Relations 35. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Beaumont, Mark. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī on the Alleged Corruption of the Gospels.” In The Bible in Arab Christianity, edited by David Thomas, 241–256. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 6. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Beaumont, Mark. “Speaking of the Triune God: Christian Defense of the Trinity in the Early Islamic Period.” Transformation 29 (April 2012): 111–127. Bidawid, Raphael J. Les lettres du patriarche nestorien Timothee I. Etude critique avec en appendice la lettre de Timothee I aux moines du Couvent de Mar Maron. Studi e Testi 187. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostólica Vaticana, 1956. Chalfoun, P. Khalil. “Baptême et Eucharistie chez ʿAmmār alBaṣrī.” Parole de l’Orient 27 (2002): 321–334. Cheikho, Hanna P. J. Dialectique du language sur Dieu: lettre de Timothee 1. (728–823) à Serge, étude, traduction et édition critique. Rome: n.p., 1983).

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Dodge, Bayard, ed. and trans. The Fihrist of al-Nadīm: A Tenth Century Survey of Muslim Culture. 2 vols. Records of Civilization: Sources and Studies 83. New York: Columbia University Press, 1970. Frank, Richard M. Beings and Their Attributes: The Teaching of the Basrian School of the Muʿtazila in the Classical Period. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1978. Griffith, Sidney H. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī’s Kitāb al-Burhān: Christian Kalām in the First Abbasid Century.” Le Muséon 96 (1983): 145–181. Griffith, Sidney H. “The Concept of al-Uqnūm in ʿAmmār alBaṣrī’s Apology for the Doctrine of the Trinity.” In Actes du premier congrès international d’études arabes chrétiennes, edited by Samir Khalil Samir, 169–191. Orientalia Christiana Periodica 218. Rome: PISO, 1982. Hayek, Michael. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: La première somme de théologie chrétienne en langue arabe, ou deux apologies du christianisme.” Islamochristiana 2 (1976): 69–133. Husseini, Sara Leila. Early Christian-Muslim Debate on the Unity of God: Three Christian Scholars and Their Engagement with Islamic Thought (9th Century C.E.). History of ChristianMuslim Relations 21. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Ibn Ibrāhīm, al-Qāsim. “Refutation of the Christians.” In “Confutazione contro I Christiani dello Zaydati al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhīm,” by Ignazio Di Matteo. Rivista degli studi orientali 9 (1922): 301–364. Madelung, Wilferd. Der Imām al-Qāsim Ibn Ibrāhīm und die glaubenslehre der Zaiditen. Studien zur Geschichte und Kultur des islamischen Orients N.F. 1. Berlin: De Gruyter, 1965. Maróth, Miklós, ed. and trans. ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: Das Buch des Beweises. Piliscsaba, Hungary: Avicenna Institute of Middle Eastern Studies, 2015. Mikhail, Wageeh Y. F. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī’s Kitāb al-Burhān: A Topical and Theological Analysis of Arabic Christian Theol-

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ogy in the Ninth Century.” PhD thesis, University of Birmingham, 2013. Plato. Timaeus. Translated by Benjamin Jowett. In Plato: The Collected Dialogues, edited by Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns, 1151–1211. Bollingen Series 71. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1961. Thomas, David. “Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 544–549. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Warrāq, Abū ʿĪsā al-. “Refutation of the Trinity: The First Part of the Refutation of the Three Christian Sects.” In AntiChristian Polemic in Early Islam, edited and translated by David Thomas, 66–181. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992.

CHAPTER 7. ʿAMMĀR AL-BAṢRĪ (D. CA. 850): DEFENDING THE INCARNATION OF THE SON OF GOD MARK BEAUMONT The Book of Questions and Answers was probably written before The Book of the Proof studied in the previous chapter. ʿAmmār dedicated The Book of Questions and Answers to the Commander of the believers, a title given to caliphs of the Islamic empire. Michel Hayek has suggested that the caliph was al-Ma’mūn (r. 813–833), since he hosted conferences on religious matters which included Muslim, Jewish, and Christian scholars. 1 The fact that the caliph is addressed by a Christian demonstrates that ʿAmmār felt comfortable among the leading intellectuals of his time, and that Muslims would be inclined to take his arguments seriously. The Book of Questions and Answers is in four sections: the Christian understanding of revelation, the authenticity of the Four Gospels, the Trinity, and the incarnation. ʿAmmār answers fifty-one questions posed by a Muslim about the incarnation, making this the longest section in the book. It is probable that ʿAmmār was attempting to answer the See Hayek, “ʿAmmār,” 73. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see bibliography at the end of the chapter. 1

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challenge made by the leading Muʿtazilī thinker Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf in his lost refutation of ʿAmmār. 2 While The Book of the Proof includes sections on the same concerns, they are much briefer; therefore, the answers given in The Book of Questions and Answers will be considered here. 3 Questions one to thirty-two deal with the concept of God becoming human. The Muslim asks how it could be possible for the eternal and transcendent God to become timebound and limited to one place. He seeks to understand the alleged purpose of the incarnation and whether God could be affected by evil and suffering. Questions thirty-three to fifty-one relate to the identity of Jesus, known to Muslims as the Messiah. How can Christians claim that the Messiah gave himself as an offering for others? Is it conceivable that Jesus could have sent his disciples in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, as recorded in the Christian Gospels? If the Messiah supposedly saved people from their sins, why do his followers commit sin? If the Gospels call Jesus a servant of God, why do Christians exalt him to a place of divine authority? These fifty-one questions and answers are the most detailed defense of the incarnation by a Christian writing in Arabic in the early Islamic period. They demonstrate that Christians had to relate their beliefs about Jesus to Muslims who had their own view of him: as a submitted servant of God sent as a messenger in the line of the previous prophets, but not the divine Son of God.

HOW CAN THE ETERNAL GOD BECOME TIMEBOUND?

The series of questions begins with the most significant difficulty that a divine Jesus posed for Muslims. If God—who is beyond time—enters time, how can he maintain His timeless nature? By See Griffith, “Concept,” 169–90, 180–181; also idem, “ʿAmmār,” 145– 181, 169–172. See also Thomas, “Abū al-Hudhayl,” in CMR, 1:544–549. 3 See my previous treatments of his writing on the Incarnation: Beaumont, “ʿAmmār,” 55–62; idem, Christology, 67–89. 2

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the early ninth century, Muslim intellectuals had reached a consensus that the Qur’ān presented God as utterly transcendent, such that nothing could be compared with Him. The Muʿtazila who were dominant in the intellectual centers of Baghdad and Basra taught that any anthropomorphic descriptions of God were simply metaphors that could not be understood to indicate any possession of this-worldly characteristics by its Creator who remained above that which He had made. If God had caused signs of His creative activity to be seen by humans, this did not imply that God had entered time Himself at the miraculous moment. His creative work may continue as long as His creation lasts, but He does not become trapped in His creation in any sense at any time. It is this basic position that lies behind the first set of questions from the anonymous Muslim. 4 Of course, Christians could agree with Muslims that miracles created by God do not necessarily mean that God has entered time Himself. He spoke and the world came into being. He speaks and miracles happen. However, there was one exception to this concord: the entry of God into His creation at the time of the conception of Jesus in the womb of his mother Mary. It is no surprise that ʿAmmār answers the Muslim question by referring directly to this moment of conception. What was conceived in Mary’s womb was a union of the eternal and the timebound. He replies by saying, “The Eternal Word and the created contingent human being became one contingent Messiah.” 5 In other words, it was the Word of God that became human, as reported in the opening of John’s Gospel in 1:14, “The Word became flesh and lived among us.” However, the Muslim presses the case that either the Messiah is eternal or contingent. How could he be both at the same time? ʿAmmār appeals to realities in the created world that combine two apparent opposites to support the comFor a Muslim refutation of the entrance of the timeless God into time through the incarnation, see the work probably written around 815 by Ibn Ibrāhīm, “Refutation,” 301–331. 5 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 179. 4

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bination of the eternal and contingent in the Messiah. He refers to the combination of fire and coal, and fire and the wick of a lamp. Like an eternal fire and a contingent coal become one contingent live coal; like an eternal fire and a contingent wick become one lamp; the fire does not exist in advance before being united with the coal and the wick … and is not included in the meaning of the lamp or the live coal at all. Likewise, the eternal substance, in the timelessness of his eternity before becoming incarnate in the created humanity and uniting with it, was not Messiah or not included in the root meaning of the Messiah. 6

The combination of the eternal and timebound can be compared to the way the elements of the world operate. The four pillars of the universe-fire, air, earth and water-interpenetrate with distinct parts of the world. In the case of a piece of coal or the wick of a lamp, the action of fire on them produces burning that gives off heat and light. 7 So just as one cannot talk about the heat of the coal or the light of the lamp without accepting the uniting of fire with the coal or the wick, so one cannot talk about the Messiah without accepting the uniting of the eternal Word of God with the created human nature. Nevertheless, the Muslim spots a problem with the result of the uniting of the eternal and the contingent. The Messiah is a contingent being, so the eternal is swallowed up in the resulting human being. He concludes, “May you be forgiven for your description of the Eternal One receiving createdness and contingency, which is sheer ignorance and blindness.” 8 ʿAmmār replies that the eternal is not lost in the contingent. “Do you not see Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 179–180. See the discussion of the four pillars of the universe earlier by ʿAmmār in the first section of Questions and Answers, 95–102. The originally Stoic conception of the earth was widely accepted in Greek philosophy and in Eastern Christian approaches to the natural world. 8 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 183. 6 7

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how fire gives its heat to the live coal but it does not share with the live coal in its dirtiness… The Eternal One received the humanity and its meagerness together and united with it but He did not share with the humanity in his essential being.” 9 The Christian understanding of the incarnation involves no diminution of the eternal in the union with the contingent. But this assertion leads to a discussion of the embodiment of the eternal. Surely there must be a deleterious effect on the eternal from the weakness of the human body, surmises the Muslim.

HOW CAN THE ETERNAL GOD OCCUPY A HUMAN BODY?

The concern of the Muslim becomes focused on the impossibility of God having a human body. He claims that the Christian view of Jesus involves the embodiment of God, who is non-physical by definition. ʿAmmār states that, “The Messiah possessed two hypostases, divine and human, from which he united as one Messiah.” 10 But then the Christian view must be that there were two births, one from God and one from Mary. ʿAmmār concedes the idea of two births. We do not claim that the Messiah was born twice but we say that the Messiah our Lord had two births of two kinds and by two methods. The hypostasis of his divinity was eternally born from the Father and was not eternally born from him at a particular moment. There was no beginning for it and no ending. 11

The birth from the mother began and ended, but the birth from the Father had no beginning or ending. The hypostasis of his humanity from his mother had a beginning and ending, but the hypostasis of his divinity was eternal. These two hypostases came together in what was conceived in Mary.

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 183–184. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 184. 11 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 192. 9

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MARK BEAUMONT Our saying that the Messiah had two births is correct …. The Messiah existed with two united hypostases, he was born at the time of his birth from the mother in his humanity, and his birth from the Father was truly in his divinity. His divinity was an eternal birth from his Father before time and transience, and before the existence of created things, enduring forever, and having no beginning and no ending. 12

However, these clarifications concerning the two hypostases do not disguise the problem of the embodiment of God for the Muslim, who asks, “How is it possible that He became incarnate and clothed himself with a body and dwelt in it and yet He was not contained by it?” 13 ʿAmmār appeals to the way God created the world in the first place. When God empowered the earth with light, He was not embodied in it or contained by it or constricted by it, yet He gave life to the earth, without which it could not be fruitful. By analogy, the eternal hypostasis became incarnate but was not contained or constrained by the body. Rather, the eternal substance gave life to the body, a temple from which he spoke to people, but He was not restricted by dwelling there. It is not a question of God taking a human body such that we call the Messiah the body of God. It is not that we have determined to believe that God took a body for Himself or that he must be called the body of God since then. It is that when He established, in the time of His incarnation, from Him and from the flesh in which He incarnated, one Messiah and one Son, it was necessary that the body was attributed to the Messiah and was not the body of God. 14

He refers to the way that human beings are a composition of body and soul. “This is like when the soul becomes incarnate in a body … from the composition of the two of them is estabAl-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 192. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 194. 14 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 196. 12 13

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lished one human being, the body is called the body of the human being and the soul the soul of the human being.” 15 At this point, ʿAmmār turns from answering the Muslim to critiquing Christians who speak of the humanity of Jesus as the body of God. They claim that Mary bore God and cite the apostle Paul, who wrote in Romans 9:5 that “Christ is God over all.” Then they cannot talk about Mary bearing the Messiah. 16 The fallacy of this loose talk about the body of God is seen in the confusion of the godhead becoming human and the Word of God becoming human. The Trinity did not become incarnate, only the Son, not the Father or the Spirit. In order to clarify the role of the Son in the incarnation, it would be necessary for those who want to speak of Mary bearing God to include the name of the Messiah in the statement. “If it is said that Mary bore God over all who is the Messiah, his saying will not be treated harshly.” 17 In any case, the Gospels do not speak of Mary bearing God, but rather bearing the Messiah. Matthew mentions at the outset of his gospel: “This is the account of the birth of Jesus the Messiah, son of David, son of Abraham,” 18 not this is the account of the birth of God, son of David, son of Abraham …. Luke says that the angels announced good news to the shepherds saying to them: “A savior has been born to you, the Lord, the Messiah, in the town of David,” 19 and he did not say God has been born to you in the town of David.

Here, the East Syrian Dyophysite case is made against the Miaphysite West Syrians and Copts, as well as the Chalcedonian Melkites, who-though holding to a union of divine and human natures in Christ-agreed with the Miaphysites that it was appropriate to call Mary the bearer of God. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 196. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 198. 17 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 199. 18 See Matt 1:1. 19 See Luke 2:11. 15 16

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Nevertheless, the Muslim comes back with a question about the naming of the Messiah by the East Syrians. “Why is it that you name the humanity the temple of God and you do not name it the body of God?” 20 It is because the godhead dwells in the Messiah but is not embodied in the Messiah, replies ʿAmmār. This is supported by the Gospels and by the apostle Paul. The Messiah testified, “My Father who dwells in me is the one who does these deeds.” 21 The apostle Paul said, “Jesus the Messiah is the one in whom all the perfection of divinity dwells.” 22 Thus, it is correct to speak of the temple of God as the place in which God dwells. 23 All these references to the New Testament leave the Muslim wondering what other proof there could be for the incarnation. “Give evidence that you are right”, he protests. 24 ʿAmmār insists that all the evidence is found in the Old and New Testaments, especially in the sayings and deeds of the Messiah. He affirms to his Muslim questioner, “If you read you will see and understand and if you see you will know and become certain.” 25 There follows a lengthy list of citations from the Old Testament and the New Testament. 26 ʿAmmār concludes, “These are also some of the sayings which relate to his two substances and the oneness of the sonship in his two hypostases, so the thinking of God is clear about this Son from all of His books.” 27 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 201. See John 5:19. 22 See Col 1:19. 23 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 202. 24 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 206. 25 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 206. 26 From the Old Testament, Pss 2:7; 45:6–7; Isa 9:6–7; 7:14. From the New Testament, Matt 1:1; Mark 1:1; Luke 1:35; John 1:1–2; Matt 2:13; 8:29; 15:36–38; 21:18–19; Mark 5:22, 41; Matt 26:39; Mark 4:37–39; Luke 2:10–11, 52; John 11:14–15; Mark 10:33–34; John 6:35, 38; 9:35– 37; 7:19; 8:56–58; 10:37. 27 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 212–213. 20 21

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HOW DO THE DIVINITY AND HUMANITY UNITE IN THE MESSIAH?

The Muslim turns to the relationship between the divine and human in the Messiah. He asks whether the Christian believes in an assembly of the two into one human being, or whether they were mixed and blended into a being that meant that the two original natures no longer existed. 28 ʿAmmār responds, Since God the Word took this humanity to Himself as a body and a temple and a dwelling, the humanity merits the reality of the sonship and shares it with the Word who is incarnate and they are equal together. They are also equal in everything that we have described of His lordship and His rule and all of His authority and all of His wealth… There is no contact conferring the eternity in any of these or composition or mixing or blending or corruption or anything that happens to created bodies. 29

This raises the question for the Muslim, how is it possible that the eternal Word of God was not “limited or required to be accidental?” 30 ʿAmmār refers to the belief shared by Christians and Muslims that God created the world. They do not know the process of creation, only the result. Similarly, we cannot know, “How God became incarnate and united with the body in the process of incarnation… There is no way to arrive at an answer.” 31 The Muslim changes tack and seeks an explanation for the incarnation. “If you cannot describe the manner of this incarnation and uniting, then tell us why He became incarnate and united and what called Him to this. You have already claimed that the Wise does not do anything futile with no meaning.” 32 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 213. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 213. 30 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 214. 31 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 214. 32 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 215. 28 29

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The reply points to the generosity of God. While God’s generosity called Him to create the world, He wanted to complete His kindness to human beings by becoming human, to include them as sons, share His lordship with them, and grant honor to each individual human being. 33 The Muslim asks, why did God not choose an angelic being to demonstrate His generosity to humans? ʿAmmār responds by arguing that “His kindness would not have embraced all of the creatures, since there is no genuine comparison between spiritual and bodily beings.” 34 In fact, the angels will bow down and worship the Messiah in recognition of God’s choice. “God chose a clean, pure, and immaculate person and incarnated in him and took him into His rule and His authority. Then He raised him to the highest place and called all the spiritual beings to praise him and glorify him when they bow before him.” 35 The Muslim wants evidence for the Messiah being the most favored of all humans. The evidence lies in the reality that God did not find in any of the creatures of the creation a human being “more favorable, or more righteous or more entitled to these gifts.” 36

DID THE MESSIAH EARN THE FAVOR OF GOD, OR WAS HE CONDITIONED TO DO WHAT PLEASED HIM?

The Muslim turns to the issue of the favor that God found in the Messiah. Could the Messiah have behaved in a way that affected the favor of God? Was he capable of experiencing difficulty and evil? … If you claim that he was capable of these, then surely you believe that he was not protected from evil and wrongdoing, and that he did not benefit at all by the incarnation of the Creator, and perhaps he did not remain in his righteousness and Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 215. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 218. 35 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 218. See Phil 2:10–11. 36 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 220. 33 34

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his goodness, and he turned away from them for a short period of time. If you claim that he was not like this then surely you must admit that he was compelled in his righteousness, his goodness, his avoidance of difficulty, and the forbidden. There is no praise for created things for their obedience, if they are forced to do it. 37

ʿAmmār confirms that the Messiah was free to choose what was pleasing and right, and he was not protected from experiencing evil. “He was not prevented by force, but he was prevented like other human beings by command, preventing him by the force of his desire and his will.” 38 A further question concerns whether God withdrew His authority and power from the Messiah during the incarnation. Given that the Christian view seems to be that the Messiah was free to choose to obey the commands of God, then, “Did his Creator determine that He give up what He bestowed of His grace to him from the incarnation and the union, and withdraw from him what He had given him of rule, authority and power?” 39 How could the Messiah be equal to God in rule, authority and power if he was capable of defying that authority? Back comes the reply, Your question is absurd from the outset… Because if God united with him and made him together with Him as one reality in power, strength, authority and will, such that the one who was created willed anything except what the Creator willed… it is impossible that the creature wanted to give up the merits that he craved. 40

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 220. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 221. 39 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 222–223. 40 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 223. 37 38

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HOW CAN THERE BE EQUALITY BETWEEN THE DIVINITY AND HUMANITY OF THE MESSIAH?

The Muslim challenges the Christian to state how there can be equality between the divinity which is naturally all-powerful and the humanity which is naturally weak. If God did not determine that the humanity always performed in the same way as the divinity, then how could the humanity be completely united with the divinity? How can you claim that there is no division or difference between the two substances in glory, authority and strength, when you have already described the one who was created as having the obedience of the contingent, transitory and frail? You ought to elevate the substance of the Creator above that altogether. The mark of difference is much greater and much further away than this, and the evidence negating what you call their uniting and their equality in what you have described is much clearer and more obvious than this. 41

ʿAmmār responds by pointing out that proof of the equality came at the end of the life of the Messiah. He says he has already indicated that the humanity obeyed the commands of God. The one who was created obeyed Him in these transitory and weak conditions which meant that he had to become perfect by patience in what God unavoidably possessed eternally, and so God made him equal at last by his escaping from them, being exalted above them and becoming compliant to Him like his Maker is eternally. 42

The Muslim asks whether the Christian belief is that the humanity of the Messiah was made perfect at the moment of concep41 42

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 224. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 225.

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tion, when the divinity of the Messiah united with his humanity. “Do you not say that when his Creator united with him and made him equal with Him, He had already made him perfect in his actions at the moment of his conception? 43 ʿAmmār denies this. He appeals to the analogy of a son who inherits his father’s property. While the father grants the inheritance at the moment of conception, he normally needs to see his son grow and develop and be disciplined and trained to make good use of the property. Similarly, the Messiah had to merit what he had been granted at the moment of conception. When he said, “I have been given all authority in heaven and on earth” 44 he was claiming that he had merited this condition by being exalted over evil and pain. 45 Another analogy is that of a man who purchases land in installments. The land becomes his property from the time that the name of the purchaser is placed on it, yet he still has to pay the price in installment after installment and the land is mortgaged for what remains of its price until the final installment is submitted. Then his land is handed over to him, in its entirety, and with this he is permitted to say, “Now I possess my property and I have a right to my land.” 46

There are four aspects to the training of the Messiah. Firstly, he had to have a humanity which developed through instruction. Secondly, he had to perform the commands given to the children of Israel in the Torah, to teach them that he had been promised to them as the Messiah who would fulfil the Torah perfectly. Thirdly, he had to fulfil the commands so that he could offer people eternal life and happiness that would never end. Fourthly, he sacrificed himself through being put to death by being crucified because he wanted to save people from error, Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 225. See Matt 28:18. 45 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 225. 46 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 226. 43 44

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unbelief, wrongdoing and death. Fifthly, he appeared to his disciples after his resurrection from death to confirm what he had promised them concerning the resurrection of their bodies and their reward for the good works they had done. After achieving these five points, he said to his disciples, “I have given you the authority of heaven and earth.” 47 The Muslim interjects, “But his saying this proves that he was at this time given the authority of heaven and earth.” 48 ʿAmmār replies, Look at his saying before this, “My Father already gave me everything” 49 and his saying in another place when he made a confession to his Father and announced what he had been entrusted from His rule and His authority, he said, “All that is yours oh my Father is mine and all that is mine is yours, but to you is everything you have given me oh my Father.” 50

Therefore, he was given the authority of heaven and earth before that time, but he did not take possession of this until after he was raised up.

HOW COULD GOD SUBMIT TO SUFFERING AND DEATH?

The discussion turns to the ending of the life of the Messiah. If Christians claim that he suffered death on the cross at the hands of his enemies, how can this be reconciled with the nature of God that transcends suffering and death? The Muslim asks, “What was it that urged him to allow His strength, power and greatness … to be removed by weaknesses, pains, death and shame?” 51

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 226. See Matt 28:19. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 226. 49 See Matt 28:18. 50 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 228. See Matt 11:27. 51 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 228. 47 48

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ʿAmmār replies, “His greatness and power called him to his suffering.” 52 In any case, his being raised from death brought about the subjugation of death with its pain and shame. 53 Two illustrations from life follow to support this argument. The first introduces the prizefighter who competes against an arrogant opponent. Despite the arrogance of the challenger, the fighter uses his utmost strength to attack and defeat the boastful one. “Likewise, the Messiah submitted to weaknesses and pains which were given him and he did not resist them by despising them and being arrogant about them, until they reached their goal by overcoming him in death, yet he was raised to life by his power and exalted above them all.” 54 The second illustration is of a doctor who offers people a new medicine. They will only trust his medicine when he proves that it works. They call for deadly poison, the doctor drinks it before them, and when the poison takes effect in his stomach he takes some of his medicine and lives, so the poison does not harm him at all after he has taken his medicine. At this point the people looking on know the excellence of his knowledge and they compete to demand his medicine. 55

This is like the Messiah being made alive after dying “to save people from their errors and to win them from following Satan 56 to following their Lord and to fill their minds with certainty concerning what he preached to them of the resurrection of their bodies 57 and their going to the place of blessing which he promised.” 58

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 228. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 228–229. See 1 Cor 15:55–57. 54 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 229. 55 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 229. 56 See 2 Cor 11:13–15; 2 Thess 2:9–12. 57 See John 11:25–26. 58 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 229. See John 14:2. 52 53

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The Muslim is unconvinced about the unique work of the Messiah. Did not other prophets, such as Moses and David, preach the same message as Jesus? 59 They called the people to obey their Lord and preached to them about the resurrection from their deaths 60, and some of them were killed 61… If their preaching was united and the reception of the people was similar then surely the idea that the Messiah gave himself up for them is not reasonable.” 62

The Christian response is to question the accuracy of the comparison between Jesus and earlier prophets. “Which of the messengers among the messengers of God who were before the Messiah have you found describing the afterlife and its rewards and punishments?” 63 The Torah brought by Moses held out prosperity in this life for those who obeyed God’s commands. It did not promise eternal life. 64 The Messiah did not say to people, “When you follow me and you have worked to obey me and you have left everything for my sake, I will increase your offspring and your sheep and your cattle, and livestock and your goods, and I will reward you with the land of your enemies and I will give you a long life on the earth and I will provide food and drink for your bodies.” On the contrary, he said, “But in this world you will be driven out, rejected, and hated by all people and you will be afflicted for my sake by all kinds of afflictions, and you will be put to death because of me by all kinds of killings, and a time will come when someone will Moses, David and Jesus were prophets according to the Qur’ān, and they are said to have declared the same teaching to the children of Israel. See Q 2:136; 3:84; 6:83–86. 60 See Q 16:38. 61 See Q 2:87, 91; 3:21, 181; 4:155; 5:70. 62 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 230. See Q 4:157. 63 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 230. 64 ʿAmmār is referring to Deut 8:6–10; 11:8–15. 59

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kill one of you believing that he will become closer to God on account of it, and whoever among you bears this tribulation patiently to death will live.” 65

The Muslim suggests that it would have been better that the Messiah was raised up in a spiritual manner without his enemies achieving their desire to kill him. 66 This reflects the way Qur’ān 4:157–158 was interpreted by Muslims to teach that the Jews sought to kill the Messiah, but God raised him to himself without them achieving their goal. ʿAmmār rejects the suggestion by pointing out that people would be left in doubt that he had truly been raised if he was simply taken to heaven alive before their eyes. The issue of doubt is at the heart of the Qur’ānic statement where the Jews believed they had crucified Jesus but had no true knowledge and were left in doubt as to the fact that God had raised Jesus to himself. Doubt becomes the key discussion here. The Messiah could not escape from dispelling doubt from the hearts of the people concerning his death except by his appearing to them with his body, choosing the right time by his kindness and planning the occasion by his appearing to them with his wisdom, until he found the opportunity to do what he willed. When he was being abused by his enemies gathered together as a crowd of people to kill him, he saw that the opportunity had come which he had looked for to dispel doubt from the hearts of the people by releasing himself into their hands at that point and leaving them to do what they wanted, killing him and crucifying him by his desire, his choice and his will and so removing doubt from the hearts of everyone about his death and his giving himself into the control of the enemies, without dying like someone who dies on his bed while sleeping. 67 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 232. See Matt 24:9. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 233. 67 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 234. 65 66

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The Muslim asks, Why did he not come down from the cross like those who crucified him asked him at that time saying, “Save yourself and come down from your cross so we can see and we will believe in you.” 68 If he came down at that time in front of them alive … perhaps many of them would have believed in him and become members of the people who followed him. 69

ʿAmmār replies, “When those who crucified him asked him to come down from his cross out of mockery … he did not think that he should give them what they asked for.” 70 If he came down from the cross alive, then doubt would have arisen for the onlookers. They would have wondered whether he had died. There could be no doubt about his death from crucifixion. He had promised people that they could be raised after death and he had to provide proof from his own death and resurrection. "When he promised them that he would raise their bodies and resurrect them from the ground, he wanted to demonstrate a proof of this in his body so he was buried dead in the tomb and raised from the ground alive.” 71

HOW CAN WE TRUST THE STORY OF THE RESURRECTION OF THE

MESSIAH?

Given the Christian account of the ending of Jesus’ life being so contrary to the account in the Qur’ān, it is not surprising that the Muslim should ask why the Messiah is said to have appeared alive to only those who were his followers. Why did he not rise from his tomb and appear to all those who saw him crucified? 72 ʿAmmār has four responses. Firstly, the Messiah did not give those who opposed him and killed him an opportunity to see See Matt 27:40, 42. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 235–236. 70 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 236. 71 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 236. 72 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 237. 68 69

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him in his heavenly spirituality because of their evil deeds. 73 Secondly, his enemies might have accused him of being led by demons to verify his promise that he would rise from death after three days. 74 Thirdly, if he wanted to verify the resurrection more widely, he would have needed to appear to all the people on earth. 75 Fourthly, the ones who witnessed the resurrected Messiah were sent to testify to the people of the earth. 76 The Muslim continues with his doubt about the truth of the story by alleging that the followers had control over the telling of the story. They could have equally told people that the Messiah had died in their sight and then was raised in their view without mentioning the public death by crucifixion. 77 ʿAmmār argues that, if the Messiah had died only in front of his apostles, then both they and other people would have grounds for doubt about the reality of his death. “The Messiah presented himself in front his enemies to allow them to take control of him and to kill him by crucifixion, so that no one could possibly challenge them about his death.” 78

IF THE JEWS DID HAVE THE MESSIAH KILLED, AND THIS WAS IN AGREEMENT WITH THE WILL OF THE MESSIAH, WERE THE JEWS RECOMPENSED FOR THEIR ACTIONS?

The Muslim turns to the role of the Jews who had the Messiah put to death. Since the Christian position seems to be that the Messiah wanted to die at the hands of his enemies, were they not to be congratulated for completing his desire? 79 The answer

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 237. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 238. 75 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 238. 76 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 239. 77 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 239. 78 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 242. 79 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 242. 73 74

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is that God will punish them rather than reward them. 80 However, “There is the possibility of forgiveness from God for the person who repents and regrets what he did to the Messiah in his error and wrongdoing.” 81 The Muslim insists that the Jews who killed him must be those who were forgiven because Jesus was said to have asked for God to do that. “How are the Jews blamed for their actions when the Messiah interceded for them and asked his Father about them when he was on the cross, saying, ‘Oh my Father, forgive them because they do not understand what they are doing’?” 82 There are several possible interpretations of this prayer. Some think Jesus meant, “Do not be in haste to punish them so that they complete the sins and you punish them for the totality of their sins.” 83 Others say, “He issued a sincere call for them to be forgiven because they did not understand what they were doing by their treachery, when he said that they did not know what they were doing.” 84 Others believe, “He made the request about the Roman soldiers who were under Pilate, and that these were the ones who did not know him and did not understand who he was.” 85 ʿAmmār’s own interpretation is that the Jews did not benefit from his request for them. Concerning his saying that they did not know what they were doing, he did not mean that they were ignorant of what they themselves did. Because if they were animals and beasts they would have been ignorant that they had exerted effort to kill him and crucify him, but he meant by this, they do not know me in my divinity and my Lordship, and surely

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 243. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 243. 82 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 243–244. See Luke 23:34. 83 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 243–244. 84 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 243–244. 85 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 243–244. 80 81

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their ignorance of these has brought evil upon me in doing what they have done to me. 86

The Muslim then argues that, if the Jews had witnessed the signs of God that Christians claim were present in the Messiah, they would not have tried to kill him. 87 ʿAmmār responds by mentioning that prophets such as Elijah and Jeremiah were in the same position as the Messiah with respect to threats on his life from the Jews. 88

HOW COULD THE MESSIAH BE QUOTED AS SENDING OUT HIS DISCIPLES IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER, SON, AND HOLY SPIRIT?

The questions turn to the alleged sending of the disciples in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 89 If it is true that the Messiah said this, then, “He prepared for them and those who followed them a stumbling block of doubt in the oneness of their Creator and a reason for the difference of opinion about it among them.” This saying was, “The invention of your spiritual leaders who were in charge of the corruption of your books,” suggests the Muslim. 90 The reply rejects the notion of doubt in the oneness of the Creator. The three names show the uniting of the incarnation by which the disciples know their Creator. During his life, the Messiah spoke of himself in a way that was hidden from them, but when he wanted to leave them, he clarified the relationship between the divine and human in himself. “He told them about the eternity of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, to inform their minds about the truth of the sonship of their humanity united with the eternal Son …. This was the Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 246. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 247. 88 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 247–248. See 1 Kgs 19:2; Jer 11:18– 21. 89 See Matt 28:19–20. 90 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 248–249. 86 87

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aim of the Messiah in presenting the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.” 91 The Muslim asks, “If he was presenting the name of the Father and the Son perhaps the Son united with the humanity like you claim, then what was his purpose in mentioning the name of the Spirit? Surely it was sufficient to only mention the Father and the Son.” 92 ʿAmmār argues that he already made connections between himself and the Father during his life. He mentioned the Spirit, but did not connect the Spirit to the unity of the Father and Son until he was ready to leave his disciples. 93 The next question from the Muslim asks, “How is it permissible for the Messiah to say to his apostles after that, ‘I am going away and I will send to you the Holy Spirit the Paraclete’ 94 with your claim that the Holy Spirit is God the Creator like the Father and the Son?” This is followed by two other questions: “Is it possible that God the Creator can send God the Creator? Or how are God the Creator and God the Creator and God the Creator not three gods who created?” 95 ʿAmmār puts forward the argument that, The Messiah meant by his saying, ‘I will send to you the Holy Spirit the Paraclete’, I will appear among you and signs and wonders originating from the Holy Spirit will happen through you. Concerning their performance, the Paraclete is mentioned here and the issue is attributed to him. His intention was to inform them of the manner in which the Spirit the Paraclete shows him and shows his Father in divinity and authority, and without the Spirit the Paraclete these signs could not be seen through them. 96 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 249–250. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 251. 93 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 251–252. 94 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 252. See John 14:16, 26; 16:7, 13, 15. 95 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 252. 96 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 252. 91 92

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As for the question how the Creator and the Creator and the Creator cannot be three Creators, ʿAmmār points out that “We name each of them Creator, Maker, Originator without his companion, because each of them creates by one desire and one will, and we do not have to name each of them Creator and Creator and Creator so that they become in one sentence three Creators.” 97 In other words, “the group together is one Creator, one Maker, one Originator.” 98

HOW CAN THE MESSIAH BE SEATED AT GOD’S RIGHT-HAND, INTERCEDING WITH HIM FOR OTHERS?

The Muslim opens up a new issue derived from the teaching in Hebrews that Christ sat down at the right hand of God in heaven, and that he saves those who come to God through him by interceding for them. 99 He asks, “Does God have a right-hand side for the Messiah to sit at? Does the Messiah need to intercede with Him for others?” The answer to the first question is that being seated at the right-hand side of God is another way of saying, “his being raised to all of the authority of God.” 100 The answer to the second question depends on the fact that the Messiah “presented his person on the cross as a pure sacrifice to God to put right what had happened from the sin of Adam which brought about from God the fall into death for them.” 101 ʿAmmār reminds his questioner that, according to the Torah, the blood of animals interceded for sinful human beings before the coming of the Messiah. “If the blood of birds and animals and insects mediated with God in the forgiveness of the sins of people, 102 then His kindness and mercy are more clearly shown if He pardons the sins of people by the shedding of the blood of His pure and Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 253. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 254. 99 See Heb 7:25; 8:1. 100 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 254. 101 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 254. See Rom 4:12–21. 102 See Lev 1:2–4; 5:10, 13; 6:7. 97 98

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immaculate Son who offered himself as a voluntary sacrifice in exchange for the sins of people.” 103 In the final analysis, the Messiah does two things for sinful people. He removes Adam’s sin from them and gains eternal life for them. “He makes void the sin of Adam from the descendants of Adam by his righteousness and his purity, then he removes death from them which Adam deserved by his falling into error and he merits life for them by offering his flesh and his blood.” 104

HOW CAN THE MESSIAH REMOVE SIN FROM PEOPLE?

The Muslim asks, “How did he make their sin void, when we see all people sinning and doing wrong? You have already claimed that he threatens the sinners with punishment that never ends. How does he remove death from them?” 105 ʿAmmār repeats his previous teaching. We mean by the making void of sin from them that he endured on their behalf the burden of the sin of Adam their ancestor which was the reason for the death of all of them, by his righteousness which was putting right the rupture of the sin of Adam their ancestor. We mean by the removal of death from them the granting of resurrection and life in the hereafter by his righteousness to discard death in this world which Adam brought about by his sin for their substance. 106

The Muslim wonders whether Christians believe that death was a natural reality for human beings before Adam sinned, and that God raises them to eternal life without respect to the intercession of the Messiah. Do you not claim that God created Adam to die before he sinned, and created him and his descendants according to Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 255. See Mark 10:45; Rom 5:6. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 255. See Rom 5:17–19. 105 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 255. 106 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 255–256. 103 104

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this, raising them and resurrecting them from death, before the Messiah gave them life? If He created them at the beginning according to these two circumstances together, then what harm did the sin of Adam bring upon them resulting in death, and what did the righteousness of the Messiah confer on them through the offering of his flesh and blood resulting in life? 107

ʿAmmār disagrees with these assessments of Christian teaching. On the contrary, God created Adam and his descendants originally by what He willed for them of goodness and grace … which He wanted them to acquire and merit …. He created them originally also to raise them to life … which He wanted them to acquire by their effort. But He knew by His foreknowledge that not one of them would achieve the righteousness and good works that would merit this life. 108

As a result, God “imposed death as a punishment on all of these descendants. Until when one chosen from their substance achieved the lifting up of their fall, and his joy and his purity were exchanged for the sin of their ancestor and he merited being raised from death in exchange for the fall of their ancestor.” 109 The Muslim asks, “If this situation that you claim is true, why do people die since the Messiah came until today? No, if this situation is right as you have described, He would have dismissed death from people since then and they would not die.” 110 The reply concerns the injustice towards those who preceded the coming of the Messiah if only those who came after him received the benefit of his intercession. “If He dismissed death from those who were after him but not for those who Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 257. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 257–258. 109 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 258. See Rom 5:12–21. 110 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 259. 107 108

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were before him, then surely the justice of the Generous One would not include all of His creatures.” 111

WAS THE MESSIAH NOT SIMPLY A SERVANT OF GOD?

The Muslim wants an admission from the Christian that the Messiah was called a servant of God. In everything that you have described about the doing of merits, good works, obedience and submission to suffering and death are you not demonstrating that he was a servant among servants, so what prevents you from naming him a servant, and these attributes are only given to a servant among servants? God has named him in some of his books “an obedient servant”, so why do you not reject what He does not reject? 112

The Christian position is that the Messiah did not fall into disobedience throughout his life, so the title ‘servant’ is not suitable for him. “The servant according to us is one who is entangled in his sin and intimidated by his misdeeds, as the Messiah said, “The servant is nothing but a servant of sin.” 113 Rather, he sought the salvation of others by means of his obedience even to death. If the humility of the Messiah and his obedience, submission and death are a petition for the salvation of the people and benefit, righteousness and grace like we have explained in the above writing, then he does not deserve to be named a servant from the aspect which has described his merits and his obedience and his humility. 114

ʿAmmār accepts that the Messiah is called the servant of God by the prophet Isaiah, who says, “He became a servant to many Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 259. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 259–260. 113 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 260. See John 8:34. 114 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 260. 111 112

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because he suffered for their sins.” 115 This means, “He suffered for their sin by his death which invalidates their sin, and this is the meaning of his saying that he became a servant of many.” 116 The Messiah agreed with Isaiah when he celebrated the last supper with his disciples and said to them, “Drink this all of you for this is my blood which is my agreement poured out for you.” 117 The Messiah meant, “When I give my body as a sacrifice raised on the wooden cross and my blood as an offering poured out on the ground, I will remove sin and death from the people of the world, and I will grant life and bliss to everyone.” 118

IF THERE ARE NO PLEASURES IN THE AFTERLIFE, WOULD IT BE BETTER TO REMAIN IN THIS LIFE?

The final question from the Muslim relates to the Christian teaching that there is no eating or drinking or marriage in the afterlife. Your arguments defend your teaching that the afterlife is better than this life. But what benefits are there in that life over life in this world, when you claim that there is no eating, drinking, and marriage and other pleasurable things in the eternal abode …. Would it not be better and more beneficial for people to remain in this life, since there will be no pleasures in the afterlife? 119

ʿAmmār replies by pointing out that the future life is far better than this life since “death does not exist, since there is no need for it.” 120 Then the afflictions and needs of this life will be left behind. “When procreation is negated acquisition is abolished, then the afterlife provides a new spiritual heavenly physique Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 261. See Isa 53:11. Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 261. 117 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 263. See Matt 26:27–28. 118 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 263. 119 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 264. 120 Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 264. 115 116

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removing the need for appetites and pleasures… Humans will be given spiritual heavenly blessings like the blessings of the spiritual heavenly angels who do not need the pleasures of eating and drinking.” 121

CONCLUSION

ʿAmmār organized the questions from the Muslim to begin with questions about the impossibility of the eternal God becoming part of time. This fundamental difference between Muslims and Christians was dealt with by ʿAmmār through his careful presentation of the incarnation, by which he asserted the truth of John 1:14 that the Word of God became human. He did not stop to argue that it was possible for the Eternal God to enter time. However, he had to address the subsequent impossibility for Muslims that God became part of His creation. In the answer to this question, ʿAmmār employed analogies to help illustrate the acceptability of the divine entering humanity. Just as God created light, which enters the physical world which did not contain Him, so the Word of God entered the physical world by uniting with the humanity from Mary which did not contain the Godhead. ʿAmmār’s insistence that God as the Godhead did not unite with the humanity from Mary enabled him to maintain the transcendence of the Godhead while arguing for the immanence of the Word of God in that which was conceived in Mary’s womb. In so doing, he argued that the East Syrian view of the incarnation preserved that transcendence more faithfully than the rival claims of Chalcedonians and Miaphysites, who were prepared to call Mary the bearer of God without demonstrating clearly that the Godhead of Father, Son and Holy Spirit did not unite with the humanity taken from Mary. ʿAmmār then turned the questioning to the purpose of the incarnation and provided the answer that God, who had generously created the world in which He had given human beings a prominent role, wanted to further His generosity by including them as His sons and grant121

Al-Baṣrī, Questions and Answers, 265. See 1 Cor 15:35–53.

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ing them eternal life by means of the incarnation. He had the Muslim wonder whether an angel could have communicated all this, but ʿAmmār argued that this would have been less than useful since angels will one day bow down before humans. Of course, Muslims had their own opinions about the status of Jesus Christ from the portrait in the Qur’ān, and ʿAmmār put forward such presuppositions in the second half of the questions, which began with questioning the alleged unity between the divine and human in Jesus. If Jesus was fully human, how could the divine not dilute that humanity? ʿAmmār argued that the human will aligned with the divine will but was not forced to do so by the divine will. The human decisions were genuine ones throughout the life of Jesus. He illustrated this by describing a son who inherits property from his father but only comes into possession of the property after proving his worth as a son. ʿAmmār pointed out that only at the end of his life did Jesus claim to have all authority from his Father. He had authority in principle from the moment of his conception, but in practice the full authority came after he had proven himself. This led to questions about the necessity of suffering for one who had such authority. ʿAmmār argued that Christ’s suffering to death enabled other human beings to endure suffering to death because his defeat of death by his resurrection enabled them to experience eternal life. ʿAmmār allowed the Muslim to question whether the announcement of the resurrection was not the work of all the prophets God sent. This Qur’ānic assumption was then challenged by ʿAmmār’s collection of Biblical references to the teaching of Moses, who promised a good life in the promised land but not in heaven. It was Jesus himself who initiated the promise of life in heaven and went on to fulfil that promise by dying and rising to life. Naturally, ʿAmmār had the Muslim challenge the accuracy of the story of the death of Jesus by crucifixion, given the Qur’ānic denial. To the question whether Jesus could have descended from the cross alive, ʿAmmār responded by asserting the certainty of that death, fully aware that the Qur’ān alleges that there was doubt about it. For ʿAmmār, the removal of doubt was central to the fact of the death, and there could be no doubt about the resurrection which followed, de-

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spite the challenge of the Muslim that only the disciples witnessed it. The salvific purpose of the death of Christ was questioned and answered by ʿAmmār appealing to Christ overturning the failure of Adam as pictured by the apostle Paul in Romans 5, where Christ’s obedience cancels the disobedience of Adam and his descendants. To the Muslim assumption that Jesus was merely a submitted servant of God, ʿAmmār argued that the service Jesus performed was that of the Isaianic servant who laid down his life to redeem many others. In this second section on the status of Christ, ʿAmmār depended especially on Biblical teaching to argue his case.

TRANSLATION

[Question 5] If he says: May you be forgiven for your description of the Eternal One receiving createdness and contingency, which is sheer ignorance and blindness. In reply we say: By my life, like fire or coal do not merit the name of a live coal without the two being joined together and composed, likewise, it is not appropriate to use the name of the Messiah about the hypostasis of the divinity and the hypostasis of the humanity in their isolation without their agreement and their uniting in what they united together. Concerning what is contingent about this uniting by what is created between them, it is attached to the human being who is attracted to these excellent qualities which are bestowed on him by these particular gifts. The Eternal is not contingent in this contingency nor created by this creation. When he lifted humanity from the rank of the people of his substance, from servanthood to the rank of Lordship, he remained in the rank of Lordship while being in the rank of servanthood, and when he made humanity itself equal in his power and rule and authority, he did not make himself equal with humanity in the limitation of the nature of its substance. Likewise, in his sonship the humanity united with the eternal divinity attributed to his Father. He did not unite with it in his human sonship dependent on his mother. Or do you not see how fire gives to the live coal its attribute of heat yet it does not

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share with the live coal in its dirtiness, and it is joined with its heat and its redness but does not share in its blackness and its coldness? Likewise, the Eternal received humanity together with its meagerness and united with it in all of its sonship and meagerness, and he did not share with humanity anything that he had in his essential being. If some of the characteristics of the mother had indeed been attached to the Eternal, and many of the characteristics existing in humanity are interpreted figuratively in the uniting described between them, then we are not at all obliged to apply them to his true nature. [Question 11] If he says: How is it possible that he became incarnate and clothed himself with a body and dwelt in it and he was not contained by it and it did not constrain him, yet he was embodied and the body enclosed him? In reply we say: Like light, which was created as a clear light in the beginning of creation, as it is said in the chapter concerning the creation on day four, God took a small, heavy and dense body and bound it and formed it and made a place and a source to develop itself into an elevated earth and He empowered it without being embodied in it or being constricted within it or being contained in it, but it was the environment surrounding it that gave life to it. Similarly, more favorable than that is the situation of the eternal substance, which was not contained by a body constraining it or a place constricting it. He took to himself flesh by becoming incarnate in it and a temple to dwell in and a place from which to speak to people. The body with which he clothed himself did not give life to Him, and his dwelling place did not constrain Him and did not govern Him, and the temple from which He spoke to people did not restrict Him, but He was surrounded by it, gave life to it, and was made visible by it. [Question 20] If he says: Tell us why He became incarnate and united with a body, and what called him to this?

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In reply we say: His generosity, kindness, goodness and power called Him to begin to make His creation. Then they called Him finally to restore it by His grace and to complete His goodness by His incarnation in humanity taken from His creation. It was necessary to be human by His incarnation in order to include humanity in His sonship and to make His lordship possible for humans. He included all of creation in the honor which He extended to each individual human among all human beings. [Question 27] If he says: Was the Messiah capable of experiencing difficulty, evil and change? If you claim that he was capable of these, then surely you believe that he was not protected from evil and wrongdoing, and that he did not benefit at all by the incarnation of the Creator, and perhaps he did not remain in his righteousness and his goodness, that he turned away from them, for a short period of time. If you claim that he was not like this, then surely you must admit that he was compelled in his righteousness, goodness, avoidance of difficulty and the forbidden. There would be no praise for creatures for their obedience if they were forced to do it. There would be praise for one who was faithful, righteous, obedient to his Lord by his will, and who displayed this by His grace. In reply we say: Surely he was free and capable, and therefore not protected from evil and suffering. We do not know what he was protected from according to your meaning. Perhaps you mean that the protection is prevented or forced, and he would be naturally disposed to avoiding what is forbidden. If you claim this, then we will say to you that he was not prevented by force, but he was prevented, like other human beings, by command, preventing him by the force of his desire and will. [Question 30] If he says: Do you not say that in all that his Creator united with him and made him equal with Himself, He had already made him perfect in his actions at the moment of his conception? In reply we say: We do not claim this. Rather, we say that he was like one who inherits. If he merited all the wealth of his

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father, who gave him the inheritance since the time of his being conceived in the womb, and he merits it after childhood, and if he was properly conditioned in his upbringing and childhood by teachers and instructors, then the one who gave him the inheritance will only hand it over to him if he was trained by the discipline and strengthened in the knowledge of things. Similarly, the humanity merited all that was from his Creator since the time of his conception and His incarnation in his sonship. He merited all that was changeable in his circumstances, and he merited all the virtues after being weaned until he finished being managed that his Creator willed him to complete by his actions. Then he became equal in all that he merited from heaven and earth and in exaltation above evil and pain, like when he testified about himself after his resurrection, saying, “I have been given all authority in heaven and earth.” It was not that he was given the authority at that time, and he did not mean by this, Now I have become free and I have escaped from all claims that I had received as a pledge under those changeable conditions that were outside me and the equality of my rule and my authority. This is just like a man who purchases land for himself for a great price but does not pay one coin of the price, and makes a claim on the condition that the price is called an installment. The land becomes his property from the time that the name of the purchaser is placed on it, but he still has to pay the price in installment after installment and the land is mortgaged for what remains of its price until the final installment is submitted. Then his land is handed over to him in its entirety, and with this he is permitted to say, Now I possess my property and I have a right to my land. [Question 31] If he says: But his saying proves that he was at that time given the authority of heaven and earth. In reply we say: Look at his saying before this, “My Father already gave me everything,” and his saying in another place when he made a confession to his Father and announced what he had been entrusted from his rule and his authority. He said, “All of what is yours oh my Father is mine and all of what is

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mine is yours, but to you is everything itself you have given me oh my Father.” This is what you have heard him showing you, that he was given the authority of heaven and earth before that time. But he did not take possession of this until after he was raised up, and he did not require people to venerate him and prostrate before him before suffering pain and death on their behalf. He required this of them after bearing the pain of being killed and being made naked on the cross in order to save them. [Question 32] If he says: What was it that urged him to lose his strength, power and greatness in his pain, death and shame? In reply we say: His greatness and power called him to his suffering and submission when he was given them. This surely is made clear by his resurrection after his submission to them. He was made powerful from their subjugation and their suppression and their superiority over him and his being raised above their authority. Do you not see the brave hero who presumes his power standing against his competitor, despising him and being arrogant before he attacks him, until the competitor charges at him with the utmost power and strength, and launches an attack and after his attack defeats him. Similarly, the Messiah submitted to weaknesses and pains which were given him, and he did not resist them by despising them and being arrogant about them, until they reached their goal by overcoming him in death. Yet he was resurrected by his power to life and was exalted above all of them. Like a skilful and kind doctor, when people depend on his knowledge and trust his study and compete for his medicine, he shows the proof of the knowledge and skill that they demand. They do not find the proof confirmed for them and firmly established in their hearts until they call for deadly poison and he drinks it before them. When the poison takes effect in his stomach, he takes some of his medicine and, after it has reached the poison, he lives and the poison does not harm him at all because of his medicine. At this point, the people looking on know the

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excellence of his knowledge and they compete to demand his medicine. Likewise, the Messiah was made alive by the power of the All Knowing, since He was the cause of his appearance in the world to save people from their errors and to win them from following Satan to following their Lord, and to fill their minds with certainty concerning what he preached to them of the resurrection of their bodies and their going to the place of blessing which he promised to the followers of goodness among them. [Question 46] If he says: What is the meaning of your saying that the Messiah is sitting on the right-hand side of God, interceding with Him for us? Does God have a right-hand side for the Messiah to sit at? Or does the Messiah need, when he wishes something, to intercede with Him for others? In reply we say: Concerning what is said about his sitting on the right-hand side of God, the meaning of it is what we have described about it in our previous writing, about his being raised to all the authority of God… Concerning what is said about his interceding with God to grant eternal life to those who seek forgiveness for their wrongdoing from God the Savior, and the continuation of his intercession for it, he presented himself on the cross as a pure sacrifice to God to put right what had happened as a result of the sin of Adam, which brought about their fall from God into death. This is like what you have already heard in the Torah, which is like this and analogous to it, that God forgave the sins of the children of Israel by the sacrifice of rams, bulls and birds and by the shedding of their blood forgave their wrongdoing. If the blood of birds and animals and insects mediated with God in the forgiveness of the sins of people, then His kindness and mercy are more clearly shown if He pardons the sins of people by the shedding of the blood of His pure and immaculate Son, who offered himself as a voluntary sacrifice in exchange for the sins of people. Likewise, it cannot be denied, thanks to the One who is gracious and kind, since it was by a small lapse committed by one person that death and loss was inflicted on all people, then it would be by the perfect righteousness of one person that life

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and success would be granted to all who share the substance of humanity… He makes void the sin of Adam from the descendants of Adam by his righteousness and purity. Then he removes from them death, which Adam deserved by his falling into error, and he merits for them life by offering his flesh and his blood.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Baṣrī, ʿAmmār al-. The Book of Questions and Answers (Kitāb almasā’il wa-l-ajwiba). In ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: apologie et controverses, edited by Michel Hayek, 93–265. Beirut: Dār alMashriq, 1977. Beaumont, Mark. Christology in Dialogue with Muslims: A Critical Analysis of Christian Presentations of Christ for Muslims from the Ninth and Twentieth Centuries. Regnum Studies in Mission. Oxford: Regnum, 2011. Beaumont, Mark. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī on the Incarnation.” In Christians at the Heart of Islamic Rule: Church Life and Scholarship in Abbasid Iraq, edited by David Thomas, 55–62. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 1. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Griffith, Sidney H. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī’s Kitāb al-Burhān: Christian Kalām in the First Abbasid Century.” Le Muséon 96 (1983): 145–181. Griffith, Sidney H. “The Concept of al-Uqnūm in ʿAmmār alBaṣrī’s Apology for the Doctrine of the Trinity.” In Actes du premier congrès international d’études arabes chrétiennes, edited by Samir Khalil Samir, 169–191. Orientalia Christiana Periodica 218. Rome: PISO, 1982. Hayek, Michael. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: La première somme de théologie chrétienne en langue arabe, ou deux apologies du christianisme.” Islamochristiana 2 (1976): 69–133. Ibn Ibrāhīm, al-Qāsim. “Refutation of the Christians.” In “Confutazione contro I Christiani dello Zaydati al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhīm,” by Ignazio Di Matteo. Rivista degli studi orientali 9 (1922): 301–364.

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Thomas, David. “Abū al-Hudhayl al-ʿAllāf.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 544–549. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009.

CHAPTER 8. SEVERUS IBN AL-MUQAFFAʿ (D. AFTER 987): A COPTIC APOLOGIST, DEFENDING CHRISTIANITY IN ARABIC MINA YOUSEF The tenth century is considered a critical period in the history of Egypt and the Copts. Although Christians remained the majority population well until the Mamlūk period, 1 their community began to decline in number. At least two aspects contributed to this demographic change. First, due to the desertification of the Arabian Peninsula, many ethnic Arab tribes migrated and settled in Egypt and Mesopotamia after the Arab Muslim conquests. 2 Second, as soon as the grip of the Arab rulers over Egypt was established, the gradual process of Arabicization and Islamization started—precisely during the Umayyad and ʿAbbāsid Caliphate. Over time, the Arabic language superseded local dialects Cragg, Arab Christian, 56. For conversion to Islam in this period, see Bulliet, Conversion, 4, 19, 74, 109, et passim; el-Leithy, “Coptic Culture,” 101–175, and 457ff.; Tannous, Making, 332ff.; Sahner, Christian Martyrs; idem, “Swimming,” 265–284. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 2 Farag, “Usage,” 49. 1

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and became the language of everyday discourse, government, and culture. 3 Non-Arabs had to adopt Arabic as a lingua franca in order to retain their positions, receive promotions within the Arab administration, and communicate with the new rulers and the migrated tribes of Arabia. 4 This new reality presented challenges for the Coptic indigenous inhabitants of Egypt. Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. after 987), 5 an important Coptic Christian thinker, identifies these challenges: O beloved, you mentioned that the Copts in this age have adopted different ways within the Orthodox faith, as each believes what another opposes and disbelieves; everyone identifies the other as unbeliever. And you are surprised and confused by that, aren’t you? Do not be surprised! The reason is their ignorance of their language, because the Arabic language overcame them. No one remains among them who knows what is being read at church in the Coptic language. They became hearers without understanding. For this reason, the Christian doctrine—which has prevailed at first all over the Christian communities—is now lost among them. 6

According to this statement, Severus seems to have identified the main challenge facing Egypt’s Christians. The Copts had lost competence in their original language and were thus deprived of understanding their patristic heritage and their religious legacy, due to the gradual Arabicization of life. 7 In explaining the consequences of this crisis, German scholar Georg Graf (1875–1955)

Esposito, Islam, 56. Hoyland, God’s Path, 213–219. 5 Severus’ name is transliterated as Sāwīrus or Sawīrus. We will use “Severus” throughout. 6 See Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, al-Durr, 161. 7 Den Heijer, Lev, and Swanson, “Fatimid Empire,” 340–341. 3 4

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writes that even prayer and liturgical readings became incomprehensible, which resulted in ignorance of religious matters. 8 This crisis resulted in two Christian attitudes towards Arabicization. The first stream exhorted the Copts to isolate themselves from Arabic, to protect their sacred language and identity. 9 This stream links the disuse of Coptic with the loss of the Copts’ religious zeal and cultural identity. 10 The second stream, represented by Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ and his writings, advocated for openness and adaptability in using Arabic as a vehicle for teaching the Christian faith. 11 Severus was a man of vision. He was the first major Coptic theologian to write about Coptic ecclesiastical and liturgical literature in Arabic. 12 In describing Severus, Sidney Griffith explains, “In the Coptic community, his fame rests almost entirely on his prowess as an Arabic-writing apologist for the Christian faith in its Coptic formulation.” 13 Severus saw his responsibility as a shepherd to his flock and aimed to provide the teachings See Georg Graf’s magnum opus, Geschichte, 1:74, where he writes, “Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ im 10. Jahrh. sich in beweglichen Klagen darüber auslässt, dass es niemanden mehr gebe, der die koptische Sprache verstände und damit auch die Gebete und Lesungen der Liturgie unverständlich seien, worin die Ursache der ungeheuerlichen Unwissenheit in religiösen Dingen liege.” 9 Such attitude is evident in the important work Apocalypse of PseudoSamuel of Qalamūn, which was likely written in the early to mideleventh century. Its writer uses ex eventu prophecies in foretelling how the Copts abandoned their holy language. He proclaims woes against them for forsaking the tongue of their holy church fathers. See van Lent, “Apocalypse,” in CMR, 2:745. 10 Zaborowski, “Coptic to Arabic,” 16; Graf, Geschichte, 1:73–74. 11 Davis, Coptic Christology, 202. 12 See Graf, Geschichte, 2:300; Swanson, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR, 2:491; den Heijer, Lev, and Swanson, “Fatimid Empire,” 340–341; Farag, “Usage,” 49; Chaillot, “Oriental Churches,” 136. 13 See Griffith, “Kitāb,” 15–42; the quote is from p. 15, and the article is reprinted in idem, Beginnings, chap. 8. 8

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they needed in the language they could understand. 14 Severus was successful in articulating the Christian faith to Muslims in their own language and context. In his important work Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql (The Lamp of the Intellect), Severus writes, “We never deny a single passage, nor do we impose syncretism.” 15 Severus understood that fruitful dialogue will not be achieved through compromised doctrine or distorted dogma, but by engaging with sound doctrine. In affirming this, Griffith states that not only does Severus intend to state the Coptic Christians’ beliefs in Arabic, but he also outlines the argumentative line for his opponents in the same language. 16 Indeed, Severus theologizes in Arabic to both reach a broader audience of Copts and to communicate Christianity to Muslims. With the gradual loss of the Coptic and Greek languages in Egypt during Severus’ lifetime, Coptic Christians were quickly losing their ability to understand even the most fundamental doctrinal language—such as “Son of God”—in Coptic. 17 Severus’ aim through his writings was to establish the theological boundaries and the religious identity that distinguishes the Coptic Church from the Chalcedonian Church and Islam. This historical background is a helpful starting point when examining Severus’ contributions to the dialogue between Christians and Muslims in the medieval period.

SEVERUS: THE SCRIBE AND THE BISHOP

Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ was the bishop of al-Ashmūnayn during the Ikhshidid dynasty and the early Fatimid dynasty in the tenth

In this, Severus appears to have followed the precept that Jesus established: “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (Mark 2:27 ESV). 15 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 39. 16 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 25. 17 Davis, Coptic Christology, 201. 14

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century. 18 Two shreds of evidence support such an assertion. 19 A letter from the Patriarch of Alexandria to the Patriarch of Antioch written in 987 marks out Severus’ name, 20 and includes a note mentioning that Severus completed his second work Kitāb Tafsīr al-amāna (Commentary on the [Nicene] Creed) in 955. 21 Before becoming a monk and later a bishop, Severus was a scribe (kātib) in the government administration and was known as “Abū al-Bishr ibn al-Muqaffaʿ.” 22 The “Abū al-Bishr” was not his name, but rather an epithet (kunya). In his informative and thorough introduction of Severus’ Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql, Samir Khalil Samir writes that, at that time, only a revered Copt would be identified by this type of epithet. 23 As for Severus’ sobriquet “alMuqaffaʿ,” it may refer to a “bowed head” looking down to the floor, or to “crippled hands”. 24 Although the precise reason for the label is unknown, some believe that it was in reference to the Muslim author ʿAbdullāh Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (724–759), due to their similar career paths: the Muslim Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ translated parts of the Panchatantra into Arabic in the famous work Kalīla Al-Ashmūnayn is the historical city of Hermopolis Magna, which is located between modern Asyūṭ and al-Minyā in Upper Egypt. See Davis, Coptic Christology, 203; Spencer, “el-Ashmunein,” 167–171; Verner, Temple, 143–166. On the Fatimids in Egypt, see Lev, State 179–196; Daftary and Jiwa, eds., Fatimid Caliphate, 10–21. 19 For the life and career of Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, see Samir Khalil, intro. to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 7–36; see also Griffith, “Kitāb,” 15–42; Swanson, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR, 2:490–509; St. Macarius Monastery, “Bishop.” 20 Swanson, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR, 2:491. 21 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 16. 22 Samir Khalil, intro. to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 9. 23 Samir Khalil, intro. to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 10. The term Abū alBishr can be rendered as “The Father of the Good News.” 24 On the sobriquet al-Muqaffaʿ, Griffith states, “As for the sobriquet, Ibn al-Muqaffa’ (son of the shrivelled, or crippled one), which unfailingly accompanies Severus’ name in the manuscripts, one no longer knows to just what circumstance it refers.” Griffith, “Kitāb,” 17. 18

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wa-Dimna, while the Christian al-Muqaffaʿ translated Coptic theological works into Arabic. 25 Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ was a well-known theologian, apologist, and controversialist. 26 Two lists of his works have been preserved. Michael of Tinnīs, one of the contributors to the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria, lists twenty works. 27 Abū al-Barakāt ibn Kabar identifies twenty-six works, including several books refuting the claims of the Jews, the Muʿtazila, and the Chalcedonians, in addition to several titles addressing the Coptic Christian faith and commentary on the Nicene Creed. 28 Although many of the works are lost, the list includes a fascinating selection of topics including theology, apologetics, history, Coptic rituals, ethics, and even medicine. 29 For many centuries, Severus was identified as the author of the significant Coptic historical work, the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria. However, various scholars—including Georg Graf and Johannes den Heijer—have convincingly argued that this is not the case. 30 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 17. See Griffith, “Kitāb,” 17, where he writes, “It was Patriarch Theophane (953–956) who chose Severus to become the bishop of alAshmūnayn, the ancient Hermopolis Magna in the district of Antinoopolis.” 27 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (Pseudo), Ta’rīkh, 5:493. 28 Abū al-Barakāt is also known as Shams al-Ri’āsa. See Abū al-Barakāt ibn Kabar, Miṣbāḥ, 306–307; Swanson, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR 2:494–509. See Samir Khalil, intro. to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 26–27, where Abū al-Barakāt’s list is also given. 29 See Graf, Geschichte, 2:300, where he asserts that “a large part of Severus’ works must be considered lost.” 30 See den Heijer, “History,” 955–987; Graf, Geschichte, 2:300–306. Graf argues that Severus collected and prepared some of the material, but did not bring the work to fruition as a uniform collection. According to Graf, the first known contributor of “History of the Patriarchs” is Michael the bishop of Tinnīs, who, in 1051, wrote the biographies of the Patriarchs from 880 to 1046—and that it was only in 1088 that Mawhūb ibn Manṣūr began to gather the scattered fragments into an 25 26

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Although few of his works are extant, Severus ibn alMuqaffaʿ has had a significant influence on Coptic theologians, both in the past and the present. He laid a methodological foundation for later Coptic Christian theologians. 31 In order to comprehend how Severus’ theological works influenced later approaches to Christian-Muslim dialogue, it is important to explore and analyze one of his major works, the Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql.

SEVERUS’ MIṢBĀḤ AL-ʿAQL: AN ANALYSIS

The Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql (Lamp of the Intellect) is a brief yet profound work that helps us to catch a glimpse of Severus’ apologetic methodology. 32 As Griffith observes, this book allows us to see that Severus’ challenge was not simply to translate Coptic Christianity into Arabic, but rather to accommodate the way of presenting the Christian faith within the Islamic milieu. 33 The importance of the work appears not only in its ability to address a wide audience, but also in the way it communicates with both Christians living in an Islamic context and curious Muslims. In the prologue, Severus discloses the purpose of his book: You have mentioned the defamation of our doctrines by the opponents of our religion and [their] rejection of our statement [of belief] and that you have not found any book by previous [authors] containing a description of the doctrines of the Christians in the form of an expository [descriptive] summary, [able to] remove their doubts and explain the things which are difficult for them… because through it the

organized work. In Coptic Christology, Davis explains that scribes during the late medieval period often assigned anonymous or collective works under Severus’ name, due to his renown as a theologian and author. See Graf, Geschichte, 2:300–301; Blanchard and Griffith, “Severus,” 448; Davis, Coptic Christology, 203. 31 Davis, Coptic Christology, 204; Meinardus, Two Thousand, 56. 32 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 24. 33 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 24, 28.

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According to this passage, Severus appears to have written this work with three audiences in mind. The first group is lay Christians who have no access to Arabic resources concerning their faith. The second is skeptics who are about to convert to Islam, while the third is Muslims who are searching for the truth. Severus carefully chooses the style, vocabulary, and suitable arguments to address each of these targeted audiences, with the challenges of Islam as his focus. 35 He builds his arguments on scripture, philosophy, and even medical examples, to support and verify the validity of Christian doctrines. 36 While he uses philosophical and logical methods to advance his arguments, he emphasizes that human beings are limited in their grasp of Christian truth. 37 Severus acknowledges the “momentous subject” and the “important task” of writing this work, “since the doctrine of the Christians [contains] subtle ideas and [requires] profound exposition. Only a wise, proficient, philosophical, learned, good person can understand it, as the books of God, blessed be His name, say in this regard.” 38 In this context, Severus quotes from Matthew 11:25–27 to highlight the reader’s need for divine illumination so that “they shall know Him, and He shall illumine their hearts with His knowledge.” 39 That the Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql emerged within an Islamic cultural context is evident in both the content and the vocabulary used throughout the book. Of course, there are many interchangeable terms between Islamic and Coptic Arabic; nevertheless, Severus embraced some distinctively Islamic idioms to communicate his

Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 1; also Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 5. Griffith, Church, 45. 36 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 16, 30. 37 Haykin, Rediscovering, 52. 38 See Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 1; also Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 6. 39 See Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 1–2; also, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 6–8. 34 35

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ideas and to build his case to defend the Christian doctrines. 40 Such use of Islamic terminology—whether exact or tweaked forms—appears as a common trait among medieval Arabicspeaking Christians in their textual interactions with Islam. Similarly, one can trace the influence of the Islamic context on the topics Severus chooses to discuss. The work consists of two sections and discusses seventeen topics. The first section defends the Christian faith, while the second explains Christian practices. Both sections respond to questions and accusations frequently raised by Muslims against Christianity. The topics include the Trinity, incarnation, prayer, marriage, and divorce. 41 For a better understanding of Severus’ theological arguments, we will now turn our focus to his explanations of the Trinity and the incarnation in his Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql.

SEVERUS ON THE TRINITY AND THE ONENESS OF GOD

With the arrival of Islam in conquered Christian lands, two main doctrinal beliefs clashed: the sophisticated Christian view of God as Trinity and the strict Islamic teaching of the oneness of the deity (in Arabic, tawḥīd). 42 The significance of this clash appears in how Islam—as the religion of the Arab conquerors—not only emphasizes the deity’s absolute unity, but also identifies the asFarag, “Usage,” 51; Ricks, Early Arabic, 4. Griffith, “Kitāb,” 15. 42 Tertullian (ca. 160–230) was the first theologian to employ the term Trinity (Trinitas) and to formulate what Gregg Allison calls “the clearest doctrine of the Trinity the church had developed up to his time.” The wording of Tertullian’s definition is that God is one in essence (οὐσία, ousia), yet three in persons (ὑπόστασις; hypostasis or persona). The three hypostases are distinct (not separated) from each other, in which the Son is eternally generated by the Father, and the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father. Such a sophisticated illustration has been one of the main obstacles preventing Muslims from understanding and accepting the Christian faith. Allison, Historical Theology, 236–238 (esp. 236); see also McGrath, Historical Theology, 24; Kelly, Early Christian, 113; Emerson and Stamps, “Trinitarian,” 108–114. 40 41

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sociation of any partners with Him to be the most grievous sin (in Arabic, shirk). 43 In a sense, Islam views the Trinity as a form of tritheism. Even after their settlement among Christians in Egypt and Mesopotamia, there appears to have been no reason for Muslims to correct this conflation of the doctrine of the Trinity with tritheism. 44 Either the Qur’ān misrepresents the Christian truth-claims, due to Muhammad’s possible interaction with heretical Christian sects in the Arabian Peninsula, or it caricatures the Christian beliefs for polemic purposes. 45 Finding their core beliefs attacked, Christians needed to address the doctrine of the Trinity as a challenge to be met and articulated, rather than a divine mystery which God revealed to His church. 46 This necessitated Severus’ role of presenting the Trinity in a way which could be easily understood by those with an Islamic worldview. In one of his other works, Severus illustrates the problem, as he states, I say that the reason for concealment of the mystery [of the Trinity and the oneness of God] among the believers in this The Qur’ān reads, “Say: He is Allah, the One and Only; Allah, the Eternal, Absolute; He begetteth not. Nor is he begotten. And there is none Like unto Him” (Q 112:1–4). On the sin of associating partners with Allah, see Geisler and Saleeb, Answering, 268; also Stanton, Teaching, 56. All Qur’ānic English translations are from Ali, Meaning. It appears that the Qur’ān—like the Ebionites—views Jesus as merely a prophet who never claimed to be God, and views the Christians as associators for taking Jesus and his mother “as deities besides Allah” (Q 5:116). See Sweetman, Islam and Christian, 2:127; al-Ṭabarī, Jāmiʿ, 3:208–210; Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr, 673. In some instances, the Qur’ān appears to view the Trinity as a tritheism including Jesus, Mary, and Allah (Q 5:73). See al-Ṭabarī, Jāmiʿ, 3:140–146; Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr, 639– 640. 44 Thomas, “Doctrine,” 78–98. In this chapter, the author capitalizes divine pronouns. 45 See al-Sharafī, al-Fikr, 197–258; also Ibn Taymiyyah, al-Jawāb, 3:107–120, 182–307. 46 Frame, Systematic Theology, 422. 43

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age is their assimilation with foreigners, resulting in the abandonment of their original Coptic language, from which they used to learn their doctrine. They rarely hear the mention of the Trinity among themselves. There is no mention of the Son of God among themselves, except as a metaphor. Rather, what they hear the most is that God is strictly unitarian, among other claims of the others [meaning Muslims]. The believers got used to [this language], to the extent that it is difficult for them to refer to the Son of God. They do not know its meaning, nor its interpretation. Most of them— when they hear the [term] Son of God or the Son of the Virgin Mary—they think that [the Son] began to exist from the Virgin Mary, as others claim we say. They do not know that He was eternal with God. He was born of Him before [He was of] Mary, and before the ages. God has never been without Him because He is His Son and His eternal Word [existing] with Him; He was and He still is. 47

With this problem in mind, Severus, in Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql, defends the Christian belief in the Triune God. He begins by emphasizing the belief in God’s unicity in the very first line of his prologue, known as the basmala (b-ism Allāh, i.e., by God’s name). 48 Severus uses the well-known Trinitarian formula found in Matthew 28:19, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” (Bism al-Āb wa-l-Ibn wa-l-Rūḥ al-Qudus), to initiate Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, al-Durr, 10–11. The basmala is an important phrase for Muslims, as it is found at the beginning of each sūra in the Qur’ān except one (Q 9). Muslims use it in various contexts, primarily as a way to seek Allah’s blessing and favor. They invoke it before important activities, such as writing books. Many Medieval works by Muslims begin with the basmala. Arabic-speaking Christians tweaked the phrase creatively and formulated a distinctively unique Christian basmala. While the Islamic basmala reads, “In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful,” Christians used various adjustments—sometimes they merely shortened the Islamic phrase and used “In the name of God,” while at other times they used, “In the name of the Almighty God.” 47 48

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his work. Severus is careful to add “One God” (ilāhun wāḥidun) at its end to emphasize the Christian belief in One God. This added affirmation became common in liturgical prayers and Arabic Christian documents that mention the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit. 49 Furthermore, Severus, at the outset of his defense of the Trinity, affirms the Christian belief in one—and only one—God by stating, “we know God as a Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; one essence, one nature, and one self.” 50 Severus advances a distinctive argument for the uniqueness of God by describing Him as a “Noble and Gracious Essence which is ineffable, and which is beyond any description. It [i.e., the uniqueness of God] is exalted above the similitude of creatures and the descriptions of created beings and those in authority over us.” 51 Here, Severus uses terms familiar to Muslims as he conveys a biblical principle. The Qur’ān repeatedly indicates, “There is nothing like unto Him” (Q 42:11). 52 Severus seems to have identified the main obstacle for Muslims in understanding the belief in a Triune God: a Muslim understands the oneness of God just as he understands himself to be a singular being. But because no one is like God, his unicity is unique as well. Severus writes, His essence and nature resemble nothing among created beings, nor correspond to any essence among created beings, for His being and essence are unlike other simple [and] compound essences…. His essence is one which does not resemble any of the world’s essences. 53

See Atalla, Illustrations, 32–33, 45–58; Ricks, Early Arabic, 15. See also Istifānūs, “Basmla,” 2:137–160. 50 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 12. 51 See Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 2; also Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 9. 52 See Jer 10:6–7; Isa 46:9. 53 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 3–4; Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 13, 18. See the explanation of Samir Khalil, “Earliest Arab,” 73, where he writes on “The Impossibility of Comprehending the Trinity.” 49

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Moreover, not only does Severus use logical and biblical arguments; he also employs philosophical rhetoric. Undoubtedly, his philosophical arguments appear to have benefited from the popularity of translating Greek philosophical works to Arabic. 54 In his arguments for the Trinity, Severus seems to rely on ancient philosophers who used the terms Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to refer to God in a way which is congenial to later Christian usage. 55 He states, These names, i.e. Father, Son and Holy Spirit, are among ones employed by the ancients, which they attested and acknowledged. I refer to the ancient philosophers, including Hermes, Plato, Pythagoras, Ammonius and their like; it has been handed down in [their] ancient books. 56

Furthermore, in his defense of the Christian Trinity, Severus explains the divine hypostasis, or in Syriac qnome, 57 of the Trinity as one essence (jawhar) and three essential attributes (ṣifāt dhātiyya). 58 He states, “The meaning of our statement that He is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: having received Divine Guidance

During the mid-eighth to the end of the tenth century, and under the reign of the ʿAbbāsid caliphs, al-Manṣūr, al-Mahdī, and al-Ma’mūn, the translation movement flourished in Baghdad. A significant number of works were translated from different languages—including Syriac, Persian, and Greek—into Arabic. The translation movement primarily focused on ancient Greek texts and the works of the Hellenistic philosophers. See Gutas, Greek Thought, 11–104; Goodman, “Translation,” 477– 497; Ricks, Early Arabic, 1, 8–10. On the ʿAbbāsid Golden Age, see Kennedy, Prophet, 127–136, as he identifies the Golden Age as the period 763–809. See also Bennison, Great Caliphs. 55 See Griffith, “Kitāb,” 26. 56 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 5. 57 Ricks, Early Arabic, 6–7. 58 Swanson, “Hypostases,” 246; Swanson, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR, 2:496; Bibawi, al-Qiddīs, 12–13; Davis, Coptic Christology, 216. 54

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from Him, we hold the belief that this Creator lives and speaks, for His speaking is His Word, and His life is His Spirit.” 59 For Severus, there is one Creator, who is both alive by His Spirit and speaks by His Word. The Creator’s Word and Spirit are coeternal with Him. He says, He is the Creator of the world by His Word and all what is in it by the Spirit of His mouth. We confess that He has Word and Spirit, and that His Word and Spirit are not mortal, perishable, or corrupt, like the created words and spirit. His Word and Spirit are of His very essence and self, just as our words and spirit are created similar to ourselves. 60

Such an explanation of the Trinity is consistent with Muslims’ descriptions of the concept of monotheism. Severus’ explanation aims to dismiss any concerns of polytheism, especially considering the widespread debate regarding the divine attributes among Islamic groups during that period. 61 For instance, the Muʿtazilites opposed the ḥadīth party, i.e., traditionists, 62 by denying God’s divine attributes altogether and any form of Anthropomorphism to emphasize the oneness of God. 63 Muʿtazilites also contended that anything other than simple and singular divine essence must either be of material bodies or created subIbn al-Muqaffaʿ, Lamp, 4–5; Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 19. Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 66–67. 61 Griffith, “Kitāb,” 34–35. 62 Gabriel Said Reynolds argues that the Islamic arguments and techniques were not developed in an isolated intra-Islamic setting, but instead under the influence and due to the debates with Christians and Jews. Reynolds, Muslim Theologian, 24–28. See also Ibrahim, Conversion, chaps. 3–4. 63 Zahra, Ta’rīkh, 180. Cornelia Schöck describes the position of the Muʿtazilites by emphasizing that they did not argue that the attributes are not things, but instead that God is not a thing. This does not mean that He is not real, but that nothing can be logically predicated of Him and that He cannot be described by reference to properties (ṣifāt). See Schöck, “Jahm b. Ṣafwān,” 57–58. 59 60

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stances. 64 They even accused the Islamic sects who believed in the divine attributes of falling into the error of the Christian Trinity. 65 In this context, Severus exploits the Islamic Muʿtazilites’ claims in order to make a case for the Christian Trinity. 66 Severus’ method of explaining the Trinity impacts the Coptic Church to this day. The late Coptic Patriarch Shenouda III (d. 2012), in his study on the Nicene Creed, appears to adopt Severus’ explanation as he clarifies the hypostases as attributes in the Godhead, The “Holy Trinity” does not mean multiple gods. Rather, it means an understanding of the particularities within the One Godhead. God has a divine Essence, Intellect, and Spirit. With His Intellect and Spirit, God is one being… The Father is the divine essence. The Son is the utterance of God’s intellect, or the utterance of the rational God; He is the wisdom of God (1 Cor 1:23–24). And the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of God. It is apparent that God and His Spirit is one being, and God and His Intellect is one being. 67

Although it is likely that the Coptic Pope relies on traditional explanations—such as those of Severus—we should note that some theologians voice skepticism regarding this trajectory, as it resembles Modalism. 68 Modalism, or Sabellianism, denies the hypostatic differences between the persons within the GodSweetman, Islam and Christian, 2:23; Davis, Coptic Christology, 218. On Muʿtazilism, see al-Balkhī, al-Jabbār, and al-Jushamī, Faḍl, which contains texts by three major Muʿtazilite thinkers. On the basic theology of Muʿtazilism, see pp. 3–67; for its earliest advocates, see pp. 180ff. On the emergence and development of Muʿtazilism, see Amīn, Ẓuhr, 721–743; el-Omari, “Muʿtazilite,” 130–141; see also Bennett, “Muʿtazilite,” 142–158. See also van Ess, Theology, 2:286ff., 3:483ff. 65 See Wolfson, “Muslim Attributes,” 1–18. 66 Swanson, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR, 2:496; Ricks, Early Arabic, 11–12. 67 Shenouda, Qānūn, 13–14. 68 On this point, see Bibāwī, al-Thālūth, 18–22. 64

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head. 69 In these teachings, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are three different aspects of God instead of three distinct persons within the Godhead. However, Severus should not be viewed as the first to adopt this explanation (articulating the Trinity through God’s essential attributes). He appears to follow in the footsteps of earlier Christian theologians—such as ʿAmmār alBaṣrī and Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī—who described the divine hypostases as essential attributes (ṣifāt). 70 It is worth noting that such an explanation contradicts the common Trinitarian trajectories of the Greek and Latin Fathers, who understood the hypostases as distinct divine personas and not just attributes of the Godhead. 71 Thus, the question remains as to the possible source from which the explanation of the Trinity through God’s essential attributes emerged. In his study of the Muslim attributes of Allah and the Christian Trinity, Harry Wolfson makes the case that medieval Arabic-speaking Christians adopted this explanation as a trajectory from the Neoplatonic triads: “It is in these Neoplatonic triads that we may find the origin of the ṣifāt of the Christian Trinity as it became known to the Muslims.” 72 Nevertheless, this does not suggest that the explanation of Severus, and his influencers, is now less important. The use of parallels between the Trinity and the Neoplatonic triads did not emerge with Severus. Rather, it can be traced in several passages from early Church theologians. Wolfson observes certain forms and notions that reflect a Christian version of the Neoplatonic triad. For example, some passages in Augustine and Cyril of Alexandria, which deal with Haykin, Rediscovering, 125. Swanson, “Hypostases,” 246; idem, “Sāwīrus,” in CMR, 2:496; Bibawi, al-Qiddīs, 12–13; Davis, Coptic Christology, 216. 71 Bibāwī, al-Thālūth, 3–4; Gill, Doctrine, 166–167. 72 See Wolfson, “Muslim Attributes,” 10–11, where he quotes three passages from the Greek Neoplatonist philosopher Proclus (d. 485), in which Proclus refers to the Neoplatonic triad as essence (οὐσία) or the existent (τὸ ὄν), intellect (νοῦς) or knowledge (γνῶσις), and life (ζωή) or power (δύναμις). 69 70

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the immanent Holy Spirit, show that some of the Fathers were aware of this correlation, which to them was more of a logical (not historical) correlation. 73 Therefore, the use of philosophical triads to explain the Trinity appears to be an attempt by medieval Christians to respond to the accusation that Christians are associators. Ultimately, this is not an invitation to adopt such a trajectory, either in explaining the Trinity to Christians or in Muslim-Christian conversations. Rather, it is an exhortation to follow Mark Swanson’s advice to keep wrestling with our thoughts in order to understand the historical apologetic approach of Christians living in a non-Christian environment without sacrificing the Christian theological purity presented in Scripture and the patristic studies. 74

SEVERUS ON CHRISTOLOGY AND THE DOCTRINE OF INCARNATION

Concerning the divinity of Christ and the doctrine of the incarnation, Severus utilizes logical and biblical approaches to persuade his audience of Christian truth. First, he introduces various examples to prove that the manifestation of God is neither against His ability nor His will. Severus establishes God’s ability and willingness to reveal Himself: “We say that God (blessed is He)—it has been assured to us—is of great power and determinative will. He appears to His servants and is revealed to His prophets and messengers so that they can see Him.” 75 Through examples of Old Testament characters including Moses, Jacob, Job, Daniel, Amos, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, Severus demonstrates the Wolfson, Philosophy, 250. As Willian G. Rusch observes, “Clement presents in a Platonic framework an image of the Trinity which is linked with the Christian triad of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…. Clement’s trinity, although Christian in character, has a strong resemblance to the triad of Neoplatonism, the One, Mind and World Soul.” See Rusch, intro. to Trinitarian Controversy, 10. 74 Swanson, “Hypostases,” 250. 75 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 37. 73

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various ways through which God revealed Himself. 76 Similarly, Severus appropriates Old Testament prophecies to argue that the incarnation is neither an innovation nor a heterodoxy, but rather a pattern of God’s work that can be traced throughout redemptive history. 77 Severus draws an analogy between God’s Old Testament self-manifestations and revealing Himself in Christ: We heard His speech from the flesh with which He was united. He caused us to hear, as He caused Moses to hear His speech from the tree and the Shekinah. Just as He was manifested to the Israelites, and just as He addressed them from the mountain and caused them to hear His words, so He involved us in hearing His words and His speech. He addressed us from His earth, as He addressed those from His heaven. He commanded us from near, as He commanded His angels from near. He brought us closer to Him, just as he brought the cherubim and the seraphim closer to Him as they are [also] some of His creatures... As for the One who speaks to us from the visible body, He is the one who speaks to Moses from the clouds, and to Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the rest of the prophets. He is the one who was revealed to the chosen Abraham, Isaac, and Noah. 78

Severus’ argument parallels that of the second-century church apologist Justin Martyr. Both used the Old Testament theophanies to argue that the Logos manifests Himself to Abraham, Isaac, and Moses, thus affirming God’s incarnation. 79 Additionally, in his arguments for the plausibility of the incarnation, Severus compares the Qur’ān to the Bible by using familiar stories from both faiths: “This is our view regarding His incarnation,” Severus writes, “Heaven is His creation, from Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 37–39. See Bercot, Dictionary, s.v. “Theophany” (p. 643). 78 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 41–42, 45. 79 Kelly, Early Christian, 146. 76 77

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which He addressed the peoples. So is the tree, from which He spoke to His messengers. The earth is His creation; He spoke to His servants from it. And the body is His making, from which He addressed His creation.” 80 For Severus, if both Muslims and Christians acknowledge that God manifested Himself to Moses and the Israelites from the tree on Mount Sinai (Exod 3; Q 20:9– 15; 28:30), and that He caused them to hear His voice from heaven, what would prevent Him from revealing Himself in any way He chooses, or from taking a human form? 81 Severus uses parallelism to build a bridge between the Muslim belief and the Christian doctrine of the incarnation. Here, Severus seems to identify the inconsistency and selectivity in Islamic thought—as evidenced in accepting the Mosaic stories but rejecting the incarnation—as due to an influence of Gnosticism on the Qur’ān and Islamic theology. 82 In Gnosticism, the supreme god is hidden and does not interact with the material sphere, which is generally viewed as evil and flawed. 83 As a Christian thinker, Severus sees everything created by God as good, whether it is Heaven, Earth, mountains, or human bodies. He asserts that there is nothing sinful or shameful for God to take a human body, There is no fault on the part of the incarnate, as he received the flesh fully... There is no shame or deficiency, in this regard, against the body, nor against the embodied [i.e., incar-

Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 44. Ayman Ibrahim writes, “But the Quran does not reject the possibility that Allah could have had a son: ‘Had Allah desired to have had a son, He would have chosen what He pleased out of His own creation. But praise be to Him! He is God, the One, the Almighty’ (Q 39:4). Thus, the Quran indicates that Allah could have had a son if he desired. He could have produced a son from his creation. The Quran simply rejects that this son was Jesus.” Ibrahim, Concise Guide, 113. 82 See Nagel, History, 215–233; Haykin, Rediscovering, 24-27. 83 Hill, Zondervan Handbook, 65. 80 81

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After Severus establishes the soundness of the incarnation, he critiques the false assumptions and tenets against the divine embodiment. In the context of discussing Christ’s suffering and crucifixion, Severus begins by affirming that, “His incarnation was in a real body with soul and mind; it was a full and complete incarnation.” 85 Severus is careful so that his readers do not fall into Docetism. 86 For Severus, the incarnated Word “became fully human,” “received the flesh fully,” and His body was “a temple, a dwelling place, and a veil [ḥijāb].” 87 Severus observes that Jesus’ deeds and sufferings were real, and not mere appearances. Severus here uses the Islamic term ḥijāb, which is well-known to both Christians and Muslims. Christians are familiar with the narrative of Exodus 34, when Moses used a veil over his face to shroud the glory of God. Muslims have a parallel motif in Qur’ān 42:51, which demonstrates the means through which God speaks to human beings: “And it is not for any human being Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 50–51. We know from Scripture that God honored the human body, first, when He created it, second, when God's Word became flesh, and third, when the Holy Spirit sanctified our bodies as His dwelling place. In the resurrection, God will provide glorified bodies to His people. See Gen 2:7; John 1:14; 1 Cor 6:13–19; 15:42–44; Phil 3:20–21. 85 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 49. 86 This is one of the earliest Christian heresies, to which the New Testament alludes (e.g., 1 John 4:1–3; 2 John 7). The heresy had a significant influence over Gnosticism. As an attempt “to reconcile the sufferings of the Son of God with his immutable and nonsuffering divinity,” Docetism teaches that Jesus’ body was illusory and that all the acts and sufferings of his life, including His Crucifixion, were mere appearances. The Qur’ān appears to adopt the same notion, as it claims that the Crucifixion was merely a phantasm (Q 4:157). See Drobner, Fathers, 50ff.; Sweetman, Islam and Christian, 1:30. 87 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 49. It can also be argued that the mention of “mind” is directed against Apollinarianism. 84

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that Allah should speak to him except by revelation or from behind a partition (ḥijāb) or that He sends a messenger to reveal, by His permission, what He wills.” By referring to the temple— God’s dwelling place—and the veil, Severus evokes a familiar image to emphasize that God spoke in Christ, particularly through the flesh of the incarnate Word of God. For Severus, this flesh, like Moses’ veil, is to hide the glory of God’s presence which human eyes cannot bear. 88 Similarly, Severus compares the Old Testament and the Qur’ān by calling attention to the image of God sitting on the throne: “Isaiah said that he saw Him sitting upon the throne, with the cherubim and seraphim surrounding Him. And so did Daniel, Amos, and Ezekiel. The kings agreed unanimously that He [is the one] on the throne—He sits on the throne, almighty and glorious is He.” 89 Here, Severus emphasizes that Islamic views do not contradict Christian arguments. He indicates that the Qur’ān is familiar with Anthropomorphism. We read about God’s face (Q 55:27), eyes (Q 11:37; 20:39; 52:48; 54:14), hand (Q 3:73; 5:64; 48:10; 38:75; 51:47), and side (Q 39:56), and none of these undermine or degrade the deity. Although Islam is strict regarding any personification of the deity, the Qur’ān includes ample examples of human traits attributed to Allah. 90 In his discussion of the incarnation, Severus addresses the common Islamic accusation that Christians believe “the deity was killed, crucified, and died.” 91 Severus points out, They think that we ascribe to the divine that which we inflict upon the mortal corrupt bodies. This corrupt perception is neither right nor correct. Christ is subject to pain, fatigue, effect, and death, only in terms of His humanity and incarnation. However, from the standpoint of His eternity and deity,

Davis, Coptic Christology, 222. Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 39. 90 Crowther et al., Reading, 244. 91 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 57. 88 89

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MINA YOUSEF He is neither tangible nor touchable; He never suffers nor dies. 92

Severus explains how the doctrine of the incarnation does not conflict with God’s transcendency, impassability, or immutability. 93 When Christians say Christ suffered and died, they refer to the human and not the divine substance because the divine nature cannot be harmed or experience any form of suffering. 94 “Concerning our view on Christ’s eating, drinking, fatigue, crucifixion and death,” Severus observes, “we say that when He was incarnate, His incarnation was in a factual body with soul and mind; it was a full and complete incarnation.” 95 To Severus, Christ is the God-man. He is simultaneously divine and human. As God, He is transcendent, unchangeable (immutable), and not subject to any pain or pleasure (impassible): “As for the simple and eternal essence, He Himself has never been affected or afflicted. For [this essence] is not described as receptive of sufferings, nor as changeable or decaying.” 96 According to Severus, “The incarnate is capable of receiving effects, as long as He is in the world of existence and corruption. No one can deny that the body—as long as it is similar to all the bodies in the world of existence and corruption—is nurtured, tired, afflicted, and acIbn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 55. On how the incarnation can be reconciled with God’s immutability and impassability, see Frame, Systematic Theology, 412ff.; Horton, Christian Faith, 235–244, 248–252; Kelly, Early Christian, 84, 120–122, 142– 143, 291–299, et passim; Oei, “Impassible God,” 240. 94 Frame, Systematic Theology, 417. This is echoed in Tertullian’s argument in Against Praxeas, 112–115. See also Kelly, Early Christian, 152. 95 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 49ff. 96 See Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 54, where he continues, “the effect comes only on what is touchable or tangible, such as complex objects and the like.” Paul Helm explains the importance of these doctrines to the Christian belief and states that they are closely related: “God cannot change or be changed, and a fortiori God cannot be changed by being affected. So that impassibility is a kind of immutability.” See Helm, “Impossibility,” 120; also Oei, “Impassible God,” 238–247. 92 93

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cepts effects.” 97 For Severus, the Word of God became truly and fully human without forfeiting or curtailing any of His divine transcendence. 98 He affirms, “He created the body, renewed the image, and became fully human, without alteration to the essence.” 99 Severus—as a Copt—represents the unity between the two natures of Christ by “wood which catches fire” and the unity between a body and soul without a change in nature. He writes, The soul is not described as dead or being killed. Nor does it starve or thirst, even if it is united with the corrupt, mortal, starved, and thirsty body. As with the fire, if wood becomes ashes and gets spoiled, the fire is not described as dead and corrupt… Thus, whoever says, “Christ ate, drank, and died,” he means that the body—which is united with Christ— actually ate, actually drank, and was actually killed. And that body is the body of Christ. 100

Although this metaphorical example of wood and fire traces its origins to Stoic philosophy, it is commonly used by various early Christians to represent the hypostatic union of Christ’s human and divine natures in one hypostasis. 101 One reason for such a use could be that both the Hellenistic context of the early Church fathers and the Islamic context—within which Severus is writing—appear to have rejected the union between the two natures of Christ from the presupposition of the impossibility of two unlike substances uniting together. Sweetman asserts that Islam rejects the incarnation from the standpoint of the AristoteIbn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 52. In describing the divine and human in the person of Christ, the renowned Coptic monk Mattā al-Miskīn (1919–2006) coined the term ilāh kāmil al-nāsūt (a fully-human divinity). See al-Miskīn, Tafsīr, 256. 98 On this, see Clark and Johnson, Incarnation, 98; Horton, Christian Faith, 238–239. 99 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 49. 100 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 56, 59. 101 See Biriukov, “Penetration,” 143–162; Shenouda, Ṭabīʿat, 17–21. 97

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lian concept of Suppositum: “God could not be conceived as subsisting in a suppositum (maḥall).” 102 For Severus, just as unity between wood and fire is possible without changing the nature of fire, unity between the divine and human natures of Christ is possible. Neither the divine nature nor the human nature loses any characteristics.

CONCLUSION

Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. after 987) was an important Coptic Christian thinker and apologist in tenth-century Egypt. He is the first Coptic theologian we know to have written in Arabic. The primary purpose of Severus’ works is to educate his readers by using the language of the Qur’ān as a vehicle for teaching the basics of faith to his Christian audience. Severus’ desire to engage with Christians and nonChristians within his Islamic milieu should inspire today’s Church, particularly in the West. His attempt to present sound Christian doctrines to his audience in understandable and accessible ways is commendable. His purposeful use of Arabic should exhort today’s Church to make every possible effort to communicate the Christian message clearly and eloquently. Severus understood that any dialogue between Christians and Muslims should address particularities and clear definitions of theological concepts. He did not seek to compromise his own faith or to misrepresent Islam. Through precise articulation of his beliefs, he excelled in his task. Severus’ example should encourage Christians who dialogue with Muslims to convey the content of Jesus’ message accurately.

TRANSLATED PASSAGES FROM SEVERUS’ MIṢBĀḤ AL-ʿAQL

The following sections are from Severus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s Miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql, where he discusses Christology, the incarnation, biblical Sweetman, Islam and Christian, 2:98. The word maḥall (for the Greek ὑποκείμενον) is often translated into English as “substrate.” 102

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prophets, a defense of the divinity and humanity of Christ, and the Christian beliefs concerning the Resurrection, the Judgement Day, and the laws of the religion. 103 Our View on Christ

For us, as the Scripture says, Christ is the Word of God, His wisdom, and His power. We call Him Christ (Masīḥ), as we follow God’s Word in His scriptures. Our friends disagreed regarding naming God’s Word “Christ,” and we will explain that when we describe agreement and disagreement between the sects. This name was taken from the language of the Greeks, and they described it as “the anointed one.” Moreover, since He called himself “Christ” when He spoke with the Samaritan woman, we called Him so. [Furthermore, we called Him Christ] because there was a consensus that a “Christ” would come after the apostles and the prophets. In my view, the reason for naming God’s Word in particular “Christ” is what some fathers concluded that the Word united with the flesh, and that union was the anointing. Hence, He was anointed because He was incarnate, and the incarnation is the name of His anointing. That is, just as a person whose body receives anointing with oil is called anointed, so God’s Word is called “Christ,” as the Bible declares [that the Word] was incarnate. From this aspect, this Word was called “Christ” because He was designated to be incarnate. Also, when He was birthed the second time, the Son of God was called a “Son,” although he was called a “Son” before that. I said to those of our friends [presumably the Nestorians] who disagree with us—and who did not call Christ “the Christ” at the union—that Christ should be called this name when the Word became united with flesh [i.e., the man]. I have previously explained that which this faction introduced, in my books about it.

See Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, Miṣbāḥ, 33–69. The following translation is by Ayman S. Ibrahim. 103

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We say that God (blessed is He)—it has been assured to us—is of great power and determinative will. He appears to his servants and is revealed to His prophets and messengers, so that they can see Him, as Scripture describes and tells us that He spoke to Moses and Jacob. Jacob said, “I have seen God face to face, and my soul lived.” He was also revealed to Abraham. Job said, “I had heard [of you] by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You.” Isaiah said that he saw Him sitting upon the throne, with the cherubim and seraphim surrounding Him. And so did Daniel, Amos, and Ezekiel. The kings agreed unanimously that He [is the one] on the throne—He sits on the throne, almighty and glorious is He. Therefore, we affirm His word, we believe His prophets, and we confirm that which His scriptures described. We never deny a single passage, nor do we impose syncretism. We believe that the prophets saw Him (blessed and exalted is He) in the way they described Him—in the way in which He could be seen. Not that He is Comprehensible in Himself, nor that the sight is projected on Himself, nor that He was seen in His essence. And, in interpreting that which the prophets described, our friends gave the nicest interpretation and the closest explanation. We will discuss this in its appropriate occasion. He appeared to us and was manifested to us at the end of time, in a flesh of His own creation from the body of the Virgin Mary. We heard His speech from the flesh with which He was united. He caused us to hear, as He caused Moses to hear His speech from the tree and the Shekinah. Just as He was manifested to the Israelites, and just as He addressed them from the mountain and caused them to hear His words, so He involved us in hearing His words and His speech. He addressed us from His earth, as He addressed those from His heaven. He commanded us from near, as He commanded His angels from near. He brought us closer to Him, just as he brought the cherubim and the seraphim closer to Him as they are [also] some of His creatures. He (blessed is His name) initiated and forewarned us that He would do this. The prophet Jeremiah said, “God will truly appear on earth and walk among people.” The prophet David stated, “He bowed the heavens and came down.” Heaven is His creation, from which He

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addressed the peoples. So is the tree, from which He spoke to His messengers. The earth is His creation; He spoke to His servants from it. And the body is His making, from which He addressed His creation. This is our view regarding His incarnation. As for “why He was incarnate” and “how the old was incarnate in the new,” I explained it clearly and in detail in my book Īḍāḥ al-ittiḥād (Clarifying the Divine Union). I did not leave any accuser’s charge—from all sects—unless I refuted it and demonstrated its corruption. So, if you want answers, seek them in there. As for the One who speaks to us from the visible body, He is the one who speaks to Moses from the clouds, and to Isaiah, Jeremiah, and the rest of the prophets. He is the one who was revealed to the chosen Abraham, Isaac, and Noah. This is what we believe. As for our belief regarding the prophets and apostles, we affirm and believe in all the prophets described by the ancient scriptures. And we confess that everything they declare is from God (blessed be the Almighty). They are His messengers to His creation and servants. [We also confess] that all the laws of the Torah and that which is in it—according to which people have worshipped God century after century and successor after ancestor—is all good and beautiful, of which we deny or reject nothing. He is the one who speaks to Moses and the Prophets. He is the good Creator, the benevolent, the merciful, and the generous. Not as what Mānī, the cursed, says—that “Satan is the lawgiver of the Torah, the one who speaks to Moses, the Prophets, and the Children of Israel”—absolutely not! Be our Lord distantly far from his blasphemy. Rather, we confess, acknowledge, and believe that what the Israelite Prophets declared is the truth from God; otherwise it is false, counterfeit, deceptive, and untruthful. The Torah and all the books which our teachers identified are the books of God, His word, laws, statutes, precepts, and ordinances. Based on these books, people continued to worship until the coming of Christ. Out of His kindness and benevolence, He regenerated the laws and took away that which people loathed in the past, calling for the true and noble meaning of the matters. He brought statues and precepts that the circumstances

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of the perfect and the wise demand. Thus, He ended the slanders of the cursed one, Marcion, Bardaisan, and others. Concerning our view on Christ’s eating, drinking, fatigue, crucifixion, and death, we say that when He was incarnate, His incarnation was in a factual body with soul and mind; it was a full and complete incarnation. That is, He created the body, renewed the image, and became fully human, without alteration to the essence. He made the body a temple, a dwelling place, and a veil. However, He was united with the body in a compositional union, as I explained in the book Īḍāḥ al-ittiḥād (Clarifying the Divine Union). There is no fault on the part of the incarnate, as He received the flesh fully. Since the case is as we described, we say of Him that which we say of the bodies in relation to the natural conditions. By saying “natural conditions,” I mean eating, drinking, fatigue, and pain; because every body needs food and drink in order to restore what it decomposes. There is no shame or deficiency, in this regard, against the body, nor against the embodied [i.e., incarnate]. For He has indeed taken [flesh], as His path, and had to dissolve and accept the effect. This is demonstrated by the apostle’s saying, “It is not from angels that He took what He took [i.e. the flesh], but from David’s seed.” Basil [of Caesarea] referred to this particular meaning in some of his books. The incarnate is capable of receiving effects, as long as He is in the world of existence and corruption. No one can deny that the body—as long as it is similar to all the bodies in the world of existence and corruption—is nurtured, tired, afflicted, and accepts effects. I said “the world of existence and corruption,” because we say that the bodies—after their resurrection from their graves—are neither in need, nor obligated nor subject to effect. Because [after resurrection] they are built with a substance that does not change or transform, as the apostle said, “This changing [body] is going to put on the unchangeable, and this mortal [is going to put on] immortality.” After the resurrection, bodies do not accept effect. They do not need food or drink, nor do they get sick, old, decayed, or changed. Similarly, after His resurrection, Christ’s body does not need food or drink. And as for the Gospel’s report concerning the fish and honey, [the Gospel itself] interpreted it and demonstrated the

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reason. As for the crucifixion and death, we have already said that the obtained [i.e., incarnate] body is susceptible to all that which mortal bodies accept—the bodies of the world of existence and corruption. As for the simple and eternal essence, He Himself has never been affected or afflicted. For [this essence] is not described as receptive of sufferings, nor as changeable or decaying. As for whatever is simple and beyond complexity, there is no way it will obtain pain or corruption, since the essence and self are not touchable or tangible. Rather, the effect comes only on what is touchable or tangible, such as complex objects and the like. Those who disagree with us are at fault, because they think that we ascribe to the divine that which we inflict upon the mortal corrupt bodies. This corrupt perception is neither right nor correct. Christ is subject to pain, fatigue, effect, and death, only in terms of His humanity and incarnation. However, from the standpoint of His eternity and deity, He is neither tangible nor touchable; He never suffers nor dies. This is like a body united with the universe, or a soul united with a body; it is like wood which catches fire. The body is defined by death, corruption, transformation, acceptance of effect, fragmentation, separation, and presence in places. But the existence is not described by any of that. The soul is not described as dead or being killed. Nor does it starve or thirst, even if it is united with the corrupt, mortal, starved, and thirsty body. As with the fire, if wood becomes ashes and gets spoiled, the fire is not described as dead and corrupt. There are many similar anecdotes. So, whoever calumniates against us saying ‘the deity was killed, crucified, and died’ is ignorant of our beliefs and unaware of our purpose. If laypeople consider caution in their statements, the listener would have not become mistaken. However, metaphors in names and [using] allegories confuse many people. And as for how the Bible describes and explains the matter—I mean what the Jews did to Christ—you have comprehended this from the early writings; otherwise, I would have explained and interpreted it. And you are one of those who say, “The legume has grown,” “the palm-tree has stretched-up,” and “the tree has

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borne fruit.” But in truth, the legume did not grow, the palm tree did not stretch-up, and the tree did not bear fruit. Rather, God Almighty causes the legume to grow, and the palm tree to stretch-up, and the tree to bear fruit. Yet, there are many metaphors in people’s words. They say, “The sword killed him,” although what is meant is that “God killed him and caused him to die.” They say, “The food and drink are delicious,” though they mean that God made its essence and color good. Thus, whoever says, “Christ ate, drank, and died,” means that the body—which is united with Christ—actually ate, actually drank, and was actually killed. And that body is the body of Christ. The attributes of the embodied are directed to the body, as we say, “Socrates is sick,” in order to convey that his body changed from its natural course. But Socrates’ soul did not get sick and did not change, since the attributes are ultimately true of the embodied being. Likewise, attributes fall on every complex, united, or assembled being of different parts. Each [part] is described in the [totality of the] components with which it has united, composed, or assembled. When we say, “Plato knew” and “understood,” we mean that he knew by his soul, and that his soul is the knower. Because the body—being a physical one—does not know, understand, or live; the like of stones, wood, iron, and all objects. If we say, “Plato has eaten,” we mean that his body accepted food in order to compensate that which was dissolved from it. But the soul does not eat and is not described as eating; however, the attributes are ultimately directed to Plato as a whole [i.e. attributing to the whole that which is meant for the part], as has been discussed and explained. Thus, we say that Christ is the Creator, provider, living, and omniscient from the standpoint of Him being deity. And we say, ‘Christ ate, drank, and was killed and died’ as man. The two descriptions are ultimately true of Christ, just as [explained about] Plato and Socrates. As for our view concerning the Resurrection and the Judgement (Ar. al-ḥashr), we believe in the judgement and final punishment, as well as in the resurrection of the decayed bodies on the Day of Resurrection, just as our father Adam was created, in that state of being, and in that very body, exactly as it was. [We also believe] that the righteous people who obeyed the

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Creator and followed His laws and commandments will enter into the Kingdom. And our saying “the Kingdom” means an everlasting permanent home, where its people shall not be subject to needs, necessities, trials, and falsehood. They will live like angels in delight and prosperity, enjoying praise, sanctification, and glorification. They will not grow old, nor will they age, get sick, or suffer. They will not be obliged to do anything of the natural necessities, such as eating, drinking, marrying, sleeping, and resting. Rather, they wear the clothing of eternity and immortality; they are given the virtuous and blessed life. As the apostle says, “The Kingdom of God is not eating and drinking.” And the Gospel says, “There is neither marriage nor divorce there.” Even Plato said something like that regarding the gods which he claimed the Creator created, and to whom he delegated the order of creation; [Plato claimed] that they are mortal by their very nature, but he guards their souls from change and corruption. Also, Aristotle said that the universe is preserved by the power of the Creator from change, alteration, and calamity. As for the ungodly, they are those who disobeyed God’s prophets and messengers. They did not follow His laws and commandments, and violated His command. They will be punished in the hellfire, the outer darkness, the worms that never sleep, and with other types of torment—God knows them best. As the apostle said, “each one is rewarded with that which he has done in the body; good for good, and bad for bad.” And all that which we mentioned concerning the righteous bliss and the wicked punishment is eternal and everlasting, with no end nor limit. Regarding our view of the laws of the religion, they are: believing in God (blessed is He), one essence; He is the Creator of the world by His word and all what is in it by the Spirit of His mouth. We confess that He has Word and Spirit, and that His Word and Spirit are not mortal, perishable, or corrupt, like the created words and spirit. His Word and Spirit are of His very essence and self, just as our words and spirit are created similar to ourselves. Then we acknowledge the prophets and apostles, as we said repeatedly. [We affirm] that the Creator is just, benevolent, patient, all-knowing, and all-powerful; nothing is impossi-

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ble for Him. [We also affirm] that He is the Creator of the world and the initiator of the wilderness, whether the visible or the invisible; nothing initiated Him. [We believe] that the basic substance—from which the world was created, as philosophers claimed—is made, forged, and deficient. Moreover, the command of creation was not delegated to an angel, as the Jews say, nor to a lesser deity, as Benjamin al-Nahāwandī claims, nor to the planets, as Plato says. [God] created us capable and empowered in our capacities. So, whatever we do, from that which He commanded us to do, is in obedience to Him. And whatever we do, from that which He forbade us, is disobedience to Him. And all of this—through the ability which He granted us—is in order to maintain His obedience and love, and to act according to His favor and will.

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Geisler, Norman L., and Abdul Saleeb. Answering Islam: The Crescent in Light of the Cross. Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2003. Gill, John. The Doctrine of the Trinity Stated and Vindicated. 2nd ed. London: G. Keith and J. Robinson, 1752. Goodman, L. E. “The Translation of Greek Materials into Arabic.” In The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature: Religion, Learning and Science in the ʿAbbasid Period, edited by M. J. L. Young, J. D. Latham, and R. B. Serjeant, 477–497. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990. Graf, Georg. Geschichte der christlichen arabischen Literatur. 5 Vols. Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1944– 1953. Griffith, Sidney H. The Beginnings of Christian Theology in Arabic: Muslim-Christian Encounters in the Early Islamic Period. Aldershot, England: Ashgate, 2002. Griffith, Sidney H. The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008. Griffith, Sidney H. “The Kitāb miṣbāḥ al-ʿaql of Severus ibn alMuqaffaʿ: A Profile of the Christian Creed in Arabic in Tenth-Century Egypt.” Medieval Encounters 2 (1996): 15–42. Gutas, Dimitri. Greek Thought, Arabic Culture: The Graeco-Arabic Translation Movement in Baghdad and Early ʿAbbāsid Society. New York: Routledge, 1998. Haykin, Michael A. G. Rediscovering the Church Fathers: Who They Were and How They Shaped the Church. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2001. Helm, Paul. “The Impossibility of Divine Passibility.” In The Power and Weakness of God: Impassibility and Orthodoxy, edited by Nigel M. de S. Cameron, 125–137. Scottish Bulletin of Evangelical Theology: Special Study 4. Edinburgh: Rutherford, 1989. Hill, Jonathan. Zondervan Handbook to the History of Christianity. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2006.

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CHAPTER 9. ABŪ ʿALĪ ʿĪSĀ IBN ISḤĀQ IBN ZURʿA (D. 1008): A PHILOSOPHER, APOLOGIST, AND TRANSLATOR IN THE ISLAMIC MILIEU CLINT HACKENBURG Abū ʿAlī ʿĪsā ibn Isḥāq ibn Zurʿa (d. 1008) was a celebrated Baghdadī Jacobite scholar and pupil of one of the best-known Arabic-speaking Christian theologians of the ʿAbbāsid era, Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī (d. 974). 1 Ibn Zurʿa’s contemporaries and colleagues, Ibn al-Nadīm (d. 995) and Abū Ḥayyān al-Tawḥīdī (d. 1023), described him as a competent and skilled translator, as did the Egyptian historian al-Qifṭī (d. 1248). 2 Ibn Zurʿa translated numerous classical works from Syriac into Arabic; a modern scholar of his work, Cyrille Haddad, described his translations as precise, appropriate, and technical, although not without the typical shortcomings of all translations. Haddad also maintained For a general introduction to Ibn Zurʿa and his works, see Graf, Geschichte, 2:252–256; Cheikho, “Kitab,” 123–124; Troupeau, “La littérature”; Caspar et al., “Bibliographie,” in Islamochristiana, vol. 1 (1975) and vol. 5 (1979). All footnote citations are shortened. For the fulllength citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 2 See Ibn al-Nadīm, Fihrist, 2:264; Ibn al-Qifṭī, Ta’rīkh, 25. 1

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that Ibn Zurʿa’s style was generally more fluent and accessible than that of his teacher, Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī. 3 In addition to a prolific body of translation, Ibn Zurʿa also studied and wrote works of philosophy, logic, physics, psychology, metaphysics, meteorology, zoology, ethics, politics, and geology. 4 Additionally, in his ʿUyūn al-Anbā’, Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa (d. 1270) listed Ibn Zurʿa among the celebrated physicians of his day. 5 As a true ʿAbbāsid polymath, Ibn Zurʿa earned a living as a teacher, writer, and translator. In order to advance his career and studies, he even engaged in long-distance trade with Byzantium. 6 Unsurprisingly, as a tenth-century Baghdadī intellectual, Ibn Zurʿa routinely engaged Christians, Jews, and Muslims in numerous philosophical and theological discussions. 7 Although Ibn Zurʿa did not produce the same volume of work as his teacher, he nevertheless was a productive writer and translator. According to several notable Muslim historians and chroniclers, including Ibn al-Nadīm, al-Qifṭi, and Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa, Ibn Zurʿa’s translations included, but were not limited to, the following major works:

(1) Aristotle’s History of Animals (Kitāb al-Ḥayawān); (2) On the Uses of the Parts of the Body with the Commentary of John [Philoponus] the Grammarian (Fī manāfiʿ al-aʿḍā’ bi-tafsīr Yaḥyā al-Naḥwī); (3) On Ethics (Fī al-akhlāq) by an unknown author; (4) Five Treatises of Nicolaus Damascenus on the Philosophy of Aristotle (Kitāb khams maqālāt min kitāb Nīqūlā’us fī falsafat Arisṭūṭālīs);

See Haddad, ʿĪsa, 57. See Starr, “Epistle,” 15–16. 5 See Starr, “Epistle,” 35. 6 See Kramer, Humanism, 116; Pines, “La loi,” 154. 7 For a more comprehensive introduction to the life of Ibn Zurʿa, see Haddad, ʿĪsa, 29–38; Starr, “Epistle,” 13–19, 321–329; Kramer, Humanism, 116–123; Thomson, “Four Treatises,” 70–85. 3 4

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(5) A small part of Proclus’s Commentary on the Phaedo (Tafsīr Fādun fī al-nafs); (6) Aristotle’s Sophistic Refutations (Kitāb Sūfisṭīqā); 8 (7) Aristotle’s Metaphysics (Mā baʿd al-ṭabīʿa al-thāniyya ʿashar); 9 and (8) Aristotle’s On the Soul (Kitāb al-nafs). 10 Ibn Zurʿa also summarized and commented on several important philosophical works, including, but not limited to, the following: (1) Epitome of Pseudo-Aristotle’s Book on the Inhabited Earth (Ikhtiṣār kitāb Arisṭūṭālīs fī maʿmūr min al-arḍ); (2) The Meanings of Aristotle’s Logical Books (Kitāb aghrāḍ kutub Arisṭūṭālīs al-manṭiqiyya); (3) The Meanings of the Isagoge (Maʿānī Īsāghūjī); and (4) The Meanings of Part of the Third Book of De Coelo (Maʿānī qiṭʿat min al-maqāla al-thālitha min kitāb al-samāʿ). 11 Unfortunately, Ibn Zurʿa was not able to finish his final work, On the Immortality of the Soul (Maqāla fī baqā’ al-nafs). According to his student, Abū Manṣūr ibn Bishr, the time and dedication given to this work contributed significantly to Ibn Zurʿa’s stress, anxiety, and eventual death. 12 In addition to his translations and philosophical works, Ibn Zurʿa also composed a variety of apologetic letters and treatises, including, but not limited to, the following: Cyrille Haddad compared the three Arabic versions of this work by Ibn ʿAdī, Ibn Zurʿa, and Ibn Nāʿima. See Haddad, “Trois versions.” 9 For more information on this work, see Daiber, “Salient Trends,” 29– 41. 10 A Leiden manuscript of Ibn Rushd’s Commentary on the Metaphysics (Tafsīr mā baʿd al-ṭabīʿa) states that Ibn Rushd used a version of the twelfth book that had been translated by Ibn Zurʿa. There is some doubt as to whether this note is reliable. See Bouyges, Tafsīr, LVI, CXXIII; Peters, Aristoteles Arabus, 49; Steinschneider, Die arabischen, 66–69. 11 See Haddad, “Trois versions”; Haddad, ʿĪsa, 40–41. 12 See Ibn Abī Uṣaybiʿa, Kitāb, 1:236. 8

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(1) A Treatise on the Composite Reality of the Intellect (Maqāla fī maʿnā al-ʿaql wa-annahu murakkab); (2) A Letter on the Meanings about Which One of His Brothers Asked Him (Risāla fī maʿānin sa’alahu ʿanhā baʿḍ ikhwānihi); 13 (3) [Five] Questions Asked by Yūsuf Abū Ḥakīm al-Buḥayrī (Masā’il sa’alahā Yūsuf Abū Ḥakīm al-Buḥayrī); (4) [Eleven] Questions from Yūsuf Abū Ḥakīm al-Buḥayrī and What I Replied to Each One (Masā’il Yūsuf Abū Ḥakīm al-Buḥayrī wa-mā ajabtu ʿan kul wāḥid minha); (5) A Refutation of Abū al-Qāsim al-Balkhī’s Against the Christians from His Book Entitled “Fundamentals of the Proofs” (Radd Abī al-Qāsim al-Balkhī ʿalā al-Naṣārā fī kitābihi al-musammā Awā’il al-adilla); (6) A Treatise to the Jew Bishr ibn Finḥās (Maqāla ilā Bishr ibn Finḥās); (7) A Treatise about the Union (Maqāla ʿan al-ittiḥād); and (8) A Treatise on the Explanation of the Beliefs of the Jacobite Christians (Maqāla fī tabyīn mā taʿtaqiduhu al-Nasārā alyaʿqūbiyya). 14 Unfortunately, many of Ibn Zurʿa’s translations as well as his philosophical and apologetic works remain unpublished and untranslated. 15

This letter will be referred to by the succinct title A Letter to a Muslim Friend. A complete translation of this work can be found at the end of this chapter. 14 Some of the titles of Ibn Zurʿa’s apologetic works have been abbreviated, given that many of the titles are quite long and function more as an introduction to the text than a succinct title. 15 For a complete inventory and description of Ibn Zurʿa’s works see Starr, “Epistle,” 330–370. Starr catalogues existing manuscripts, editions, and translations. He also includes short summaries of the extant works; see also Haddad, ʿĪsa, 39–53. 13

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IBN ZURʿA AND GOD’S VISION FOR HUMANITY

Throughout his works, Ibn Zurʿa describes the evolution of law across three distinct phases: (1) natural law (ṭabīʿyya), which was established under pagans, and which was susceptible to our base desires and needs; (2) rational law (ʿaqliyya), 16 which attempts to curb our natural inclinations for excess toward moderation; and (3) positive law (waḍʿiyya), which has been received through revelation (tawqīf), and which unequivocally restrains our reckless disposition and defines an unassailable path to moderation with the hopes of bringing equality to all. 17 Building upon this argument, Ibn Zurʿa also asserts that revelation is both progressive and teleological; in addition, given that it comes from God, it is oriented toward a perfect goal. According to Ibn Zurʿa, Mosaic law, which was based on justice (alʿadl), had failed to permanently reform the Children of Israel. In Ibn Zurʿa’s eyes, the Israelites had not had sufficient time to develop the proper sophistication needed to forgo all of their ungodly tendencies, particularly idol-worship; however, in time, through the cultivation of reason and philosophy, coupled with the law of justice, a mature humanity was ready for the next and final phase of revelation. Accordingly, then, the law of justice was permanently abrogated and superseded by the law of grace (al-tafaḍḍul) taught by Christ. For Ibn Zurʿa, the progression of revelation and the inevitable abrogation of Mosaic law was not only demonstrably logical; it was also firmly rooted in scripture. And although their mention is brief, he cites two Biblical passages to bolster his argument. First, Ibn Zurʿa cites Psalms 51:16–17, in which David declares that God does not want “fleeting sacrifices;” he wants his sacrifice to be a “humble and

In this particular passage, Starr chose to render sunna ʿaqliyya as intellectual law. Additionally, Haddad states that sunna ʿaqliyya correspond to the law of the philosophers. See Starr, “Epistle,” 110–111; Haddad, ʿĪsa, 135. 17 See Starr, “Epistle,” 108–118. 16

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lowly soul.” 18 Second, Ibn Zurʿa quotes Jeremiah 31:31, which states that God will make a new covenant unlike the one he made when he brought the Israelites out of Egypt. 19 This vision of history, law, and revelation is most clearly described by Ibn Zurʿa in his letter to the Jew Bishr ibn Finḥās and in his refutation of al-Balkhī. 20 This perspective, however, was not entirely unique to Ibn Zurʿa or to Christians. The Muslim Abū al-Ḥasan al-ʿĀmirī (d. 992) contended that Aristotle also believed grace to be superior to justice. 21 This opinion was also not the result of tenth-century ʿAbbāsid polemics. In fact, Arabic-speaking Christians had juxtaposed the law of justice and the law of grace in the century prior to Ibn Zurʿa’s birth. This is most noticeable in the correspondence between al-Hāshimī and al-Kindī, as well as in the The Book of Demonstration (Kitāb al-Burhān) of Peter of Bayt Ra’s. 22 Still, the claim that Mosaic law had been abrogated was fairly unconventional when made by an Arabic-speaking Christian. In doing so, Ibn Zurʿa was mimicking Muslim anti-Jewish polemics more than traditional Christian exegesis; the latter emphasized that Christ came to fulfill Jewish law, not to abrogate it. 23 Nevertheless, by the tenth century, this charge against Mosaic law had become so frequent that two of the most prominent Arabic-speaking Jews, Saʿadya Gaon (d. 942) and al-Qirqisānī (fl. ca. 937), both painstakingly attempted to refute these charges in their works. 24 Moreover, this line of argumentation appears to have had a lasting impact on certain Arabic-speaking ChrisSee Sbath, Vingt traités, 29–30. See Sbath, Vingt traités, 29–30. 20 See Sbath, Vingt traités, 19–52, 52–68. 21 See Pines, “La loi,” 176. 22 See Tartar, “Dialogue,” 189; see Cachia and Watt, Eutychius, 144– 145, 200–203. 23 See Matt 5:17. 24 See Griffith, “ʿĪsā,” 180. See Saʿadya Gaon’s The Book of Beliefs and Opinions in Rosenblatt, Book; see also al-Qirqisānī’s The Book of Lights in Chiesa and Lockwood, Yaqub. 18 19

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tians. For example, Paul of Antioch (d. ca. thirteenth century), the Melkite Bishop of Sidon, reiterates Ibn Zurʿa’s stance in his Letter to One of His Muslim Friends From Sidon (Risāla ilā baʿḍ aṣdiqā’ihi alladhīna bi-Ṣaydā min al-Muslimīn): No further [law] remains to be instituted consequent upon this perfection! Whereas everything that preceded it demanded it, there would be no need for anything to come after it, because nothing could come after perfection and be superior in grace (faḍl). Rather, it would be beneath it or derived from it; and the derivative is a kind of grace for which there is no need. 25

Paul’s letter did not go unnoticed or unchallenged by Muslims; indeed it was refuted by several prominent Muslim scholars, including al-Qarāfī (d. 1285), al-Dimashqī (d. 1327), and Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328). 26 Clearly then, the debate regarding the law of justice and the law of grace, as well as the controversy concerning the abrogation of God’s revelation necessitated a response from all three Abrahamic faiths. In his summary of Ibn Zurʿa’s discussion of natural, rational, and positive law, Sidney Griffith states, According to our author, a way of life that responds to a legal enactment by the Creator is one that proceeds on the basis of four principles (uṣūl): the clarification and specification of the norm (sabīl) for accessing the pleasurable and the profitable; step by step instruction (taʿlīm), from the easier to the more recondite, in order to ease the way to the goal; the recognition of the fact that what one attains by sensation (alḥass) is easier and quicker than what one accesses by reason and inference (bi-l-ʿaql wa bi-l-istidlāl); and finally the aware-

Griffith, “ʿĪsā,” 191; Cucarella, “The Law,” 513; Ebied and Thomas, Muslim-Christian, 138–144. 26 See al-Qarāfī, al-Ajwiba, 31–45; Ebied and Thomas, Muslim-Christian, 453–457; Michel, Muslim, 350–369. 25

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For Ibn Zurʿa, Christ and the law of grace represented the unsurpassable zenith of a long, gradual process of human development and divine revelation. Therefore, the sharīʿa of Muḥammad was a superfluous regression, and therefore nothing short of a blasphemous false revelation. In his refutation of alBalkhī, Ibn Zurʿa states this explicitly: “We must not be called to a sunna after the sunna of our Lord, the Messiah, because his sunna has already entrusted to us the pinnacle of virtue—that is, the most virtuous of virtues (i.e., the law of grace).” 28 Ibn Zurʿa emphasizes that his dismissal of Muḥammad’s message and the validity of the Qur’ān is a rationally and spiritually mandated decision, unencumbered by emotion. 29 Again, this accusation was not unfamiliar to Muslims. In the century prior to Ibn Zurʿa, the pseudonymous ʿAbd al-Masīḥ al-Kindī emphatically rejected Muḥammad’s prophetic office on account of what he considered to be logical objections. Moreover, al-Kindī even went so far as to suggest that Islamic law, which was based on neither reason nor revelation, was rooted in violence and falsehood and therefore inspired by Satan. 30 If Ibn Zurʿa’s claims concerning law and revelation were indisputable, why did Jews and Muslims reject his arguments? Ibn Zurʿa’s answer is clear and not surprising. He concludes that individuals do not accept the truth of Christianity or the validity of his arguments due to an emotionally-driven and misguided sense of loyalty to their own communities. Therefore, in an attempt to assuage the discomfort of abandoning one’s family and friends, Ibn Zurʿa offers a passage he attributes to Porphyry: “For to turn back from false opinions, as one of the ancients Griffith, “ʿĪsā,” 184. Sbath, Vingt traités, 57. 29 For more information on the abrogation of Mosaic law, see Griffith, “ʿĪsā,” 175–194; see also Griffith, “Ibn al-Maḥrūmah’s,” 40–57. 30 See Newman, Early Christian-Muslim, 449–452. 27 28

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said, does not take the course of an evil act like killing one’s ancestors; rather, its status is that of becoming free of enemies.” 31 Interestingly, al-Ḥasan ibn Ayyūb (d. before 987), a Christian convert to Islam and near contemporary of Ibn Zurʿa’s, put forth a similar argument in his Letter to His Brother ʿAlī ibn Ayyūb (Risāla ilā akhīhi ʿAlī ibn Ayyūb), claiming that camaraderie between fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, relatives, friends, and neighbors had prevented him from converting to Islam at an earlier date. 32 In other words, both Ibn Zurʿa and al-Ḥasan assert that emotions and social bonds cloud an individual’s rational judgement with respect to spiritual truth. In another line of argumentation, Ibn Zurʿa maintains that after the repeated failure of God’s prophets to fully reconcile humanity with God, the broken, sinful state of humanity required God’s direct intervention. According to Ibn Zurʿa, only Christ’s teachings could uniquely tame humanity’s more impulsive and violent tendencies while simultaneously cultivating humanity’s most godly capacity, i.e., rationality. He insists that the message of the Gospel inimitably satisfies the three faculties (quwwāt) of the soul: the appetitive (shahwāniyya), 33 the irascible (ghaḍabiyya), and the rational (nāṭiqa). For example, in his refutation of al-Balkhī, Ibn Zurʿa states that in order to curb our appetitive inclinations, Christ taught “not to obtain anything at all;” 34 Ibn Zurʿa also states that with the hopes of remedying our Haddad, ʿĪsa, 131; Starr, “Epistle,” 96–98. Starr notes that this quote cannot be found in the surviving works of Porphyry. He claims that its source may be a lost work, perhaps Porphyry’s Commentary on the Nicomachean Ethics. 32 See Ibn Taymiyya, al-Jawāb, 4:90. 33 Unlike Thomson, Haddad, Starr, and Griffith, each of whom translated shawāniyya as appetitive, Pines uniquely chose concupiscent, which is suggestive of an unbridled sexual desire. In the context of ChristianMuslim dialogue, this translation may be justifiable, given that many Christian polemicists often spotlighted Muslim sexual proclivities, which they often described as licentious. 34 Sbath, Vingt traités, 58; Matt 10:9–10. 31

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irascible propensities, Christ instructed us to “do good to our enemies” and to “love them.” 35 Ibn Zurʿa’s final Biblical citations are not as easily discernible or relatable as his previous citations from the Gospel of Matthew. He claims that with respect to our rational faculty, Christ states, “Search the sciences (al-ʿulūm), 36 for you will find in them the life of your souls,” 37 and, “The kingdom of heaven is within you.” 38 For Ibn Zurʿa, Christ’s teachings subdue our passions, restrain our aggressions, and vitalize and harness our intellectual potential. Simply put, Christ’s message is irrefutably perfect. Therefore, with respect to the satisfaction of our souls, Muḥammad’s message can offer the Christian nothing. Furthermore, if God were to supplement his previously perfected revelation, this would implicate him in superfluity. Ibn Zurʿa reiterates many of these same points and utilizes many of the same verses in his letter to Bishr the Jew, and in his refutation of the Muslim al-Balkhī. 39 Ibn Zurʿa not only defends the superiority and finality of Christ’s message of grace and his flawless guidance of the faculties of the human soul, he also attempts to justify the Christian belief in the hypostatic union and its connection to God’s grace and rationality. Concerning this union, Ibn Zurʿa claims that four questions need to be asked: (1) Does it exist?, (2) What is it?, (3) Why [does] it exist, and what is its cause?, and (4) How [does] it exist? 40 First, he states that all Christians, which for Ibn Zurʿa meant Nestorians, Melkites, and Jacobites, believe that the two essences, divine and human, became one essence. He then proceeds to customarily differentiate between the three groups’ understanding of the union. According to Ibn Zurʿa, the existSbath, Vingt traités, 58; Matt 5:39–44. Ibn Zurʿa’s rendition stands in sharp contrast to all of the earliest versions of the Gospels which have “books” or “scriptures,” not “sciences.” 37 Sbath, Vingt traités, 58; John 5:39. 38 Sbath, Vingt traités, 58; Luke 17:21. 39 See Starr, “Epistle,” 134–147. 40 Ibn Zurʿa, “Neuf,” f. 44. 35 36

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ence of the hypostatic union can be substantiated both scripturally and logically. For instance, Jesus stated, “I and my Father are one,” and “I existed before the existence of Abraham.” 41 Moreover, the hypostatic union, in his eyes, is a good thing, and God is incapable of withholding a good thing from his creation. Ibn Zurʿa also mentions that man is made in God’s image; 42 therefore, in some regard, the divine and human essences are related. Having now established what the hypostatic union is, and that it can be confirmed by both scripture and reason, Ibn Zurʿa explains why it exists. Again, he connects his argument to teleology and grace. Only through the incarnation and hypostatic union could God “bring us to the utmost extreme of grace, which is to link us to (God’s) essence.” 43 Without the incarnation and hypostatic union God’s direct intervention would have been inconceivable, given that human beings lack the capacity to perceive God’s essence. Finally, Ibn Zurʿa concludes that an explanation of how the union between God and man occurs is perhaps beyond our grasp and will remain forever mysterious. He maintains that it may be compared in some sense to the relationship between the body and the soul. 44 In the end, whether discussing God’s law, the faculties of the human soul, or the incarnation, Ibn Zurʿa sees a divine plan and progression toward God’s grace.

IBN ZURʿA: RATIONALIST AND EXEGETE

Throughout his works, Ibn Zurʿa relies heavily on rationality and dialectic, specifically Aristotelian logic and Platonic and Plotinian philosophy. 45 However, Ibn Zurʿa uses his philosophical predilections within an apologetic Christian framework in which logic and Christianity are complementary. For example, Ibn Zurʿa, “Neuf,” f. 46; John 20:17; 8:58. See Gen 1:26. 43 Starr, “Epistle,” 362. 44 Ibn Zurʿa, “Neuf,” f. 52–53. 45 See Endress, “Theology,” 221–252. 41 42

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he clearly believes that miracles have proven Christian claims; however, the validity of these miracles first needs to be confirmed by logic and reason. In this regard, Ibn Zurʿa was a typical tenth-century ʿAbbāsid-era thinker. On the subject of the undeniable influence of Greek logic and reason on Arabic-speaking Christians and Muslims, Sidney Griffith stated, In this light then the Jacobite, Nestorian, and Muslim teachers in Greek logic and philosophy appear to have flourished at a time in Baghdad when interconfessional and interreligious interest in the works of the Alexandrian Aristotelians went hand in hand with a concern among both Christians and Muslims to show that their own religious traditions accorded best with the requirements of the life of reason lived in pursuit of the highest knowledge, and to argue that they and their coreligionists alone were the truest heirs of Aristotle. 46

Therefore, Ibn Zurʿa was even more certain of the veracity of Christ’s message given that Christians had convinced and converted the Greeks, whom, as descendants of Aristotle, he considered to be the most astute practitioners of philosophy and rationality. Ibn Zurʿa juxtaposes the Greeks with those who were susceptible to fallacies, sophistry, and deception, and therefore vulnerable to false revelations. This claim is by no means unique to Ibn Zurʿa. Many of Ibn Zurʿa’s Arabic-speaking Christian predecessors believed that Islam had been spread through deception and by preying upon the gullibility of uneducated nations. Consider the words of Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq, who lists several reasons why people might wrongfully convert to a religion: The fourth reason is that the one who speaks (falsehood) is a wicked man, deceitful in word, with the result that he beguiles and overwhelms whomever he invites (to accept falsehood). The fifth reason is that (the one who invites to 46

Griffith, Church, 117.

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falsehood) exploits the ignorance of his invitees and their lack of literacy. 47

The three earliest Arabic-speaking Christian apologists, Theodore Abū Qurrah (d. ca. 825), Ḥabīb Abū Rā’iṭah (d. ca. 835), and ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (d. ca. 850) each outlined undignified reasons for conversion as well. 48 Ibn Zurʿa also claims that Christians had peacefully converted Arabs, Nubians, Persians, Indians, Chinese, Turks, and Daylamites, using only the “mildness of their preaching.” 49 The implication, of course, is that other religions have spread through the use of force. And, although Islam is almost never explicitly mentioned, many Arabic-speaking Christians, including Ibn Zurʿa, imply that the spread of Islam was achieved through violence, coercion, fear, compulsion, licentiousness, and bigotry. 50 While many of Ibn Zurʿa’s apologetics and polemics rely heavily on philosophy and rationality, he did not refrain from engaging in Biblical exegesis. For example, in his letter to Yūsuf al-Buḥayrī, Ibn Zurʿa offered his interpretation of several difficult Biblical passages, including, (1) the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart in Exodus 4:21; (2) the infinitude of Jesus’s miracles in John 21:25; (3) the separate offering of the body and blood of Christ discussed in Matthew 26:26–28, Mark 14:22–24, Luke 22:19–20, and 1 Corinthians 11:23–25; (4) the seemingly contradictory orders given by God to Balaam in Numbers 22:1–24:25; and

For the Arabic text, see Samir, “Maqālat,” 349–350; Sbath, Vingt traités, 181–185; for the English translation, see Ibn Ishāq, How to Discern. 48 For more on this topic, see Cucarella, Muslim-Christian, 173; Stroumsa, “Signs,” 101–114. 49 Starr, “Epistle,” 242–243. 50 For additional details on these characteristics as well as their absence from Christianity, see al-Baṣrī, Apologie, 30–38; Mikhail, “ʿAmmār,” 61; Keating, Defending, 82–92; Swanson, “Apology,” 50. 47

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(5) the regret God felt for creating humanity, as expressed in Genesis 6:6. 51 In a subsequent letter to Yūsuf al-Buḥayrī, Ibn Zurʿa discusses eleven additional difficult Biblical questions: (1) Is there proof that the Messiah has come?; (2) Did God need to create humanity?; (3) Why did God create Adam?; (4) Where was Adam created?; (5) Did the Messiah bring forgiveness for all previous sins?; (6) Why did the prophets speak in allegories?; (7) Is there proof that angels exist?; (8) What was the reason for the incarnation (ta’nnus)?; (9) What was the reason for the Trinity and unity in God?; (10) Is the rational soul immortal?; and (11) How is the eucharistic sacrifice the Messiah’s body and blood? 52 His exchanges with Yūsuf al-Buḥayrī make it clear that Ibn Zurʿa felt a certain degree of responsibility to offer his community a rational exegesis of seemingly perplexing passages in both the Old and New Testaments.

IBN ZURʿA: FUTURE RESEARCH

With respect to Ibn Zurʿa’s apologetic and theological works, several twentieth-century publications gave the academic community greater access to and a better understanding of Ibn Zurʿa. These works include Paul Sbath’s 1929 Vingt traités, Herbert Thomson’s unpublished 1952 dissertation “Four Treatises by ʿĪsa ibn Zurʿa Tenth Century Jacobite Christian of Baghdad,” Shlomo Pines’s 1961 “La loi naturelle et la société: La doctrine For a short summary of Ibn Zurʿa’s interpretations, see Starr, “Epistle,” 341–344; for manuscript information, see Graf, Geschichte, 2:253– 254. 52 For a short summary of these questions, see Starr, “Epistle,” 344–349; for manuscript information, see Graf, Geschichte, 2:254. 51

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politico-théologique d’Ibn Zurʿa, philosophe chrétien de Bagdad,” Cyrille Haddad’s 1971 ʿĪsā ibn Zurʿa philosophe arabe et apologiste chrétien du Xe siècle, and most recently, Peter Starr’s 1999 dissertation “The Epistle to Bis̆r B. Finḥās (Maqālah ʿamilahā ilā Bis̆r b. Finḥās) of Ibn Zurʿah (m. A.H. 398/ A.D. 1008): Edition, Translation, and Commentary.” These works have allowed the academic community to grasp the style and objectives of Ibn Zurʿa’s theology, yet many of Ibn Zurʿa’s works still lack the critical editions, modern translations, and extensive analysis they deserve. As Peter Starr has noted, Christian-Arabic Adversus Judaeos literature, to which Ibn Zurʿa contributed, is indispensable to the study of Christian-Arabic apologetics and polemics. Many of the Biblical proof-texts as well as many of the arguments that Ibn Zurʿa and other Arabic-speaking Christians cite against Muslims can be found in much earlier polemical works against the Jews. 53 The development of anti-Muslim polemics cannot be fully comprehended if it continues to be studied in isolation from anti-Jewish polemics. Ibn Zurʿa is an excellent example of an ʿAbbasid-era Christian scholar who appears to have been committed to serious, contemplative discussions with Jews, Christians, and Muslims of various backgrounds. In his works, Ibn Zurʿa seems comfortable citing church fathers, specifically Gregory of Nazianzen (d. 390) and Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagite (fl. ca. late fifth or early sixth century). 54 With this in mind, understanding the role of Greek and Syriac patristic literature in the Arabic-speaking Christian community is crucial to connecting Arab Christians and their works to the larger historical Christian community. 55 An early example of this can be seen in the works of the Arabicspeaking Christian Theodore Abū Qurrah. See Lamoreaux, Theodore, 27–39. 54 Gregory Nazianzen and Pseudo-Dionysius were often cited by Jacobite authors. See Thomson, “Four Treatises,” 186. 55 See Roggema and Treiger, Patristic Literature. 53

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AN INTRODUCTION TO IBN ZURʿA’S LETTER TO A MUSLIM FRIEND

Ibn Zurʿa’s Letter to a Muslim Friend is a rather succinct, philosophical defense and summary of the Trinity. Unlike Ibn Zurʿa’s other works, many of which incorporate and reiterate arguments found in his Letter to a Muslim Friend, this work is wholly dedicated to the logical and linguistic explication of the triune nature of God and the relationship between God’s essence and his attributes. Conveniently, this work can be broken down into four sections. In section one, Ibn Zurʿa asserts that the Creator can be known in two ways: through his actions and according to his relationship with his own essence. Therefore, humanity knows that God is a Creator because there is evidence of his creation; moreover, we can be sure that God is wise given the orderliness of his creation, and that God is powerful, since he created existence out of non-existence. Next, Ibn Zurʿa explains that God is Intellect (ʿaql), Intellecter (ʿāqil), and Intellected (maʿqūl). 56 First, unlike a human, who possesses an intellect, God is Intellect. Second, since God is aware that he is an intellect, then he is Intellecter. Third, since God is intellecting himself, then God is also Intellected. This triad has a long and complex history and does not appear to have been coined by Ibn Zurʿa or by his teacher Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī. 57 Ibn Zurʿa indicates that the names Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are only figurative expressions of a much truer triadic repIn his dissertation, Starr chose to translate the Arabic ʿaql, ʿāqil, and maʿqūl into their Latin equivalents intellectus, intelligens, and intelligibile, which accurately and grammatically parallel the original Arabic; see Starr, “Epistle,” 38–39. Haddad preferred the more accessible Intelligence, Intelligent, and Intelligible; Thomson preferred the grammatical yet awkward equivalents of Intelligence, Intelligencer, and Intelligenced; see Haddad, ʿĪsa, 87–108; Thomson, “Four Treatises,” 124–126. 57 See Sbath, Vingt traités, 9–10. See Watt, “Syriac,” 7–43. A similar line of argumentation regarding God’s nature can be found in Aristotle’s Metaphysics; see Judson, Aristotle, 287–334. 56

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resentation of God—the above-mentioned Intellect, Intellecter, and Intellected. Here, in an attempt to make the Trinitarian notion of God more appealing to his Muslim audience, Ibn Zurʿa defends and conveys the Trinity using the philosophical parlance of tenth- and eleventh-century Arabic-speaking intellectuals. In the generation following Ibn Zurʿa, the Nestorian Christian Abū al-Faraj ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. 1043) echoed this Trinitarian formulation, albeit with a different triad: Knowledge (ʿilm), Knower (ʿālim), and Known (maʿlūm). 58 This Trinitarian argument did not go unnoticed or unchallenged by Muslim polemicists. For instance, the Muʿtazilī ʿAbd al-Jabbār (d. 1025) contended that the Christian usage of Intellect, Intellecter, and Intellected was nothing more than a recycled form of Roman philosophy, specifically the one called Hermes Trismegistus, Hermes of Threefold Wisdom (Hirmīs almuthallath bi al-ḥikma), who according to Islamic tradition has three incarnations. 59 Regarding the attempt of Arabic-speaking Christians, even those predating Ibn Zurʿa by two centuries, to speak the theological language of their Muslim neighbors, David Thomas states: There are clear signs that, from the early ninth century onwards, Christian theologians who were born Arabic speakers and knew the currency of Muslim theological debate accepted the challenge presented by their counterparts, and in partly defensive, partly creative employment of concepts and methods native to Muslim theological debate demonstrated how their main doctrines were not only viable in the terms agreed but also inescapable if reason was to be maintained. 60

Predictably, then, Ibn Zurʿa’s works are saturated with Islamic terminology. Peter Starr states, See Troupeau, “Le traité,” 80–81. Reynolds and Samir, Critique, 118; see also Van Bladel, Arabic Hermes. 60 Thomas, “Introduction,” CMR, 1:15. 58 59

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Living in a world that was both politically and intellectually dominated by Islam, Arabic-speaking Christians were often tasked with presenting works, both cautious and compelling, that were steeped in the Islamic arguments of their day. This is particularly noticeable in the works of ninth-, tenth-, and eleventh-century Christians writing under Muslim rule. 62 In the second and third sections of his Letter to a Muslim Friend, Ibn Zurʿa contends that all of God’s attributes can be subsumed under three attributes: bountiful (jawwād), wise (ḥakīm), and powerful (qādir). He attempts to clarify the relationship of these attributes to God’s essence by differentiating the attributes of essence and the attributes of action. He notes, for example, that the attributes of essence are derived from nouns, for example “living” from “life.” Therefore, if God is living, as both Christians and Muslims believe, then life exists within God. If God’s attributes were simply one with God’s essence, then the essence would have taken on multiplicity, which for Ibn Zurʿa and orthodox Muslims would be a blasphemous absurdity. But if Muslims were willing to concede that God could be one with respect to essence and many with respect to attributes, then, according to Ibn Zurʿa, they would actually affirm Christian belief. He presses the issue further in a separate work, claiming that even Starr, “Epistle,” 24. See Haddad, La Trinité; see also Endress, “Language,” 231–253; Farag, “Usage,” 49–57.

61 62

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if an individual asserts that God has one attribute, this would still introduce plurality into the Creator. In his exchange with Bishr the Jew, Ibn Zurʿa states, If, however, the attributes are one, here too the unity is not associated with simplicity; this is because the reality ‘essence’ is not, certainly, the reality ‘attribute,’ and if not it would be required that the reality of the Creator (praise be to Him!) would have to be a state and not an essence, and this is absurd, because a state is only a state of something , so that it would be required that the thing to which the state belongs would be prior by nature to the Creator, and there is no more disgraceful unbelief than to make something prior to the Creator (praise be to Him!). If this is so, it has become clear that His unity (whose name is transcendent!) is not absolute when it is associated with one attribute or with more than one attribute. 63

For Ibn Zurʿa, even the staunchest Jewish and Muslim proponents of God’s absolute oneness cannot avoid associating God with some degree of plurality. Ibn Zurʿa concludes that God is one in essence and plural in attributes. In the fourth section of the letter, Ibn Zurʿa concludes by reiterating that God’s attributes can only describe the relationship between God and his actions or the relationship between God and his essence. This leads him to conclude that God’s pure, simple essence is indescribable. If God’s essence were describable, it would have a name; if it were nameable, it would be definable; if it were definable, it would have a genus and differentia. This cannot be true, for to classify God’s essence into a genus and differentia presupposes that the genus and differentia existed prior to God’s essence, which is blasphemous. To name and categorize God’s essence would place limits and incongruities upon the Creator. Although his Letter to a Muslim Friend is clearly a Trinitarian apology, Ibn Zurʿa’s intentions in this work 63

Starr, “Epistle,” 201–202.

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seem to transcend a basic defense of the Christian triune understanding of God. At times, Ibn Zurʿa appears to be more inclined toward reconciling the different ways in which Christians and Muslims understand God, particularly God’s attributes, than with proving or disproving various Christian and Muslim theological claims.

A TRANSLATION OF IBN ZURʿA’S LETTER TO A MUSLIM FRIEND

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit: A letter composed by the shaykh, Abū ʿAlī ibn Isḥāq ibn Zurʿa, may God have mercy upon him, on topics about which some of his brothers asked him. He composed it in Dhū al-Ḥijja, in the year 378 A.H / 988 C.E. 64 Your friendship that I value and my desire to quickly oblige you, O you who are dear to me and beloved by me, may God prolong the rest of your life in complete happiness, demand that I swiftly answer your command and undistractedly answer your questions, may God—through his grace and favor—aid in the completion of your duties and performance of your obligations. Several days ago, we began discussing the Trinity that the Christians profess, what calls them to such a profession, and the reason why they [have allegedly] deviated from the path of monotheism; however, [this claim was made] without a [detailed] discussion of the Trinity, for it was perceived to be an irrelevant endeavor and an unnecessary excess [by my Muslim brothers]. In addition to that, we began discussing the manner in which the attributes that the various Muslims (Islāmiyyūn), may God support them, ascribe to the Creator, may he be exalted, are subsumed under three attributes, no less and no more. And in addition to that, we conferred on two additional matters, which I had proposed to those who, in their opinion, claim to profess monotheism (i.e., Muslims), which require two possible 64

For the Arabic text of this work, see Sbath, Vingt traités, 6–19.

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responses from them: The first belief is that he (i.e., God) is one from one aspect and many from another aspect. The other is that he is one and many from one aspect, and this is not rational. Therefore, I have resolved to write down what has been previously discussed in this letter so that you may take pleasure in repeatedly and thoroughly contemplating, pondering, scrutinizing, and examining it. If your spirit, may God enliven it for many years, comes across any topic in which there is a lack of clarity or a shortage of proof, demand [more on this topic] so that I may discuss the matter further until there no longer remains anything at all upon your mind regarding these matters. It is in God, who helps us attain the good, whom I seek assistance. He is sufficient for me. This is where I begin with the first of the three topics 65 about which I would like to speak. I say that every simple 66 and active entity that is incomprehensible to the senses can only be known in one of two ways: The first way to obtain this knowledge is through its activity and the relationship between it and its actions (mafʿūlāt). The second way is to investigate the relationship found between it and its essence 67—that is, if there was a relationship between it and its essence. Given that the Creator, may he be exalted and magnified, is among those simple and active entities that are beyond the senses and unable to be comprehended by them, it is necessary, then, that he can only be understood through one of these two ways, or both, but Across Arabic literature, the word maʿnā has been used in distinct ways. In a generic sense, maʿnā means “meaning”; however, in a theological, philosophical, and metaphysical context, maʿnā can mean reality or accident. Georg Graf translates maʿnā as begriff, sinn, and bedeutung; see Graf, Die Philosophie. 66 The word basīṭ is used throughout this work in a very specific manner. Although it has been translated as simple, basīṭ signifies something that is non-composite or without attribute. See Thomson, “Four Treatises,” 180. 67 Throughout his various works, Ibn Zurʿa uses the word dhāt very consistently to parallel the Greek ousia or essence. 65

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not another. As for the first way in which his existence can only be known—that is, by inferring the existence of his essence through the existence of his actions, Moses the prophet, peace be upon him, used this approach when he explained the creation of the world. 68 Certainly the created requires a Creator, and the action requires an agent. This is undeniable. Therefore, through this way of knowing the existence of the Creator, may his name be magnified, it is known that he is a Creator on account of his creations, that he is wise on account of the order of his design, and that he is powerful on account of his bringing forth existence from non-existence. The ancient philosophers inferred the existence of the Creator, may his name be magnified, in this exact manner. On this account, they said that he was the prime mover because they observed that movement does not exist without a mover; therefore, they believed its existence necessitated his existence. Since the first of the two methods by which active, simple entities can be known has been explored, the remaining method by which the investigation of this topic and matter, which is the most noble of existent things, can be completed is to investigate it from the other perspective—that is, that we investigate any relationship between it and its essence that requires investigation. Along with establishing that he exists, we have also established that he is wise; therefore, we know that he deserves the name intellect (ʿaql) on account of his knowledge of all existent things and his intellection of them. Because his essence is among all of the existent essences that are intellected (maʿqūl), 69 he is See A. J. Wensinck, “Les preuves,” 54–60. For a general survey of the Muslim arguments concerning God’s existence, see Erlwein, Arguments. This includes a discussion of the arguments of several near contemporaries of Ibn Zurʿa, including al-Ashʿarī (d. 936), al-Bāqillānī (d. 1013), and Ibn Sīnā (d. 1037). 69 In his analysis and translation of Ibn Zurʿa’s works, Haddad translates ʿaql as intelligence and maʿqūl as intelligible; see Haddad, ʿĪsa, 87–108. Starr, however, prefers to translate ʿaql and maʿqūl into their Latin equivalents intellectus and intelligibile; see Starr, “Epistle,” 208–209. 68

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an intellect that intellects his own essence; therefore, on account of his essence, he is intellected. It is necessary, therefore, that his essence has three states (aḥwāl): First, he is “Intellect”; [second], due to his intellection of his own essence, he is “Intellected”; and [third], with this [intellection], he is also “Intellecter” of his own essence. 70 From this perspective, he can possess no relationship other than these three; he cannot possess a fourth, nor can there be fewer than three; the existence of one of them necessitates the existence of the others. Therefore, the Creator, who is the “Intellect” of these three, is called “Father.” They called the essence when it is the “Intellecter” of its essence “Son” on account of the generation of this reality (maʿnā) from the essence of the Father, whom they specify by the name “Intellect.” Of these three realities they called the “Intellected” “Spirit” in a more figurative manner given that the spirit is in a way external to and distant from the one who has the spirit, just as the Intellected is more distant from the reality of the Intellect than is the reality of the Intellecter. Certainly, the essence of the Intellected may—in certain things— come from outside and be separated from the Intellect. However, in this situation, it is not separated. Rather, this is said about the Creator only as a means of comparison and analogy. As for the Intellecter, it is only Intellecter by means of the Intellect; therefore, on this account, there is a deep connection, similarity, and participation in the reality of the Intellect. This intimate relationship between the two—that is, between the Intellect and the Intellecter—was related to sonship and fatherhood, whereas the Intellected was related to something separate—that is, the spirit. At this point, a questioner may ask, “Why have they replaced the names Intellect, Intellecter, and Intellected with Father, Son, and Holy Spirit?” We would respond to that question, This section is a close rewording of the Neo-Platonic Liber de Causis; see Bardenhewer, Die pseudo-aristotelische, 83–84. This triad is used by Maimonides as well; see Harvey, “De la notion,” 253–262. 70

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“They did this in order to symbolize these realities so that they would neither be debased nor engaged by the ignorant and those from whom it is necessary to safeguard the divine, noble matters, so that they would instead engage them from a metaphorical and symbolic perspective, not by way of their true meaning. For it is forbidden that the divine matters be explored and uncovered by everyone. First, regarding this matter, Christ our Lord prohibited it by saying, “Do not toss that which is holy to dogs, and do not throw your jewels before pigs, lest they trample them with their hooves and turn to attack you.” 71 The pure Saint Theologus (i.e., Gregory Nazianzen) wrote a treatise dedicated to this topic, saying that it is not always the time and place or for everyone to explore these divine matters. For this reason, they allegorized their words and turned away from explicit language (taṣrīḥ) to metaphorical language (kināya). 72 Another reason mentioned by the pure and esteemed Dionysius (i.e., Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite) is that divine matters when expressed with approximate metaphorical expressions call upon the contemplative investigator of the truth to investigate them and their causes and to question the way in which these [metaphorical] expressions accurately convey them using such figurative language (istiʿāra); therefore, on account of this, the knowledge of those investigating these matters will become certain, and there will remain no doubt in their knowledge on account of the thoroughness of their investigation and examination. 73 This is permissible because Christ our Lord stipulated in Matt 7:6. In his Preliminary Discourse against the Eunomians, one can see the source of Ibn Zurʿa’s argument. Gregory states, “Not to every one, my friends, does it belong to philosophize about God; not to every one; the Subject is not so cheap and low; and I will add, not before every audience, nor at all times, nor on all points; but on certain occasions, and before certain persons, and within certain limits.” See Schaff and Wace, Select Library, 285. 73 Ibn Zurʿa is likely referring to Pseudo-Dionysius’s On the Celestial Hierarchy (De Coelesti Hierarchia). Consider the following passage from 71 72

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the Gospels that his words be [spoken] in parables (amthāl) and symbols (rumūz); 74 on account of these aforementioned reasons, they have turned away from explicit language regarding these divine matters that I have mentioned to this [i.e., metaphorical and figurative language]. I have come in this treatise to the reason that calls upon Christians to speak of the Trinity, and I have said that it is to complete the investigation into the divine matter according to the one [true approach] that was brought by Christ our Lord, who informed us of this and paved the way to reach the peaks of all spiritual and bodily virtues. I have clarified that these attributes (ṣifāt) 75 are three, no less and no more, and I have mentioned the reason why they have replaced the names Intellect, Intellecter, and Intellected with Father, Son, and Spirit. I have clarified the similarities between these [three words] and those [three words] that were used figuratively as a replacement. To God, the giver of intelligence, be the glory that he deserves. With this, the investigation of the first of the three topics that we will discuss is complete. As for the attributes under which all of the attributes of the Creator can be individually placed, they are three, no less and no more. I will discuss this and clarify it with the utmost scrutiny. I say that these three attributes are bountiful (jawwād), wise (ḥakīm), and powerful (qādir), 76 and that with respect to each of this work: “Rather, it is most seemly for mystic discourse to hide holy truth by means of incomprehensible and divine enigmas and make the deep truth of supernatural understanding inaccessible to the masses.” See Dronke, Fabula, 44. Moreover, the Syriac-speaking Jacobite Anthony of Tagrit (fl. early ninth century) cited this work; see Watt, Fifth Book. 74 See Mark 4:11; Matt 13:10–13, 34–35. 75 At this point in his work, Ibn Zurʿa has described the three persons of the Trinity as states (aḥwāl), realities (maʿānī), and attributes (ṣifāt). 76 This particular triad can be found in Gregory of Nyssa’s (d. 394) Great Catechism (Oratio Catechetica), sects. 1 and 20; see Schaff and Wallace, Nicene.

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these three attributes, when you survey the attributes associated with the Creator, may he be exalted, in their entirety, nothing falls outside of them, and that [all attributes] are subsumed under one of these [three] attributes. I will begin with the two attributes that follow [the phrase] “in the name of God”—that is, the words merciful (raḥmān) and beneficent (raḥīm). In one way, these two attributes are subsumed under goodness (jūd), and in another way under power (qudra); so too is compassionate (ra’ūf). As for Creator (khāliq), maker (bāri’), and living (ḥayy), they are subsumed under powerful (qādir); each one of these attributes as well as the [attributes] which are generically related to them require power, and their meaning is fully completed and realized through it; they can only exist through it and with it. As for knowing (ʿālim), it is subsumed under wise (ḥakīm) because wisdom (ḥikma) is only affirmed in knowledge (ʿilm). Likewise, affectionate (ḥannān) and generous (mannān) are subsumed under bountiful (jawwād). When you scrutinize these attributes one by one, you will find that each one of them is subsumed under these three attributes which have been surveyed and pondered with all the others. You will come to understand this on account of what we have said. Perhaps you may come to understand this from another perspective—that is, the perspective by which we know his existence through the existence of his actions, may he be exalted. If we strive to prove his existence from this perspective, we attribute to him goodness given that he brought forth things from non-existence into existence. We attribute wisdom to him given the precision and orderliness of his creations. We attribute power to him given that he brought together opposites (e.g., hot and cold, light and dark) in his formation [of the world]. 77 It has The corresponding Greek triad ἀγαθότης, δύναμις, and γνώσις was used by the Neo-Platonist Proclus. See Dodds, Proclus, 106–107. Additionally, Ibn Zurʿa is drawing on a long philosophical discussion here. Aristotle discussed the coming together of these opposites in his Metaphysics; see Metaphysics 1.988a. This concept is also discussed by Plotinus in his Enneads; see Enneads 3.16. Likewise, the Syriac-speaking Jac-

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been clarified through what we have said concerning these matters that these three attributes entirely encompass all of the attributes used to describe the Creator, may he be exalted, that is except the attributes of the Christians, which are outside of these [three attributes]. By attributes of the Christians, I mean what they say regarding the Trinity (i.e., Intellect, Intellecter, and Intellected). And with this statement the second topic is concluded. As for the third topic, it is a discussion of two issues which must be dealt with by those who profess monotheism for themselves alone (i.e., Muslims); therefore, I will explain these two issues. I maintain that those who profess monotheism describe the Creator, may he be exalted, with many attributes, and they divide these many attributes into two kinds: the first of the two kinds of attributes are called attributes of essence (dhāt), whereas the other kind are called attributes of action (fiʿl). 78 They place our words “living,” “wise,” “powerful,” “bountiful,” and others, which I can refrain from mentioning, among the attributes of the essence, given that these [attributes] which I have mentioned are sufficient for what I would like to prove. After they have confirmed this, we will ask them, “Have we spoken truthfully in our attribution of the Creator, may he be exalted, with these attributes or not?” If they say “no,” they have committed an abominable error; that is to say, they describe the Creator, may his mention be exalted, in a manner that is not true. They approach him and glorify him with lies, may God be exalted above that. If they say that we have spoken truthfully, we will ask them another question, “According to you, is the meaning of truth anything other than when a statement accords with reality?” obite Jacob of Edessa (d. 708) discussed this matter in his work on the philosophical and natural sciences; see Mingana, Book, xxix. 78 This is the standard Ash’arī description of God’s attributes. For more information on the distinct Muslim positions regarding God’s essence and attributes, see el-Bizri, “God,” 121–140.

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This is the definition of truth, which I do not think anyone would oppose. If they say “yes,” we ask, “Can the [words of] someone speaking truthfully fall outside of one of these two conditions?” The first of the two [conditions] is that a truthful statement is a noun or a definition for the thing being described, or it is a part of the definition. For example, when speaking of Zayd, we say that he is Zayd, [which is a noun], and [we say], for example, that he is alive, rational, and mortal, which is his definition; or we say that he is one, and these are the three parts upon which his individuality is constructed. Or, [in the second of the two conditions, we say that] those words indicate the reality of something that exists within the thing being described. For example, we say that lead is white on account of the whiteness in it, and that a writer is a writer on account of the writing that belongs to him. 79 We have said that truth accords with reality; therefore, I do not believe that truth occurs in statements outside of these two conditions given that every attribute must be taken from the essence of a thing or from its accidents (aʿrāḍ). After that, then, we will ask them, “Is the way we use our word ‘living,’ the same as the way we use our word ‘wise,’ and is it the same as the way we use our words ‘powerful’ and ‘bountiful?’ Or is the use of each one of them different than the other?” They will have to say that the usage of each one of them is different from the usage of the other; otherwise, they would have deviated from the customary understanding and conventional usage of language. If we agreed with them on all of these conditions, we will say to them, “In what way do you say that these attributes truly In his discussion of Melissus and Xenophanes, Aristotle writes, “For just as when we say of white lead that it is white in all its parts, we merely mean that the colour whiteness is present in every portion of it, why should we not say similarly of God that sight and hearing and supremacy are present in every part, in the sense that whatsoever portion of him one takes will be found to be possessed of these characteristics?” Barnes, Complete Works, 2:1546. This point is also discussed in the opening paragraphs of Aristotle’s Categories; see Ackrill, Aristotle’s, 3–4. 79

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describe the Creator, may his name be exalted? Are they his essence? If you say that, then—in your eyes—his essence is one and the attributes are many and diverse. However, if the attributes are his essence, you must admit that his essence is diverse and not diverse. It is not diverse because it is one, whereas it is diverse because the truthfulness of statements has proven [the existence of] different realities for his essence and for each one of the attributes of his essence. This is an obvious impossibility for anyone possessing even a weak insight.” If they say that the attributes do not signify the essence, rather that they signify God’s states (aḥwāl), then his essence—in and of itself—is one; however, if the essence is calculated according to the diverse states that exist in it, it is many. Therefore, it is one from one perspective and more than one from another perspective; however, this is not what they say. If they say this, then [they would agree] with the belief of the Christians, and there would be no reason to be amazed by their Trinity or to call their beliefs lies. The Christians simply say that he is one with respect to essence and many with respect to attributes. This point of view removes them from the customary understanding of their (i.e., Muslims’) beliefs and stops them from decrying those who say things similar to what they have said. For it is most amazing [for someone] to decry a person for saying something similar to what he himself says. We could also ask them a question from a perspective which they are quite fond [of using] in their debates—that is, language. We say, “Inform us, are the derived nouns taken from realities that exist for the things named by those derived nouns?” They will say, “yes.” Therefore, I consulted a number of philologists who were available, and they conceded this. We tell them that all of the attributes that we have enumerated from the attributes of the essence are derived nouns. For example, “living” is derived from “life,” “powerful” is derived from “power,” “bountiful” is derived from “bounteousness,” and “wise” is derived from “wisdom.” If these nouns are derived, then they are required to adhere to the rules of language regarding derived nouns. Therefore, we must be speaking truthfully regarding the things named by them when realities exist from which the nouns

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were derived. If that is in fact the case, then they must concede that—with respect to the thing which has been described along with the existence of its essence—there is the existence of more than one reality in it. This is what we believe. However, I have heard those who say that this understanding of derived nouns is well-known and well-understood from a linguistic perspective, but it does not apply to the attributes of the Creator, may he be exalted. For him, this is not the case; the derived nouns do not have realities that exist in him. Therefore, they assert this point of contention and reject the customary understanding of language with a mere claim. This is not permissible in investigation, for some of the ancients stipulated for he who was speaking, saying, “Do not offer a claim (daʿwa) as your proof.” In these two expositions, there is sufficient evidence to confirm that the monotheism among those other than ourselves (i.e., Muslims) has not been established, nor have [their arguments] reached a point of certainty that the mind of the investigator can trust. Whenever they are not opposing the truth, they are guided to something like what our friends (i.e., Christians) say about the Creator, may he be exalted—that is, he is one with respect to essence and many with respect to attributes. Now that I have completed the three topics which I promised I would discuss, I see it fitting to add to these three topics a fourth topic in addition to what we have previously discussed, debated, and clarified. It includes secrets which must only be uncovered to those who possess investigative minds regarding divine matters, and it must be protected from everyone except the deserving, of which you are one. When these attributes are ascribed to the Creator, may his name be exalted, by us and by others, they do not signify his essence. Rather, they signify the relationships that exist between him and his actions or between him and his essence. As for his essence, nothing at all is known of it, and nothing of its quiddity (māhiyya) is known at all either. In this matter, nothing more than its existence and what is required of its existence is known. It has no name, just as Saint

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Theologus said in the second of his two treatises on the Son, “Certainly, God has no name.” 80 He said this because the name according to the ancients was that which signifies in general that which the definition signified in detail. If he had a name, then he would also have a definition, because a definition only concerns genus and differentia; however, God, may he be exalted, has neither genus nor differentia. That is because if he had a genus, then the genus would naturally precede him; it would be a cause for him. If that were the case, it would not be correct to say that he preceded [all] things or that he is the cause of all things. The same would be true of the differentia; therefore, he does not have a definition. If he has no definition, he has no name given that the name, as we have said, signifies in general what the definition signifies in detail. Therefore, it is not befitting to think that the noble essence, may its mention be exalted, signifies its true substance (jawhar) through any of these attributes at all. Rather, [these attributes] only signify relationships that exist between it and its actions and between it and its essence. With respect to the simplicity of the essence, no relationship can be established between it and anything else. It is not possible to grasp anything more than the fact that it exists. It is not known at all. For knowledge [of something] can only be achieved for defined things, and defined things are limited. However, this essence, may it be exalted, is neither defined nor limited. Rather, it is something about which none of God’s creation can grasp, other than its existence. Let us continue our investigation into this topic by saying that if the essence is expressed with any of these attributes, then it is only understood through this expression, which does not apply to its utmost simplicity but which applies to its compositeness. With respect to the investigation into the essence, it is known either on account of its actions or on account of its relationships. If it is investigated from this perspective, then the inThis position was also expressed by Gregory Nazianzen; see Wickham and Williams, Faith, 135.

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vestigation will not be into its utmost simplicity. Rather, from this perspective, another reality has been added to the simple essence—that is, relationship. According to the extent of my feeble strength, I have presented on the three topics that we agreed to discuss. I added a discussion concerning that which I considered connected to these topics with the hopes of complying with your demands. May God, may he be exalted, grant us success and guide us to it, protect us from falsehood, and help us reach the pinnacle of our knowledge and actions. I hope that I have offered a convincing argument for the investigator of this treatise. Peace.

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Lamoreaux, John, trans. Theodore Abū Qurrah. Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 2005. Michel, Thomas, ed. and trans. A Muslim Theologian’s Response to Christianity. Delmar: Caravan Books, 1984. Mikhail, Wageeh. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī’s Kitāb al-Burhān: A Topical and Theological Analysis of Arabic Christian Theology in the Ninth Century.” PhD diss., University of Birmingham, 2013. Mingana, A., trans. Book of Treasures by Job of Edessa. Cambridge: W. Heffer & Sons, 1935. Newman, Neal A., ed. The Early Christian-Muslim Dialogue: A Collection of Documents from the first Three Islamic Centuries (632–900 A.D.): Translations with Commentary. Hatfield: Interdisciplinary Biblical Research Institute, 1993. Peters, F. E. Aristoteles Arabus: The Oriental Translations and Commentaries on the Aristotelian Corpus. Leiden: Brill, 1968. Pines, S. “La loi naturelle et la société. La doctrine politicothéologique d’Ibn Zurʿa, philosophe chrétien de Bagdad.” In Studies in Islamic History and Civilisation, edited by U. Heyd, 154–190. Jerusalem: The Hebrew University, 1961. Platti, Emilio. “Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī, Disciples and Masters: On Questions of Religious Philosophy.” In The Character of ChristianMuslim Encounter: Essays in Honour of David Thomas, edited by Douglas Pratt, Jon Hoover, John Davies, and John A. Chesworth, 60–84. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 25. Leiden: Brill, 2015. Qarāfī, Shihāb al-Dīn al-. Al-Ajwiba al-fākhira ʿan al-as’ila alfājira. Edited by Majdī Muḥammad al-Shihāwī. Beirut: ʿĀlam al-Kutub, 2005. Rescher, Nicholas. “A Tenth-Century Arab-Christian Apologia for Logic.” Islamic Studies 2, no. 1 (1963): 1–16. Reynolds, Gabriel S., and Samir K. Samir, eds. and trans. Critique of Christian Origins. Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 2010.

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CHAPTER 10. BŪLUṢ IBN RAJĀ’ (D. AFTER 1012): AN EGYPTIAN MUSLIM CONVERT TO CHRISTIANITY ASSESSES ISLAM DAVID BERTAINA Ibn Rajā’, whose given name was Yūsuf (Joseph), was the son of an Arab Muslim legal scholar who worked in Cairo, Egypt. Their family served under the Fatimid Ismāʿīlī caliphs, who belonged to a branch of Shiite Islam. Ibn Rajā’ was probably born in the latter half of the 950s. He studied the Qur’ān, its commentaries, ḥadīth reports, and legal theory with several prominent Muslim scholars of the late tenth century. When he was in his midtwenties, he went on a pilgrimage to Mecca. During his return, he became separated from his caravan and lost in the Arabian desert. According to Michael of Damrū, the author of his biography in the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria, Ibn Rajā’ encountered a young man about his age in a shining outfit, riding upon a horse. He transported Ibn Rajā’ from the Arabian Peninsula to the Coptic Church of Saint Mercurius in Cairo in the space of a single night. Following his miraculous experience, Ibn Rajā’ believed that it was Saint Mercurius himself who had come to his aid. In light of his salvation in the desert and former persecution of Christians, he took on the name of the apostle Paul (Būluṣ). After some time, Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ learned the Coptic Orthodox faith and was baptized at Saint Mercurius in Cairo. But he 389

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was recognized by his brothers, who seized him and returned him to their home. His father imprisoned him, hoping that he would recant his faith in Christianity. When that did not occur, his family sent him in secret to Giza (a city near Cairo), so as not to shame their family. Ibn Rajā’ settled at the Monastery of Saint Macarius in the Wādī al-Naṭrūn (Scetis), where he became a monk. According to the author Michael, a fanatical monk convinced Ibn Rajā’ to return to Cairo and proclaim his Christian faith publicly. When he returned, his father imprisoned him again. This time, Ibn Rajā’ was forced to watch the rape of his former concubine by his brother, and then watch the death of his son by drowning. But due to the protection of Saint Macarius, according to his biographer Michael, Ibn Rajā’ was provided with health to sustain him for a week while in the family cellar. He was then accused of being an apostate and brought before the caliph. This probably took place in the 980s under the Fatimid caliph al-ʿAzīz (r. 975–996). Ibn Rajā’ was victorious in his case and freed, whereupon he allegedly helped to build the Church of Saint Michael in Cairo. Then he returned to the Monastery of Saint Macarius, and it is during this period that Ibn Rajā’ collaborated with Sāwīrus ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. after 987) on several works. Unfortunately, we do not know what these works may have been. We only know that Ibn Rajā’ mentions his familiarity with Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ in his writings, including a story that Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ related to him about a Muslim convert to Christianity. Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ was ordained a priest during the reign of Patriarch Philotheus (r. 979–1003). It is probable that for many years he continued to live and write at the desert monastery of Saint Macarius. The Fatimid caliph al-Ḥākim (r. 996–1021) persecuted Christians in Egypt during his reign, which may have motivated Ibn Rajā’ to write his critiques of Islam. When Ibn Rajā’’s father eventually discovered that his son had become a priest, he paid a group of Arabs in the region of the Wādī alNaṭrūn (Scetis) to have him murdered. When news of the plan made its way to the monastery, Ibn Rajā’ fled to the Nile Delta region, where he served at the Church of Saint Theodore in Sandafā. After some years, he developed a serious illness. Theo-

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dore ibn Mīnā, who was the secretary for the synod of the Coptic Patriarchate, visited Ibn Rajā’. After two days, Ibn Rajā’ passed away from his illness and Theodore took his body and placed it in a hidden cellar in the church, just before a Muslim mob came to find him. As the secretary for the Coptic synod, Theodore ibn Mīnā recorded the account of Būluṣ ibn Rajā’’s life from him and later reported it to his future successor as synodal secretary, Michael of Damrū, who included the biography of Ibn Rajā’ in the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria. 1 The account describes specific details that lend credence to its accuracy in general. But the text was only preserved in its Arabic recension and not the Coptic original, and there are historical issues with some of the dates of events mentioned in the biography. The work is not only a history but also a hagiography, and so Michael of Damrū portrays Ibn Rajā’ as a saint in order to magnify the convert’s prestige as well as that of the saints and sacred sites associated with him: the churches of Saint Mercurius and Saint Michael, as well as the Monastery of Saint Macarius.

WORKS

Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ composed three known works. 2 They were most likely written after the death of his collaborator Sāwīrus ibn alMuqaffaʿ, at the turn of the eleventh century, under the reign of the Fatimid caliph al-Ḥākim (r. 996–1021). The first is known as The Amusing Anecdotes of the Commentators and Corruption of the Opponents (Nawādir al-mufassirīn wa-taḥrīf al-mukhālifīn). The other piece Ibn Rajā’ composed was Demonstration on the Con-

See the biography in Atiya, al-Masīḥ, and KHS-Burmester, History, 2/1:101–113 (Arabic), 151–170 (English). See also Bertaina, Būluṣ. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 2 See the overview and manuscripts in Swanson, “Būluṣ,” CMR, 2:541– 546. 1

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tradiction of the Ḥadīth (Kitāb al-ibāna fī tanāquḍ al-ḥadīth). These pieces are not known to be extant at this time. Ibn Rajā’’s final composition was The Truthful Exposer (Kitāb al-Wāḍiḥ bi-l-ḥaqq), which some medieval Coptic authors also called The Confession (al-Iʿtirāf). In The Truthful Exposer, Ibn Rajā’ mentions his two earlier works that were critiques of commentators on the Qur’ān and ḥadīth collections. Thus, this is the final and only extant work that we know of belonging to the famous Muslim convert to Coptic Christianity. At one point, Ibn Rajā’ mentions in The Truthful Exposer that it has been four hundred years since the time of Muḥammad’s death, which in the Islamic calendar translates to AD 1009. Consequently, the work must have been written around this date, ca. 1009–1012. He also refers to his other works in The Truthful Exposer, so they would have been written sometime prior to 1009. The Truthful Exposer is a lengthy work, composed of thirty chapters in its Arabic recension, totaling more than one hundred pages each in the prepared edition and translation. 3 The major polemical strategy that Ibn Rajā’ employs in his works is to point out the problems of Muslim truth claims, given the inconsistencies that he discovers in Islamic sources. His strategy is not an apologetic effort to defend Christianity using Coptic theology, but rather a critique of how Islamic commentaries and ḥadīth collections portray the prophethood of Muḥammad and the integrity of the Qur’ān. As it appears in the Arabic text, the structure of the work addresses the four topics of the Qur’ān, Muḥammad, answers to Muslim questions, and religious practices at Mecca. I have summarized the subject of each chapter as follows: Introduction: Opening prayer and exhortation for Muslims 1. On divisions among Muslims: A lack of consensus about the Qur’ān and interpretation 2. A refutation of the alleged alteration of the Torah and the Gospel

3

See the Arabic edition and English translation in Bertaina, Būluṣ.

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3. On Muḥammad as a prophet of the sword; anecdotes of Christians living under Islam 4. On those who converted to Islam in fear of the sword 5. On the prophets Musaylima the Liar and al-ʿAnsī 6. On Muḥammad’s claim of how the revelation came to him 7. On the meaning of the Qur’ān: The seven readings (qirā’āt) of the Qur’ān 8. On what Muslims have omitted from the Qur’ān 9. On their agreement about Marwān ibn al-Ḥakam’s version: The canonization process 10. On the lack of an authority for interpreting the Qur’ān 11. On inconsistencies and repetitions in the Qur’ān 12. On the subject of Mary the Copt 13. On sexual themes in the Qur’ān: Muḥammad’s marriages 14. On the Zayd scandal 15. On the repetition of passages in the Qur’ān taken from the Torah, Psalms, and Gospel 16. On the inimitability of the Qur’ān 17. On the audience for the Qur’ān and the Bible as a Source: Muḥammad and Jesus 18. On contradictions in the Qur’ān 19. A refutation of Muḥammad’s alleged favor over other prophets 20. A refutation of Muḥammad’s never disbelieving or worshipping Idols 21. A refutation of equating Jesus with Adam (Q 3:59) 22. A response on the anthropomorphizing of God in Christianity and the Qur’ān 23. A response on the union of Jesus Christ at the incarnation 24. A response on the reality of the crucifixion of Christ (Q 4:157) 25. On the destruction of the Kaʿba 26. On the Black Stone 27. On the pilgrimage to Mecca 28. On the sacrifice of cattle and camels at Mecca

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KEY THEMES IN THE TRUTHFUL EXPOSER The Incarnation

Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ treats the incarnation in chapters 21–24. He discusses Jesus’ likeness in comparison to Adam (Q 3:59), then the incarnation and the divine presence. He contextualizes the incarnation in response to the Muslim denial that God could die, and closes with an affirmation of the historical reality of the crucifixion. Ibn Rajā’ notes that sūrat Āl ʿImrān (Q 3) lauds Jesus as the Word and Spirit of God given to Mary (Q 3:45; 4:171). He notes that the Trinity should have been clear based upon these passages, but Qur’ān 3:59 is problematic because it makes a false equivalency (“Indeed the case of Jesus with God is like the case of Adam: He created him from dust, then said to him, ‘Be,’ and he was”). First, Jesus is part of God’s Word and Spirit in the former passage. But the latter passage says that Adam was created from dust. Therefore, if Jesus and Adam are the same, then dust has been applied illogically to the essence of God’s being. In contrast, Ibn Rajā’ believes that God sent his Word into Mary, and his humanity was clothed from her body. Jesus Christ could not have appeared as God’s Word and Spirit, which humans cannot observe, but rather he “veiled himself from his creatures in [Mary’s] body, pure and spotless without stain or defect.” 4 Ibn Rajā’ uses Coptic Christology to explain his understanding of the incarnation: “He was one God perfectly incarnate with Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §178. All translations are taken from Bertaina, Būluṣ. 4

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one nature, one hypostasis, and one will.” 5 For Ibn Rajā’, the Son of God was not divided in his humanity and divinity, nor his hypostasis and his will, since God is indivisible. Jesus Christ and God are analogous to heat produced from fire, or light coming from the sun, or the intellect emanating from the soul. None of these are prior to one another, but all exist together, he argues, and likewise God and his Word and Spirit are without division and God is known through them. Ibn Rajā’ uses the Qur’ānic invocation: “In the name of God, the Compassionate One, the Merciful One” as an example of how God has divine names that do not supersede one another. God’s Essence, Word, and Spirit are still one God in unity. Then Ibn Rajā’ criticizes Muslims, for equating God’s Spirit and Word in Jesus Christ with dust in the way that Adam was created. He also points out that the incarnation did not limit God to space in time—he was never absent. He believes the dust comparison subverts God’s actions. After all, if God’s Spirit and Word were in Adam as in Jesus, then he would have never fallen into temptation with the devil Iblīs. And if that is the case, then God is not worthy of being worshipped, according to Ibn Rajā’. While Adam is a part of creation, that creation came into existence by God’s speaking his Word. Therefore, “The Word from which Jesus was born is the Eternal Word dwelling in the Father and united with him.” 6 He affirms this via the Gospel of John 1:1–3 that the Word was God. The incarnation was for the salvation of all creation, and a sublime and divine spiritual secret that God bestowed upon Jesus Christ over all angels, disciples, prophets, and friends of God. Next, Ibn Rajā’ responds to the Muslim claim that the incarnation is impossible because God cannot be encompassed within a woman’s womb. In his reply, Ibn Rajā’ argues that it is true that God is not encompassed in a single location, but nevertheless he can choose to occupy space in order to demonstrate 5 6

Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §179. Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §183.

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his mercy and grace. For instance, God walks in the Garden of Eden (Gen 3:8–10) but he encompasses it without it encompassing him. Next, he illustrates his point by recounting how God entered Abraham’s home (Gen 18:1), and appeared to Moses in a bush (Exod 3:2–6; Q 28:29–30). Then Ibn Rajā’ points out the incarnation is not unlike certain images that appear in passages in the Qur’ān, such as the fact that God sits upon a chair (Q 40:15), and also that “his chair encompasses the heavens and the earth” (Q 2:255). He also points out that in ḥadīth reports about the day of resurrection, people will be cast into hell until God puts his foot upon its lid. Then he can use his hand to pull out of Gehenna whomever he wishes. In the same way that God’s foot and hand are not encompassed by hell, so God’s Word is not encompassed by the womb of Mary, according to Ibn Rajā’. Muslims ask Ibn Rajā’ how Jesus Christ’s Jewish opponents could have overcome his will by getting him crucified. Did he actually have the sublime attributes attributed to him by Christians? How can God die? Ibn Rajā’ explains that Jesus’ foreknowledge of his sacrificial death and resurrection made the Jews part of his plan; his death happened due to God’s will and not that of his Jewish opponents. He also argues that this was predicted by the prophets and the angel Gabriel, who offered details about his passion, death, burial, resurrection, and ascension. And while the sufferings of Jesus Christ occurred to both his humanity and his divinity, the divine nature suffered no loss, in the same way that a person’s soul is not burned up if their body is scorched by a fire. In other words, the humanity and divinity of Jesus Christ were united and death did not affect his divine role. Finally, Ibn Rajā’ addresses the Muslim claim that Jesus was not crucified according to Qur’ān 4:157: “They did not kill him or crucify him but it appeared so to them.” Assuming that God is the agent who made the event “appear so” is problematic to Ibn Rajā’. If that is the case, then God deceived his own believers and purposefully led them astray, which would be illogical and make God unjust. Further, Ibn Rajā’ recounts an Islamic ḥadīth report that Jesus asked one of his disciples to take his

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appearance and that man was crucified in his place. But given the fact that miraculous events occurred during the crucifixion—the sun was darkened, the moon turned to blood, and some dead rose from their tombs—indicates that Jesus was the man upon the cross, and that he was not simply a mortal man but the Lord Christ. The Trinity

Ibn Rajā’ has very little to say about the Trinity as a single subject in his work outside of the doxologies praising God in his work. He does not repeat earlier Christian Arabic defenses of the Trinity in detail. Nor does he not let Islamic preoccupations with certain Christian doctrines determine the strategy and content of his work. Since he had already found Islam lacking and converted to the Coptic faith, no critique of the Triune nature of God would have been especially needed in his view. The opening Trinitarian invocation begins: “In the name of the Father, the Father of Ages, and of the Son, the Son of Resurrection, and of the Holy Spirit, the Enlivener of those who are in the tombs, united in Trinity, triple in unity, the Lord of lords and the God of the world and the ages.” 7 Later he mentions that a convert from Islam to Christianity named al-Hāshimī also confessed God as one in three hypostases the Triune Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 8 In the section on Jesus Christ and the Word and Spirit of God, he opines that if Qur’ān 4:171 was the only statement about the relationship of God to his Word, “then the matter of the Trinity would have been clear to people.” 9 There are no other specific references to the Trinity in The Truthful Exposer.

Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §1. Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §37. 9 Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §177. 7 8

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On the question of corruption (taḥrīf), Ibn Rajā’ is much less interested in defending the Bible than in highlighting the problematic emergence of the text of the Qur’ān along with its alleged contradictions, repetitions, and inconsistencies. 10 Many of these arguments were not developed by Ibn Rajā’ but were in fact products of longstanding intra-Muslim arguments belonging to the Islamic tradition as espoused during internal debates between Muʿtazilīs and Traditionist ḥadīth supporters. Therefore, Ibn Rajā’ makes use of Islamic sources to defend the Bible and critique claims that the Qur’ān had a divine origin. In response to the Muslim claim that the Torah and the Gospel had been altered, Ibn Rajā’ asks: when did the corruption occur? Since Muḥammad is told by God in Qur’ān 10:94 to speak to earlier scripture people (i.e., Jews and Christians about their sacred texts) if he doubts his revelations, then why would God tell Muḥammad to read those scriptures if they were corrupt? Ibn Rajā’ uses the art of contradiction making along with a ḥadīth report to support this claim. He recounts a story where Abū Hurayra was asked to judge between two Jewish groups. Muḥammad told him to judge impartially, just as God’s judgment is found in the Torah—this is a reference to Qur’ān 5:42– 43. Ibn Rajā’ also asserts that Qur’ān 15:9 confirms that God protected the Bible from corruption where it says: “It is we who revealed the recollection and we will indeed be its guardian.” 11 On the contrary, Ibn Rajā’ insists that no prophet or scripture could appear after the Bible, since Jesus Christ excluded that possibility. Ibn Rajā’ spends much more time in The Truthful Exposer arguing that the Qur’ān is the scripture that was most likely corrupted. He attacks its integrity throughout his work, but the focus of his arguments are developed in chapters 6–11 and chapters 15–18. For instance, Ibn Rajā’ recounts the way that 10 11

See Bertaina, “Būlus,” 174–195. Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §20.

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Muḥammad received his revelation and the claims that the monk Baḥīrā and others translated the material for him to reproduce in Arabic verse. He discusses the seven vocalizations, or readings, of the Qur’ān. He recounts Islamic traditions about Ibn Masʿūd, Zayd ibn Thābit, ʿUthmān, and the seven traditionists who developed their own local standards for vocalizing the Qur’ān. He argues that these variations demonstrate that later generations of Muslims did not preserve the original text faithfully. Later, Ibn Rajā’ uses Islamic reports to show how various passages originally in the Qur’ān were omitted in later revisions, such as the shortening of sūrat al-Baqara (Q 2) and the omission of the stoning verse. He analyzes the canonization process that led to the Qur’ānic text using Islamic sources, describing how several Muslims changed the text at various stages from the first followers to Marwān ibn al-Ḥakam (d. 685). Here he traces its origins to Abū Bakr and ʿUmar, who decided to promulgate a written codex that would hold greater authority than the oral recitation of the Qur’ān. Eventually this codex was given to Muḥammad’s wife Ḥafṣa. But there were other codices, held by Ibn Masʿūd, Zayd ibn Thābit, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī. Marwān ibn alḤakam destroyed all of these variant versions, standardizing the text which he had edited. In the same vein, Ibn Rajā’ makes a corruption charge against Muslims, claiming that Muḥammad left no authoritative leader after him to properly interpret his scripture (Q 3:7: “No one knows its interpretation except God.”). Therefore, the book cannot be the basis for an authoritative body of theological or legal interpreters. Ibn Rajā’ analyzes repetitions in the Qur’ān, in which he uses the arguments of earlier Muslim skeptics to assess the literary quality of Islam’s scripture. Some of these arguments come from the opponents of the traditionist Ibn Qutayba (d. 889) as preserved in his works on the Qur’ān and ḥadīth. Ibn Rajā’ also addresses repeated references to the same event, such as the story of Noah and the Flood, the life of Moses, and other biblical stories. Ibn Rajā’ surmises that Muḥammad adapted this material from the scriptures of the ancients, as the Qur’ān suggests (Q 26:192–196; 87:18–19). Next, he quotes Qur’ān 17:88 which asserts that the Qur’ān is inimitable and not even the jinn could

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produce something of equal value. Ibn Rajā’ argues that Muḥammad did not bring his revelation in a unique language, but simply in Arabic. While there are some beautiful verses, he admits, the eloquence of the verses is not comparable to earlier poets. Given this context, Ibn Rajā’ compares Jesus to Muḥammad, insisting that the Muslim prophet’s verses are not scripture. In addition to repetition and quality, Ibn Rajā’ addresses contradictions in the Qur’ān, again utilizing earlier internal debate material from various Muslim groups. In this section, he deals with passages on creation, judgment, the status of Iblīs (the devil) as angel or jinn, the alleged splitting of the moon by Muḥammad in a ḥadīth report about Qur’ān 54:1, the resurrection, bodily descriptions of Paradise, the practices of Ramaḍān, and sexual practices. For Ibn Rajā’, the corruption argument applies more aptly to the Qur’ān. Muḥammad

Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ portrays Muḥammad as a human individual who utilized earlier scriptures and political violence to advance his claims to be a prophet and source of God’s revelation. 12 Muḥammad receives the greatest amount of attention in chapters 5–6, chapters 12–14 on his sexual scandals and marriages, chapters 18–20 on his status as a prophet, and chapter 30 on his Night Journey into the seven heavens. Ibn Rajā’ notes that if Muḥammad had the characteristics ascribed to him by the ḥadīth reports, then he would not have doubted his revelation as suggested in Qur’ān 10:94. He often refers to Muḥammad’s use of political violence (“the sword”) to advance his religion and that he only required exterior oaths and obedience rather than interior faith from his adherents. Ibn Rajā’ provides some examples of Arabs who converted out of fear of violence in various reports. According to another ḥadīth report he cites, as long as Muslims declared monotheism and Muḥammad’s prophethood,

12

See Tieszen, Christian Encounter.

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he said they could fornicate, steal, get drunk, and even murder and still enter heaven. 13 Muḥammad was not the only prophet of Arabia during his life, and he contested with his rivals Musaylima and al-ʿAnsī over who was the true prophet. Ibn Rajā’ seems to suggest that their similarities in call to prayer, claim to be God’s messenger, and claims to have a recitation (Qur’ān) made Muḥammad’s claims unremarkable for his era. There also seem to be contradictions in the reports about Muḥammad’s reception of his revelation in various Islamic sources according to Ibn Rajā’. Further, he alleges that Muḥammad utilized biblical material translated for him by the monk Baḥīrā and others to create his scripture. Ibn Rajā’ summarizes the story of Mary the Copt, who was an Egyptian woman who was gifted to the prophet as part of an agreement to be his concubine (or wife, depending upon the source). He mentions controversies related to Muḥammad’s activities with her and the jealousy of his other wives. Later, he addresses Muḥammad’s revelation about inviting guests over to his home who subsequently overstayed their welcome as an ill fit for scripture. He also delves into rules regarding Muḥammad’s marriages, whereby the number of concubine slaves was unlimited, and the ability to divorce wives is described in the Qur’ān. Ibn Rajā’ does not believe that the Qur’ān could have a divine origin given its fascination with sexual rules governing its prophet (especially given Ibn Rajā’’s former relationship with a concubine and his choice to become a celibate monk and priest). He also addresses the Zayd scandal, when Muḥammad’s foster son Zayd agreed to divorce his wife Zaynab when Muḥammad became attracted to her. Ibn Rajā’ recounts the Islamic reports on this event, and how Muḥammad subsequently married her. Once again, Ibn Rajā’ is flabbergasted that references to this af-

Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §25. This report is attributed to Abū Dharr, and found in Juynboll, Encyclopedia, 549.

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fair should be included in the Qur’ān to be recited in prayers by Muslims. In addition, Ibn Rajā’ analyzes Muḥammad’s death according to ḥadīth reports, noting that the sources mention his bewitchment and death by poisoning, which seems inconsistent with the principle that a prophet is protected by God. 14 Further, he argues that based upon Islamic ḥadīth sources, Muḥammad’s life does not represent a person that was favored over other prophets. Neither of his parents were monotheists and the Qur’ān and its commentators assumed they were in hell (Q 2:119). Ibn Rajā’ depicts him as a former polytheist as confirmed in Islamic sources, since the young Muḥammad grew up in that environment in Mecca. He would have worshipped idols, and as the Qur’ān acknowledges, at that time he was astray and in error (Q 93:7; 42:52). Indeed, he even married off one of his daughters to a polytheist before his prophetic call. The Islamic sources conclusively agree that Muḥammad was a polytheist earlier in his life and so the Islamic claims that he was preserved from sin lack merit. In the final chapter of The Truthful Exposer, Ibn Rajā’ retells Muḥammad’s Night Journey. At the same time, he adds asides where he points out problematic aspects of the narrative that make it difficult for him to believe. He notes that when Muḥammad was done telling the story of his journey to Jerusalem and up to heaven with Gabriel, many followers rejected his claims and apostatized, leading to his exile from Mecca. Overall, the message from these chapters in The Truthful Exposer is that Muḥammad cannot be considered a prophet due to his uncorroborated claims to possess a scripture, his sexual scandals, the dubious status of his prophetic background and actions, and the inability of Muḥammad and later Muslims to verify the miracles attributed to him.

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Ibn Rajā’, Truthful Exposer, §§159–160.

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THE HISTORICAL IMPACT OF THE TRUTHFUL EXPOSER: A SOURCE FOR WESTERN CHRISTIAN VIEWS OF ISLAM

Būluṣ ibn Rajā’’s work The Truthful Exposer proved to have an important literary afterlife, most especially in Western Europe. 15 His Arabic work was likely disseminated to other Eastern Christian Miaphysite groups who held the same Christology as the Copts, including the Syriac Orthodox. His arguments became known among them, including to the Syriac Orthodox polymath Gregory Bar Hebraeus, and later to the Maronites of Lebanon. But its greatest impact was due to its transfer to the Iberian Peninsula (and later all of Europe), where the Arabic text was used for refuting Muslims. The Truthful Exposer may have been brought by Christian monks traveling to Andalusia, or via Crusaders who had contacts in Egypt. Regardless of the origins of this process of theological exchange across networks, Arabic manuscripts of Kitāb al-Wāḍiḥ bi-l-ḥaqq were known to western Christians by the beginning of the thirteenth century. We know that the canon Mark of Toledo (d. ca. 1216) translated the Qur’ān into Latin in 1210, and that his team was actively engaged in translation projects at the behest of the Archbishop of Toledo, the historian Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada (d. 1247). Mark also translated some Arabic versions of Galen into Latin. It is likely that Mark and/or his team translated Ibn Rajā’’s Kitāb alWāḍiḥ bi-l-ḥaqq into Latin as the Liber denudationis (“Book of Exposing/Denuding”). 16 Both Arabic and Latin texts existed alongside one another, as the Arabic text was utilized by Ramon Martí (d. after 1284) in his treatise On the Sect of Muḥammad (De seta Machometi), and also by Ramon Llull (d. 1316), who suggested that captured Muslims should be required to read the Arabic version. Ibn Rajā’’s work also became the foundation for Against the Laws of the Saracens (Contra legem sarracenorum) by See Bertaina, “Arabic Version,” 425–443; Busic, “Christianity,” 77– 105. 16 Burman, Religious Polemic. 15

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the Italian Dominican friar Riccoldo da Monte di Croce (d. 1320), which repeats a significant amount of material from The Truthful Exposer. 17 Ibn Rajā’’s ideas shaped European Christian views of the Qur’ān, Muḥammad, Muslim religious practices, and legal interpretations.

FUTURE RESEARCH ON BŪLUṢ IBN RAJĀ’

The study of the life and works of Būluṣ ibn Rajā’ requires further attention. Recent studies have connected his biography with his Arabic work, and linked his Arabic original Kitāb alWāḍiḥ bi-l-ḥaqq with its legacy in Latin as the Liber denudationis. 18 However, additional investigation is needed to compare the Arabic recension with the Latin text. Another need is for scholars to reexamine Ibn Rajā’’s biography in order to analyze the historical details of his life. We also need to study the process by which his hagiography was recorded, preserved, and developed over time in literary compositions. Now that an edition and English translation are available of Ibn Rajā’’s The Truthful Exposer, scholars must begin to incorporate his legacy into their publications, emphasizing his importance as a Muslim convert to Coptic Christianity, a Christian Arabic respondent to Islam, and as an important figure during the Fatimid era under al-Ḥākim. Scholars of Western Europe need to rewrite the history of the Latin recension and connect Egypt with Andalusia—in other words explain how Ibn Rajā’’s vision of Islam is linked with medieval writers who utilized his text for their own purposes. Perhaps most important, scholars can further highlight how Ibn Rajā’ made ample use of intra-Islamic disputations as sources for his arguments. His former identity as a Muslim in the Fatimid court and his familiarity with its culture of debate between various Islamic factions (Sunnī, Ismāʿīlī, Muʿtazilī, etc.) contributed to the depth of Ibn Rajā’’s arguments for not only a Christian audience but for Muslims as well, who would have 17 18

Mérigoux, “L’ouvrage,” 1–144. Bertaina, “Arabic Version.”

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recognized his sources from ḥadīth reports and commentators. Scholars can examine how he used Islamic sources in order to unearth more ways in which he utilized his Islamic upbringing to communicate his ideas. Būluṣ ibn Rajā’’s life and works help us better understand the Christian Arabic tradition, the history of Christian-Muslim encounters, the history of religious conversion, and Islamic history.

A TRANSLATION OF SECTIONS OF KITĀB AL-WĀḌIḤ BI-LḤAQQ

(THE TRUTHFUL EXPOSER) Chapter 17

[128] Then more amazing than this is his statement in sūrat “Sheba”: “We have not sent you except to all people.” 19 In addition he says at the end of sūrat “The Prophets”: “We have not sent you except as a mercy to the worlds.” 20 This is impossible, because if God sent him to all people, he would have known all of the languages so he would speak to the Byzantine in his language and the Nubian in his language and the Copt in his language and the Syriac speaker in his language, and that would be a sign. For our Lord Jesus Christ the Son of God—the Eternal Living One, to him be praise—was speaking all of these languages, and there were seventy-two languages. 21 Then after his time, he sent the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, so he would speak through the disciples’ mouths in all of the languages which Our Lord Jesus Christ spoke. If your companion—your prophet— were speaking all of the languages, and he would speak to every people in their own language, then that would be appropriate. If God sent your companion—your prophet—with Arabic to eveQ 34:28. Q 21:107. 21 The number seventy-two is a reference to the number of apostles that Jesus sent out to every land to preach the good news, with seventy-two representing all nations’ languages. 19 20

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ryone who did not speak Arabic, then He would have wronged them, and injustice is far from Him. Because He would have sent a messenger to them who could not understand them and they could not understand him. If He sent him as a mercy to the worlds—just as [Muḥammad] said—then there would be tangible proofs. He has said in the Qur’ān what invalidates this and it is his statement: “We have only sent a messenger in his people’s own language.” 22 I think that is sufficient. [129] That this reading has proofs and signs was mentioned in sūrat “Abraham.” 23 He would speak to every people among them in their own language. Don’t you hear his statement in sūrat “Jonah” 24 where a group of the Quraysh came and they said to him: “Muḥammad, you claim that God spoke in this Qur’ān.” He said: “Yes.” So they said to him: “It should have been mandatory for all of the languages to come down upon you, so you could speak to all creatures by what is proper for them and the language of every people among them. So make the Qur’ān come down upon you in a language other than the language of the Arabs.” So he said to them this verse which is in sūrat “Jonah”: “When our verses are recited to them as clear signs, those who do not expect the meeting with us say, ‘Bring us a Qur’ān other than this or change it’. Say: ‘It is not for me to change it on my own accord. I only follow what is revealed to me’.” 25 So they said: “We do not ask you to change it on your own accord, rather we ask you to ask God to reveal it to you in a language other than this language, if you claim to be a prophet.” So he said: “God says to you: ‘Take whatever the messenger brought you, and cease whatever he forbids you from’.” 26 This reply to what they were asking him about is only sophistry and an evasion from truth. If God sent one messenger to all of the people with Q 14:4. Q 14. 24 Q 10. 25 Q 10:15. 26 Q 59:7. 22 23

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signs and proofs, and he came to the people but he did not speak to them in their language, then that would be an [example of] inflexibility and violence and oppression from God upon His worshippers. [130] Only our Lord Christ knows that, to him be glory. God directed his Eternal Word, and he became incarnate from the pure Virgin Mary. He revealed him to the people as a mercy for them and salvation and grace upon them. So he revealed signs and miracles and he healed the lepers and the blind and he caused the dead to rise. He preached to every group in their own language. He remained on earth for thirty-three years until the religion spread and unbelief and tyranny perished. God’s authority appeared despite most of his enemies and the ways became safe. And the hypocrites’ bonds were cut. He saved everyone who was in Hell and his followers unto the ages of ages. He ensured Paradise for us and made us inheritors of his kingdom. He left us with that, without a sword or a rod or shedding blood. [131] Your companion [Muḥammad] came to you with the sword without proof or evidence. When you required proofs of him, he said: “I do not have any proof except for this Qur’ān for which no one knows its interpretation, and only God knows its interpretations.” So he destroyed the idols and he guided you from their worship. He gave you a Black Stone and he said to you: “Do the pilgrimage for this every year and pray to it.” And he left you a Qur’ān which has no benefit or profit. He says to you in it: “O Prophet, marry so-and-so,” and “O Prophet, divorce so-and-so,” and “O Prophet, take Zayd’s wife from him and you marry her.” [And] “O Prophet, say to Abū Hurayra, not to enter your house and not to eat your bread.” [132] [Muḥammad] looked at the previous Scriptures and stole the words that were in them, and he credited them to himself. He repeated every word in a number of places. He said: “If you don’t profess God in the way I have brought to you, then I will kill you.” So some people obeyed him willingly, and others among them were coerced. The matter was settled for him, and in that he achieved his goal. When the time came for his depar-

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ture from you, he said to you in sūrat “The Sand Dunes”: “Say: I do not know what will be done with me or with you.” 27 So he passed away and he did not know where he would go, nor what would happen to him. If they reflect on this argument, then it should be convincing for them. [133] Then he said in sūrat “Sheba”: “Say: Who provides for you from the Heavens and the earth? Say: God. Indeed, we or you are either well-guided or in clear error.” 28 So he does not even know if he is [well-guided] or in clear error, nor can he decide about it, so what is the point of following him? [134] These words are not concealed from them. Neither do you fail to read it. Rather it is written in your Qur’ān and you read it throughout the night and day. Your children learn it from teachers, and they read it in prayers. They read it throughout the night and they read it in their homes. The poor among them read it and beggars use it to ask for favors and charity. Their ignorant and their intellectuals, their young and their old, all of them possess what we have mentioned. All their hearts went blind so they could not see or reason. Chapter 20

[165] A response to whoever claims that [Muḥammad] never disbelieved nor worshipped idols, even for the blink of an eye. [166] We reply to them: You yourselves and your companion’s ḥadīth reports conveyed the fact that his parents were unbelievers, worshippers of idols, and they were both impure and are in Hell. He spent forty years worshipping idols. Now tell us about the Lord Christ, what can you say except that he is the Spirit of God and his Word whom He cast forth into Mary? Their Qur’ān declares this. So we say to them: Did he disbelieve? They say: “No.” So we say to them: Tell us about the Virgin Mary, what do 27 28

Q 46:9. Q 34:24.

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you say about her? So they say: “She is pure, holy, and there is no trace of impurity or stain in her.” Their Qur’ān declares this. 29 So we say to them: Blind-hearted ones, you have made someone who disbelieved for forty years, going astray worshipping idols, and his parents who were impure unbelievers who worshipped idols—and the two of them are in Hell—better than the Spirit of God and his Word! Doesn’t that seem to you ignorant and mistaken, and an exaggeration in claiming? They deviate from the truth and they become fanatics openly following falsehood. [167] What kind of favor did you find your prophet possessing that was not found belonging to Christ? Your Qur’ān reports that Christ cast out demons. He healed those who had illnesses—among the crazy people—as well as mutilation and leprosy and blindness and he caused the dead to rise. There is no disagreement between you [Muslims] about it, you read [it] night and day and you worship God with that. You allege about your prophet—there is no disagreement among you about that—that he was bewitched and that sorcery worked on him and it was the work of demons, and that he died bewitched and poisoned. There is no disagreement that your prophet did not bring back anyone from the dead, nor that he cast out a demon, nor that he opened the eyes of the blind, nor that he healed the lepers, nor that he did anything which our Lord Christ and his disciples used to do. What a distance between the actions of our Lord Christ and his actions. But you are incapable of making that distinction and you do not make it. [168] A response to whoever says that [Muḥammad] did not worship idols nor disbelieve in God even for the blink of an eye. [169] If someone among the dissenters says that Muḥammad did not use to worship idols nor disbelieve in God even for the blink Some examples from the Qur’ān that are cited in the Latin translation but not here include Q 3:45 and 4:171, which both affirm the Annunciation to Mary and her high status as mother of Jesus the Word.

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of an eye, then whoever says that has lied. It is either that the one who says this is ignorant and without knowledge, so he speaks with ignorance, or that he knows the path of truth and he deviated from it into error. We will respond to you from the Qur’ān and the ḥadīth reports, God willing. From that, he said in the Qur’ān in sūrat “The Morning Brightness”: “Did He not find you an orphan and give [you] refuge? And He found you lost and guided [you]?” 30 So this verse from the Qur’ān tells that he was lost and then he was guided. [170] Another proof is in sūrat “Victory”: “We have given you a clear victory that God may forgive you for what is past of your sin and what is to come.” 31 He reminded us there that he had earlier sins. [171] A third proof relates about him that he married his eldest daughter to ʿUtba ibn Abī Lahab before Islam appeared. He was an unbeliever who worshipped idols. He divorced her and al-ʿĀṣ ibn Rabīʿ married her, and he was an unbeliever who worshipped idols as well. When Islam appeared and he became stronger, [Muḥammad] divorced her from him. He said to him: “If you choose her, then convert to Islam and I will return her to you.” So al-ʿĀṣ converted to Islam, and he returned her to him in the former marriage. 32 She had a daughter with him called Umāma, ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib married her after Fāṭima died. That was reported to me as authentic by Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad, from Muḥammad ibn al-Qāsim, from Abū ʿAbd al-Raḥmān alNasā’ī, from Qutayba ibn Saʿīd al-Shāmī, from Mālik from Zayd ibn Aslam, from ʿAṭā’ ibn Yasār from Abū Hurayra that Muḥammad married his eldest daughter to ʿUtba ibn Abī Lahab. He divorced her so al-ʿĀṣ ibn Rabīʿ married her after him. That Q 93:6–7. Q 48:1–2. 32 Ibn Rajā’ may be conflating the stories of two of Muḥammad’s daughters. According to Islamic tradition, Ruqayya (the second-eldest) married ʿUtba ibn Abī Lahab, while Zaynab (the eldest) married al-ʿĀṣ ibn Rabīʿ. See Guillaume, Life, 313–317. 30 31

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was before the appearance of Islam. When Islam spread, he divorced her from him and he said: “If you choose her then convert to Islam.” When he converted to Islam, he returned her to him in the former marriage. [172] So how can a prophet of God make these great claims about his favor and his rank from God and that God only made creation for him, [yet] undertake to marry his daughter to one unbeliever after another? Wasn’t God able to prevent His prophet from that by protecting him? Isn’t that a clear proof that testifies that he professed a pre-Islamic religion? If you say that he did not profess a pre-Islamic religion and that he was only a Muslim and that God protected him from polytheism and unbelief, [then] we say to you: Then why did he marry his daughter to unbelievers? Wouldn’t God command him not to do that and protect him from it, just as He protected him from unbelief, according to the impossibility that you allege? Or would He reveal [the command] to him through some of His angels? Those who allege that [angels] used to come to him before he became a prophet, and they would sit down with him and greet him, would it be proper if one of those angels would forbid him from [doing] that? God would have shown him that in his dreams and forbid him from it. If in that time he [embraced] the infidels’ unbelief, and he knew that that was in error, marrying his daughter despite his knowledge of that, then he would have done what no prophet or non-prophet had done before him. [173] Suppose you say that he professed a religion of an unbelieving people, and that he married his daughter to them despite [his] knowledge of that. We reply to them: Then why do you allege that he did not disbelieve in God even for the blink of an eye? This is a clear proof responding to you, and the final thing which your opponent will find as a way to debate with you and reduce your argument. If you think about that then you will find it convincing.

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[174] A refutation regarding the favor of Muḥammad’s female children over the pure Virgin Mary. 33 [175] If someone says that Fāṭima the daughter of Muḥammad is better than Mary, then we say to him: Why is that? Didn’t we explain to you in the previous chapter the matter of your prophet and his unbelief and the unbelief of his parents, who are in Hell, and that your prophet disbelieved in God for forty years and that he married his eldest daughter to two unbelievers and one of them got her pregnant?

BIBLIOGRAPHY Primary Sources

Bertaina, David. Būluṣ ibn Rajā’: The Fatimid Egyptian Convert Who Shaped Christian Views of Islam. Leiden: Brill, 2022. [Edition of Arabic text and English translation] Burman, Thomas. Religious Polemic and the Intellectual History of the Mozarabs, c. 1050–1200. Leiden: Brill, 1994. [Edition of Latin text and English translation] Atiya, Aziz Suryal, Yassā ʿAbd al-Masīḥ, and Oswald Hugh Ewart KHS-Burmester, eds. History of the Patriarchs of the Egyptian Church: Known as the History of the Holy Church. Vol. 2, pt. 1, Khaël III–Šenouti II (A. D. 880–1066). Cairo: Société d’archéologie copte, 1948. [Biography]

This was a political claim made by the Ismāʿīlī Fatimids asserting their authority and genealogical connection to Muḥammad’s family since they claimed their ancestry through him. Interestingly, Sunnī scholars argued against this Fatimid claim regarding Fāṭima. This section is a response to Fatimid claims but it may reflect the arguments made by anti-Fatimid Muslims. 33

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Secondary Sources

Bertaina, David. “Būlus ibn Rajā’ on the History and Integrity of the Qur’ān: Copto-Islamic Controversy in Fatimid Cairo.” In Arab Christians and the Qur’ān from the Origins of Islam to the Medieval Period, edited by Mark Beaumont, 174–195. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Bertaina, David. “The Arabic Version of the Liber Denudationis: How Fatimid Controversies shaped Medieval European Views of Islam.” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 31 (2020): 425–443. https://doi.org/10.1080/09596410.2021.1872925. Burman, Thomas. “Liber Denudationis.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 3. (1050–1200), edited by David Thomas and Alex Mallett, 414–417. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 15. Leiden: Brill, 2011. Busic, Jason. “Christianity, Islam, and Muḥammad in the Mozarabic Liber denudationis (XI or XII Century).” In Revisiting Convivencia in Medieval and Early Modern Iberia, edited by Connie Scarborough, 77–105. Newark, DE: Juan de la Cuesta, 2014. Guillaume, Alfred. The Life of Muḥammad: A Translation of Ibn Isḥāq’s “sīrat rasūl allāh”. 1955. Reprint, London: Oxford University Press, 1990. Juynboll, Gautier H. A. Encyclopedia of Canonical Ḥadīth. Leiden: Brill, 2007. Mérigoux, Jean-Marie. “L’ouvrage d’un frère prêcheur florentin en Orient à la fin du XIIIe siècle: Le Contra legem Sarracenorum de Riccoldo da Monte di Croce.” Memorie Domenicane 17 (1986): 1–144. Swanson, Mark. “Būluṣ ibn Rajā’.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 2. (900–1050), edited by David Thomas and Alex Mallett, 541–546. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 14. Leiden: Brill, 2010.

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Tieszen, Charles. The Christian Encounter with Muḥammad: How Theologians Have Interpreted the Prophet. London: Bloomsbury, 2021.

CHAPTER 11. ABŪ AL-FARAJ IBN AL-ṬAYYIB (D. 1043): A SCHOLAR-PRIEST EXPLAINS THE TRINITARIAN PERSONS MICHAEL F. KUHN “The ʿAbbāsid Renaissance” may be an unfamiliar term to English readers. Understanding the history and contribution of the ʿAbbāsids to the renewal of science is essential to understanding Ibn al-Ṭayyib (d. 1043) and his noteworthy contribution to defining the Trinity in the Muslim context. The ʿAbbāsids were the third great Caliphate of the ancient Islamic world. After the death of Muḥammad in 632, four successive “Rightly-Guided Caliphs” formed the leadership of the community of Muslims. In fact, the Arabic word “caliph” means “successor.” 1 They formed the first great Caliphate, ruling from Mecca—the birth city of Muḥammad. In 661, the Caliphate was transferred to Damascus for nearly 100 years and known as the Umayyad Caliphate—the second Islamic Caliphate. In 750, 128 What is now the Shi’ite community felt that the line of succession should stay within the bloodline of Muḥammad. They refer to the succession of leaders as an Imāmate led by an Imām (the word means “leader,” denoting “to stand in front”). The first Imām after Muḥammad was his nephew ʿAlī, followed by his sons Ḥasan and Ḥusayn. 1

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years after Muḥammad’s death, the Caliphate was transferred to Baghdad. This third Caliphate led by the ʿAbbāsids portended a move beyond the tribalism which had characterized the early years of the Muslim community. Baghdad became one of the most scientifically advanced cities in the world, innovating in the areas of philosophy, astronomy, medicine and, of course, theology. One factor which contributed to Baghdad’s intellectual ascent was the presence of Christian and Jewish communities in that city. The question of how Muslims treated their Christian citizens has received a great deal of attention. It is inaccurate— and possibly even dangerous—to attempt to summarize a period of over 500 years in one catchphrase. While there are examples of mistreatment of Christians and Jews, the entire period need not be characterized in this way. In fact, the ʿAbbāsids recognized that Christians could assist in their intellectual aspirations and honored those who contributed to the well-being of their society through science.

CHRISTIAN SCHOLARSHIP IN THE ʿABBĀSID REALM

The house of wisdom (Bayt al-ḥikma) originated as a type of palace library during the Sassanian (Persian) Empire. Later, during the Caliphates of Harun al-Rashid and al-Ma’mun, the term represented the Caliph’s literary collection. 2 In time, the names of Christian scholars and intellectuals such as Ḥunayn ibn Isḥaq, 3 were associated with the House of Wisdom. Ibn Isḥaq was renowned for his precise translation of the Greek literary heritage. Early references to the Bayt al-ḥikma are in Ibn al-Nadīm’s Fihrist written in 987. It linked the Bayt to the ʿAbbāsid Caliphs Harūn al-Rashīd and al-Ma’mūn. The concept and term were Sassanian and likely referred to a palace library. The activities included copying books, commentating on the concepts therein and preserving the books. Dimitri and van Bladel, “Bayt,” EI3. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 3 Landron, Chrétiens, 66–70. 2

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The normal pattern of translation moved from Greek to Syriac and then Arabic. Christians, with their knowledge of these languages, were at the forefront of this translation movement and contributed to the scientific renaissance of Baghdad. It was finally through the Arabic language that the Greek masters subsequently made their way back into Europe, through the portals of Sicily and Cordoba. Abū al-Faraj ʿAbdallāh ibn al-Ṭayyib was one of the later Christians of Baghdad whose wealth of knowledge enabled him to translate the Greek philosophical heritage into Arabic. His predecessor, Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī, whose Trinitarian formulation influenced Ibn al-Ṭayyib, also provided scholarly translation in his era. Although recent scholarship is reluctant to link Ibn alṬayyib with the “House of Wisdom” directly, there is little doubt that he stands in a venerable tradition of Christian scholars who contributed to a renaissance of the sciences in Abbasid Baghdad. Ibn al-Ṭayyib was a man of letters, a polymath whose interests and contributions extend far beyond the fields of liturgy and theology.

IBN AL-ṬAYYIB’S LIFE

Little is known of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s life. He lived in Baghdad, where he labored as a physician while filling the role of a scholar-priest in the Assyrian Church of the East. 4 He lived during the early eleventh century and was a contemporary of Elias of Nisibis and Avicenna (Ibn Sīnā). His probable date of death is 1043.

The Assyrian Church of the East is often referred to as the Nestorian Church. As Nestorius was Greek and not Syriac, the moniker has been somewhat discredited. While some Church of the East theologians have accepted the title, it is more accurate that Nestorius adhered to the theology of Church of the East luminaries such as Theodore of Mopsuestia. Therefore, we will refer to Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s ecclesial community as the Church of the East. See Brock, “ʻNestorianʼ Church,” 23–35. 4

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Ibn al-Ṭayyib achieved renown as a physician in the ʿAdūdiyya Hospital of Baghdad. 5 During this medieval period, the roles of doctor and philosopher overlapped. He benefitted from an elite education under his teacher al-Ḥassan ibn alKhammār, who had studied under Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī (893–974). 6 Yaḥyā was a Jacobite (Miaphysite) Christian and a master of Aristotelian thought. He responded to the polemic of al-Warrāq, whose relentless interrogation of the Christian Trinity and the two natures of Christ had persisted for nearly a century with no Christian rebuttal. 7 It is not surprising, therefore, that Yaḥyā’s formulation of the Trinity will reappear in Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s writing. Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s philosophical credentials are impressive. He explains the Book of Questions, presumably by Ḥunayn ibn Isḥāq (d. 873), and comments on Greek luminaries Aristotle, Hippocrates and Galen. 8 His commentary on Porphyry’s Isagoge was presumed to be authored by al-Fārābī until the decollation of the manuscript’s pages revealed Ibn al-Ṭayyib as the true author. 9 Ibn Buṭlān, one of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s students, records that he was engrossed in Aristotle’s Metaphysics for a period of twenty years, seeking to explain the meaning. The same student suggests that this assiduousness may have led to his death. Ironically, Avicenna (Ibn Sīna) castigated Ibn al-Ṭayyib, suggesting that his philosophical works were worthless—although it is likely that Avicenna’s animosity was rooted in the rivalry between his school of philosophy and that of Ibn al-Ṭayyib. 10 The Hospital was named for the Buyid Emir ʿAdūd al-Dawla. The Buyids ruled Baghdad and environs during the life of Ibn al-Ṭayyib while the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate was limited to sovereignty over religious aspects of the empire. 6 See Platti, “Yaḥyā,” 172–191. 7 Abū ʿĪsā ibn Hārūn ibn Muḥammad al-Warrāq. See Thomas, Early Muslim. 8 Faultless, “Ibn al-Ṭayyib,” CMR, 2:667–90. 9 Landron, “Apologétique,” 185, 87. 10 Samir, “La place,” 183. 5

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Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s medical and philosophical pursuits were accompanied by an impressive record of service to his Christian community. Some have referred to him as a monk, although it is more likely that he served as a liturgist and priest. Recognized for his great learning, he served as secretary to two successive Catholicoses (equivalent of the pope of the Church of the East) in Baghdad. It fell to him to convene a synod to elect Elias I of Tirhan as Catholicos. His secretarial role included editing and overseeing official church publications. It was in this capacity that he inspected and approved the Sessions of Elias of Nisibis with the Marwanid Minister of State, Abū al-Qāsim al-Maghribī. His endorsement is included in the Sessions as follows: “I have read it and prayed for the life of its composer and for the continuation of his prayers for the world. The letter is extremely beautiful, orthodox and in harmony with the ecclesial books. It is impossible for him who loves the truth to reject a single word thereof.” 11 One final anecdote may shed some light on Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s combined role as a physician theologian in ʿAbbāsid Baghdad. Two Persian students arrived in Baghdad seeking the savant whose renown had reached their homeland. They repaired to a church where they were astonished to find Ibn al-Ṭayyib leading prayers in clerical robes with head uncovered, holding a censor. After the conclusion of the prayers, he observed their surprise but refrained from responding. He proceeded to teach them the arts of medicine. However, when the season of the Muslim pilgrimage arrived, he queried if they had completed their religious duty. Ascertaining they had not, Ibn al-Ṭayyib sent his Persian understudies on pilgrimage to Mecca. Upon their return, he asked if they dressed in humble garb, hurled stones at the devil and ran the course as required by the rite of pilgrimage. Upon their affirmative response, the master delivered a lesson to his Persian disciples instructing that in matters related to divine law, ritual (cor11

Delly, La theologie, 16.

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The story may be apocryphal, though the author’s penchant to subject reason to revelation is apparent in his Trinitarian formulation as well.

IBN AL-ṬAYYIB’S LITERARY CONTRIBUTION

Although few of his works are extant, Ibn al-Ṭayyib wrote prolifically in the fields of philosophy, medicine and theology. He wrote commentaries on many Greek philosophers (e.g., Aristotle, Hippocrates, and Galen). His most memorable contribution in the field of theology is exegetical in nature, titled The Paradise of Christianity. Contrary to contemporary theology, the value of the medieval period was to pass on the thought of the Fathers as accurately as possible. Ibn al-Ṭayyib observed the decline of Syriac as the language of public life and literature, and devoted himself to preserving his heritage in the new medium of Arabic. He drew from Eastern luminaries such as Theodore of Mopsuestia (ca. 350–428), John Chrysostom (347–407), Moshe bar Kepha (ca. 813–903) and Isho’dad of Merv (9th c.). His exegetical work included Genesis, the Psalms, the Gospels and some of the Epistles. 13 Ibn al-Ṭayyib authored numerous treatises which are theological in nature. Some of these exist only in part. Of his Treatise on Religious Principles, only the titles of his topics remain. 14 Several shorter theological treatises have been preserved. The theme that predominates these treatises is the unity of the persons of the Trinity in Christian thought. Other themes include Kuhn, God, 23. The story is related in Landron, “Apologétique,” 186; Samir, “La place,” 179. 13 Faultless, “Ibn al-Ṭayyib,” CMR, 2:668–669. 14 Ibn al-Ṭayyib was valued beyond his Church of the East community. The Copt, Ibn al-ʿAssāl’s collection entitled Compendium of Religious Principles preserved some of the author’s theological works in a treatise titled A Treatise of Fourteen Chapters. Ibn al-ʿAssāl, Majmūʿ. 12

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the superiority of Christ’s law over all other laws, the impossibility of abrogating Christ’s law, the veracity of the gospels, that the blessings of eternity are not sensual pleasures but union with God, and the final punishment is estrangement from God. 15 It has been noted that Ibn al-Ṭayyib makes no explicit reference to Islam or to Muslims, which is remarkable, given that he lived and functioned in the intellectual hub of the Muslim world of his day—Baghdad. The question arises as to whether the scholar engaged with the intellectual currents in his native Baghdad, or remained blissfully detached. The evidence of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s engagement with Islamic thought is to be found not in explicit references to Islam, but in the thematic correlation of his theological formulations in response to the great debates of his era. Indeed, all the themes listed above were actively debated between Christians and Muslims. We can seek some justification for Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s lack of explicit reference to Islam in the acrid polemical atmosphere that dominated the Muslim-Christian interface of Baghdad in his era. There was little to gain from debate with Muslims, and much to lose. Muslim polemicists had made the Christian Trinity their “exhibit A” of defective tawḥīd (the concept of Allah’s absolute oneness). The literature gives clues that Christians, sensing the futility of polemics, were withdrawing from the field of public debate. One of the fiercest Muslim polemicists of the period was ʿAbd al-Jabbār al-Hamadhānī (d. 1025), a contemporary of Ibn al-Ṭayyib. Being familiar with the Christian theologians of Baghdad, he mentions several of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Christian predecessors and then adds: “and after him Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī and from him draw those atheists who are in your time and their sect does not engage in debate.” 16 ʿAbd al-Jabbār referred to Christians as Faultless, “Ibn al-Ṭayyib,” CMR, 2:683. For a critical edition of ʿAbd al-Jabbār al-Hamadhānī’s Establishing the Proofs of Prophethood, see Reynolds and Samir, Abd Al-Jabbar. However, Reynolds and Samir’s translation does not bring out the force of this statement concerning the sect that does not engage in debate. The

15 16

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“atheists.” As Ibn al-Ṭayyib was a successor of Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī in the House of Wisdom in Baghdad, we have here both a possible indication that Ibn al-Ṭayyib had intentionally withdrawn from public debate and a clue to indicate why he did not engage. He saw the futility of it and resorted to strengthening the doctrine of his church forbears to reinforce his ecclesial community in a period when its doctrine was under fire by a dominant Islamic tawḥīd. 17 Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s theology contained his implicit apologetic in response to Islamic tawḥīd, as will be seen below.

IBN AL-ṬAYYIB’S TRINITARIAN FORMULATION

Tawḥīd had become the watchword of Islam and the gold standard of philosophical reasoning in ʿAbbāsid Baghdad. The Greek philosophical ideas of an unmoved mover, pure being and the source of all being without contingency (change) had already rooted in the East. The revelation brought by the prophet of Islam resonated well with this exalted view of God: “There is no God but Allah.” The Qur’ān’s stately declaration captured the concept: “He is Allah, One. Allah, the eternal refuge. He neither begets nor is born nor is there to him any equivalent” (Q 112). The mutakallimūn (theologians) of the Ashʿarite and Mu’tazilite schools of Islamic thought elaborated on the concept, interrogating their Christian counterparts as to whether their Trinitarian concept could claim to uphold the oneness of God, his unicity. Their confession that Jesus was divinity incarnate was perceived as the Achilles’ heel of their monotheistic claim. Furthermore, worship of Father, Son and Spirit—three hypostases—left the Christian claim of monotheism vulnerable to attack. Erudite Muslim polemicists eagerly demonstrated its logical absurdity. Indeed, the medieval polemic is meticulous and pedantic to a degree rarely seen in our day.

translation above is a more literal rendering. See Reynolds and Samir, 153. 17 Kuhn, God, 89–90.

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The burning questions of the Muslim polemicists demanded answers. Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s theological treatises are best understood in this vein. He attempts to provide answers for his Christian community. The treatises are relatively brief and succinctly worded, suggesting they may have served as theological training documents for priests and liturgists. The intent was clearly to buttress Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s ecclesial community in an era when conversions to Islam were prevalent and Islam was politically and socially dominant. This article will draw primarily from three of Ibn alṬayyib’s treatises. The titles are labeled “Treatise on Unity and Trinity” (M2), 18 “Treatise on Trinity and Unity” (M3), 19 and “Brief Treatise” (MM). 20 Following are some of the critical concepts that Ibn al-Ṭayyib defined to provide clarity for his Church of the East community. Key Terms and Concepts Attribute (al-ṣifa ‫)الصفة‬

Ibn al-Ṭayyib, in similar fashion to his Christian predecessors, calls upon the Islamic understanding of the divine attributes to aid in understanding the Christian Trinity. It is noteworthy that the author chose the common Muslim word (ṣifa) and limited his use of the common Christian word (khāṣṣa). His division of Troupeau, “Le traité,” Parole. Troupeau produced an edition of M2 with French translation. Manuscripts follow Ibn al-Ṭayyib, “Epistle,” 196r–99v; idem, “Maqāla,” 50v-77r. 19 Troupeau, “Le traite,” Bulletin. Gerard’s French version of M3 with accompanying Arabic. Manuscripts follow Ibn al-Ṭayyib, “Maqāla,” 50v-67r; idem, “Epistle,” 99v-104r. 20 Troupeau, “Le traite,” Orientalia. I am employing the descriptive phrases of the manuscript copyist: the second treatise, or M2 (M for maqāla, i.e., article), the third treatise, or M3, and the “Brief Treatise,” or MM (translates ‫ مقا�� ��ت��ة‬maqāla mukhtaṣara). For the chronology and dating of the treatises, see Kuhn, God, 54–56. 18

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the attributes into two categories—attributes of essence and act—is reminiscent of the Ashʿarite division. The categories bear some similarity to the contemporary monikers of incommunicable and communicable attributes, but care should be taken to avoid a one-to-one correspondence. For Ibn al-Ṭayyib, the attributes of act extend beyond the essence of God to his creation. The number of these attributes is unlimited and can be discovered progressively by humankind. God’s power, for example, can be clearly seen in nature through the acts of power observable by human beings. God’s providential care can also be inferred by the human mind from a careful observation of the created order. The same could be said for justice, mercy, goodness, etc. As for the attributes of essence, these are the attributes which cannot be discerned from the creation because they do not extend beyond the divine essence. They are internal to that essence and, therefore, humankind can only discern them through revelation. Unlike the attributes of act, those of essence are limited in number. They are three, according to the Christian confession, and that number cannot be increased or decreased. The three attributes of the divine essence are fatherhood, sonship and procession. Ibn al-Ṭayyib carefully shows that the names of these attributes are revealed in Scripture. For this reason, they cannot be augmented or diminished. It is a function of revelation to tell human beings what they cannot infer from creation. Moreover, the names of these attributes do not equate to their usage in common speech. There is no temporal precedence or essential priority among the three. For the English reader, the word “attribute” connotes little more than a descriptor. It is important to remember that the word was weightier in the Medieval Muslim context. Ibn alṬayyib stipulated that the attributes are entities (maʿānī) within the essence. Therefore, it would not be amiss to translate “at-

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tributes” as “innate entities” or something comparable. We will consider this point further below. 21 Hypostasis (aqnūm pl. aqānīm)

Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s formulation for the hypostases is tightly bound to the attributes but requires an extra logical step. A hypostasis of divinity results when an attribute of essence is taken with the essence. It is the joining of the attribute with the essence in which it inheres, that results in a person (hypostasis) of the Trinity. As anticipated, when the attribute of fatherhood is taken with the essence, the resulting hypostasis is the Father. The Son results when sonship is taken with the essence. The Spirit results when procession is taken with the essence. Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s reader may rightly ask what lies behind this word “taken”? What does he mean when he speaks of the attribute “taken with” the essence? The response is not entirely clear, but other imagery used by Ibn al-Ṭayyib may assist. For instance, he speaks of the “overflow” (ifāḍa) of the essence within itself as the Son, and the overflow upon others as the Spirit. The coexistence of the essence with the attribute is also described as a joining or union (jumla) or an ensemble (mujtamʿ). The description may harken back to John of Damascus or the Cappadocians, who referred to the coinherence (perichoresis) of the divine persons. The result was a unity of will and action. Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Brief Treatise (MM) states that the action of the Creator finds its source in his essence, not the persons. The author may be referring to the conceptualization of the Trinitarian persons in the mind of the believer (i.e. the human mind “takes” the attribute with the essence to understand the person). However, a more appealing solution is that the essence itself “takes” the attribute to itself, to act in the persons of the Trinity.

To assist in understanding the Ashʿarite concept of the attributes, see Cumming, “Ṣifāt,” 113–114. 21

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Ibn al-Ṭayyib gave preference to the common Muslim word for the divine essence (dhāt), rather than the moniker of choice for Christians, substance (jawhār). He shows a preference for the use of “substance” when speaking of created beings, while he opts for “essence” when speaking of divinity. In both cases, the essence or substance of a being is the true nature of that being. Ibn al-Ṭayyib understands each of the attributes of the essence to be associated with, joined to the essence. However, the essence itself is clearly one, not three, as it can be neither divided nor composed of parts. The definition corresponds with common Muslim polemics of his era, as will be seen below. Trinity (tathlīth)

A point of interest in Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s formulation is his choice of the word tathlīth for Trinity. It was the commonly-used word of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Arabic context. However, Ibn al-Ṭayyib—and his Church of the East community—was primarily Syriac-speaking. His Scriptural commentary sought to preserve the Syriac heritage in Arabic. Though Ibn al-Ṭayyib mastered the Arabic medium, it was not the well-worn language of his Syriac community. Christian concepts were still finding their way into Arabic. Tathlīth (literally, “making three”) is juxtaposed with tawḥīd (literally, “making one”). At the conceptual level, the word appears to affirm the Muslim caricature rather than correct it, leading to criticism of the scholar for embracing the Arabic term. The criticism is a privilege of those with historical hindsight. In reality, the political and social dominance of Islam inevitably imposed Arabic on the Christians of the Middle East. 22 Christians were catching up to their Arabic-speaking Muslim counterparts, attempting to express their cherished beliefs in the language of their overlords.

22

Haddad, La Trinité, 181.

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The choice of terminology appears to have set the parameters of the debate. Christians assumed a defensive posture. Their “making three” could hardly be construed as “making one.” In time, Christians would opt for the more esoteric thalūth for Trinity and waḥdāniyya (unity, rather than unicity) to express the oneness of divinity. 23 Knowledge, Knowing, and Known (al-ʿilm, al-ʿālim, al-maʿlūm)

Ibn al-Ṭayyib adopts the rational argument which was recognizable in Muslim circles through Ibn Sīnā (Avicenna). 24 Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī used the same argument by choosing the word “intellect” (ʿaql) instead of knowledge. The argument pre-supposes that God knows, as an unknowing God would be no god at all. As God knows, he must know himself or have self-knowledge. Thus, he is knowing. If he knows of himself, he is also a known one. Ibn al-Ṭayyib associates the knowledge of God with the Father as the rational source of the Trinitarian persons. The knowledge of self is the “knowing one” and is associated with the Son. The attribute of being known pertains to the Spirit. In a foreshadowing of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s exposition of the attributes of essence, he argues that knowledge as an attribute of essence, when taken with the essence, yields the Father. This argument is found in M2, which contains the embryo of his fuller development of the Trinitarian formulation in M3. The argument is open to criticism, as Ibn al-Ṭayyib forcefully argues in M3 that the only attributes of the essence are fatherhood, sonship and procession. Why, then, is knowledge portrayed as an attribute of the essence in M2, especially given that knowledge fits well with the author’s understanding of the attributes of act—discernible through creation? Ibn al-Ṭayyib recognizes the lacuna in his argument and addresses it in M3,

For a helpful treatment of the Trinity and Oneness of God from a contemporary Arab theologian, see Shehadeh, God. 24 Afnan, Avicenna, 170–71. 23

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stressing that he is speaking of the divine self-knowledge, as human knowledge of the divine is liable to error. 25

IBN AL-ṬAYYIB’S TRINITARIAN FORMULATION IN CONTEXT

Discerning Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s contribution to Trinitarian conversations requires that he be studied in the context of the theologians of his era. He was clearly drawing from his forbears in the East, in their conversations with Muslims and their engagement with the Greek and Syriac fathers. Examining the specific questions that Muslims posed to their Christian counterparts provides perspective on Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s value in the MuslimChristian interface of his era. Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Eastern Christian Predecessors

Two Eastern luminaries will suffice to reveal that Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s contribution both built upon their concepts and innovated where the need of innovation was perceived. ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī (early 9th century), like Ibn al-Ṭayyib, was an esteemed theologian of the Church of the East. His Book of Questions and Answers was dedicated to the ʿAbbāsid Caliph alMa’mūn (r. 813–833). This work, together with his Book of Proof, stands as the most thorough defense of Christianity in the Muslim context of the ninth century. 26 ʿAmmār is noteworthy for being one of the first Eastern theologians to write in Arabic. 27 ʿAmmār insisted that the revelation of the Christian Scriptures provided the Christian understanding of the divine Trinity. The names of the persons of the Trinity were revealed and were, therefore, not open to question. Ibn al-Ṭayyib adopted this line Kuhn, God, 65. Beaumont, “ʿAmmār al-Basri,” CMR, 1:604–610. See also Beaumont, “ʿAmmār Al-Basri on the Incarnation,” 55–62. See also Mikhail, “ʿAmmār.” See also Hayek, “ʿAmmār,” 69–133. 27 Abū Rā’iṭa, the Jacobite bishop of Tikrit, was also a noteworthy theologian who wrote in Arabic on these topics. See Swanson, “Early Christian-Muslim.” See also Keating, Defending. 25 26

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of argument and went to some lengths to show that the names “Father, Son and Spirit” were not unique to the New Testament, but were also found in the Old Testament. Thus, Christians could not be accused of altering (taḥrīf) their scriptures. ʿAmmār divided the attributes into attributes of essence and act. This was a common practice among Muslim mutakallimūn, although there was a divergence of opinion as to which attributes were to be considered attributes of essence. ʿAmmār argued that two attributes were of the essence: “word” and “life.” He defined these attributes as differentiating attributes (i.e. their absence would render the essence other than it is). An essence without word (i.e. rationality) or life would not be the divine essence. Ibn al-Ṭayyib built on the foundation laid by ʿAmmār. As mentioned, he rooted his understanding of the Trinitarian persons (hypostases) in the revelation of Scripture. Ibn al-Ṭayyib went beyond his predecessor to stipulate that the attributes of essence were three, not two. ʿAmmār’s view of the attributes as those which distinguish the divinity from non-divinity was amended by Ibn al-Ṭayyib, who saw the defining issue as man’s ability to infer God’s attributes (attributes of act), or the necessity of revelation for man’s knowledge of the attributes of essence. Whereas ʿAmmār linked the attribute “word” to the Son and “life” to the Spirit, his definition of the Father was left ambiguous. Ibn al-Ṭayyib addressed this issue by conceptualizing each Trinitarian person as the essential attribute taken with the essence. In summary, Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s affinity with ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī can be summarized in three points: (1) Both men rooted the legitimacy of the Trinitarian concept and the names of the hypostases in the Christian scripture, (2) Both linked the Trinitarian persons with the attributes of essence, and (3) Both supplied a rationale for limiting the number of the attributes of essence. 28 Indeed, the broad lines of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Trinitarian formulation 28

Kuhn, God, 75.

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can be discerned in ʿAmmār. Those lines become even more defined in Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī (893–974), Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Jacobite predecessor in Baghdad. Yaḥyā initially spoke of the triad of bounty, wisdom and power, but moved towards a triad of intelligence (intelligence, intelligent [one] and the intelligible) as a more coherent representation of the Trinity. 29 Ibn al-Ṭayyib used a very similar construct with semantic variation. He further clarified Yaḥyā, who did not provide a clear distinction between the divine essence and the person of the Father. Ibn al-Ṭayyib clarified that the essence’s “ability to know” is referred to as fatherhood and, when taken with the essence, yields the hypostasis of the Father. Therefore, Ibn al-Ṭayyib embraced the formulation of his forbear but provided clarification. A clearer borrowing from Yaḥyā can be discerned in the conceptualization of the relationship of the attribute to the essence. It was Yaḥyā who suggested that the Father is the essence of deity taken with paternity. He referred to this joining or union as an ensemble (mujtamʿa) and stated that distinct attributes, joined with the essence, produce discreet ensembles. These are the hypostases, in effect the Trinitarian persons. Thus, the nuggets of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Trinitarian formulation are present in Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī. The former’s contribution was to distill these thoughts into a succinct formulation and produce a coherent statement of Trinitarian faith. Yaḥyā’s thought is so difficult as to be impenetrable. 30 Ibn al-Ṭayyib makes the concepts accessible and usable.

Samir, Maqāla, 129. The triad was known in intellectual circles. It may be attributed to al-Farābī (known as the father of Islamic philosophy) and may be traceable to Aristotle (Yaḥyā translated his Metaphysics). Haddad, La Trinité, 229–230. 30 Samir acknowledges that Ibn ʿAdī’s text is the most complex he has ever grappled with. Understanding the author requires an extensive background in Aristotle and medieval philosophy. Samir, Maqāla, 21. 29

ABŪ AL-FARAJ IBN AL-ṬAYYIB Correlations with Islamic thought

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Though Ibn al-Ṭayyib is not considered prominent in the Muslim-Christian interface due to the lack of explicit references to Islam and the absence of an explicit dialogue partner, it is noteworthy that he references Islam obliquely in M2 (translated below). As he introduces the treatise, he underlines the difference between the religious claims of Christians and those who “contradict us in other claims.” That difference lies in establishing the intention of these claims before supplying proofs, which is not the practice of others. He explicates his view that the Christian gospel was received by the Greeks, a people of great wisdom, by the power of logic. As for the less-educated peoples, the gospels won their loyalty by the miracles performed by the apostles. Those who have received other books of the law were not people of wisdom, nor was their reception established by the miraculous. Furthermore, this other book is referred to as a book that “congeals the heart.” 31 This appears to be a reference to the reception of the Qur’ān by the Arabs. For the contemporary reader, it smacks of racial bias and superiority. For Ibn alṬayyib, it may have been a desperate blow directed at the ʿAbbāsids, whose prestige was now somewhat subdued by the ascendancy of the Buyid empire. Regardless, the comment situates the treatise as an effort to establish the unity of the Trinity in the Muslim context. Another reference in M2 concerns the number and names of the attributes, a common objection of Muslims in that era. The hypothetic interlocutor questions the Christian’s limitation of the attributes to three. In his litany of possible attributes, he includes several of the ninety-nine names of Allah. This also suggests that Ibn al-Ṭayyib is aware of his Islamic context and writes in response to the pressing concerns assaulting the Christian understanding of the Trinity in the Muslim context. 32

31 32

Troupeau, “Le traité,” Parole, 75. Troupeau, “Le traité,” Parole, 85.

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We have already mentioned Abū ʿĪsā al-Warrāq and his relentless interrogation of Christians. David Thomas points out that Abū ʿĪsā was ill inclined to deal with Christianity on its own terms, but insisted on applying rigid Islamic categories to Christian thought in order to demonstrate its incoherence. One such issue was the relationship of the essence to the hypostases. Abū ʿĪsā supposed that the attribute could qualify only one subject. It was illogical, therefore, for the single subject of God’s essence to be qualified by both attributes Father and Son. From this supposition, Abū ʿĪsā inferred that Christians were obligated to admit to a differentiation in the divine essence—polytheism. He conveniently glossed over the nuance that Christians had described in this relationship. If the essence were Father, he could not be Son, and vice versa. The pedantic argument put the hypothetic Christian on the horns of a dilemma. How can one be three, and vice versa? Abū ʿĪsā preceded Ibn al-Ṭayyib by nearly two centuries, but his influence was felt throughout the medieval period. 33 Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s succinct but careful formulation elucidated this relationship through the use of the Ashʿarite concept of the attribute as an innate entity. Rooted in revelation, the attributes of essence are unassailable by human reason. They exist eternally in the essence but are discreet entities. When conceptualized with the essence, they yield the hypostases. Three hypostases coinhere in the one divine essence. Abū Bakr al-Bāqīllānī (d. 1013) found an aberration in the Christian use of “substance” for the divine essence. Ibn al-Ṭayyib was content to use the common Islamic term “essence” (dhāt), but also stated that the essence is what other writers have referred to as the substance. Much as Abū ʿĪsā, al-Bāqīllānī attacked the singularity of the Christian divine essence. In the deductive reasoning style known as kalām, the author directs his Thomas, Early Muslim, 77–81. Thomas demonstrates Abū ʿĪsā’s influence on two tenth-century theologians, contemporary with Ibn alṬayyib: Al-Bāqīllānī and ʿAbd al-Jabbār. 33

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reader to interrogate the Christian on the divine substance. Is it undifferentiated? Uncountable? Christians must confirm this assertion. The attributes, on the other hand, are differentiated and countable. Christians must also affirm this statement. For alBāqīllānī, the contradiction is established. Ibn al-Ṭayyib is aware of the trap and stipulates that the “essence is one and the descriptors are not the essence but other than it.” Thus, perceived from the essence, the Creator is one, while, from the vantage point of the attributes, he is three. The unity and plurality of God result from viewing the Creator from different aspects, thus adhering to the law of non-contradiction. 34 Al-Bāqīllānī also saw the names and meanings of the hypostases as random. He assumed a hierarchy with the Father in a position of superiority. He understands the father to be the cause of the Son and Spirit. Ibn al-Ṭayyib qualifies the meaning of the Father’s priority by stating that the Father did not cause the Son’s existence, but that the essence, being knowledge, knowing and known, is the cause of itself, not the cause of the existence of another. ʿAbd al-Jabbār al-Hamadhānī (d. 1025) poses a similar dilemma to the Christians. He reasons that, if the hypostases are co-eternal with the substance, it is invalid for the Father to be particularized by that which is impossible for the Son and Spirit. What particularizes the Father must also be true of the Son, and vice versa, if both are the divine essence. The argument leads to an infinite regression where the Son is the Father, who is the Spirit. Either there is no differentiation or there are multiple divinities. Both solutions are irrational. Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s formulation is not a polemic rebuttal, but a clarification of the Christian formulation in response to Islamic polemic. ʿAbd al-Jabbār seeks to force his hypothetic Christian counterpart to acknowledge that the hypostases must act as agents. Therefore, all are living, powerful, and, if eternal, divine. Ibn alṬayyib’s shorter treatise (MM) is written to respond precisely to 34

Kuhn, God, 85–86.

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this point. He clarifies that, in the formal sense, action must be attributed to the divine essence, not to the hypostases. The association of action with the hypostases is according to suitability. Thus, we speak of the Father creating, the Son redeeming, and the Spirit comforting. In the formal sense, the actions of the hypostases are attributed to the essence of divinity, though we may speak of them in reference to the hypostases. The reader is again reminded of the coinherence of the Trinitarian persons and the mutuality of carrying out the one divine will. In summary, Ibn al-Ṭayyib was reluctant to enter the fray of public polemics in the Muslim context. His penchant was to provide a succinct statement of the Christian formulation in response to the interminable conundrums presented by Muslims to Christians. The themes that prevailed in the Muslim-Christian interface correspond perfectly to the themes Ibn al-Ṭayyib discussed and examined. Therefore, we understand him to be an astute theologian laboring to strengthen his Christian community in the Arabic Muslim context.

IMPLICATIONS FOR OUR DAY

At first glance, it appears difficult to appropriate Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s formulation of the Trinity for our day. His Church of the East is rarely mined for its theological contributions due to its association with Nestorian Christology. Beyond that, we are not conversant with the technical terms necessary to assimilate his thought (e.g., hypostasis, innate entity or essence). Even the more accessible “attribute” takes on a technical meaning that we find difficult to manipulate. Nevertheless, a patient study of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s work can yield rich results. Implicit Critique of Islamic tawḥīd through the Attribute

The absolute oneness of Allah in Islamic thought was not a foregone conclusion from the outset. Islamic kalām (theological deductive reasoning) shows a clear development. Implicit in Islamic theological conversation is a dispute over the nature of God’s oneness in relation to his attributes. Were the attributes eternally present in Allah, or acquired over time? If present, were his

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attributes active eternally? How were they active when his being admitted no plurality? The question of the eternality of the Qur’ān supplied the practical case study. As God’s word, was it eternal or created within time? Eventually, the Ashʿarite school won the day, asserting the Qur’ān is eternal. The question of how it co-existed with Allah in eternity is left unanswered. Predictably, Islamic kalām came to the enigmatic conclusion that the attributes are “not his essence, nor are they other than He.” 35 Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s discussion of the Trinity recognizes in the Islamic understanding of God’s attributes the necessity of a differentiation of persons within the Godhead. Though that terminology (persons) is repugnant to Muslims, the terminology of God’s eternal attributes is not, as the names of Allah reveal his attributes. The question of the nature of God is still alive and indeed forms the crux of much theological discussion between Muslims and Christians. 36 The thought of Ibn al-Ṭayyib suggests an inherent relationality within divinity. The one essence acting through the hypostases (persons) of the Trinity reveals a relationality. In a separate treatise, Ibn al-Ṭayyib joins Eastern theologians in defining “one” not merely numerically. There is the one of species, the one of type, the one of subject, etc. The implicit point is that “oneness” does not necessarily exclude plurality or relationality. The Hebrew marriage concept comes to mind. “The two shall be one (‘eḥād) flesh.” This is the oneness Christians embrace—a relational oneness flowing from the one essence of divinity. Contemporary theologians in the Arab context have returned to this motif with great effect. The Egyptian ʿAwaḍ Simʿān asserts that a god with no relationality would seek no relations, effectively negating the Cumming, “Ṣifāt,” 112. The Invitation of a cadre of Muslim scholars to engage Christians around the two commands of Jesus, known as “A Common Word” (ACW), has generated responses from Christians concerning the nature of the Triune God. See Williams, “Response,” 123–172. 35 36

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act of creation. He cites Muslim philosophers (e.g Avicenna, Ibn ʿArabī), asserting that they implicitly acknowledge relationality in the one God. He develops new terminology, referring to the Trinitarian persons as “particularizations” or “instantiations” of the divine essence. 37 His descriptive phrase of the Trinitarian relationality is “communion and exclusion” or “internalized relationality”—meaning God’s relationality is exclusive to his essence, relying on neither external relations nor composition. 38 Yet another Arabic-speaking theologian, Imad Shehadeh, has filled out Simʿān’s “internalized relationality,” stating that “God, in his divine being, draws together all that is requisite for the eternal efficacy of the attributes.” To rephrase, God’s being comprises both the subject and the predicate of his divine attributes. God is love, but also beloved. He is knowledge, but also known. This relationality is the defining characteristic of personhood. A person is defined not merely by existence, but by existence in relationship. The attributes of personhood, therefore, indicate and require relationship. It is the Trinitarian persons who, together, are the one God. 39 These theologians of the Arab Muslim context demonstrate that the discussion of the relationship of God’s Trinitarian persons to his singular essence is ongoing and vital for Christian theology and life in areas where Islam supplies the dominant understanding of God. Simʿān and Shehadeh are the theological heirs of Ibn al-Ṭayyib and other Eastern theologians who provided a theological response to Islam from within that context. Their work is not polemical, 40 but an active intellectual engagement with the implications of a monadic concept of divinity in real life. It is a kerygmatic engagement. 41 Arabic: ‫ تع� ّن‬taʿayyun. Arabic: ‫ و�دانية �امعة مانعة‬waḥdāniyya jāmiʿa māniʿa. Simʿān, Allāh, 62. 39 Shehadeh, God, 136. These concepts are also drawn from the Arabic version: Imād Shiḥāda, Al-Āb, 154–155. 40 Polemic is from Greek polemikos, meaning warlike or hostile. 41 Kerygma is the content of the faith passed to the church by the apostles and Christ. Martin Accad suggests a scale of Muslim Christian en37 38

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Implicit Apologetic to Sustain a Christian Community

In the introduction to one of his exegetical works, Ibn al-Ṭayyib excoriates his fellow-clergy of the Church of the East. 42 This points to the author’s passion for his ecclesial community and his care to warn its leadership of excesses and compromises. If, as we have stated, Ibn al-Ṭayyib was unwilling to engage in public debate, he was willing to engage with Islamic thought for the good of his Christian community. We may be sure that he was aware of a broad-scale defection from his Church of the East, as many had converted to Islam by the eleventh century. 43 By providing a solid conceptual framework for the Trinitarian faith, Ibn al-Ṭayyib reinforced his Christian community at a time of sore need. Readers in the West should recall that, prior to the advent of Islam, the Church of the East spread from Jerusalem to the far reaches of China and likely composed one third of the global church. 44 Ibn al-Ṭayyib is a careful Shepherd of his flock, seeking to strengthen its confession in a predominantly Muslim context. The apparent lack of explicit reference to Islam (though we have shown implicit references) need not distract us. Many regions where Islam is the dominant faith today are sprinkled with churches of multiple denominations. In such places, explicit critique of Islam from Christian bishops and pastors is ill-advised. Ibn al-Ṭayyib serves as a model of a responsive Christian laboring in the Muslim context. He engaged with the great themes debated in his era, condensing the thought of his predecessors to reinforce the Christian confession of his ecclesial body.

gagement consisting of five types of engagement: syncretistic, existential, kerygmatic, apologetic and polemical (SEKAP). He invites to a kerygmatic engagement. See Accad, “Christian,” 29–47. 42 Faultless, “Ibn al-Ṭayyib,” CMR, 2:669. 43 Wilmshurst, Martyred Church, 100. 44 For more on the extent of the Church of the East, see Jenkins, Lost History. See also Wilmshurst, Martyred Church.

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Ibn al-Ṭayyib took refuge in the revealed Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments for his theological formulations. In the present day, the motivations to move beyond Scripture arise from a postmodern critique of the Biblical text in the fields of science, history and anthropology. The motivations during Ibn alṬayyib’s day were different, but no less pressing. Muslim polemicists had relentlessly pointed out logical inconsistencies in the Christian scriptures. The failure to locate the prophetic promise of Muḥammad led Muslims to conclude that Christians had altered their texts. Some were suggesting elaborate schemes, most often implicating the apostle Paul in manipulating the text. 45 In this aspect as well, we find Ibn al-Ṭayyib adopting the common practice of Ashʿarite Muslims of his day. For them, the Qur’ān ended all religious disputes. The attributes of God and the names of divinity given therein stood above all theological disputation. Ibn al-Ṭayyib also established his formulation on the text of Scripture. Much of his literary production was exegetical in nature. His theological treatises are best seen as a distillation of his scriptural study for the benefit of his church community in the Muslim context.

CONCLUSION

Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s theological formulations reveal awareness and response to the great themes debated by Muslims and Christians of his day. He stands shoulder to shoulder with his theological forbears, such as Timothy I and ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī, as Christian intellectuals who engaged the theological constructs of Islam with skill and erudition. His succinct definition of the Trinitarian persons (hypostases) in relation to the divine attributes is prescient of the debate over the nature of God, which continues For the implication of the apostle Paul in schemes of altering the Christian Scriptures, see Reynolds and Samir, Abd Al-Jabbar; Kuhn, “Early Islamic,” 150–173.

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to dominate Muslim-Christian engagement into the twenty-first century.

INTRODUCTION TO THE TREATISE OF ABŪ AL-FARAJ IBN

ʿABDALLĀH IBN AL-ṬAYYIB ON UNITY AND TRINITY (M2)

The following is a translation of Ibn al-Ṭayyib’s Treatise. While the copyist of MS Huntington 240 titles it “The Second Treatise concerning the Trinity…,” we refer to it as M2 (M for maqāla, i.e., article). The Section numbers and titles are not original to the treatise, nor are the paragraph numbers. They are provided to facilitate reference to the treatise. The treatise bears all the marks of a Christian response within the Muslim milieu. Both Islamic schools of Ashʿarism and Muʿtazilism are described, though not named. The author’s critique of false religious ideas amounts to his plea that the Christian faith enjoyed a more noble reception among the Greeks than did Islam among the Arabs. His assessment invites critique. Nevertheless, it preserves an aspect of the Christian argument of intellectual superiority in a context that had long been dominated by Islam. The treatise progresses through three iterations of the attributes of essence, defined by the author as those attributes which do not extend beyond the essence to be discernible in the created order. The first iteration adopts common attributes (among Muslims and Christians)—bounty, wisdom and power. These descriptors result in discreet connotations of God, though the essence remains one. The meanings ascribed to God are many, though the divine essence remains one. Afterwards, the triad of knowledge is invoked. The Author’s predecessor, Yaḥyā ibn ʿAdī, wielded this argument. It was recognizable in the Muslim context, as Ibn Sinā (Avicenna) spoke in similar terms. God is knowledge, knowing [one] and known [of himself]. The argument has traction in the Muslim context and serves as an implicit critique of the doctrine of absolute unicity. The author uses it as a bridge to his own formulation of the three attributes of essence as fatherhood, sonship and procession. The names of these three are given in divine revelation and

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are not open to question or skepticism. It is the union of these three with the essence which yields the hypostases (persons) of the Trinity—Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The author reverts to the human analogies of Socrates and Zayd to demonstrate the necessity of multiple descriptors of the one essence. Though he may be faulted for reverting to human analogy unable to bear the weight of the Trinitarian formulation, it was a common tactic of the period. He weighs into the question of the number of divine attributes, insisting that their number is three. He will further defend this view in M3. In effect, M2 is an embryonic articulation of the author’s more developed Trinitarian formula in M3. 46 In M3, he responds to an inherent critique of his doctrine. After stating in M2 that God’s knowledge is an attribute of the essence, he later stipulates the three attributes of essence which do not include knowledge. He defends and corrects the assertion in M3, section 6 where he differentiates between human knowledge, which is liable to error, and divine self-knowledge, which is inerrant.

TRANSLATION OF THE SECOND TREATISE OF ABŪ AL-FARAJ IBN

ʿABDALLĀH IBN AL-ṬAYYIB ON UNITY AND TRINITY (M2)

1 Introduction

1.1 As a precious pearl is distinguished among material entities, so the value of profound truth stands out among religious ideas. The two exist in different realms, and yet we refer to them to illustrate our meaning. Those who seek the pearl persevere until they find it. So is the profound truth which enlightens the soul. If its truth is perceived, the soul is not shaken by doubts that overtake it but strengthened thereby. The specter of suspicion is banished and truth flourishes as opaqueness dissipates.

46

For the English translation of M3, see Kuhn, God, 233–261.

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1.2 Before pursuing our objective (which is the necessity of Trinity and unity in describing the Creator), we mention what distinguishes us from those of religions which oppose us in pursuing our religious claims. We seek to clearly establish the goal of those claims before proving our religion, which they do not. 47 2 The Reception of Christ’s Message

2.1 By examining the facts of the matter, we discover that, though the call of Christ was directed to all nations and the apostles were dispersed throughout the entire world, the more advanced among them went to the Greeks. Among the Greeks were philosophers and physicians whose minds had been trained by rational proofs. They sought causes for the effects they observed. They (the apostles) called them, according to their book and the manner of worship derived from it, to a knowledge of Trinity and unity, the resurrection and other truths. They received it in complete form from the apostles. Their motivation was not from fear due to material poverty, nor from trauma due to a lack of physical health. Both the masses and the elite accepted the book from them in different ways such that no controversy results. The elite examined, scrutinized and accepted it in full assurance. As for the masses, they were led to accept the book by miraculous signs. The book contained the promise that those sent to proclaim the word would perform the signs of the one who sent them. Those who received the book would manifestly demand what it clearly promised because their need of it was so pressing. 2.2 As for the revealed books of law other than the gospel, their apostles proclaimed them to nations known for their lack of Presumably, Ibn al-Ṭayyib is taking issue with blind submission of his Muslim counterparts, as he perceives it. Christians seek to understand the goal of their religious claims while Muslims, in his view, practice their religion out of mere obedience. An alternate understanding is that the author takes issue with his Muslim counterparts who fail to understand the goal of Christian claims before rebutting them.

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wisdom. Their simple speech was sufficient to convince them to listen, much like the nation that made bricks in Egypt and others. As this was the case, it is ill-advised to presume the truth of these books based on their acceptance by these nations, as they were unable to make a full determination. Complete assurance of their truth is illusory, as their apostles’ word and the book which directs their worship has congealed hearts by its action. 2.3 This general statement is intended to demonstrate the rationality of the truth believed by the Christians and contained in the holy gospel. Let us stop there and return to our subject, which is describing the Creator as both Trinity and unity. 3 The Creator is One and Many

3.1 This statement (describing the Creator as both Trinity and unity) is no different from saying that the Creator is one and many, as “three” is a form of many. So if the necessity of describing the Creator as One and many is demonstrated, then describing him as unity and Trinity is valid and the one who says this does not incur blame. Rather, the one who says this should demonstrate why he stipulates the Creator as three. 3.2 It is resolved that the essence of the Creator is one in truth. The statement needs no defense and is not liable to debate. It is further resolved that the essence is described as wisdom, power and bounty as well as other attributes. If God’s essence is described as wise, does this evoke the same meaning as powerful or good? No one claims that the meaning of powerful is the same as good. The first of these attributes requires the exercise of God’s power over entities, whereas the second requires the emanation of his actions in mastery and order. Because this is true, the attributes differ one from another. As the essence is one, it is not the attributes. They are other than the essence. Therefore, the essence is one and the attributes are many. 3.3 From this, it is inferred that the Creator is one and many. He is one in essence, many in attributes. If his essence is taken with each of the attributes, the resulting entities are different one from another. For instance, if we take the attribute of power

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with the essence, we understand this as the powerful one. If we take with it the attribute of bounty, we understand him as the bounteous one. If we take with it the attribute of wisdom, we understand him as the wise one. 3.4 Thus, the necessary aberrance of the Creator’s being one and many is nullified. Indeed, it is aberrant to state that the Creator, in the sense that he is one, has become many. However, to be one in a sense and many in another sense cannot be refuted or denied by those of sound mind. In this way, Christians say of the Creator that he is unity and Trinity. Their statement is required by truth and not aberrant as they intend the essence [when speaking] of unity and the attributes [when speaking] of Trinity. It is necessary to explain this to establish the intelligibility of their claim so that it is not opposed or resisted. 4 The Triad of Knowledge

4.1 Christians believe that God’s essence is one, according to the proofs of unity which we have laid out in the treatise The Principles of Religion. There is no point in repeating them here, as our objective is not proving the unity but the necessity of the Trinity. Christians also believe that the divine essence is an essence with the attribute of knowledge, as this exalted essence could not be unknowing. The essence with the attribute of knowledge manifestly knows and therefore knows itself. As it knows itself, then it is known to itself. The result is that the divine essence has the attribute of knowledge, of knowing and of being known. 48 4.2 No one claims that the essence is reducible to only the attribute of knowledge, or the attribute of knowing or the attribute of being known. The essence of the Creator is one which has these three attributes. Each of these three attributes, if taken with the essence, results in a union different from the union if the essence is taken with a different attribute. For instance, if it 48

‫ ��ا صفة الع�� والعا�� وا��ع��م‬lihā ṣifat al-ʿilm wa-l-ʿālim wa-l-maʿlūm.

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is taken with the attribute of knowledge, the union is described as an essence knowledgeable in itself. If the essence is taken with the attribute of being known, the union is described as an essence known by itself. 4.3 Therefore, the claim of the unity of the Creator with Trinity is clarified, as he is one essence and three attributes. As we have elucidated, the attributes cannot be two or four. The union constituted by the essence and the attributes are three. 5 Clarifying Terminology

5.1 Christians call the essence “substance” 49 unlike [other] substances, and they call the attributes “properties.” 50 The attribute of knowledge, they call “fatherhood” and the attribute of knowing “Sonship” 51 and the attribute of being known “procession.” They call the union of the essence with the attributes “hypostases.” 52 If the essence is taken with the entity of knowledge, the union is called the hypostasis “the Father.” If the essence is taken with the entity of knowing, the union is called the hypostasis “the Son.” If taken with the entity of being known, the union is called the hypostasis “the Spirit.” 5.2 If the named entities are valid without question and the rational mind testifies to their validity, then the names given them cannot corrupt them. They are named thus by a sure authority, not mere custom, as the book of the law named them thus. Names are tools used for the named entities to indicate them. As creation testifies to the validity of the named entities, debate

‫ جوهر‬jawhār. ‫ خواص‬khwāṣṣ. 51 ‫ بنوة‬bunūwwa. 52 ��‫ اقنوم ج أقان‬aqnūm pl. aqānīm: The common English word used for the hypostasis is “person.” We maintain “hypostasis” in translation as “person” in Arabic (‫ ��ص‬shakhṣ) connotes a human person and is not normally used for deity. 49 50

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concerning them is a matter for the errant sophists, not for people of truth and religious faith. 5.3 This is one of the deep mysteries taught to us by our Savior Jesus Christ. Concerning him, the belief found in the Torah was that God is not embodied, nor can he be seen. Those who came after him, who spoke in accordance with this belief or something similar, were accepted as learned and not deemed to be innovators. Therefore, no problem ensues when we clarify our statement by reference to tangible things. If these tangible things accord with reason, they serve to enhance the credibility of the argument. 53 6. Analogies

6.1 Returning to the visible realm, our physical eyes see something that is numerically one but is described as one and three. If we point to a person, Socrates, for example, he is one in himself. He is distinct and separate from others. We describe him as “warm, white and knowledgeable.” The meaning of his essence is not the meaning of his attributes. A particular attribute is not the same as another, for “white” is not the same as “knowledgeable.” If this is true, he is one in essence and many in attributes. Or the essence of Zayd, if taken with each of his aforementioned attributes, the unity in one’s spirit is different than the unity constituted by the essence taken with a different attribute. When Socrates is taken with the entity of heat existing within him, he is said to be warm. If he is taken with the entity of knowledge existing within him, he is said to be knowledgeable. The meaning perceived by the union [of the essence with an attribute] is different from its union with another [attribute]. That example is sufficient. Ibn al-Ṭayyib asserts that Christ’s appearance as God incarnate legitimizes the use of created things to clarify and illustrate divine truths. He will proceed to illustrate the unity of essence and the plurality of attributes by human examples.

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7.1 Our statement may be opposed by one who says you are correct in saying that the essence of the exalted Creator is one and his attributes are many. However, your claim that the attributes are only three—knowledge, knowing and being known—is in error. We describe the Creator as creator, provider, wise, bounteous and other attributes. So why have you stopped at the Trinity? 7.2 Our response is that the attributes which describe the exalted Creator are two groups. [First], he is described by attributes which do not extend beyond his essence to other essences. These are called attributes of essence. [Second], attributes which extend beyond his essence to other essences are called attributes of act. The attributes of essence are three, which we have indicated. It is not permissible to increase or reduce their number. They are the attributes of knowledge, knowing and being known. These are not transferable beyond the essence of the Creator. For this reason, Christians say that the attributes of the Creator are three and they are limited to the three hypostases. 7.3 As for the attribute of Creator of creation, it is an attribute that is bound to the Creator and the creation. Its very meaning is creation. Likewise, the attributes provider and wise extend beyond him to the objects of his wisdom and providence. Goodness extends to the object of goodness. The attribute of power extends beyond him to the object of his power. 54 Christians do not refrain from describing him by more than three attributes. However, they refrain from describing him by more than three attributes that concern the essence. As for the attributes of act,

In M3, the author will provide more definition. These attributes of act are discernible by the human mind as creation is observed. Humans see the result of God’s power, goodness and wisdom. Therefore, these are attributes of act—communicable—rather than attributes of essence—incommunicable.

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they do not limit them to a specific number, as the number moves along the path of discovery on which we tread. 7.4 In order to complete our knowledge, we will proceed to describe the views of others concerning this topic. We shall examine the errant aspects among them through the truth which we have explicated, so as to demonstrate the error of their belief. 8. Objections Concerning the Attributes

8.1 Other sects can be divided into two groups concerning this topic. The first group of people of ancient law believes as do we, saying that the essence of the Creator is one while his attributes are many. They describe them as power, bounty, wisdom and the like. However, they do not limit the attributes to three, but augment their number such that our difference with them concerns the number of the attributes of essence. We have divided the attributes into attributes of essence and act, stating that the attributes of essence are limited to three while we agree with them that the attributes of act are not limited to this number. 55 8.2 Another group of people of ancient law says that the essence is one and the attributes are many but the attributes are not other than the essence, but merely a descriptor of the same essence. For them, the difference in the attributes arises from the speech of the describer and is not the reality of the matter. 56 This statement is a manifest error. They affirm that the describers’ expressions have different connotations because the connoThe author is possibly referring to the common Ashʿarite doctrine of the attributes. Ashʿarites differed on the number of attributes of essence, though most agreed on seven: Will, wisdom, power, life, knowledge, seeing and hearing. 56 The author is likely speaking of Muʿtazilism—a renowned medieval school of Islamic thought. Their understanding of the unicity (tawḥīd) of God disallowed the existence of anything co-eternal alongside God. Thus, they viewed the attributes as existing in the mind of the speaker describing God, but not in the eternal essence, who alone was eternal. 55

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tation of “wise” differs from that of “powerful.” We inquired of them concerning the cause of differentiation of expressions describing the Creator such as wise, powerful and bounteous. Do these attributes have different connotations? Are they one and the same within the essence? Given that the attributes are written with different letters one from another resulting in different connotations, it is impossible that they attach to the essence, for the essence is one and cannot be described with different attributes. So the description of the attributes must attach to something other than the essence—entities other than the essence for which these descriptions with their differences are appropriate. If the difference attaches to the essence and not to the different connotations, then they are mere synonyms used to describe the one thing (the essence). In effect, the connotation of one (attribute) would be the same as another, such as describing a piece of metal as a sword or a sabre. The result is that there would be no difference in our description of the Creator as wise and powerful. The two meanings would be the same. This is impermissible rationally and unacceptable. 9 Conclusion

9.1 The conclusion of all that precedes is that the essence of the Creator is one and his attributes are many. From the vantage point of the essence, he is one, and from the vantage point of the attributes, he is many. If the essence is taken with each of the attributes, the resulting union is discreet, distinct from the union of the essence with a different attribute.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Beaumont, Mark. “ʿAmmār Al-Baṣrī.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 1. (600–900), edited by David Thomas and Barbara Roggema, 604–610. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 11. Leiden: Brill, 2009. Beaumont, Mark. “ʿAmmār Al-Basri on the Incarnation.” In Christians at the Heart of Islamic Rule: Church Life and Scholarship in ʿAbbasid Iraq, edited by David Thomas, 55– 62. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 1. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Brock, Sebastian. “The ‘Nestorian’ Church: A Lamentable Misnomer.” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 78 (1996): 23–35. A Common Word between Us and You. Amman: Royal Aal al-Bayt Institute for Islamic Thought, 2009. Cumming, Joseph. “Ṣifāt al-dhāt in al-Ashʿarī’s Doctrine of God and Possible Christian Parallels.” In Toward Respectful Understanding and Witness among Muslims, edited by Evelyne Reisacher, 111–415. Pasadena, CA: William Carey Library, 2012. Delly, Emmanuel Karim. La theologie d’elie Bar-Senaya. Rome: Apud Pontificiam Universitatem Urbanianam de Propaganda Fide, 1957. Dimitri, Gutas, and Kevin van Bladel. “Bayt al-Ḥikma.” In Encyclopedia of Islam, Three, edited by Kate Fleet, Gudrun Krämer, Denis Matringe, John Nawas, and Everett Rowson. Leiden: Brill, 2009. https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/browse/encyclopae dia-of-islam-3. Faultless, Julian. “Ibn al-Ṭayyib.” In Christian-Muslim Relations: A Bibliographical History. Volume 2. (900–1050), edited by David Thomas and Alex Mallett, 667–697. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 14. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Haddad, Rachid. La Trinité divine chez les théologiens Arabes: 750– 1050. Paris: Beauchesne, 1985.

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Hayek, Michael. “ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī: la première somme de théologie Chrétienne en langue Arabe, ou deux apologies du Christianisme.” Islamochristiana 2 (1976): 69–133. Ibn al-ʿAssāl, al-Mu’taman. Majmūʿ usūl al-dīn wa-masmūʿ maḥṣūl al-yaqīn. Edited by A. Wadi. Vol. 7a (bāb 20–70). Cairo: Franciscan Publishers for Christian Oriental Studies, 1999. Ibn al-Ṭayyib. “Epistle on the Oneness of the Creator and Threeness of His Hypostases.” In MS Huntington 240, fols. 196r-199v. Bodleian Library, 1549. Ibn al-Ṭayyib. “Maqāla al-shaykh Abū al-Faraj ʿAbdallāh ibn alṬayyib fī al-tathlīth wa-l-tawḥīd.” In MS Vat AR 145, fols. 48v-69v, edited by Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana. Jenkins, Philip. The Lost History of Christianity: The ThousandYear Golden Age of the Church in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia—and How It Died. New York: HarperCollins, 2009. Keating, Sandra Toenies. Defending the “People of Truth” in the Early Islamic Period: The Christian Apologies of Abū Rā̕Iṭah. History of Christian-Muslim Relations 4. Leiden: Brill, 2006. Kuhn, Michael. “Early Islamic Perspectives of the Apostle Paul as a Narrative Framework for Taḥrīf.” In Arab Christians and the Qur’an from the Origins of Islam to the Medieval Period, edited by Mark Beaumont, 150–173. History of ChristianMuslim Relations 35. Leiden: Brill, 2018. Kuhn, Michael. God Is One: A Christian Defence of Divine Unity in the Muslim Golden Age. Carlisle, UK: Langham Global Library, 2019. Landron, Benedicte. “Apologétique, polémique et attitudes Nestoriennes vis-à-vis de l’islam entre le 8éme et le debut du 14éme siécle.” PhD thesis, Universite de Paris IV, 1973. Landron, Benedicte. Chrétiens et Musulmans en Irak: attitudes Nestoriennes vis-à-vis de l'islam. Études Chrétiennes Arabes. Paris: Cariscript, 1994. Mikhail, Wageeh. “ʿAmmār Al-Basrī’s Kitāb Al-Burhān: A Topical and Theological Analysis of Arabic Christian Theology in

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the Ninth Century.” PhD thesis, University of Birmingham, 2013. Platti, Emilio. “Yaḥyā B. ʿAdī and His Refutation of Al-Warrāq’s Treatise on the Trinity in Relation to His Other Works.” In Christian Arabic Apologetics during the Abbasid Period (750– 1258), edited by H. G. Kipenberg and E. T. Lawson, 172– 191. Leiden: Brill, 1994. Reynolds, Gabriel Said. A Muslim Theologian in the Sectarian Milieu: ʿAbd Al-Jabbār and the Critique of Christian Origins. Islamic History and Civilization 56. Leiden: Brill, 2004. Reynolds, Gabriel Said, and S. K. Samir. Abd Al-Jabbar: Critique of Christian Origins: A Parallel English-Arabic Text. Provo, UT: Brigham Young University Press, 2010. Samir, S. K. “La place d’ibn at-Ṭayyib dans la pensée Arabe.” Journal of Eastern Christian Studies 58, nos. 3–4 (2006): 177–193. Samir, S. K. Maqāla fī al-tawḥīd li-l-shaykh Yaḥyā Ibn ʿAdī. Junieh, Lebanon: Bulusia, 1980. Shehadeh, Imad. God with Us and without Us: Oneness in Trinity versus Absolute Oneness. Carlisle, UK: Langham, 2018. Shiḥāda, Imād. Al-Āb wa-l-Ibn wa-l-Rūḥ al-Qudus—Ilāh wāḥid āmīn: ḍarūrat al-Taʿadudiyya fī al-waḥdāniyya al-ilāhiyya. Beirut: Dār Manhāl al-Ḥayāt, 2009. Simʿān, ʿAwaḍ. Allāh fī al-masīḥiyya. Cairo: Kanīsat Qaṣr alDūbāra al-injīliyya, 2004. Swanson, Mark. “Early Christian-Muslim Theological Conversation among Arabic-Speaking Intellectuals.” Paper presented at the Christian-Muslim Relations conference, Duta Wacana Christian University, Yogyakarta, Indonesia, July 1998. Thomas, David, ed. and trans. Early Muslim Polemic against Christianity: Abū Īsā al-Warrāq’s "Against the Incarnation". Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

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Troupeau, G. “Le traite sur les hypostases et la substance de ʿAbd Allāh ibn al-Ṭayyib.” In Orientalia hispanica, sive studia F. M. Pareja octogenario dicata. Vol. 1. Arabica-Islamica. Pars Prior xi, edited by J. M. Barral, 640–644. Leiden: Brill, 1974. Reprinted in G. Troupeau, Études sur le christianisme arabe. Aldershot, UK: Variorum, 1995. Essay VIII (edition and translation). Troupeau, Gerard. “Le traité sur l’unité et la trinité de ʿAbdallāh Ibn al-Ṭayyib.” Bulletin d’Etudes Orientales 25 (1972): 105– 123. Troupeau, Gerard. “Le traité sur l’unité et la trinité de ʿAbdallāh Ibn al-Ṭayyib.” Parole de l’Orient 2 (1971): 71–89. Williams, Rowan. “Response by the Archbishop of Canterbury.” In A Common Word between Us and You, 123–172. Jordan: Royal Aal al-Bayt Institute for Islamic Thought, 2009. Wilmshurst, David. The Martyred Church: A History of the Church of the East. London: East & West, 2011.

CHAPTER 12. ELIAS OF NISIBIS (D. 1046): A WISE BISHOP ENCOUNTERS AN INQUISITIVE PRIME MINISTER MICHAEL F. KUHN CAN ANY GOOD COME FROM NISIBIS?

For English readers, the place-name “Nisibis” likely evokes nothing noteworthy. That unfortunate testimony to our blinkered awareness of the Eastern Church and its history may owe to the dominance of Islam in what was once a deeply Christian Asian city. 1 As Nisibis became the ministry home of Elias, the subject of this chapter, let us take a moment to situate our theologian friend geographically and culturally. Contemporary political boundaries, which we must recall have nothing to do with the ancient world, place Nisibis precisely on the border of southeast Turkey and northwest Syria. The Turkish side of the city today is still known by its ancient name of Nuṣayyibīn (anglicized “Nisibis”). On the Syrian side, the extension of the city is styled Qāmishlī. The area is dominated by For a discussion of reasons why the Assyrian Church of the East remained unknown for centuries in the West, see Walker, “From Nisibis,” 994–1052. All footnote citations are shortened. For the full-length citation, see the bibliography at the end of the chapter. 1

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Kurds, though the Turks recently established a neutral zone some sixty kilometers wide across the northern border of Syria including Qāmishlī. This region, dominated by Kurds, Turks and Arabs, became the site of one of the most renowned and perhaps the most productive of all the medieval Christian-Muslim public debates described by Professor Sidney Griffith as the “Monk in the Emir’s Majlis.” 2 The dialogue of Elias has become known as The Sessions of Elias of Nisibis—seven sessions in all. Why Nisibis? Why Elias? Nisibis was once the home of a renowned school of theology which served as the artery of Antioch towards the East. The school rotated according to political exigencies between the cities of Nisibis and Edessa. Liturgies of famous Fathers of the Church of the East (Nestorian), such as Aphrahat the Persian and Ephraim the Syrian, were studied and memorized in the language spoken by Jesus and the apostles—Aramaic—but formalized in the more literary Syriac. Thus, while Antioch was the Greek-speaking theological center of the early church, Edessa and Nisibis became the theological headwaters of a vibrant Syriac church. 3 Though it is difficult to reconstruct the syllabus of Edessa and its later heir Nisibis, the school’s founder, Ephrem of Nisibis, resorted to poetry and symbol to express theological verities. He was known for his authorship of hymns and gave special attention to writing hymns for women to sing. 4 The philosophy of Aristotle also made its way into the school’s curriculum. 5 Therefore, a graduate of Nisibis would have benefitted from a careful study of the dogma of the Church of the East, a foundational study of philosophy and the prayerful and poetic liturgies

Griffith, “Monk.” Brock, “Rise,” 143. 4 Brock, “Rise,” 151. 5 Brock, “Two Millennia,” 177–178. 2 3

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of the church aimed at forming the spirit. Elias, Bishop of Nisibis, demonstrates his mastery of each area.

ELIAS’ LIFE AND WRITINGS

At the time of Elias’ Sessions, he was situated in Nisibis, renowned as a city of forty thousand gardens. His path to the bishopric gives us some insight into his intellectual prowess and abilities as a communicator. Elias was born on 11 February 975. As he is sometimes referred to as Iliyyā bar Sennaya, we infer that his early years were spent in the city of Sinn. It was the town of Elias’ father, located at the confluence of the Tigris with the Smaller Zab River. His intellectual capacities were noted and he was appointed a priest at the tender age of nineteen (15 September 994). While still a youth, he took monastic vows at the monastery of Abba Simeon, reputed for the healing properties of its well water. He also resided at the Monastery of Saint Michel near Mosul (996–1001). It was there he became the disciple of a venerable elder monk named John the Lame. This monastery was frequented by Muslims who enjoyed its promenades and lavish wine production. 6 In 1002, at the age of twenty-seven, Elias was consecrated Bishop of Bayt Nūhadhra (near Dahuq, Iraq). At age thirty-two, after the death of the former Metropolitan (Bishop) Yahbalaha, Elias was consecrated Metropolitan of Nisibis (26 December 1009). Nisibis was administered by the Marwānid princes of Diyarbakir. The Marwānids were a relatively tolerant Muslim regime, a fact which may have facilitated Elias’ productive dialogue Sessions with the Marwānid Prime Minister (Vizier) Abū al-Qāsim al-Maghribī. 7 In an ironic twist, Elias’ brother, Abū Saʿīd Manṣūr ibn ʿĪsā, was a renowned physician who served the elite of the Marwānid dynasty, including Elias’ dialogue partner Abū al-Qāsīm. It was through a correspondence with his physician brother that Elias 6 7

Delly, La theologie, 9–11. Hillenbrand, “Marwānids,” EI2, 6:626; Kuhn, God, 32–33.

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learned of Abū al-Qāsim’s serious illness, which his brother anticipated would lead to his death. The realization adds a note of sobriety to the Sessions and helps explain the unique rapport that dominated the Sessions. 8 Elias was a man of letters, a polymath who made noteworthy contributions in the fields of medicine, mathematics, philosophy and philology. Perhaps nowhere is the breadth of his knowledge more evident than his Chronography—a history of civilization until Elias’ epoch. His theological and ethical works are numerous. Most of them touch on the related themes of Trinity and Christology, often dealing with common Muslim conceptions and why Christianity cannot be guilty of polytheism. 9

ELIAS’ DIALOGUE PARTNER: ABŪ AL-QĀSIM AL-MAGHRIBĪ (995–1027)

Elias’ interlocutor, Abū al-Qāsim al-Maghribī, is at least as important as Elias to the success of the Sessions. He hailed from a highly placed family of the renowned Fatimid dynasty of Egypt. As such, Abū al-Qāsim came to his conversations with Bishop Elias well-schooled in the conundrums that had long separated Muslims and Christians. 10 Abū al-Qāsim and his family had fallen foul of one of the most renowned scoundrels of the Fatimid dynasty—the Caliph al-Ḥākim bi-Amr Allāh (sometimes referred to as the mad caliph). This is the same caliph whose exploits led to the destruction of churches and synagogues in Egypt and the environs of Jerusalem. The antics of al-Ḥākim contributed, among other factors, to the Crusades, as Roman Christians made their way East to ensure pilgrimage passage to the holy sites in and around Jerusalem. Samir, Foi et culture, 175–177. Monferrer Sala, “Elias,” CMR, 2:727–41. 10 Landron, Chrétiens, 114. 8 9

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This al-Ḥākim carried out the execution of Abū al-Qāsim’s father, uncle and two brothers in 1010. The treachery resulted in Abū al-Qāsim’s flight from Cairo and inspired his participation in a plot to replace the Caliph with the ʿAlīd Amīr of Mecca. When the plot failed, Abū al-Qāsim sought refuge in Mesopotamia. Ultimately, he made his way to Diyarbakir (contemporary Southeast Turkey), where he served Naṣr al-Dawla Aḥmad Ibn Marwān. 11 We infer from Abū al-Qāsim’s turbulent youth that he was acquainted with loss and witnessed his family’s precipitous fall from power in the Fatimid dynasty. An informed reading of the Sessions must give weight to the Prime Minister’s history of loss and flight. His willingness to seek a clear understanding of the Christian faith from the eminent Bishop Elias was uncharacteristic of his era and unexpected from a man of his stature. He sought to clarify those areas that had been so problematic for relations between Muslims and Christians. From the results of the Sessions, it is clear that Elias’ sage explications coupled with Abū al-Qāsim’s largesse of spirit reconciled these conundrums in the Prime Minister’s understanding. Abū al-Qāsim was himself a well-educated man, as would be expected from a public figure of his stature. A note left to posterity by his father claims that Abū al-Qāsim had memorized much of the Qur’ān and authored extensive works in grammar and philology. He mastered some fifteen thousand verses of Arabic poetry in addition to works in algebra, orthography and composition. 12 The Prime Minister died on the eleventh day of Ramadan (15 October 1027), fulfilling Elias’ brother’s ominous prediction. His epitaph is a fitting expression for a public figure who was willing to seek knowledge from Elias concerning the Christian faith: “I have long traveled on the way of error and ignorance. It was time for me to arrive at the end of my journey. I have re11 12

Caspar, Charfi, and Samir, “Bibliographie,” 256–284. Ibn Khallikan, Biographical Dictionary, 1:451.

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pented of my sins and this latter part of my journey will perhaps erase the first part. After forty-five years, I would have hoped for a longer respite had I not known that my Creditor is generous.” 13

ELIAS’ SESSIONS Introduction

The Prime Minister summoned Bishop Elias while occupying his post in Diyarbakir. His visits began in July 1026 and concluded in June 1027. There are, in fact, two extant records of the conversations that took place. The first was an exchange of letters in which Elias records the substance of their conversations, a written work requested by Abū al-Qāsim. 14 That exchange of letters was read in the court of Abū al-Qāsim before Muslim clerics who praised the Bishop’s understanding of Islamic belief as well as his exposition of the Christian faith. The Prime Minister issues a declaration that the Christians of Elias’ community are indeed monotheists. It was a public victory for Elias and a testament to Abū al-Qāsim’s willingness to amend his views through dialogue. The second record was the Sessions, produced later by Elias. Abū al-Qāsim did not live to see that final report. The first of the seven Sessions sets the tone for all that follows as Abū al-Qāsim proceeds to explain to Elias of Nisibis his skepticism towards Christians in two opposing directions. First, he is skeptical of their belief, for, he says, the Christian belief in the Trinity is tantamount to polytheism and the worship of a created being who is not eternal. Secondly, he is skeptical of their unbelief (kufr). This striking statement prompts Elias’ question as to the nature of this skepticism. Abū al-Qāsim explains that, while traveling, Ibn Khallikan, Biographical Dictionary, 1:454; Landron, Chrétiens, 114. Al-Niṣībīn and al-Qasim, “Risāla” [Sbath 1131]. It is noteworthy that Abū al-Qāsim also requested a written record of Elias wisdom sayings on how to deal with anxiety titled: Dispelling Anxiety (‫)دفع ا��م‬. 13 14

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he was stricken with a life-threatening illness. The Prime Minister became completely dehydrated, unable to retain liquids, and unable to tolerate food of any kind. The situation became so dire that he lost hearing and hoped that his traveling companions could ensure his arrival to his home city as he anticipated his demise as a result of the illness. The weary band of travelers found shelter in one of the monasteries that littered the Middle Eastern landscape of that period. Upon discovering that their guest was deathly ill, the abbot of the monastery ordered that he be given pomegranate cultivated in the holy ground of the monastery. Elias took the prescribed remedy more out of duty as a guest than hope of its efficacy as a cure. Strangely, he found that his stomach was able to process the food and his strength returned. He then joined the monks for a lentil stew. His health was restored and, in a short time, he felt normal. Abū al-Qāsim viewed this as a wondrous miracle of healing. Accordingly, he doubted his previous inclination that Christians were infidels. How could such a wondrous sign take place at the hands of polytheists and idol worshippers? For this reason, he hoped to converse with Bishop Elias. He now requested the Bishop’s indulgence to patiently explain to him the Christian faith, saying that his sincere desire was to vindicate the Christians of false accusations. With this auspicious beginning, Bishop Elias proceeds to launch into his explication of the Christian Trinity. It is noteworthy that the Bishop had expressed reluctance to delve into matters of religion with the Prime Minister. It was a period when the faith of Christians had fallen into disrepute as a result of powerful Muslim polemicists who ridiculed the Christian Trinitarian concept. Some Christians—such as Alī Ibn Rabbān alṬabarī (d. 855)—had converted to Islam and proved to be powerful spokesmen on behalf of their new faith. 15 They provided insider knowledge of the Christian faith as Islamic tawḥīd became the intellectual standard for acceptable speech (kalām) 15

Thomas, “Alī,” 137–155.

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about God. Accordingly, the Trinity was perceived as an inferior concept, having not yet attained the full progression of religion represented by the Qur’ān’s stately declaration: “He is Allah, one. Allah the eternal refuge. He neither begets nor is born, nor is there to him any equivalent” (Q 112:1–4). We will look briefly at Elias’ arguments for the Trinity and the two natures of Christ as found in Sessions one to five, primarily. In Session Three, Elias argues from the Qur’ān that Christians must be considered monotheists—worshippers of one God only. The translation of that Session concludes this chapter.

THE TRINITY

As mentioned earlier, the exchange of letters between the two dialogue partners preceded the publication of the Sessions. The correspondence begins with Elias’ spirited and direct confession of Christian monotheism. This underscores the crux of the dialogue. Abū al-Qāsim, the Muslim Marwānid Prime Minister, wishes to be assured that Christians are monotheists—that they worship only one God and not three. Elias is equally keen to demonstrate that the Christians are not polytheists. The expected result in the Marwānid dynasty is that Christians will be included in the fold of monotheism, creating economic viability for the Christian community under the hegemony of Islamic leadership. Elias’ Monotheistic Confession

The following confession offered by Elias to demonstrate Christian monotheism introduces the exchange of letters between the two men. In the Sessions, it becomes Session Five. Note that the language could be adhered to by both Muslims and Christians, showing that Elias is intent on the inclusion of his Christian community in the fold of tawḥīd (Islamic divine oneness). He is one God. There is no God beside Him. He has no partner in His lordship and no peer in His divinity. He has no equal in His eternality. No opponent can resist Him.

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No peer can contend with Him. He is non-corporeal, non-composite, not amalgamated, intangible, not localized, indivisible, uncontainable, not occupying space, immutable, not confined by place, not contained in time, Eternal, without beginning, eternal without end, Concealed in His essence, appearing in His actions, Matchless in His power and perfection, peerless in grandeur and honor, source of all grace, spring of all wisdom, Cause of all things from nothing, The fountainhead of all immaterial beings, Maker of all things by His command, The Creator of all created things by His word, Knower of all things before their existence, Discerner of mysteries before their concealment, Living, undying, immutable, never passing away, Powerful, not deviating from justice, not oppressing, Knowing not ignorant, forbearing not delaying bounty, Gentle, unhurried, bounteous not begrudging, powerful not impotent, Near to all, far from all, Answering him who calls, aiding him who hopes for Him, Sufficient for him who depends upon Him, A refuge for the one who takes refuge in Him, Purveyor of grace if it is accepted with thanks And remover of it if it is accepted with unbelief, Near to the good, far from the infidels, receiver of the penitent, Enemy of the recalcitrant, God of mercy, beneficent Lord, wise Creator who created the world for His will and as He willed. Then he commands resurrection and renewal and restoring life to those in tombs, He rewards the good by bringing them to His mercies and the evil by eternalizing their punishment, The One who raises up, the one God, one Creator, one Lord,

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This confession, accompanied by Elias’ oath of monotheistic faith, serves as a forceful assertion of Christian monotheism. In this initial confession, Elias moves strategically to gain the favor of the Prime Minister and the Muslim Clerics who attend his court. Indeed, these clerics look with favor on Elias’ confession and marvel at his command of the rhetoric of tawḥīd. 17 To get a sense of how Elias builds his argument, we now return to Session One. 18 We recall Abū al-Qāsim’s first skepticism related to the Christian worship of a Trinity, to which the Prime Minister refers as their belief in one “substance” and three divine “hypostases.” Equally scandalous is the belief that the man Jesus was eternal and uncreated. Elias proposes to deal with each of these objections in turn. The Problem of “Substance”

Elias introduces his response by discussing the meaning of “substance.” The word had taken a philosophical meaning in Christian parlance, similar to the word “essence.” However, for the Muslim, “substance” connoted “a basic component of material

The translation first appeared in Kuhn, God, 99–100. The Arabic original is al-Niṣībīn, “Kitāb,” MS Huntington 240, fols. 28r–29r; al-Niṣībīn and al-Qasim, “Risāla” [Sbath 1131]. 17 tawḥīd is an Arabic word literally meaning “to render one.” It is the descriptor of the Islamic doctrine of God’s oneness or unicity, a oneness that prohibits any plurality of Allāh. Refer to Qur’ān sura 112, cited above. 18 Session One is preserved in three Vatican manuscripts as well as an Arabic edition by Louis Cheikho: al-Niṣībīn, “Kitāb,” MS Vat AR 143, fols. 3r–29r; Cheikho, “Majalis”; al-Niṣībīn, “Kitāb,” MS Vat AR 180, fols. 70r–82r. 16

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objects that can be characterized by accidents.” 19 “Substance” is, according to Abū al-Qāsim, localized (found in a particular place) and contingent (liable to change). This, in the Prime Minister’s view, is unbecoming of a high view of God. One can see that the first stumbling block for the Muslim interlocutor of Elias is not the idea of the Trinity per se, but a semantic difference. “Substance,” for the Muslim, means a corporeal being. It should be recalled that the Greek philosophical jargon of the day divided all created things into substance and accident. The substance was the thing in itself (e.g., the man) while the accident was the descriptor of the man (e.g., physician). While the accidents appended to the substance, the substance was thought to exist in itself. That did not mean it was self-created, but that it existed independent of accidents (descriptors). Thus, “substance” in the philosophical jargon of the day typically referred to physical beings. Christians were using “substance” in their theological discussions in a different way. For them, substance meant uncreated deity. Muslims were not accustomed to this language and naturally saw it is as equating God with human beings. The suspicion was reinforced as Christians spoke of God having a Son or being a Father, language that suggested a physical procreativity. These were uniquely human functions, physical and material in nature. Therefore, Abū al-Qāsim asks Elias if the God of the Christians is a material God—a substance. Elias responded to this by drawing on known Muslim attributes of God, which include being “living, active, powerful and knowing.” Elias states that there is no being in the visible order who has these qualities but is not physical, material. In plainer language, we only know something is living when we see it alive. We only know that someone is active as we watch their active body. Elias reasons that, if Christians must acknowledge that God is corporeal because they use the term Thomas, Christian Doctrines, 145 n. 2. Note that “accident” in philosophy is an attribute that belongs to a subject without affecting its essence. 19

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“substance,” Muslims should also admit their God is physical because they use terms like active, living, powerful and knowing. Does the argument persuade? To the modern reader, the point may seem vague and tenuous. However, Elias is making the point that language, when used to describe God, has a different meaning than when used to describe created beings. The Muslim obviously does not think of God as a physical being simply because his attributes are living, knowing, acting and powerful. They understand that these attributes, normally attributed to physical beings, are being used allegorically of God. God’s power is not like man’s power, but higher and greater. Elias forces Abū al-Qāsim to conclude that the use of substance does not necessarily mean God is corporeal. Christians do not mean it in this way, just as Muslims do not mean “active” as requiring physical corporeality. The Bishop is masterful in that he helps the Muslim see that Christians conceive of God as more elevated than physical substance. They must use words with physical connotations to describe God, who cannot be contained in space and time. The point is not unlike John Calvin’s contention that God accommodates our human language in order to reveal himself to us. 20 In our contemporary Muslim-Christian discussions, there is much confusion around the familial terms “Son of God” and “Father.” To this day, Muslims understand these terms to denote physicality and procreation. Despite Christians’ insistence that God is Spirit, and cannot be contained in time and space, the misunderstanding persists. Perhaps Elias can assist us by showing us ways in which Muslims continue to use physical and material terms to speak of God (e.g., the hand of God, the face of God, etc.). These terms express physicality, but human analogies fall short of an accurate description of God. We must resort to physical terminology to express the immaterial reality of the uncreated and eternal God. Thus, “son” and “father” do not ex20

Calvin, Institutes, 1:52 n. 3.

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press procreation, but more substantive meanings including love, image-bearing, acceptance, adoption, inclusion, dominion, etc. What about the Hypostases?

After his clarification of the moniker “substance,” Elias proceeds to explain the matter of the three hypostases. Hypostasis (singular) was the word used in the creeds of the church to explain the three-person nature of the one God. The word is Greek. Hypo means “under” or “underlying.” Stasis is the word for “standing.” Understood in this way, the Fathers of the church taught that God’s underlying reality, his nature, is a plurality, a relationality. In the thought of the Cappadocian Fathers, this relationality became the most true and accurate representation of God. 21 It was the content of their confession: one ousia (essence or substance) and three hypostases (persons). These three persons (hypostases) were homoousian (of the same substance). 22 Elias leads his interlocutor through a series of deductions to establish the tri-personal nature of God. The reality of God’s selfexistence implies that he is living. A self-existent being cannot be other than living. As he is the Creator of all intelligent life, he must himself be intelligent, expressing that intelligence through speaking. This speech is not merely the production of audible sounds, such as that produced by animals. It is the expression of rationality in speech. Thus, God is both living and speaking. Said in another way, he possesses the attributes of life and speech. 23 Holmes, Quest, 12–13. Kelly, Early Christian, 263–264. 23 Note that the Ashʿarite school of Islamic thought held the attributes to be more substantive than the English word “attribute” is able to express. They were real entities, not God (eschewing association of created entities with God) nor other than God. Gimaret, La doctrine, 236, 43. Furthermore, they divided the attributes into two categories—attributes of the divine essence and attributes of act. Al-Ashʿarī spoke of seven 21 22

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A common objection among Muslims of this period was the assertion that God’s speaking (and other attributes) led to the supposition of more than one eternal being. God is eternal. God’s speech also is eternal. Does this not equate to shirk, the association of something created with the uncreated God? The debate may sound arcane to modern ears, but in the medieval period of Islamic kalām, it was a serious issue. Allah was understood to be unfathomable, unlike any existent being. Accordingly, his majestic being disallowed all association with created entities. His uniqueness placed a chasm between his being and creation. This strict monotheism (tawḥīd) produced a conundrum for Muslims concerning God’s attributes. The seven attributes of the Ashʿarite school were living, knowing, powerful, willing, speaking, hearing, and seeing. Each of these attributes raises a question: If Allah was seeing in eternity past, what did he see? If he was hearing, what did he hear? The mutakallimūn (theologians) wanted to preserve God’s pristine oneness, fearing that any relationship beyond himself implicated them in shirk (associating deity with creation). However, the supposition of these attributes begged the question of something existing outside the being of God. The Muʿtazilites held that God’s Word (the Qur’ān) was created. It had a beginning. The Ashʿarites, on the other hand, held that God’s word was eternal. As to how it co-existed with God, they would respond with their famous maxim, “it is not God and not other than God.” The Ashʿarites knew these attributes existed in God, but how they existed without compromising God’s pristine oneness was not revealed in Scripture. 24 One might imagine that Christian theologians would perceive in this doctrine of God’s eternal attributes an opening for their Trinity. Indeed, this is precisely the string on which Elias begins to play. attributes of the divine essence: knowledge, power, life, word, will, sight and hearing. Haddad and Haddad, Christian-Muslim, 86. 24 For the Ashʿarite understanding of divine attributes and possible Christian parallels, see Cumming, “Ṣifāt,” 111–145.

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We return to Elias’ proposition that God is speaking and living. Because God is without change, these attributes must not be considered as “accidents” or mere properties describing God. God is not liable to change and therefore cannot be amended by accidents. Nor is God composite (made of parts) such that these attributes could be construed as constituent parts of deity. So then, are God’s speech and life two additional substances, coeternal with God’s essence? No. Rather, the substance of deity is one, while the essence of deity issues speech and life. Elias proceeds to name the three hypostases. The essence is named “Father,” the Word “Son” and the life “Spirit.” The Bishop concludes his argument with two analogies. The human soul cannot be disassociated from its speech and life, but embraces them in one indivisible essence. The essence of the sun cannot be separated from its light and its heat. So also, the divine essence cannot be disassociated from its word and its life. Thus, Father, Son and Spirit are one God, three hypostases. Abū al-Qāsim, upon hearing Elias’ thoughtful exposition, asks why Christians speak of the three hypostases, as this inevitably leads to the conclusion that they believe in three distinct persons, three gods or three parts. The Bishop, in turn, points out that Muslims are inclined to speak of God’s two eyes by which he sees, or his two hands which he extends, or a leg which he reveals, or a face which God turns in many directions. Elias points out that no Muslim believes God is corporeal, to which the Prime Minister readily agrees. Elias contends that such statements could lead Muslims into error and have caused some to lapse into false belief. Abū al-Qāsim replies that the Qur’ān itself uses this language and, for that reason, Muslims have license to speak in this way. Elias masterfully recognizes a touché in the Prime Minister’s assertion. Christians speak of God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit because their revealed Scriptures speak in this way. To deny this way of speaking would be to deny the revelation given by God. Muslims do the same, drawing their language to describe God from their revealed text. Therefore, Christians affirm that God is one, existing eternally in three hypostases—Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

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It is noteworthy that, for Elias, the final arbiter for right speech about God is the revealed Scripture. He knows this to be true of Muslims and skillfully leads his interlocutor to see that Christians must respect their revealed text—as do Muslims—and use its language in their descriptions of divinity. Speaking about God necessarily requires the use of human analogy. Muslims acknowledge that these analogies serve as conceptual helps in discussing deity, but they cannot be pushed too far. In much the same way, Elias pleads that Muslims not understand the use of Father, Son and Spirit to imply procreative language or physicality in deity. Rather, the language helps believers hone their understanding of deity while maintaining a proper distance from their meanings in normal human interactions. Elias’ Trinitarian Formulation Today

Will a careful study of Elias of Nisibis better enable Christians to carry on their conversation with Muslims about the nature of God in today’s world? In a word, yes. However, we must also qualify that statement by recognizing that Elias’ Trinitarian response to the Prime Minister grew out of his epoch and was uniquely applicable to that time and place. Understanding that communication context will help build a bridge to contextualize Elias’ contribution for the present day. Following are some suggested guideposts for that contextualization. First, Elias studied and mastered Islamic kalām rhetoric from within Islam, in the language of Islam. When he declared the unity of God, he used language which Muslims recognized as their own. The scholars of Mayyāfāriqīn who heard Elias’ monotheistic confession were persuaded that the Bishop adhered to faith in one God only. In fact, the Prime Minister is effusive in his praise, stating that Christians and Muslims share the same understanding of God’s unity. 25 The language one uses gives shape to the concepts one expresses. Elias spoke from within the Al-Niṣībīn, “Kitāb,” MS Huntington 240, fol. 67v; al-Niṣībīn and alQasim, “Risāla” [Sbath 1131]. 25

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Muslim context using Arabic and Islamic terminology. He was heard because his language served as a key to unlock misconceptions. It is noteworthy that Latin and Greek church Fathers took on these topics, but without the linguistic leverage which Elias (and other Arabic-speakers) wielded. Elias, then, is a plea for mastery of Islamic rhetoric and concepts from within the linguistic framework of Muslim peoples. Second, Elias recognized that the Islamic understanding of the attributes of God afforded him an opening to explicate the Trinitarian idea. For Ashʿarite Muslims, the attributes of God were entities existing within God, not mere descriptors or monikers. 26 The locus of these attributes was within the essence of God. The Islamic attributes, therefore, became the conceptual bridge to the Trinity in the Muslim-Christian interface. Elias proposed two attributes without which God could not be God. These were life and speech. From these, he inferred that God’s life and speech were eternal entities within the divine essence. From there, he named the two entities Spirit and Son, the names given to them in Christian Scriptures. The essence from which these issued was the Father. 27 The question of the activity of God’s attributes has been often highlighted as a distinction between the Islamic view of unicity and the Christian understanding of Trinity. Christians claim that God’s perichoretic unity is a unity of mutuality. 28 Each hypostasis (person) of the Trinity indwells the other such that there is never discord in the unity of the Trinity, but only harmony. “Whatever the Father does, that the Son does likeSee Cumming, “Ṣifāt,” 111–145. Elias’ contemporary Abū al-Faraj ‘Abd Allāh Ibn al-Ṭayyib went further to develop a more robust conceptual framework for the three hypostases of the Trinity as will be seen in the chapter of this book dedicated to Ibn al-Ṭayyib. Kuhn, God, 203–205. 28 “Perichoresis” was used by John of Damascus and the Cappadocian Fathers to describe the mutual indwelling dynamic of the hypostases of the Trinity. The three persons of the Trinity were in perfect harmony and existed in an eternal relationship of self-giving love. 26 27

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wise” (John 5:19 ESV). “I and the Father are one” (John 10:30 ESV). These statements of reciprocity by Jesus are deemed to be his own claim to divinity, though it is never a divinity in isolation from the Father, but always in relation to the Father and Spirit. Third, in the third Session (translated below), Elias skillfully uses the Qur’ān to demonstrate that Christians cannot be considered polytheists or idolaters (mushrikūn). The Bishop models the use of the Qur’ān to good effect without misconstruing its contents before Muslim interlocutors. His Qur’ānic references are limited to his purpose of proving that Christians worship only one God. He does not venture into other Christian tenets (e.g., Christ’s divinity or atoning death), attempting to establish them by the Qur’ān, nor does he use the Muslim text for polemical purposes (e.g., to point out Qur’ānic contradictions or question the prophet’s integrity). Finally, Abū al-Qāsim must be considered the hero of the Sessions as he possessed a unique ability to set aside his own preconceptions, assuming an agnostic posture in order to allow the Christian Bishop to explicate what he did not understand. This is a posture of “agnostic inquisitiveness.” 29 Elias was only able to provide his explanation because the Prime Minister was willing to engage. Such a posture is the pre-requisite for meaningful interaction between the two faiths. Abū al-Qāsim’s agnostic inquisitiveness serves as an invitation to both Muslims and Christians to enter the fray of Muslim-Christian engagement with appropriate humility and willingness to learn. 30

I am indebted to Dr. David Thomas for this term as well as his suggestion that it is a pre-requisite quality for meaningful engagement in Muslim-Christian relations. Thomas, “Past and Future,” 33–42. 30 For more on Abū al-Qāsim’s respectful, agnostic inquisitiveness, see Kuhn, God, 206–208, 10–12. 29

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CHRISTOLOGY

The problem of God’s nature in Muslim-Christian relations includes the Christian view of Christ. The Nicene formulation was that Christ was one (homoousion) with God. For Muslims, this was the example par excellence of shirk—the association of created beings with what is uncreated and eternal. It amounted to idolatry. In studying Elias of Nisibis, we venture into Nestorian Christology. The preferred moniker for Elias’ ecclesial family is the “Church of the East” or the “Assyrian Church of the East.” Nestorius did influence the development of dogma in the church, but not to the extent of others such as Theodore of Mopsuestia. Nestorius was a Greek Bishop of Constantinople, whereas Elias’ church had historically been a Syriac-speaking community; therefore, the moniker of Nestorianism has been denied by the Church of the East. 31 Still, their Christology diverged from Orthodoxy as defined by Nicaea, but especially Chalcedon. Nestorian Christology

The Council of Chalcedon (451) had elaborated the Nicaean formulation and upheld Cyril’s two letters against Nestorianism. It held that Christ was: Perfect in Godhead and the same perfect in manhood, truly God and truly man, the same of a rational soul and body, consubstantial with the Father in Godhead, and the same consubstantial with us in manhood, like us in all things except sin; begotten from the Father before the ages as regards His Godhead, and in the last days, the same, because of us and because of our salvation begotten from the Virgin Mary, the Theotokos, as regards His manhood; one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, only-begotten, made known in two natures without confusion, without change, without division, with31

Brock, “‘Nestorian’ Church,” 23–35.

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MICHAEL F. KUHN out separation, the difference of the natures being by no means removed because of the union, but the property of each nature being preserved and coalescing in one prosopon and one hypostasis—not parted or divided into two prosopa, but one and the same Son, only begotten, divine Word, the Lord Jesus Christ as the prophets of old and Jesus Christ Himself have taught us about Him and the creed of our fathers has handed down. 32

To be precise, the Church of the East differed from the Chalcedon formula in their assertion that Mary was the theotokos (“God-bearer”), as well as the two words “one hypostasis.” Church of the East spokespersons insisted that Christ’s two natures required two hypostases. We discern three roots that nurtured this divergence from Chalcedon. First, the liturgies of the Church of the East had emphasized the full humanity of Christ in its understanding of salvation. Therefore, Mary was seen not as the “God-bearer” (theotokos), but as the mother of Christ’s humanity. Nestorius’ compromise proposal of “mother of Christ” (Christotokos) was rejected by the Council of Ephesus in 431, which led to his exile in 436. The dispute appears academic, but the title accorded to the mother of Jesus was important for the Eastern Christians. Could Mary claim to be the mother of Christ’s divinity, or was she merely the mother of his humanity? The Church of the East would opt for the latter. This disagreement sheds some light on the proclivity of the Church of the East to separate Jesus’ humanity from his divinity conceptually. Second, the Church of the East, like other ecclesial families of the Antiochene tradition, was disinclined to embrace the communication of the attributes (communicatio idiomatum)—the idea that Christ’s human attributes can be applied to his divinity and his divine attributes to his humanity. The crux of this issue was the concept of divine impassibility, or the impossibility of divinity suffering pain or any human contingency, sometimes 32

Kelly, Early Christian, 339–40.

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referred to as “theopaschitism.” As the understanding of the hypostatic union expanded, Scythian monks suggested that “one of the Trinity suffered.” 33 The formula was not accepted immediately, though it came to be accepted as orthodox teaching. The Church of the East, however, held tightly to a prohibition of divine suffering. Their understanding of the separation of the two hypostases was foundational to this rejection. Christ suffered and died only in his human nature, not in his divine nature. The tenet supplies another building block towards our understanding of Nestorian Christology. A third factor was simply the geographic and linguistic realities of the early centuries of the church. Conciliar discussions took place in Greek. Though Greek was a known language to many of the Church of the East clergy, their liturgies, which gave expression to their faith, were in Syriac. Furthermore, the councils were only ecumenical in that they embraced the Roman ecumene. Ecclesial families that fell beyond the boundaries of the empire were seldom represented in the ecumenical councils. Thus, the Church of the East leadership was isolated from the elaboration of words like hypostasis. For them, hypostasis (Syriac qnoma) could not be conceived of apart from the nature (Greek physeis; Syriac kyāne) of the person. Thus, to insist that the two natures of Christ were “one hypostasis” was unacceptable. Two natures of necessity implied two hypostases. 34 With this background, we can now understand why Elias insisted that the divinity of Christ was not subjected to human contingencies, whether pain or weakness or death. 35 Armed with his Nestorian Christology, Elias could claim that Christ, the eternal Word of God, was neither born nor suffered nor died. It was only his human nature that was subject to these human experiences, not his divine nature. Parry et al., Blackwell, 487. Brock, “‘Nestorian’ Church,” 24. 35 For more on the development of Nestorian Christology, see Kuhn, God, 134–144. 33 34

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The First of Elias’ Sessions with Prime Minister Abū al-Qasim deals with the Muslim’s confusion as to how Christians can adhere to the Nicene formulation and claim that they also adhere to the unity of God—tawḥīd. After all, the Nicene Creed declares that “the man born of Mary is an eternal Lord, Creator, uncreated, begotten of God before the ages.” The Bishop’s puzzling reply is that his Christian community does not accept that the man born of Mary was the eternal Creator, nor that he was uncreated, nor that he was begotten of God. Abū al-Qāsim, perhaps like the contemporary reader, is confused. How does Elias adhere to Nicaea and yet make such statements? A Semantic Separation between Hypostases

The answer lies in a sharp semantic distinction which had become commonplace in the Church of the East’s Christology. Recall that the two hypostases of Christ—the divine and the human—remained separate in Church of the East thought. Accordingly, each hypostasis was given a title or titles so as to ensure the separation. For Elias, the “man born of Mary” or “Jesus” attach to the human hypostasis. Titles such as “Lord” attach to the divine hypostasis. Other monikers (e.g., Christ) attach to either hypostasis or both hypostases. The descriptors of divinity in the Nicene Creed are appended to “Lord” but not “Jesus,” according to Bishop Elias. Elias further upholds this separation by referring to a Church of the East Synod convened during the time of Harūn alRashīd (Abbasid Caliph in Baghdad, d. 809). The Synod discussed the question of the beatific vision (the vision of divinity) and to whom it was granted to see God. The ruling of the Synod was the eternal word, which had united with the man Jesus in the incarnation, was never seen by him. The invisible essence of deity, which united with the human nature in the incarnation, could not be physically seen or apprehended by Jesus’ humanity. Thus, the wall of separation between the human and divine hypostases of Christ was useful to the Church of the East in its

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interaction with Islamic thought. We will return to this point below. The Indwelling

The second Session opens with the Prime Minister returning to some misgivings concerning the Christian understanding of Christ. He finds the words “indwelling” and “union” problematic. In his view, God cannot indwell a man as an accident indwells a substance, as that would equate God with an accident to the human substance. Nor can God indwell a man as a body within a body, for God cannot be physically contained. Moreover, if God only partially indwelt the human Jesus, God would be divided. How, then, do Christians refer to God indwelling the man Jesus? Bishop Elias draws on his Church of the East forbears to suggest that the indwelling of God in Christ is an indwelling of “dignity, assent and will” (30v1–31r7). 36 The reply fails to satisfy the Prime Minister, who infers that all prophets and holy persons could claim a similar indwelling of God. With his flair for rhetoric and semantics, Elias recognizes that the same words can easily be used of other prophets, yet their indwelling was inferior to that of Christ, much as a donkey is inferior to a human being though both are described as “animals” (living beings). The uniqueness of Christ’s indwelling is clarified by comparison with other prophets. What follows is a litany of the qualities of other prophets (e.g., Adam, John the Baptist, Moses and Enoch). Bishop Elias demonstrates that each of them experienced the indwelling presence of God, but to a lesser degree than Christ. The discussion of the indwelling concludes with Elias pointing out that each of the prophets committed sins of omission and commission. Elias pushes his Muslim counterpart to acknowledge a point that would not be readily embraced by his Muslim community. Jesus, on the other hand, could be convictThe numbering refers to the folio numbers (r-recto and v-verso) of alNiṣībīn, “Sessions.”

36

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ed of no sin. The sum of the matter is “the man born of Mary united with the eternal Son who is the Word and became the one Christ which is not true of other prophets and saints, moreover the virtue of [his] indwelling is distinct from theirs” (41v1– 42v4). 37 The Union

The Bishop proceeds to explicate his understanding of the union, by which is meant the union of the human and divine in the one Christ. The explication uses three key terms which the Bishop will clarify through analogies. The Word of God united with the man born of Mary in “will, cleaving and aspect.” 38 The union of will is analogized by the union of two or more persons who, though different in essence, are united in will. The Bishop points to the biblical illustration of the early Christians who were of one soul and one will (Acts 4:32). The second key term is “cleaving.” Much as a man is to cleave to his wife so as to become one flesh, so the Word of God cleaves to the man born of Mary in the union. The third key term is “aspect.” The analogy used here is that of a king and his delegate. The delegate represents the face (or aspect) of the king and thereby carries his authority. The Bishop concludes this part of the discussion with further analogies to clarify that the union is not one of substance or personhood, but a union of two substances and two hypostases. Thus, like ʿAmr and Zayd (two persons in agreement) or a man and his wife (two persons in the cleaving of marriage) or the king and his delegate (two persons exercising one command), so the Word of God is one with the man born of Mary. Moreover, the “one Son” is like the one will of two men, the one flesh of a man and his wife, or the one command of a king and his delegate.

37 38

Kuhn, God, 177–178. Will (‫)مشيئة‬, cleaving (‫)إتصال‬, and aspect (‫)وجهية‬.

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One final analogy will solidify the Bishop’s meaning. He avers that one may speak of a city in different senses. One may speak in reference to the city’s physical characteristics, its buildings and the like. Alternatively, one may refer to the people of the city. The two manners of speaking refer to different essences (buildings and people) though the same moniker (the name of the city) may be used in speaking of both. The name carries both meanings. Similarly, when one speaks of Christ, one may be referring either to the divine essence or the human essence. When we speak of Christ raising the dead or performing miracles, it is apparent we are speaking of his divinity. When we describe Christ eating, drinking, and experiencing fatigue and death, we are manifestly speaking of the human essence. Elias’ Christology in the Muslim-Christian Interface Today

We conclude by inquiring about the utility of Elias’ formulation of Christology for Christians in conversation with Muslims in our day. As was noted in reference to Elias’ Trinitarian formulation, the Bishop had a precise understanding of Islam. He knew where the obstacles for Muslim understanding of the Christian doctrine were found, and his language drew upon common Islamic terminology to facilitate understanding. However, unlike Elias’ Trinitarian formulation, the conclusions he reaches in his Christological formulation adhere so closely to the Nestorian doctrine of Christ that they fall short of the Biblical doctrine of Christ’s divinity. This is nowhere more clearly seen than in Elias’ Christological analogies. Each of the analogies presents the union of the human and divine in Christ as two separate individuals. Two friends agree on a common will. Two spouses constitute one flesh. A king and his delegate are united in command. While the analogies are helpful to grasp the Nestorian understanding of Christ, they do little to commend the one person of Christ in which “the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily” (Col 2:9 ESV). Elias’ Christology posits a clear demarcation between the divine and human hypostases. What factors were pushing Elias in this direction? While we cannot offer a complete theological analysis

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of a Bishop who lived a thousand years ago, we can draw certain inferences from his intellectual environment. The Greek understanding of divinity as an unmoved mover, independent from all contingency, had infiltrated the Eastern understanding of divinity. Not unlike the Islamic understanding of divinity, Eastern theologians were insistent on the impassibility of the divine nature. God could not experience human contingencies—pain, emotions, and the like. Any suggestion of change in God entailed the speaker in a sub-standard view of God, unworthy of theology. This external standard for God’s aseity and sovereignty reigned as a type of gold standard for theological formulations. It was easily adapted to Islam in the form of tawḥīd. Christians, for their part, also embraced it and were eager to demonstrate that their view of God, no less than Islam, adhered to divine immutability and aseity. Indeed, they could easily point to Biblical proofs of God’s unchanging nature and transcendence. Elias and others of his Church of the East community (e.g., ʿAmmār al-Baṣrī) felt that the wall of separation between the divine and human hypostases afforded a more propitious Christology in the Muslim context. Muslims could accept this kind of union of the divine and human because the divine remained unblemished (tanzīh), not liable to human contingencies. Church of the East Christology had always held to the one person (parsopa) of Christ in two natures and two hypostases. Mar Babai (d. 628) summarized: “the natures are preserved in their qnume (hypostases) in one person of one sonship.” 39 However, the unified person of Christ is undermined by the Bishop’s analogies of two persons, two individuals. The predominance of tawḥīd as an intellectual construct—and the resulting pressure on the Church of the East to shield the divine nature from all human contingencies—reinforced the wall of separation between the two natures of Christ and pushed the Bishop to the outer limits of Nestorian Christology. 39

Atiya, History, 254.

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The western flank of the church was equally persuaded of divine immutability, and in some ways remains so. Nevertheless, the mystery of the eternal Son of God bearing our sorrows and carrying our griefs defies the rational constructs of speculative theology. As one Middle Eastern pastor has expressed it, “love has a rationale all its own.” 40 Yes, God is immutable. God is beyond human contingency. So speaks human understanding. The reality of the incarnation is that God entered humanity to share in our sorrows, to bear our suffering. The unthinkable has happened. The impossible has become reality. The resolution of this conundrum is in the resurrection. God enters humanity, laying the privileges of deity aside in order to accomplish redemption. Christ, the high priest, was touched by the feeling of our infirmities. He was not shielded from them, but, by love, made himself fully liable to them. However, unlike other human beings, those contingencies did not snuff out the life of the eternal Son of God. His resurrection proved his immutability, establishing it in the greater context of his self-giving love. He could be subjected to human sin and its effects, but his divine life would overcome them. In his resurrection, he offers to humanity a new union with divinity. Human beings are embraced in the divine love, shared in eternity among Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This is Athanasius’ summary of the faith: “The Word assumed humanity… that we might become God.” 41 Therefore, Elias becomes a warning to Christians in conversation with Muslims. Elias was eager that his Christian community be recognized as ahl al-tawḥīd—people of divine unity. The hindsight of history permits us to see that Elias may have downThe pastor referred to is Dr. Menis ʿAbd al-Nūr, deceased former pastor of the Qaṣr al-Dūbāra Evangelical Church in Cairo, Egypt. Pastor Menis was known to mention this in his sermons and the present author heard this statement on several occasions. 41 Athanasius, Incarnation 8.43. For a helpful understanding of the Eastern concept of theosis (divinization), see Fairbairn, Life, chap. 9, sect. “The Holy Spirit and Our Participation in the Son.” 40

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played or de-emphasized the distinctive mystery of the incarnation in order to adhere to an intellectual standard that could not fully contain the divine mystery. In our day, the pressures to downplay the stark realities of the incarnation are different, but the warning is still present. God’s becoming human is mysterious and difficult to assimilate. Nevertheless, the reality of the incarnation is scintillating in its promise and revolutionary in its potential to transform humanity and, indeed, the earth. In a word, the incarnation of God in Christ is the gospel. Rational formulations of the faith may fail, but the reality that the divine essence has dwelt among us as one of us must never be lost. It is the unique gift of the Christian confession.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION OF ELIAS’ THIRD SESSION

ELIAS’ QURANIC DEFENSE OF CHRISTIAN DIVINE UNITY

In the Third Session, translated below, Elias produces evidence of Christian divine unity from the Qur’ān and its exegetes. 42 It is noteworthy vis-a-vis other Christian polemicists of the period for its limited use of the Qur’ān to establish a specific point—that of Christian divine unity. Moreover, Abū al-Qāsim and his court attendants approved of and praised Elias’ skill in accessing the Qurān and its exegetes. An Arabic edition of the Sessions was produced by Louis Cheikho. 43 Two manuscripts serve as additional sources for the following edition: MS Vat AR 143 (fols. 49v–64r) and MS Huntington 240 (fols. 161r–190v). Introduction: The Prime Minister Enquires concerning Christian Unbelief and Association

1. On Tuesday, early in the seventh month, I attended the Minister’s court and he said to me: I have contemplated Elias’ third Session was originally translated for publication in Session Three: See Iliyyā, “Qur’anic Defense.” 43 Cheikho, “Majalis.” 42

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your exposition of the meaning of divine unity of the Christians. I approved thereof. However, I then returned to the Qur’ān and found that it denies it saying: ‘They have certainly disbelieved who say, “Allāh is the third of three”.’ Moreover, in many places, it attributes association 44 to them. Bishop Elias’ Response

2. I said: May God uphold the Prime Minister, I am not bound by what is found in the Quran. Nevertheless, I will establish from the Qur’ān that Christians hold to divine unity. 45 We find that the Qur’ān at times ascribes divine unity to them, while at other times, association. 3. This being the case, the Qur’ān must either be contradictory, or else it is ascribing divine unity to one sect (of Christians) and association to another. 4. I do not believe that Muslims, may God protect them, would say the Qur’ān is contradictory. Therefore, it is obligatory to conclude that it ascribes divine unity to one sect of Christians and association to another. 5. As for those who adhere to divine unity to which the Qur’ān refers, we know that they confess that God is one. That is us, 46 the Jacobites and the Melkites and those who believe as we do among the Christians.

The Arabic word is shirk which literally means ‘association’. The accusation is not merely the worship of idols, but associating any created being with Allāh. Such association is condemned in Islam as an unpardonable transgression. 45 The Arabic is tawḥīd which means the ‘making one’ of deity. It is the counterpoint to ‘association’ or idolatry and is the foundational tenet of Islam. 46 Iliyyā is from the Assyrian Church of the East often referred to as Nestorian. Thus, for Iliyya, the three major sects of Christianity—the 44

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MICHAEL F. KUHN 6. The associators include the Marcionites, the Daysanites, the Manicheans, the Tritheists and others who bear a resemblance to Christianity though it is innocent of them and far-removed from their beliefs. 7. The Marcionites believe in three gods—a just god, a merciful god and an evil god. 8. The Daysanites and Manicheans believe in two Creators and two gods, one of which created good and light while the other created evil and darkness. 9. The tritheists believe in three gods, three lords, three beings who are worshipped and three substances. 10. We believe that the Marcionites, the Daysanites and the Manicheans are apostate 47 and transgressors of the revealed law. Iliyya Refers to Sūrat al-Baqara

11. The Qur’ānic citations which refer to the divine unity [of Christians] include Surā al-Baqara: ‘Indeed, those who believed and those who were Jews or Christians or Sabeans—those who believed in Allah and the Last Day and did righteousness—will have their reward with their Lord and no fear will there be concerning them, nor will they grieve.’ 48

Church of the East (dyophysite), the Jacobites (miaphysite) and the Melkites (Byzantine)—all adhere to divine unity. 47 The Arabic is mulḥid, literally ‘atheist’. However, it is unlikely that Iliyyā is accusing these sects of atheism in its contemporary meaning. It is more likely that he considers them outside the bounds of legitimate Christian faith, or ‘apostate’. 48 Q 2:62.

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The Prime Minister Responds that this Verse Has Been Abrogated

12. He responded: The exegetes have diverged concerning this verse. Some have said that it is abrogated by His saying: ‘And whoever desires other than Islam as religion—never will it be accepted from him, and he, in the hereafter, will be among the losers.’ 49 13. Others say that the verse means that Jews, Christians and Sabeans deserve a reward in last days if they become Muslims, not if they continue in their religion. Elias’s Exposition of Abrogation

14. I said: The claim that this verse is abrogated is disallowed, as I will demonstrate. Speech is classified into several classifications including indirect discourse, inquiry, request, direct address 50 and command. 15. Abrogation takes place only in the case of command, for, if it was acceptable in indirect discourse or the other classifications of speech, diverse and contradictory meanings would result. 16. Abrogation is acceptable in the case of command because a command is given at a particular time for the common good of that time. Subsequently, however, a different command may be given to affect the common good appropriate to that time. 17. Giving an indirect discourse followed by another discourse that contradicts it is unacceptable. Therefore, abrogation is permissible in the case of commands but not permissible for other classifications of speech.

49 50

Q 3:85. Huntington 240: warning.

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MICHAEL F. KUHN 18. Commands take two forms: obligatory and nonobligatory. 19. Abrogation takes place only in the case of obligatory commands. 20. The obligatory commands are also subdivided into two forms: rational and traditional. Rational commands include the obligation of divine unity and thanksgiving to the Bestower of blessings. 51 21. Traditional commands include revering of one day over another, honoring one place over another, prohibiting particular foods, and other traditional obligations. 22. Abrogation takes place only in the case of traditional commands, not in the case of rational commands because it is impossible to abrogate the command of divine unity and giving of thanks to the Bestower of blessings. 52 23. Therefore, if abrogation takes place only in the case of commands, and this verse is indirect discourse and not command, then the claim of its abrogation is false. 53 24. Some claim that the verse from Sūra al-Baqara 54 indicates that Jews, Christians and Sabeans deserve a reward in the last days if they become Muslims and do not continue in their religion.

Cheikho adds: obedience to parents and loyalty to kin. Cheikho adds: …, obedience to parents and the obligation to kin. 53 Cheikho adds the following, which is found neither in Vatican Arabic 143 nor in Huntington 240: Another indication that it is not abrogated is the Qur’ānic citation: ‘This day I have perfected for you your religion and completed my favor upon you’ (Q 5:3). After perfection and completion, nothing more is to be added. 54 This refers to Q 2:62, which was cited previously. 51 52

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25. This is also invalid, as the specific mention of Jews, Christians and Sabeans would be pointless given that the phrase ‘those who believed’ includes Jews, Christians, Sabeans and others [who had become Muslims]. 26. If there were no distinction in this statement: ‘those who believed and the Jews, Christians and Sabeans who believed’, then the Qur’ān would in effect be saying ‘those who believed and those who believe’ which is redundant and meaningless. Muslims would not attribute such to the Qur’ān. 27. Also, if the intent of the verse was to link the eternal reward of Jews, Christians and Sabeans to their becoming Muslims, then the Magians and Hindus and other idolaters must be excluded from the intention of the verse, implying that these latter groups would not be accepted if they became Muslims, as the verse applies only to the Jews, Christians and Sabeans. 28. If this [interpretation] is not obligatory, the abrogation of the verse is invalid. Moreover, rendering the eternal reward of Jews, Christians and Sabeans conditional to their becoming Muslims is also invalid. 29. It is established that the intent of the verse is that those from among the Jews, Christians and Sabeans who believe in God and the last day and perform righteousness have their reward with their Lord. They need not fear nor grieve. 30. If this is established, it is also established that Christians adhere to the unity of deity. 55 Cheikho adds an extended section which appears neither in Huntington 240 nor in Vatican Arabic 143 as follows: Al-Ṭabarī stated that those who believed God and his prophet are the people of Islam and those who became Jews are the Jews and that from among the Sabeans are those who believe in God as we have demonstrated and the Chris55

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MICHAEL F. KUHN 31. Consider also His saying ‘wed not the idolatresses till they believe.’ 56 32. So, if Christians were idolaters, it would not be permissible to marry their women until they become Muslims. 33. As it is now, they are marriageable even if they remain in their belief [as Christians]. Therefore, it is known that Christians are not idolaters. Elias Refers to Sūrat Āl ʿImrān

34. This is also established from Sūrat Āl ʿImrān: ‘They are not [all] the same; among the people of the Scripture is a community [standing] in obedience, reciting the verse of Allāh during periods of the night and prostrating [in prayer]. They believe in Allah and the Last Day, and they enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong and hasten to do good deeds. And those are among the righteous.’ 57 35. It is known that the ‘community [standing] in obedience’ in this verse refers to some of the Jewish or Christian sects. 36. The Qur’ān testifies that the Jews are in stark enmity, hardness of heart and cunning while it testifies that the tians are those who believed in God and the last day as well as the resurrection and judgment following death and practice righteousness in its proper time. [These] need not fear what they embark upon in the resurrection. They need not grieve over what they have left behind concerning the world and its ways when they behold God’s generous reward with which he has honored them. This statement of al-Ṭabarī, may God have mercy upon him, indicates his belief that those who believed in God and the last day from among the Jews, Christians and Sabeans and practiced righteousness deserve the bliss of eternity. 56 Q 2:221. 57 Q 3:113–114.

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Christians are the closest in affection and speedily perform good and righteous works. 58 37. This indicates that the meaning of the ‘community [standing] in obedience’ is the Christians and not the Jews. If this is established, it is also established that the Christians adhere to divine unity and are not idolaters. Elias Refers to Sūrat al-Ḥājj

38. It is also mentioned in Sūrat al-Ḥajj: ‘Were it not that Allāh checks the people, some by means of others, there would have been demolished monasteries, churches, synagogues and mosques in which the name of Allāh is much mentioned.’ 59 1078F

39. If Christians were not adherents of divine unity, they would not have received the testimony that they mention the name of Allāh much in their churches as it is said of Muslims in their mosques, as only adherents of divine unity do this. Also, there would not be this parity between churches and mosques. Other Sūras and Commentators

40. And from the Sūra mentioned previously: ‘Indeed, those who believed and those who were Jews and the Sabians and the Christians and the Magians and those who associated with Allāh—Allāh will judge between them on the day of resurrection.’ 60 41. It is known that, if the Christians were idolaters, there would be no distinction in this verse between them and ‘those who associated [with Allāh].’

See Q 5:82. Q 22:40. 60 Q 22:17. 58 59

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MICHAEL F. KUHN 42. And in Sūrat al-Tawba: ‘Then kill the polytheists 61 wherever you find them.’ 62 This verse obligates the killing of idolaters wherever they may be found, whether they pay the head tax or not. 43. However, the Qur’ān commands the sparing of Christian blood, liberty to eat their sacrifices, intermingling with them and protecting them the same as Muslims if they pay the head tax. This indicates that they are adherents of divine unity and not idolaters. 44. And Sūrat al-Mā’ida: ‘And if only they upheld the Torah, the Gospel and what has been revealed to them from their Lord, they would have consumed provision from above them and beneath their feet. Among them are a moderate community, but many of them—evil is what they do.’ 63 45. Mujāhid said: ‘the moderate community is the people of the Scriptures.’ 46. Qatāda said: ‘from among the people of the Scripture is a moderate community [regarding] the book of God and his commands’. 47. Al-Sindī said: ‘They are the believers’. 48. Ibn Yazīd said: ‘The moderate [community] are the people of obedience to God from among the people of the Scripture who accept the Torah and the Gospel’. 49. No one other than Christians accept the Torah and Gospel, so they are adherents of divine unity. 50. In Sūrat al-Mā’ida: ‘You will surely find the most intense of the people in animosity toward the believers [to be] the Jews and those who associate others with Allah; and

Arabic: mushrikīn which we have translated ‘associaters’. Q 9:5. 63 Q 5:66. 61 62

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you will find the nearest of them in affection to the believers those who say, “We are Christians.” That is because among them are priests and monks and because they are not arrogant.’ 64 51. Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī commented on this verse: The one whose mention is exalted says that those who believe God and his apostle—the people of Islam, [as well as] those who became Jews, Christians and Sabeans from among those who believed in God, the last day, the resurrection after death, and performed good works in their time—they need not fear what they embark upon in the resurrection nor grieve for what they left behind of this world and its life when seeing how God has honored them from his abundant reward. This saying of alṬabarī, may Allāh have mercy upon him, demonstrates that he believed this verse is of a clear interpretation stipulating that those who believe in God and the last day and do good works from among the Jews, Christians and Sabeans, deserve the bliss of eternity. If this is the image of the Christians, it is established that they are adherents of divine unity and not associators. 52. And this verse: ‘You will surely find the most intense of the people of animosity toward the believers [to be] the Jews and those who associate others with Allah; and you will find the nearest of them in affection to the believers those who say, “We are Christians.” That is because among them are priests and monks and because they are not arrogant.’ 65 53. So, the Christians are distinguished from the associators in this verse to indicate that Christians are adherents of divine unity and not associators.

64 65

Q 5:82. Q 5:82.

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MICHAEL F. KUHN 54. Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī, after citing the exegesis of early [Muslims] and different claims regarding it, said: The correct view is that God most exalted has commended certain of the Christians for their proximity in love to the people of faith in Allāh and his apostle. There are among them people of religion who strive in worship and asceticism in monasteries and hermitages. Some are scholars in the scriptures and reciters thereof. They are not far from the believers due to their humility towards the truth if they have come to know it. Neither are they too arrogant to accept it if they are convinced. They are not like the Jews who are trained in killing the prophets and apostles, resisting Allāh in his command and prohibition and corrupting the revealed scripture which God sent down in his book. 55. So, this verse and its exegesis indicates that the Christians are the closest people to the Muslims in love, and that they strive in obedience to God, meaning they are adherents of divine unity and are not idolaters. The Prime Minister Objects

56. The Minister said: The Christians mentioned in the Qur’ān are not the same as the Christians of this time. 57. I said: If the Christians spoken of are not the Christians of this time, the head tax which they collected from the Christians of that time would not be levied upon [Christians of this time] as it was in the Qur’ān. Nor would eating their sacrifices be enjoined, nor marrying their women, as was done in the case of the Christians mentioned in the Qur’ān. 58. Given that Muslims apply to Christians of this time what was applied to them in former times concerning the

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head tax, consuming sacrifices and marriage, it is established that they are the Christians cited in the Qur’ān. 66 59. Another indicator that Christians adhere to divine unity is the saying of Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī in his interpretation of ‘This day [all] good foods have been made lawful, and the food of those who were given the Scripture is lawful for you’. 67 60. Al-Ṭabarī explained as follows: ‘The food of those given the Scripture is lawful for you, and the sacrifices of the people of the Scriptures from the Jews and Christians. They are the ones given the Scriptures of the Torah and the Gospel, as it was given to one or both of them. [Their sacrificed food] is permissible for you, while that of the idolaters who have no scripture and the Arab idol and image worshippers is forbidden. Consuming the sacrificed meat of people whose divine unity was not mentioned as was the people of the Scripture, is forbidden.’ 61. This statement indicates that Muslims are forbidden to partake of meats sacrificed by idolaters, and that only the sacrifices of the Jewish and Christian adherents of divine unity are permitted. 62. This being the case, and given that Muslims agree that consuming our sacrificed meat is permitted, they must also agree that we are the adherents of divine unity mentioned in the Qur’ān. 68

Cheikho’s version adds: This is the way the exegetes of the Qur’ān understood it. They did not discriminate between the Christians of their time and those referred to in the Qur’ān. 67 Q 5:5. 68 Cheikho’s version adds: Our confession of three hypostases does not invalidate our divine unity. 66

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MICHAEL F. KUHN 63. The Judge Abū Bakr Muḥammad bin al-Ṭayyib, known as Ibn al-Bāqillānī in his book titled Introduction, 69 explained as follows: Understand that if we investigated the Christian statement that God is a substance with three hypostases, there would ensue no disagreement between us and them except in terminology. They say that God is substance unlike other created substances, meaning that he is self-existent. This understanding is sound, although the terminology is corrupt. Terms derive their meanings from the speaker, and no one refers to deity by the term ‘substance’. 64. Their theology establishes prophethood among them, as is true for the Jews. 70 65. As this is the Judge’s view, all who approve of him must also confess that the Christians are adherents of divine unity. 66. The Minister said: As for Ibn al-Bāqillānī, we are among those who do not accept his tradition, although the other statements you mentioned are agreeable to me. The third session concluded thus, thanks be to Allāh.

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