New Trends in Qur’ānic Studies: Text, Context, and Interpretation 1948488191, 1948488183, 9781948488181, 9781948488198

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International Qur ānic Studies Association Studies in the Qur ān 2

Mun im Sirry (ed.) New Trends in Qur anic Studies

www.lockwoodpress.com

Sirry (ed.)

The essays in this volume discuss recent trends and issues in the scholarly study of the Qur ān and its exegesis. The last few years have witnessed an unprecedented development in qur anic studies in terms of both the number of volumes that have been produced and the wide range of issues covered. It is not an exaggeration to say that the field of qur anic studies today has become the “crown” of Islamic studies. In this book, scholars of diverse approaches critically engage with the Qur ān and its exegesis, including questions about the milieu in which the Qur ān emerged, the Qur ān’s relation to the biblical tradition, its chronology, textual integrity, and its literary features. In addition, this volume addresses recent scholarship on tafsīr (qur anic exegesis), including thematic interpretation, diacronic and syncronic readings of the Qur ān. Various approaches to understanding the Muslim scripture with or without tafsīr are also discussed.

International Qur ānic Studies Association Studies in the Qur ān 2

New Trends in Qur anic Studies Text, Context, and Interpretation

New Trends in Qurʾanic Studies

International Qurʾanic Studies Association Studies in the Qurʾān Series Editor David S. Powers

Number Two New Trends in Qurʾanic Studies Text, Context, and Interpretation

Munʾim Sirry, editor

New Trends in Qurʾanic Studies Text, Context, and Interpretation

LOCKWOOD PRESS Atlanta, Georgia

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by means of any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted by the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher. Requests for permission should be addressed in writing to Lockwood Press, P.O. Box 133289, Atlanta, GA 30333, USA. © 2019 by Lockwood Press ISBN: 978-1-948488-18-1 Library of Congress Control Number: 2019940458

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Contents

Acknowledgments Contributors Foreword by Reuven Firestone Notes on Transliteration and Translation Abbreviations Introduction: Recent Trends in Qur’anic Studies — Mun’im Sirry

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PART 1: TRENDS AND ISSUES IN QUR’ANIC STUDIES Reflections on the History and Evolution of Western Study of the Qur’ān, from ca. 1900 to the Present — Fred M. Donner

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Indonesian Muslim Responses to Non-Muslim Approaches to Qur’anic Studies — Yusuf Rahman

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Semitic Rhetoric and the Qur’ān: The Scholarship of Michel Cuypers — Adnane Mokrani

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From Clerical to Scriptural Authority: The Qur’ān’s Dialogue with the Syriac New Testament — Emran El-Badawi

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A Qur’anic Theodicy: Moses in the Sūrat al-Kahf (Q 18) — David Penchansky

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Contemporary Shi‘i Approaches to the History of the Text of the Qur’ān — Seyfeddin Kara

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The Computer and the Qur’ān: An Analysis and Appraisal — Adam Flowers

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PART 2: TRENDS AND ISSUES IN TAFSĪR STUDIES Reading the Qur’ān Contextually: Approaches and Challenges — Abdullah Saeed

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“Qur’anism” in Modern Qur’ān Interpretation — Izza Rohman

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Understanding Patriarchal Interpretations of Q 4:34 in the Light of Stanley Fish’s “Interpretive Communities” — Adis Duderija

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The Global Islamic Tradition and the Nation State in the Contemporary Muslim Exegesis of the Qur’ān — Johanna Pink

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Interpreting the Qur’ān between Shari‘ah and Changing Custom: On Women’s Dress in Indonesia — Munirul Ikhwan

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The Hermeneutics of Legitimate Leadership: Qurṭubī’s Commentary 233 on Q 2:30 (the Adam Verse) — Han Hsien Liew “Deviant” Qur’anic Interpretation in Indonesia: Reading Lia Eden’s Defense of the Claim to Prophethood — Al Makin

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Sufi Commentaries on the Qur’ān in Indonesia: The Poetry of 261 Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī and Haji Hasan Mustapa — Jajang A. Rohmana Bibliography Subject Index

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Acknowledgments

The present volume is the fruit of the International Qur’anic Studies Association (IQSA) international conference held in collaboration with the State Islamic University (UIN Sunan Kalijaga) in Yogyakarta, Indonesia (August 4–6, 2015). Without generous support from both institutions, the conference and the publication of this book would not have been possible. A debt of gratitude is owed to the leadership of IQSA for the trust they put in me to organize the first of a series of biennial international conferences. I should mention a few names: Reuven Firestone (then President of IQSA), Gabriel Said Reynolds (Chair of the Board of Directors), Emran El-Badawi (Executive Director) and Daniel A. Madigan (then Chair of the International Programming Committee). Thank you all for your support and advice! I would like to express my deepest gratitude and appreciation to my colleagues at the UIN Sunan Kalijaga in Yogyakarta, especially, Noorhaidi Hasan, Sahiron Syamsuddin, Syafa’atun Almirzanah and Moch Nur Ichwan, who enthusiastically supported the IQSA conference that resulted in the publication of this volume. They deserve all the credit for the success of the Yogyakarta conference. I also thank the IQSA publications and research committee, especially, David S. Powers (chair of committee), for their encouragement throughout the process of editing this volume. Working closely with Professor Powers has been a rewarding experience. His judicious corrections and insightful suggestions have immeasurably improved each essay in this volume. Thank you, David, for your thoroughness and careful attention to detail! I am grateful to G. R. Hawting (then chair of IQSA publications and research committee) for his untiring support and guidance. A special thanks goes to the contributors to this volume, who have displayed patience and good cheer over the lengthy period of time between the conference and final product, and to all of the conference participants whose papers—mostly by their own choice—are not included in this volume. I would also like to thank the Institute for Scholarship in the Liberal Arts (ISLA) at Notre Dame for its support. Last but not least, grateful acknowledgment is made here to those who continue to support IQSA as a new learned society. As the current chair of the International Programming Committee, I encourage my colleagues, wherever you are, to become members of IQSA and to participate in our conferences.

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Contributors Emran El-Badawi is associate professor of Middle Eastern studies at the University of Houston in Houston, Texas. His publications include The Qur’ān and the Aramaic Gospel Traditions  (2013; repr. 2016); “Al-baḥth ‘an alsiyāq al-qur’ānī – nabdhah ‘an al-dirāsāt al-Qur’āniyyah al-ḥadīthah,” alMachreq (2014); “The impact of Aramaic (especially Syriac) on the Qur’ān,” Religion Compass (2014); and “From ‘Clergy’ to ‘Celibacy:’ The Development of Rahbāniyyah between Qur’ān, Ḥadīth and Church Canon,” al-Bayān: Journal of Qur’ān and Ḥadīth Studies (2013). Fred M. Donner is professor of Near Eastern History at the University of Chicago in Chicago, Illinois. His publications include Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of Islam (2010); “The Historian, the Believers, and the Qur’ān,” in New Perspectives on the Qur’ān (2011); and “The Qur’anicization of Religio-Political Discourse in the Umayyad Period,” Révue des Mondes Musulmans et de la Mediterranée (2011). Adis Duderija is lecturer in Islam and Society in the School of Humanities, Languages and Social Science at Griffith University, Australia. His publications include The Imperatives of Progressive Islam  (2017);  Constructing Religiously Ideal “Believer” and “Muslim Woman” Concepts: Neo-Traditional Salafi and Progressive Muslim Methods of Interpretation (2011); and “Toward a Scriptural Hermeneutics of Islamic Feminism,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion (2015). Adam Flowers is a PhD candidate in the Department of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations at the University of Chicago in Chicago, Illinois. His primary research interests include the history of the Qur’ān text and genres of qur’anic discourse. Munirul Ikhwan is lecturer at the Graduate School of the State Islamic University (UIN Sunan Kalijaga) in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. His publications include An Indonesian Initiative to Make the Qur’ān Down-to-Earth: Muhammad Quraish Shihab and His School of Exegesis (2015); “Fī Taḥaddī al-dawlah: ‘al-Tarjamah al-tafsīriyyah’ fī muwājahat al-khiṭāb al-dīnī al-rasmī li’l-dawlah,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies  (2015);  and “Western Studies of Qur’anic Narratives: From the Historical Orientation into the Literary Analysis,” al-Jami‘ah (2010). Seyfeddin Kara is assistant professor of Shi‘i studies and Relations between Islamic Schools of Thought at Hartford Seminary in Connecticut. His publications include “The Suppression of ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib’s Codex: Study of

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the Traditions (Aḥādīth) on the Earliest Copy of the Qurʾān,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies (2016); “Use of Transmission Patterns in Contemporary Shi‘ite Ḥadīth Studies,” Journal of Shia Islamic Studies (2016); and “The Collection of the Qurʾān in the Early Shiʿite Discourse: The Traditions Ascribed to the Fifth Imām Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad al-Bāqir,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (2015). Han Hsien Liew is a postdoctoral fellow at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His dissertation is titled “Piety, Knowledge, and Rulership in Medieval Islam: Ibn al-Jawzī’s Ameliorative Politics,” and his publications include “The Caliphate of Adam: Theological Politics of the Qurʾānic Term Ḫalīfa,” Arabica (2016); and “Ibn al-Jawzī and the Cursing of Yazīd b. Muʿāwiya: A Debate on Rebellion and Legitimate Rulership,” Journal of the American Oriental Society (forthcoming). Al Makin is professor of Islamic studies at the State Islamic University (UIN) Sunan Kalijaga in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. His publications include Challenging Islamic Orthodoxy: Accounts of Lia Eden and Other Prophets in Indonesia (2016); “Unearthing Nusantra’s Concept of Religious Pluralism,” Al-Jami‘ah: Journal of Islamic Studies (2016); and “Pluralism versus Islamic Orthodoxy,” in Social Justice and Rule of Law: Addressing the Growth of a Pluralist Indonesian Democracy (2011). Adnane Mokrani is associate professor of Islamic studies at the Pontifical Institute for Arabic and Islamic studies in Rome, Italy. His publications include  “Al-tajribah al-dīniyyah wa’l-naṣṣ,” in  al-Naṣṣ al-kitābī wa’l-naṣṣ alqur’ānī: al-tashakkul wa’l-haqīqah (2011); Naẓarāt al-masīḥiyyīn al-lubnāniyyīn li’l‘alāqāt al-islāmiyyah al-masīḥiyyah  (2010); Leggere il Corano a Roma  (2010); and Naqd al-adyān ‘inda Ibn Ḥazm al-Andalusī (2008). David Penchansky is emeritus professor of Hebrew Bible at the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota.  His publications include Understanding Wisdom Literature: Conflict and Dissonance in the Hebrew Text (2012); Twilight of the Gods: Polytheism in the Hebrew Bible (2005); What Rough Beast?  Images of God in the Hebrew Bible (1999); and The Politics of Biblical Theology: A Post-Modern Reading (1995). Johanna Pink is professor of Islamic studies at the University of Freiburg, Germany. Her publications include  Muslim Qur’ānic Interpretation Today: Media, Genealogies and Interpretive Communities (2019); “Translations of the Qurʾān in Muslim Majority Contexts,”  a special issue of Journal of Qur’anic Studies (2015); and Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt (2011). Yusuf Rahman is professor of Islamic studies at the State Islamic University (UIN) Syarif Hidayatullah in Jakarta, Indonesia. His publications include “Indonesian Muslim Responses to the Use of Hermeneutics in the Study of the Qur’ān and Tafsīr: A Critical Assessment,” in Qur’anic Studies in Contempo-

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rary Indonesia (2015); and “The Qur’ān as Literature: Literary Interpretation of the Qur’ān,” Journal of Qur’ān and Ḥadīth Studies (2014). Izza Rohman is lecturer at the Universitas Muhammadiyah Prof. Dr. Hamka in Jakarta, Indonesia. His publications include “The Pursuit of New Interpretive Approaches to the Qur’ān in Contemporary Indonesia,” in The Qur’ān in the Malay-Indonesian World: Context and Interpretation (2016); “New Approach in Interpreting the Qur’ān in Contemporary Indonesia,” Studia Islamika (2014); and “Intra-Qur’anic Connections in Sunni and Shi‘i Tafsirs: A Meeting Point or Another Area of Contestation?” The Indonesian Journal of Islam and Muslim Societies (2013). Jajang A. Rohmana is associate professor of Islamic studies at the State Islamic University (UIN) Sunan Gunung Djati in Bandung, Indonesia. His publications include “Al-Qur’ān wa’l-isti‘mār: Radd al-Shaykh al-ḥajj Aḥmad Sanūsī (1888–1950) ‘alā’l-isti‘mār min khilāl tafsīr al-malja‘ al-ṭālibīn,” Studia Islamika (2015); and “Sundanese Sufi Literature and Local Islamic Identity: A Contribution of Haji Hasan Mustapa’s Dangding,” al-Jami‘ah: Journal of Islamic Studies (2012). Abdullah Saeed is professor of Arab and Islamic studies at the University of Melbourne, Australia. His publications include Reading the Qur’ān in the Twenty-First Century: A Contextualist Approach (2013); Interpreting the Qur’ān: Towards a Contemporary Approach (2005); and “Some Reflections on the Contextualist Approach to Ethico-Legal Texts of the Qur’ān,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies (2008). Mun’im Sirry is assistant professor of theology at the University of Notre Dame in Indiana. His publications include “Other Religions,” in The Blackwell Companion to the Qur’ān, 2nd ed. (2017); “Reinterpreting the Qur’anic Criticism of Other Religions,” in Qur’anic Studies Today (2016); and Scriptural Polemics: The Qur’ān and Other Religions (2014).

Foreword

In 2009, when addressing a conference of Muslim and non-Muslim scholars engaged in critical studies of the Qur’ān at the University of Notre Dame, Professor Abdolkarim Soroush remarked, “what a shame it is that conferences of this kind are not held in Islamic countries, and are unlikely to be for the foreseeable future, because they would not be welcomed by Muslims.”1 Professor Soroush is rightly recognized as one of the most influential intellectuals in the Muslim world today. But his remark proves that brilliance does not a prophet make. The year 2009 was only five years before the incorporation of the International Qur’anic Studies Association (IQSA), which held its first international conference on critical studies of the Qur’ān the following year in Indonesia, the largest Muslim country by population in the world. The essays in this volume derive from that conference. Indonesia was a fitting locale for this historic 2015 conference. Apart from having the largest Muslim population in the world, Indonesian Muslims are extraordinarily diverse, both religiously and culturally, and many other religions are practiced there. What is more, Indonesia’s secular national government does not generally interfere with religious practice. Jogjakarta, the locale for this conference, is a renowned center of education (kota pelajar) and culture with an impressive mix of traditional and modern schools and approaches to learning. The fact that the State Islamic University (UIN) Sunan Kalijaga was the local host for this conference is particularly appropriate, as this university has been the country’s leading center for studies of vernacular Islam, stateIslam relations, and contemporary social change in Muslim societies. Here is a respected Islamic university located in a Muslim country engaging in critical study of the Qur’ān! The phrase “critical study of the Qur’ān” merits consideration, since it has come to mean in some quarters the criticism of the Qur’ān with the purported goal of denigrating it and reducing its standing as a sacred text. “Criticism” carries a sense of disapproval or disparagement, an unfortunate misreading of the term as I use it here. In critical studies the term signifies the exercise of judicious evaluation of an object or idea examined, and it includes the questioning of all assumptions. Perhaps the most appropriate synonym would be 1.  Gabriel Said Reynolds (ed.), New Perspective on the Qur’ān: The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context 2 (London: Routledge, 2011), xvii.

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“analytical.” Analytical perspectives have been applied to the Qur’ān since its emergence as a text in the seventh century CE. The earliest critical study of the Qur’ān was made by Companions of the Prophet who asked him questions about the meaning of the revelation he announced. The Companions would not hold back from questioning his answers, and subsequent Muslim commentators have continued in their footsteps by applying critical analytical methods in a wide variety of literary, linguistic, and historical explorations of the qur’anic text. Muslim scholars have often adjusted their approaches to the Qur’ān in response to contemporary developments, and a certain level of openness to new methods among traditional Muslim scholars continues to this day. Methodologies and perspectives have continued to evolve. What has changed with respect to the critical study of the Qur’ān is not only the particular modes of analysis (historical, religious, intellectual), but also the tools that scholars apply to it. Researchers are influenced by many factors: developments in science and technology, changes in the languages we speak, and new ideas that inevitably arise from exchanges between people. These factors have an impact on our assumptions as readers, not only in relation to the Qur’ān, but also in relation to the entire world that we are constantly “reading,” a term that aptly describes the way we process and make sense of the world around us. Reading is interpretive because we “read ourselves” into whatever it is that we read. Whenever we read, we interpret, but because we are all different, the interpretive products of our reading will differ as well. This certainly applies to reading the Qur’ān. That we differ, one may argue, is a divinely wrought reality (Q 5:48, 49:13). But whatever our perspective on the source of human disagreement, it is impossible to deny that we humans differ over our reading of almost everything. Difference is inevitable, and the nature of difference is such that it often causes discomfort that can lead to discord. Such is the nature of the human condition. Disagreement, however, can also bring illumination. Since we are destined to differ, let us learn and grow from our differences so that we may understand more fully the subtleness of the universe. The series of essays in this collection reflect an earnest and intellectually honest effort to learn and grow from our diverse perspectives and approaches to qur’anic studies. They employ a range of methodologies: historical, rhetorical, juridical, and theological. One of the most striking aspects of this remarkable collection is the conversation between and among its authors. The conversation begins, for example, with an essay by Fred M. Donner on the history and evolution of the study of the Qur’ān in the West in the modern period. That essay is followed by Yusuf Rahman’s study of Indonesian Muslims” responses to outsiders’ studies of the Qur’ān and tafsīr. Like all sacred scriptures, the Qur’ān presents itself as an eternal message. And like all sacred scriptures, it reflects the particularities of its historical

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context. The extraordinarily complex meanings of the Qur’ān are knowable most fully when it is studied in two directions. In addition to its historical context, the Qur’ān looks back to the past in its references to ancient times, while it also considers what will or might come in the future. It reflects antecedent literatures, both oral and written, that provide the linguistic and ideational context for the articulation of its message. It then becomes a focus for reflection in the record of its reception in commentaries, theological treatises, juridical decisions, and even folklore. This collection includes studies in both directions. Looking back in history, Emran El-Badawi writes on what he perceives as a dialogue between the Qur’ān and the New Testament in its Semitic, Syriac articulation. Other essays consider Shiʿi approaches to the history of the qur’anic text, and the use of computers in its textual analysis. The full assemblage contains a broad range of studies, from an examination of shifting Indonesian responses to women’s attire, to Indonesian Sufi commentaries, to strategies of qur’anic reading and interpretation ranging from early legal to contemporary qur’anist commentaries. The perspectives offered in this collection extend broadly from the traditional to the post-postmodern. They naturally differ, and it is precisely these differences that deepen and strengthen the discipline. As we learn broadly from one another, our exchange advances our knowledge. Such a course of engagement draws closer to a truth that will, of course, ultimately elude full understanding. As in so many things, the satisfaction lies in the process. Reuven Firestone Regenstein Professor in Medieval Judaism and Islam Hebrew Union College, California, USA

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Notes on Transliteration and Translation Transliteration style follows the guidelines of the Journal of the International Qur’anic Studies Association (JIQSA). Long vowels are represented by ā for the alif, ī for the yā’, and ū for the wāw. Tā’ marbūṭah is rendered “h” (e.g., sūrah), except in construct, where it becomes “at” (e.g., sūrat al-Baqarah). With regard to references to scriptures, the following conventions have been adopted: Qur’ān (uppercase with transliteration); qur’anic (lowercase without transliteration); Bible (uppercase); and biblical (lowercase). Individual contributors used different translations of the Qur’ān into English, according to personal preference; some have used his or her own translation or modified a published Qur’ān translation.

Abbreviations General AH anno Hegirae ca. circa ch(s). chapter(s) EI 2 Encyclopaedia of Islam. 2nd ed. 11 vols. Leiden: Brill, 1954–2002. EQ Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān. Edited by Jane Dammen McAuliffe. 5 vols. Leiden: Brill, 2001–2006. IAIN Institut Agama Ilam Negeri IDEO Dominican Institute for Oriental Studies IIUM International Islamic University Malaysia ISIS Islamic State in Iraq and Syria MUI Majelis Ulama Indonesia n(n). note(s) NRSV New Revised Standard Version PCA Principal Component Analysis RBS International Society for the Study of Biblical and Semitic Rhetoric SRA Semitic rhetorical analysis Syr. Syriac TQbQ tafsīr al-Qur’ān bi’l-Qur’ān Ancient Sources Did.

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Introduction: Recent Trends in Qur’anic Studies

MUN’IM SIRRY

The last few years have witnessed an unprecedented development in the scholarly study of the Qur’ān and its exegesis in terms of both the number of volumes that have been produced and the wide range of issues covered. It is not an exaggeration to say that the field of qur’anic studies today has become the “crown” of Islamic studies. For historians of early Islam, for instance, the Qur’ān constitutes the earliest written document that accompanied the emergence of Islam into history. Literary scholars look at qur’anic narratives to understand the ways in which the Qur’ān deploys literary features and topoi of its time. The history of the qur’anic text continues to attract scholarly attention. The goal of the historical-critical method is to clarify the origin and genesis of the text, an enterprise that often challenges the commonly held assumptions of traditional Muslim sources. For those interested in interfaith issues, much attention has been given to the complexity of the qur’anic approach to the religious beliefs of others. The Qur’ān not only engages with the Bible and parabiblical literature, but also recasts biblical stories. Scholars ask, on the one hand, to what extent the Qur’ān has shaped and continues to shape Muslim views of the other, and, on the other hand, how it has been used or referred to by other religious communities to confirm the veracity of their own beliefs. Contemporary research on the Qur’ān includes the ways in which the scripture of over 1.6 million Muslims has shaped the spiritual sensibilities of an ever-wider range of peoples and places and how the Qur’ān functions within society and history. The vibrant and dynamic patterns of scholarly studies on the Qur’ān and its exegesis are reflected in the numerous conferences and symposia on the Qur’ān as well as in the establishment of learned societies like the International Qur’anic Studies Association (IQSA). IQSA is an independent learned 1

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society that was established to create a network for a diverse range of scholars and educators, and it advocates for the field of qur’anic studies in higher education and in the public forum. IQSA’s mission statement defines its main goal as “the study of the Qur’ān from a variety of academic perspectives” by promoting collaborative scholarship and building a bridge between Qur’ān scholars across the globe. This mission statement attests to the importance of critical engagement with the Qur’ān and its exegesis by scholars of diverse approaches. As qur’anic studies has emerged as an exciting and vibrant field of research among scholars in both the West and in Muslim-majority countries, this new development should be welcomed with further research to enhance our understanding. Questions about the milieu in which the Qur’ān emerged, the Qur’ān’s relation to the biblical tradition, its chronology, textual integrity, and its literary features are topics of heated debate today. In what follows, I will highlight some recent trends and issues in the academic study of the Qur’ān and its exegesis. Trends and Issues in Qur’anic Studies It is difficult to encompass the whole spectrum of recent research on the Qur’ān because of the vast number of publications that continue to appear. In the past few years, the field of qur’anic studies has certainly been enriched by fresh perspectives and innovative methods. The following discussion will provide an inclusive treatment of the most salient themes in contemporary research on the Qur’ān, without being exhaustive. The Qur’anic Milieu The Qur’ān says very little about its own context and scholars have developed many working hypotheses to explain the qur’anic milieu. The traditional account that the Qur’ān emerged in a polytheistic environment has come under strict scrutiny. Post-qur’anic Islamic sources provide detailed information about the polytheistic background against which the Qur’ān reportedly was revealed. The most common term for polytheist Arabs in the Qur’ān is mushrikūn, derived from shirk, a word that signifies “sharing, participating, and associating.” It is surprising, however, that the Qur’ān pays little attention to the mushrikūn’s beliefs, rituals, or religious hierarchies. As Arthur Jeffrey rightly notes, “It comes, therefore, as no little surprise, to find how little of the religious life of this Arabian paganism is reflected in the pages of the Qur’ān.”1 Internal evidence suggests that the Qur’ān engages with a more complex religious milieu than is presented in the traditional Islamic sources. Indeed, 1.  Arthur Jeffrey, The Foreign Vocabulary of the Qur’ān (Leiden: Brill, 2007), 1.

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the fact that the Qur’ān contains allusions and often obscure references to Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and the other prophets indicates that its immediate audience was familiar with biblical materials and related apocrypha. The Qur’ān makes several references to biblical stories and engages in polemics with both Jews and Christians. It is, therefore, difficult to assume that it emerged within a polytheistic environment. The qur’anic references to the Bible and to biblical materials have been viewed in terms of borrowing from either Jewish or Christian traditions. In a pioneering nineteenth-century study, the Jewish German scholar Abraham Geiger examined parallel themes in the Qur’ān and Jewish religious texts in order to establish Jewish influence on Muḥammad,2 an argument that provoked a rich discussion in the field of Islamic studies. In the twentieth century, a series of scholars have argued for the predominance of Jewish influence on Islam. During the same period, however, other scholars have argued for the predominance of Christian influence on Islamic origins. One example is Julius Wellhausen, who, in his Reste Arabischen Heidentums (Vestiges of Arabian Polytheism, 1887), claimed—in the words of Irving M. Zeitlin—“that the primary source of Muḥammad’s inspiration was Christian.”3 However, the question of the Qur’ān’s alleged borrowing from Jewish or Christian sources not only ignores the polemic of the Qur’ān against both Judaism and Christianity but also sets the tone for later scholarship, as exemplified in the writings of Richard Bell, David Sidersky, Heinrich Speyer, and Charles Torrey,4 in which the emphasis is placed variously on Jewish or Christian influence. In more recent scholarship, the “borrowing” thesis has been called into question. Daniel A. Madigan, for example, notes, “One senses that some Qur’anic studies… are competing for possession of the text [of the Qur’ān]. The claim that the underlying structure and numerous elements of the text are originally Christian [or Jewish] seems to reveal a desire to dispossess the Muslim community of its foundation and greatest treasure.”5 In the last few years we have witnessed a new development in scholarly studies on the Qur’ān’s relation to the Bible. Instead of arguing that elements of other religions were 2.  Abraham Geiger, Was hat Muhammed aus dem judenthume aufgenommen? (Bonn: Baaden, 1833); English trans. Judaism and Islam, trans. F. M. Young (New York: Ktav, 1970). 3.  See Irving M. Zeitlin, The Historical Muḥammad (Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2007), 75. 4.  See Richard Bell, The Origin of Islam in Its Christian Environment (London: Macmillan, 1926); David Sidersky, Les Origines des Légendes Musulmanes dans le Coran et dans les Vies des Prophètes (Paris: Geuthner, 1933); Heinrich Speyer, Die Biblischen Erzählungen im Qoran (Hildesheim: Olms, 1971). 5.  Daniel A. Madigan, “Foreword,” in Gabriel Said Reynolds (ed.), The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context (London: Routledge, 2008), xiii.

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co-opted and integrated into the Muslim scripture, scholars contend that the Qur’ān is in conversation with biblical literature, both Jewish and Christian.6 It is almost impossible for qur’anic scholars and, more generally, scholars of early Islam, not to begin their studies with the interreligious context in which the Qur’ān emerged. Recent studies suggest that the Qur’ān’s audience may have been more religiously diverse than indicated by the Islamic tradition. It is currently fashionable to read the Qur’ān in light of the larger context of Jewish and Christian tradition in the late antique Near East. The fact that the Qur’ān engages in polemics with both Jews and Christians suggests that we may need to rethink the historical context in which it was proclaimed. Even when the Qur’ān accuses its opponents of being polytheists (mushrikūn), as G. R. Hawting argues, such a statement should be understood as polemical because the word mushrikūn is “often used as a term in polemic directed against people who would describe themselves as fully monotheistic.”7 In her article, “The Religion of the Qur’anic Pagans: God and the Lesser Deities,” Patricia Crone has demonstrated that the pagans were not any less monotheistic than those who believed in the God of the Qur’ān.8 Hawting and Crone urge us to rethink our assumption about the emergence of Islam critically. For Hawting, as a religious system, “Islam should be understood as the result of an intra-monotheist polemic, in a process similar to that of the emergence of the other main divisions of monotheism.”9 Origins and Canonization of the Qur’anic Text While the interreligious context of the Qur’ān has drawn much scholarly attention, perhaps the most controversial aspect of qur’anic studies is the history of the text itself. Critical studies of the origin and genesis of the text challenge the traditional narrative about the codification of the Qur’ān. John Wansbrough, John Burton, and Gunther Lüling all reject the traditional account and explore other possibilities, developing hypotheses about the formation of the canonical text.10 While Wansbrough argues for late canonization, 6.  See, for instance, Gabriel Said Reynolds, The Qur’ān and Its Biblical Subtext (London: Routledge, 2010). 7.  Gerald R. Hawting, The Idea of Idolatry and the Emergence of Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 67. 8.  See Patricia Crone, “The Religion of the Qur’anic Pagans: God and the Lesser Deities,” Arabica, 57 (2010), 151–200. 9.  Hawting, The Idea of Idolatry and the Emergence of Islam, 7. 10.  See John Wansbrough, Qur’ānic Studies: Sources and Methods of Scriptural Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977); John Burton, The Collection of the Qur’ān (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977); Gunther Lüling, Über den UrQur’an: Ansätze zur Rekonstruktion vorislamischer christlicher Strophenlieder im Qur’an (Erlangen:

Introduction: Recent Trends in Qur’anic Studies

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Burton contends that the Qur’ān was codified earlier than is suggested by the Muslim sources, and Lüling argues that the Qur’ān contains layers of pre-Islamic Christian texts. These different approaches to the textus receptus of the Qur’ān have had a profound impact on the way in which the Qur’ān is understood by scholars. In recent scholarship, it has become common to read the Qur’ān within a broader perspective of the late antique Near East. In the early twentieth century, Gotthelf Bergsträsser and Arthur Jeffery sought to establish a critical edition of the Qur’ān based on manuscripts. Following the unfortunate death of Bergsträsser in 1933, the Qur’ān project was taken over by Otto Pretzl.11 Although the critical edition of the Qur’ān did not come to fruition, scholarly interest in Qur’ān manuscripts did not die out. The task of establishing a critical edition of the text has again been undertaken by a research team at the Freie Universität in Berlin in the Corpus Coranicum project. The discovery in 1972 of what is commonly known as Ṣan‘ā’ manuscripts makes the question of the Qur’ān’s origins even more complicated. In that year, fragments of the Qur’ān were discovered in the Great Mosque of Ṣan‘ā’ in Yemen. Several scholars have demonstrated that some of these fragments contain variants of the so-called ‘Uthmanic text. Strikingly, however, recent radiocarbon dating suggests that it may be possible to trace the text of the Qur’ān to an earlier period than what is presented in traditional Muslim sources. Thus, carbon dating has added to uncertainties over the origins and genesis of the qur’anic text. The controversies over the Ṣan‘ā’ manuscripts have triggered a growing scholarly interest in the study of early Qur’ān manuscripts found in libraries and archives around the world. François Déroche and Keith Small have recently produced invaluable works on the standardization of the qur’anic text.12 The former offers a detailed discussion of Qur’ān manuscripts produced during the Umayyad period, focusing on their transmission and the development of qur’anic orthography and manuscript production. In a review of Déroche’s work, Small praises him for “carefully extracting the information from the myriad details contained in the manuscripts” produced during Umayyad times. “What is now needed,” Small contends, “is to determine the full variety of scripts and Lüling, 1974); English trans. Challenge to Islam for Reformation: The Rediscovery and Reliable Reconstruction of a Comprehensive Pre-Islamic Christian Hymnal Hidden in the Koran under Earliest Islamic Reinterpretations (Delhi: Molital Banarsidass, 2003). 11.  See Gabriel Said Reynolds, “Introduction: Qur’ānic Studies and Its Controversies,” in Gabriel Said Reynolds (ed.), The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context (London: Routledge, 2008), 2–8. 12.  See François Déroche, Qur’ans of the Umayyads: A First Overview (Leiden: Brill, 2013); Keith Small, Textual Criticism and Qur’ān Manuscripts (New York: Lexington Books, 2011).

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formats used throughout this period and to make a comprehensive paleographic and codicological survey.”13 For his part, Small has examined twenty-one manuscripts and one printed edition of the Qur’ān. He discusses at length the variants in these manuscripts, as compared to the Cairo edition. The scholarship of Déroche and Small attests to this emerging subfield of qur’anic studies. Both scholars have visited every major and many minor repository of Qur’ān manuscripts all over the globe, and both have examined more early Qur’āns than perhaps any other scholar. The Qur’ān’s Literary Features The renewed interest in the text of the Qur’ān is also reflected in scholarly attention to literary aspects of the Muslim scripture. A number of scholars have examined the language and style of the Qur’ān in terms of its literary features and contents. Like other sacred texts, the Qur’ān may be studied through its use of hyperbole, metaphor, allegory, symbolism, personification, irony, wordplay, narrative and dramatic dialogue. Reading the Qur’ān as a literary text may help the reader to better understand various literary forms commonly used when the Muslim scripture emerged. As Andrew Rippin has rightly noted, this approach has its critics. According to Rippin, those who study the Qur’ān from a literary perspective should undertake the following two tasks: So, a full study of the Qur’ān in the framework of literary history will require the text to be put within its overall literary context, that then requiring a study of the overall Near Eastern religious milieu which preceded the emergence of Islam. It will also entail studying the reader-reaction to the Qur’ān; this aspect of the study is facilitated by a large body of information known technically as tafsīr, or simply, exegesis.14

Central to Rippin’s two tasks is the idea that the Qur’ān did not emerge in a literary vacuum, but rather “in the historical continuum of response to the Bible.” For him, “the Qur’ān is quite clearly a reading—with the full implications of that word intended–—of the biblical tradition among the other strands of thought and literature.”15 Rippin’s literary approach reminds us of Fazlur Rahman’s “double movement” in his reading of the Qur’ān, namely, “from the present situation to

13.  Keith Small, “Review of Qur’ans of the Umayyads: A First Overview,” Journal of American Oriental Society 136:4 (2016), 848. 14.  Andrew Rippin, “The Qur’ān as Literature: Perils, Pitfalls, and Prospects,” British Society for Middle Eastern Studies Bulletin 10:1 (1983), 45. 15.  Rippin, “The Qur’ān as Literature,” 44.

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qur’anic times, then back to the present.”16 Rahman emphasizes the manner in which the Qur’ān responds to a specific historical context and he situates the qur’anic context in Arabia during the lifetime of the Prophet Muḥammad and his community. He notes, “The Qur’ān is the divine response, through the Prophet’s mind, to the moral-social situation of the Prophet’s Arabia, particularly to the problems of the commercial Meccan society of his day.”17 As for the second task, Rahman’s approach qualifies as what Rippin calls “the reader-reaction to the Qur’ān,” that is to say, an intellectual effort (ijtihād) is required to make qur’anic teachings relevant to different contexts. “If the results of understanding fail in application now,” Rahman argues, “then either there has been a failure to assess the present situation correctly or a failure in understanding the Qur’ān.”18 However, like other Muslim scholars, he attempts to prove that “the Qur’ān as a whole does inculcate a definite attitude toward life and does have a concrete Weltanschauung; it also claims that its teaching has “no inner contradiction” but coheres as a whole.”19 Similarly, Mustansir Mir asserts that “a meaningful literary study of a discourse assumes that the discourse possesses a certain degree of unity of coherence.”20 He adds that the assumption of disjointedness has veiled much of the Qur’ān’s literary excellence, and he elaborates on the notion of the inimitability of the Qur’ān from a literary point of view. The question is: Is it possible to dissociate a literary study of the Qur’ān from a theological study, if the literary merits of the Qur’ān continue to be viewed as superior to those of all other texts? To take the Qur’ān as a literary text, Rippin argues, “is to take it on the same plane as all other literary productions.”21 Thematic Issues in the Qur’ān Another area of scholarly interest is what the Qur’ān says about specific issues such as God, prophethood, justice, and equality. Rahman, Faruq Sherif, Jacques Jomier, and Muḥammad Abdel Haleem address the major themes of the Qur’ān by looking closely at relevant verses.22 Daniel Madigan focuses his 16.  Fazlur Rahman, Islam and Modernity: Transformation of an Intellectual Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 5. 17.  Ibid. 18.  Ibid., 8. 19.  Ibid., 6. 20.  Mustansir Mir, “The Qur’ān as Literature,” Religion & Literature, 20:1 (1988), 50. 21.  Rippin, “The Qur’ān as Literature,” 40. 22.  See Fazlur Rahman, Major Themes of the Qur’an (Minneapolis: Bibliotheca Islamica, 1980); Faruq Sherif, A Guide to the Contents of the Qur’an (London: Ithaca Press, 1985); Jacques Jomier, The Great Themes of the Qur’an, trans. Zoe Hersov (London: SCM

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analysis on God as “the subject of the Qur’ān in a double sense: first in that God is the speaker—the Qur’ān’s “I” or “We”—and second that in many respects God is the center of the text’s attention.”23 Other scholars select one topic of the Qur’ān and examine the relevant verses through the lenses of Muslim tradition and/or external sources. Of course, the Qur’ān does not have a fixed and consistent position on every subject. In addition, what the Qur’ān “actually” says is often confused with what the reader wants or believes the text to say. The so-called qur’anic position on any subject, as Madigan rightly notes, “does not emerge simply from the sacred text, but rather brings that text into conversation with other elements both from within and from outside the tradition.”24 Although it is difficult, if not impossible, to identify a single, unified attitude in the Qur’ān, most scholars argue that it has some kind of unity in its thought. Some scholars use terms such as “unity” and “coherence,” while others combine these two terms to argue that various sūrahs (chapters) of the Qur’ān form “coherent units.” Interestingly, even Madigan says that any reading of the Qur’ān’s main themes is “a reading of the text as it currently stands, fixed as a canon of scripture, and therefore presuming a substantial unity in its thought.”25 The notion of unity and coherence in the Qur’ān has attracted a number of scholars. In his Coherence in the Qur’ān, Mustansir Mir takes up the idea of the sūrah as a unity. He identifies a central theme for each sūrah and explores the relationships between sūrahs and sūrah groupings, organizing them into pairs.26 Similarly, in her Studien zur Komposition der mekkanischen Suren, Angelika Neuwirth argues that the Meccan sūrahs form coherent units.27 Other scholars go beyond the sūrah as a unit of analysis. Salwa M.S. el-Awa, for instance, examines the textual relationships that unite different topics into a unified whole, both within a sūrah and beyond. Drawing on relevancy theory, which is used in linguistics to investigate issues relating to coherence, El-Awa explores the contextual impact of each verse on preceding and subsequent verses.28 Press, 1997); Muḥammad Abdel Haleem, Understanding the Qur’ān: Themes and Styles (London: Tauris, 1999). 23.  Daniel A. Madigan, “Themes and Topics,” in Jane Dammen McAuliffe (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 79. 24.  Ibid. 25.  Ibid. 26.  Mustansir Mir, Coherence in the Qur’ān: A Study of Iṣlāḥī’s Concept of Naẓm in Tabaddur-i Qur’ān (Indianapolis: American Trust Publications, 1986). 27.  Angelika Neuwirth, Studien zur Komposition der mekkanischen Suren (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1981). 28.  Salwa S.M. el-Awa, Textual Relations in the Qur’ān: Relevance, Coherence and Structure (London: Routledge, 2006).

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The current scholarly interest in qur’anic integrity and coherence may be traced back to classical scholars who attempted to prove the inimitability of the Qur’ān (iʿjāz al-Qurʾān). The most common terms used in their discussions are naẓm (order, arrangement, or organization) and munāsabāt (suitability, connection, or correlation). In modern times, the use of naẓm and munāsabāt can be found in the tafsīr, entitled Tadabur-i-Qur’ān, by the Pakistani scholar Amīn Aḥsan Iṣlāḥī. Reading the Qur’ān with or without Tafsīr Treating the Qur’ān as a “unity” opens the possibility for understanding the Muslim scripture on its own terms. Although millions of Muslims understand the Qur’ān through the interpretations of early commentators (mufassirūn), there has recently been growing interest in reading the Qur’ān without relying too much on tafsīr. I will highlight these “new” strategies for understanding the Qur’ān holistically, and then discuss some recent developments in the academic study of tafsīr. Thematic Interpretation As the field of qur’anic studies shifts toward textual studies, a thematic approach gains more popularity in both the Islamic world and the West. This approach has the advantage of enabling the reader to gain a comprehensive idea of what the Qur’ān really says about a specific issue. The Egyptian scholar Muḥammad al-Ghazālī (d. 1996) wrote a widely read book, entitled Naḥw tafsīr mawdūʿī li-suwar al-Qur’ān (Towards a Thematic Exegesis of the Qur’ān’s Chapters), first published in 1995 and reprinted several times. As its title indicates, Ghazālī does not examine all the relevant verses of the Qur’ān. Rather, he discusses the major issues in each sūrah, highlighting a central theme. Ghazālī describes his work as “treating the sūrah as a whole in order to reveal the hidden threads connecting the whole sūrah in a manner that the first part becomes a prolegomenon to its last part, and the last part confirms its first part.”29 Ghazālī’s method represents one model of interpretation that focuses on the thematic unity (waḥdat al-mawdūʿ) in each sūrah, treated within the historical context of Muḥammad’s life. Ghazālī refers to prophetic traditions (ḥadīths) as well as to later Muslim sources, and sometimes relates his discussion to contemporary issues facing the Muslim community. Perhaps the most extensive example of the thematic approach is al-Tafsīr al-mawdūʿī li-suwar al-Qur’ān al-karīm, prepared by twenty-one scholars under 29.  Muḥammad al-Ghazālī, Naḥw tafsīr mawdūʿī li-suwar al-Qur’ān (Cairo: Dār alshurūq, 2000), 5.

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the supervision of Musṭafā Muslim from the University of Sharjah, United Arab Emirates. Published in 2010, following six years of collaborative work, this tafsīr consists of nine volumes, with a tenth volume dedicated to indices of verses, ḥadīths, and bibliography. Like Ghazālī, the authors treat every topic or theme by cross-referencing other parts of the Qur’ān in order to reach a holistic understanding. Another model of thematic interpretation is tafsīr that addresses one or more topics by collecting all the relevant verses of the Qur’ān that refer to the same topic. This kind of tafsīr is more common than the first one, since an author not only can choose a topic of his or her interest, but also can address pressing issues in a specific context. An example of this type of exegesis is the Indonesian scholar Quraish Shihab’s Wawasan al-Qurʾan: Tafsir Maudu‘i atas Pelbagai Persoalan Umat (Horizon of the Qur’ān: Thematic Interpretation of Various Problems Facing the Ummah). Shihab discusses thirty-two common themes such as God, Prophet, human, women, death, hereafter, and less common ones such as food, dress, ethics, society, nationhood, art, science and technology, politics, economy, and solidarity. Some of these topics are matters of concern in modern times. Even with topics such as “God” or “Prophet,” Shihab spends a great deal of time addressing contemporary issues relevant to the Indonesian context. He acknowledges that thematic interpretation is not an easy endeavor. Shihab recalls that the late Algerian-born French scholar Mohammad Arkoun admonished him to be as diligent as possible, but also to be humble.30 This type of exegesis, which pays close attention to the internal evidence in the Qur’ān, is not new. Basic to this type is the idea that the Qur’ān explains itself by itself (al-Qurʾān yufassir baʿḍuhū baʿḍan), an idea that some classical exegetes call tafsīr al-Qurʾān biʾl-Qurʾān (interpreting the Qur’ān through the Qur’ān or TQbQ). These exegetes regarded this method as the best method of interpretation,31 although they did not practice it systematically.32 In 1930, the Egyptian scholar Muḥammad Abū Zayd wrote al-Hidāya waʾl-ʿirfān fī tafsīr 30.  M. Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an: Tafsir Mauduʿi atas Perbagai Persoalan Umat (Bandung: Mizan, 1996), xv. 31.  Ibn Taymiyyah, for instance, asserts that “what is stated ambiguously in one place is explicated in another, and what is stated in a concise manner in one place is expounded in another.” See Ibn Taymiyyah, Muqaddimah fī uṣūl al-tafsīr (Kuwait: Dār al-Qur’ān al-karīm, 1971), 93. 32.  It is reported that the Prophet Muḥammad applied this method when he was asked about the meaning of Q 6:82: alladhīna āmanū wa-lam yalbisū īmānahum bi-ẓulmin (Those who believe and have not confounded their belief with wrongdoing). His Companions asked: “How could one not do wrong to one’s self ?” “The meaning is not what you say,” he said, “have you not heard what the pious servant [Luqmān] said, ‘inna alshirka la-ẓulmun ‘aẓīm (Verily polytheism is a mighty wrongdoing)?” See Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ, 9 vols. (“kitāb al-tafsīr”), 1:20; Muslim, Ṣaḥīḥ, 10 vols. (“kitāb al-īmān”), 1:80.

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al-Qur’ān bi’l-Qur’ān, in which he refers to other passages that seem to shed some light on the verses under discussion. This method purportedly is used by contemporary Muslim authors, such as Muḥammad al-Shinqīṭī in his Aḍwā’ al-bayān fī iḍāḥat al-Qur’ān bi’l-Qur’ān and ‘Abd al-Karīm Khaṭīb in his al-Tafsīr al-Qur’ānī li’l-Qur’ān. However, these two tafsīrs are not really tafsīr al-Qur’ān bi’l-Qur’ān (TQbQ) because their authors provide only few cross-references. Perhaps the most extensive treatment and pioneering work on TQbQ is Rudi Paret’s Der Koran: Kommentar und Konkordanz. In addition to cross-references, Paret provides interpretations of, and alternate renderings for, a given verse or passage. As the term “Konkordanz” suggests, Der Koran identifies all identical or similar phrases and concepts found in different parts of the Qur’ān. Synchronic and Diachronic The thematic approach is based on the idea that the Qur’ān provides the key to its own meaning. It is primarily concerned with the relation of one part of the Qur’ān to another. In recent scholarship, this thematic connection is expressed as “intertextuality,” “intratextuality,” or “self-referentiality.” “Intratextuality,” which seems to be more accurate, refers to the internal connection between qur’anic texts. However, scholars such as Abdel Haleem use “intertextuality” and “self-referentiality” interchangeably, without paying attention to some of the complexities in their usage in qur’anic studies.33 In biblical studies, intertextuality is often associated with, and explained in terms of, the notion of influence.34 Reuven Firestone argues that the basic approach of intertextual studies entails influence from other sources.35 The question of intertextuality vis-à-vis influence theory is beyond the scope of this introduction. Our concern here is with the use of the term “intertextuality” in the field of qur’anic studies, where it usually refers to the relationship between the Qur’ān and other texts, such as the Bible, prophetic ḥadīth, or other materials. However, some scholars use the term “intertextuality” to refer to the internal relationship between passages within the Qur’ān. Michael 33.  Abdel Haleem says, “The style of the Qur’ān being self-referential, the importance of internal relationship in understanding the text of the Qur’ān cannot be seriously challenged. Context, with the expression it demands, and intertextuality both focus our attention on the Qur’ānic text itself which must surely take priority over any other approach to understanding and explaining the Qur’ān.” Abdel Haleem, Understanding the Qur’ān: Themes and Styles, 161–162. 34.  On intertextuality, see Patricia Tull, “Intertextuality and the Hebrew Scriptures,” Currents in Research: Biblical Studies, 8 (2000), 59–90; Geoffrey D. Miller, “Intertextuality in Old Testament Research,” Currents in Biblical Research, 9:3 (2011), 283–309. 35.  Reuven Firestone, Journey in Holy Lands: The Evolution of the Abrahamic-Ishmael Legends in Islamic Exegesis (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1990), 18–19.

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Sells, for instance, uses “intertextuality” to refer to relationships across sūrahs, and “intratextuality” to refer to internal connections within a particular sūrah.36 Given the widely accepted use of the term “intertextuality” in literary theory and biblical studies, the two kinds of relationship to which Sells refers should more accurately be called “intratextual” relations. Both McAuliffe and Asma Barlas use “intratextuality” to refer to internal connections within the Qur’ān.37 Madigan contends that the term “self-referentiality” can be used when referring to the Qur’ān. However, he cautions the reader about the possibility that the connection between one qur’anic passage and another is made by the reader but not by the text itself.38 Understanding the Qur’ān through its intratextual or self-referential aspects may involve either diachronic or synchronic readings or both. Those who approach the Qur’ān synchronically focus on the text after its recognition as the Book. The final text of the Qur’ān is treated as a single literary entity, even if it may contain layers of composition. A diachronic reading, by contrast, emphasizes the historical setting in which the Qur’ān was revealed over a period of time, to the exclusion of its literary features. A thematic approach tends to ignore, or at least is not specifically concerned with, the chronological order of the Qur’ān, or who arranged the sūrahs and when. It is synchronic in nature. This is understandable because, as Mustansir Mir notes, “If the Qur’ān in its present form is characterized by coherence, then the chronological order of the Qur’ān becomes largely irrelevant.”39 It is generally accepted that a complete and accurate chronological arrangement of the Qur’ān is almost impossible to achieve, just as there is no clear consensus in biblical studies on the arrangement, dating, and authorship of the Bible’s compositional subunits. The significance of the diachronic approach to intratextuality lies in the ability to trace the text’s evolution over time. A diachronic method investigates changes that occur in a text and its meaning over a period of time. An example of this approach is Neuwirth’s analysis of the changing nature of certain qur’anic narratives. By taking the chronology of the Qur’ān into consideration, Neuwirth argues that thematically related-passages are in dialogue with one another: the later passage rereads, or functions as a type of 36.  Michael Sells, “A Literary Approach to the Hymnic Sūrahs of the Qur’ān: Spirit, Gender, and Aural Intertextuality,” in Issa J. Boullata (ed.), Literary Structures of Religious Meaning in the Qur’ān (Richmond: Curzon Press, 2000), 4. 37.  See McAuliffe, “Text and Textuality: Q 3:7 as a Point of Intersection,” 58; Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretation of the Qur’ān (Austin, TX: University of Texas Press, 2002), 18. 38.  Madigan, “The Limits of Self-referentiality in the Qur’ān,” in Stefan Wild (ed.), Self-Referentiality in the Qur’ān (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2006), 59–69. 39.  Mir, Coherence in the Qur’ān, 101.

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commentary on, an earlier passage. For instance, she argues that the Medinan sūrat Āl ‘Imrān is a substantially new reading of the earlier Meccan sūrat Maryam. According to Neuwirth, sūrat Maryam was remodelled to fit into the more polemical environment of Medina. Such a rereading of Mary (and Jesus) in the new perspective of sūrat Āl ‘Imrān, Neuwirth argues, “serves a ‘political’ purpose: to disempower the predominant Jewish tradition represented by Āl Ibrāhīm, whose weighty superiority in terms of scriptural authority had to be counterbalanced.”40 Scholarship on Tafsīr Like scholarship on the Qur’ān itself, scholarship on tafsīr over the past two decades has been unprecedented in scope. In 2013, Mustafa Akram Ali Shah published a four-volume collection of essays on tafsīr, entitled Tafsīr: Interpreting the Qur’ān, with a substantial introduction.41 These volumes include eighty-one essays mostly written in the past twenty years, but also include earlier studies by Nabia Abbott, Wansbrough, Jomier, and others. Clearly, scholars have adopted a wide-range of approaches to the study of tafsīr. In his introduction, Shah writes, “Given the significance of tafsīr as one of the classical Islamic sciences, modern academic scholarship has understandably devoted considerable attention to the discipline.”42 This collection, Shah asserts, is intended to “provide a representative selection of the modern academic scholarship devoted to the study of tafsīr in its early and medieval setting, focusing on key aspects of historical genesis; classical discourses; and literary achievements.”43 In the five years since publication of this book, several other volumes devoted to the study of tafsīr have been published.44 40.  Angelika Neuwirth, “Debating Christian and Jewish Traditions: Embodied Antagonism in Sūrat Āl ‘Imrān (Q 3:1–62),” in Otto Jastrow, Shabo Talay, and Herta Hafenrichter (eds.), Studien zur Semitistik und Arabistik: Festschrift fur Hartmut Bobzin zum 60. Geburtstag (Germany: Wiesbaden, 2008), 282. See also idem, “The House of Abraham and the House of Amran: Genealogy, Patriarchal Authority, and Exegetical Professionalism,” in Angelika Neuwirth, Nicolai Sinai, and Michael Marx (eds.), The Qur’ān in Context: Historical and Literary Investigations into the Qur’anic Milieu (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 499–531. 41.  Mustafa Akram Ali Shah (ed.), Tafsīr: Interpreting the Qur’ān, 4 vols. (London: Routledge, 2013). 42.  Ibid., 2. 43.  Ibid., 62. 44.  To mention but a few: Karen Bauer, Aims, Methods and Contexts of Qur’anic Exegesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014); Andreas Görke and Johanna Pink (eds.), Tafsīr and Islamic Intellectual History: Exploring the Boundaries of a Genre (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015); Angelika Neuwirth and Michael Sells (eds.), Qur’anic Studies Today (London: Routledge, 2016).

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Jacques Waardenburg may be right when he says that the modern study of tafsīr is still in its infancy and that the vastness of the field of qur’anic hermeneutics has not yet produced much modern critical scholarship.45 However, the emergence of a wide corpus of multilingual and multidisciplinary approaches to tafsīr is highly significant. Like other academic disciplines, contemporary scholarship on tafsīr engages in the revision and affirmation of earlier studies and often involves an intellectual debate. For instance, the question of whether or not the views of early Muslim exegetes, such as Ibn ‘Abbās, are accurately preserved in later sources has been the subject of much discussion. Herbert Berg identifies two contrasting approaches. The first approach, which he calls “sanguine,” accepts the authenticity of the report on the basis of the chain of transmission (isnād), while the second, which he labels “skeptical,” rejects the idea that isnāds can be used for historical reconstruction. According to Berg, the skeptical approach focuses on literary analysis and is influenced by the work of Wansbrough.46 Harald Motzki, one of Berg’s “sanguine” scholars, has challenged Berg’s conclusion that“sanguine” scholars are not critical about the historicity of exegetical traditions ascribed to Ibn ‘Abbās. Motzki asserts that his approach is in fact critical, in the sense that not all chains of transmission (isnāds) are reliable; some are untrustworthy and others are useless for historical source analysis. He also claims that “by comparing the variation in the asānīd with the variation in the texts, the reliable parts of both asānīd and texts can be established in cases where enough variants are available.”47 Here we see Berg and Motzki contending with one another about who is more critical in his approach to tafsīr. Other scholars have called into question not only the reliability of the transmitted exegetical materials but also our reliance on the views of early Muslim exegetes in understanding the Qur’ān. It is true that the Qur’ān is a difficult text that is almost impossible to understand without the help of exegetical literature. However, the exegetes themselves may not have known the precise meaning of a particular qur’anic passage. Patricia Crone, for instance, has argued that “the exegetical literature testifies to what the exegetes chose to believe rather than to what they remembered.”48 With respect to the word “īlāf  ” in sūrat Quraysh (106), she concludes: 45.  Jacques Waardenburg, Islam: Historical, Social and Political Perspectives (London: Routledge, 2013), 110–115. 46.  Herbert Berg, The Development of Exegesis in Early Islam: The Authenticity of Muslim Literature from the Formative Period (Richmond: Curzon Press, 2000). 47.  Harald Motzki, “The Origins of Muslim Exegesis,” in Sean Anthony (ed.), Analyzing Muslim Tradition: Studies in Legal, Exegetical and Maghāzī Ḥadīth (Leiden: Brill, 2010). 48.  Patricia Crone, Meccan Trade and the Rise of Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987), 214.

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The exegetes had no better knowledge of what this sūrah meant than we have today. What they are offering is not their recollection of what Muḥammad had in mind when he recited these verses, but, on the contrary, so many guesses based on the verses themselves. The original meaning of these verses was unknown to them.49

The historical-critical approach to tafsīr is not the only important trend in contemporary scholarship. The changing dynamic of qur’anic hermeneutics (using Carl Braaten’s definition of “hermeneutics” in the sense of “how a word or an event in a past time and culture may be understood and become existentially meaningful in our present situation”)50 has also drawn scholarly attention. While the writings of medieval exegetes continue to attract scholars, new perspectives on historical and contextual approaches to qur’anic interpretation have begun to emerge. Fazlur Rahman criticized the traditional interpretation of the Qur’ān for its lack of an adequate method for understanding the text, arguing that “the basic question of methodology in qur’anic hermeneutics was not adequately addressed by Muslims.”51 He developed his theory of double movement (see above) as an effort to contextualize the Qur’ān and to find in it ethical principles that can be applied today. This historical and contextual reading of the Qur’ān has had a profound impact on the scholarship of modern Muslim thinkers such as Abdullah Saeed, Amina Wadud, and Asma Barlas.52 The last two are known for their feminist readings of the Qur’ān, while Saeed’s approach is represented in this volume. The Present Volume This volume is based on the proceedings of a conference held by IQSA in collaboration with the State Islamic University (UIN Sunan Kalijaga) in Yogyakarta, Indonesia (August 4–6, 2015): “New Trends in Qur’anic Studies.” Forty-one papers on a variety of topics were presented during the conference. Formally opened by the Minister of Religion, H. Lukman Hakim Saifuddin, the conference sought to energize serious conversations about the 49.  Ibid., 210. 50.  Carl E. Braaten, History of Hermeneutics (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966), 131. 51.  Fazlur Rahman, Islam and Modernity: Transformation of an Intellectual Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982), 9. 52.  See, for instance, Abdullah Saeed, Reading the Qur’an in the Twenty-First Century: A Contextualist Approach (London: Routledge, 2013); Amina Wadud, Qur’an and Woman: Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam.

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possibility of collaborative work for the advancement of the field of qur’anic studies by bringing together scholars who usually have little opportunity to meet and converse with one another. The IQSA international conference in Yogyakarta involved scholars of different perspectives and backgrounds who engaged in conversation with one another and who critically discussed different approaches to the Qur’ān and its exegesis. The chapters in this volume are divided into two parts: The first deals with qur’anic studies, the second with tafsīr studies. Part 1 begins with an overview of the history of western (non-Muslim) scholarship on the Qur’ān from the nineteenth century through the present. Fred M. Donner discusses historical developments in the study of the Qur’ān in the West from polemic to more scholarly approaches, highlighting recent trends. Donner’s chapter is followed by Yusuf Rahman’s evaluation of the reception of western scholarship on the Qur’ān among Indonesian Muslims. Rahman not only situates Indonesian Muslim responses within the broader context of Muslim discussions of western scholarship on the Qur’ān in different parts of the world, but also provides an historical analysis of intellectual encounters between Indonesian Muslims and western ideas. He points to the nuanced and diverse approaches of Indonesian Muslims in their discussions of western scholarship on the Qur’ān. Part 1 also includes contributions by Adnane Mokrani, Emran el-Badawi, David Penchansky, Seyfeddin Kara, and Adam Flowers. Mokrani offers an introduction to Michel Cuypers’s work on the application of Semitic rhetorical analysis to the Qur’ān and discusses how this theory may be applied to chapters of the Qur’ān. El-Badawi discusses the way in which the Qur’ān delegitimizes Jewish clerical authority, which echoes the condemnation of the Pharisees by Jesus in the Syriac Gospels. Pertinent to his view is the distinction made in the Qur’ān between the negative portrayal of rabbinic authority and the relatively positive approach to Christian leadership. El-Badawi’s discussion of the Qur’ān’s relation to the Syriac New Testament is complemented by Penchansky’s analysis of the story of Moses in Q 18. Penchansky discusses two connected stories of the Moses section in Sūrat al-kahf and how the reader tends to read them as a single tale. Kara analyzes contemporary Shi‘i approaches to the history of the text of the Qur’ān, a subject that is relatively unknown in western academia. He discusses the views of two modern Shi‘i scholars, namely, Sayyid Abū al-Qāsim al-Mūsāwī al-Khū’ī (1899–1992) and Muḥammad Hādī Ma‘rifat (1930–2007), on the history of the codification of the Qur’ān as a single codex (muṣḥaf). Shi‘is believe that ‘Alī b. Abī Ṭālib collected the first copy of the Qur’ān before it was made into a codex during the caliphates of Abū Bakr and, later, Uthmān b. ‘Affān. Next, Flowers addresses the emerging subfield of the quantitative analysis of the Qur’ān. After examining the works of Behnam Sadeghi and Andrew G. Bannister, Flowers offers a balanced critique

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of computerized-statistical analyses of the Qur’ān and provides a framework for the future employment of computerized analyses that is tailored to the specific literary features of the Qur’ān corpus. Part 2 focuses on the interpretation of the Qur’ān. Abdullah Saeed argues for a contextual interpretation of the Qur’ān and discusses how this approach works, especially with regard to ethico-legal texts. In his view, this contextual approach will help the reader to better understand some of the qur’anic texts that have posed challenges to modern scholars. His chapter is followed by that of Izza Rohman, who proposes what he calls a “qur’anist” mode of reading, an approach based on the principle of TQbQ. Rohman explains in detail how this qur’anist reading may lead to critical engagement with the text. Adis Duderija encourages the use of modern theories such as the concept of “interpretive communities” developed by Stanley Fish. He uses this concept as a hermeneutic strategy to illuminate the patriarchal biases in selected qur’anic exegeses on Q 4:34. Johanna Pink addresses the structural conditions under which qur’anic exegesis is produced, a subject often overlooked in modern scholarship on qur’anic hermeneutics. Pink offers a general survey of some of the key structural aspects that form the framework in which qur’anic exegesis has been conducted and how earlier authorities and generations are cited, disseminated, and received in modern times. Munirul Ikhwan analyzes the exegetical work of Muḥammad Quraish Shihab (b. 1944), an Indonesian Muslim scholar who is known for his progressive ideas on the indigenization of the Qur’ān (membumikan al-Qur’ān) in Indonesia. Ikhwan critically examines Shihab’s contextual approach to the qur’anic verses related to believers’ female attire (jilbāb, headscarf). Next, Han Hsien Liew turns to the Muslim exegete al-Qurṭubī (d. 671/1272) to address the key term, khalīfa (caliph). By situating Qurṭubī’s understanding of the caliphate within a broader context of juristic and theological discourses, Liew illuminates the complex intersection between scriptural understanding and political thinking. The last two chapters of this volume highlight several nonorthodox interpretations of the Qur’ān advocated by Muslim scholars. Al Makin discusses Lia Aminuddin, the leader of the Lia Eden community, also known as Salamullah or God’s kingdom of Eden, and the manner in which she refers to the Qur’ān to support her claims to have received divine revelation through the Angel Gabriel. The Council of Indonesian Ulama (MUI, Majelis Ulama Indonesia) issued a fatwā against Lia’s teaching. In response, she issued a fatwā of her own in which she accused the MUI of going astray. Lia cited several verses of Qur’ān to support her position. She and several other key members of the Lia community were convicted for blaspheming Islam. Finally, Jajang A. Rohmana examines and compares Sufi commentaries on the Qur’ān by two Indonesian Muslims, Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī (d. ca. 1600) and Haji Hasan Mustapa (d. 1930). Sufi tafsīr is widely treated as a distinct scholarly or literary

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genre within the field of traditional qur’anic exegesis. In his chapter, Rohmana discusses Sufi commentaries on the Qur’ān that have been neglected. He argues that, like other Sufi writers, Ḥamzah and Mustapa explore multiple levels of meaning of the qur’anic text and impart an esoteric meaning to it. Given the variety of issues and approaches herein discussed, the present volume is a unique contribution to the field of qur’anic studies. Instead of treating the Qur’ān and tafsīr separately, as is commonly done, our authors engage with both types of scholarship and learn from one another to illuminate the possibility of reading the Qur’ān with and without tafsīr. The present volume is designed to bridge the gap between the two subfields. It also provides a framework for collaboration in rigorous engagement and dialogue among people of different backgrounds and disciplines. The IQSA international conference in Yogyakarta, as reflected in this volume, was a venue in which both traditional and critical perspectives met. Our purpose is to enrich perspectives that will eventually contribute to the enhancement of qur’anic studies.

PART 1 TRENDS AND ISSUES IN QUR’ANIC STUDIES

Reflections on the History and Evolution of Western Study of the Qur’ān, from ca. 1900 to the Present

FRED M. DONNER

The field of qur’anic studies in the West is now vast, and incorporates many different kinds of work, undertaken by scholars using different methodologies and having a variety of goals. In my limited remarks here, I can point out only a few of the major trends and developments in western scholarship that have occurred over the past century or so;1 furthermore, I limit my remarks to work that deals directly with the Qur’ān itself, and leave aside other rapidly growing fields of investigation, such as studies of commentaries on the Qur’ān by successive generations of Muslims—another vast area of research. Before proceeding, I should also note, following Andrew Rippin,2 that the very notion of “western scholarship on the Qur’ān”—presumably, scholarship by non-Muslims living in Europe or the Americas—has become increasingly problematic in the course of the twentieth century and is today very difficult to defend: first, because many Muslim scholars now work in the West and participate in the intellectual discourse of western scholars, about the Qur’ān and everything else; second, because not a few scholars born and raised in the 1.  Readers desiring further detail on many of these issues can consult several fine survey works that have appeared in recent years. These include Michael Cook, The Koran: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); Jane Dammen McAuliffe (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006); Andrew Rippin (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to the Qur’ān (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2006). 2.  Andrew Rippin, “Western Scholarship and the Qur’ān,” in McAuliffe (ed.) Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān, 235–236. 21

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West are now Muslims themselves; and third, because some Muslim scholars in the Islamic world have become aware of, and have sometimes adopted, approaches or arguments first raised by “western” scholars. Moreover, as Rippin rightly points out, the earlier notion that “scholarly” or “academic” work on the Qur’ān was somehow different from “religious” scholarship, because it was “unbiased” or “neutral,” now also seems indefensible, because we realize that all scholars, secular or religious, have their own sets of assumptions and precommitments, so that the two categories cannot be readily disentangled. The old distinction, therefore, between “Muslim” and “Western” scholarship is increasingly difficult to defend. In what follows, however, I will focus mainly on work by non-Muslim scholars who work in “the West.” Although my topic is “Recent Trends in Western Qur’ān Scholarship,” my essay will address, at least briefly, a number of developments that are hardly recent, but that, despite their relative antiquity, remain significant for the shape of qur’anic studies even today. Scholarship and Polemic The earliest western work on Qur’ān, with roots reaching back into the medieval period of western Europe, belonged to the category of Christian religious polemic against Islam. We will not dwell on this ancient tradition here, as much of it can hardly be considered “scientific” in the modern sense of the term, and it has in any case been rather thoroughly studied by others.3 Although our interest here is in the more recent and more scientific western study of the Qur’ān, it is nonetheless important to remind ourselves of the existence of the ancient polemical tradition, for three reasons. First, the polemical tradition formed part of the enduring background of European thought, and as such it sometimes continued to exercise an influence (sometimes inadvertent) on later western scholars who attempted more truly “scientific” (that is, less biased and more systematic) studies of the Qur’ān.4 Second, the tradition of anti-Islamic religious polemic never died out in the West, but rather has persisted in the writings of some authors right up until the present day, sometimes with noteworthy vigor.5 The emergence of 3.  Norman Daniel, Islam and the West: The Making of an Image (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1960); John Tolan, Saracens: Islam in the Medieval European Imagination (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002). 4.  We might consider the works of C. C. Torrey and Richard Bell, cited in footnotes 19 and 20 below, in this regard. Both seem to have as their background motivation a deep commitment to their own respective religious traditions. 5.  The evangelical Christian publicist Jack Chick has produced, for example, a comic book entitled “The Prophet” that presents a fictionalized account of Muḥam-

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more scientific studies of the Qur’ān (and of Islam more generally) has thus taken place alongside the continuing drone of religiously grounded polemic. Some of these more scientific works poses blunt challenges to the works of religious polemicists, to the point that some think them to be virtually apologetic defenses of Islam and the Qur’ān, even though written by western nonMuslims.6 Other scholars simply pursue their own analysis without attempting to rebut or even paying serious attention to the polemical tradition, which they dismiss as “unscientific” and not deserving serious attention. Third, the rise of more sophisticated methods of qur’anic scholarship has resulted in the appearance of some works that represent a kind of hybrid of the polemical and scientific approaches. Such works may adopt the detailed methods of analysis developed by western scholarship during and since the nineteenth century, but they utilize these methods not with the scholar’s aim of understanding the text of the Qur’ān, but rather with the polemicist’s aim of “debunking” or ridiculing it, in pursuit of a broader anti-Islamic agenda.7 However, the continuing existence of the western tradition of religious polemic against Islam—in either its simplistic or its hybrid, quasi-scholarly forms—sometimes makes it difficult for Muslims to separate the polemical and the scholarly streams, and has led to confusion over the actual motivations underlying western scholarly work on the Qur’ān and Islam. It is obvious to everyone that some western scholars make observations about the Qur’ān that diverge from the basic doctrines developed by the Islamic tradition itself. This fact has, unfortunately, led some Muslims to assume that these authors, like the polemicists, are motivated by a desire to undermine Islam or to ridicule the Qur’ān. One can readily see how this idea might arise, given the sensitivity of many Muslims to anything that might relate to their sacred scripture or to the manner of its revelation to humankind through the agency of their prophet; but it must be stated clearly that conclumad’s life that follows in its main outlines that is presented in the traditional Islamic sīrah literature, except that it portrays the prophet as having been inspired by emissaries from the Pope to start a new false religion (the Catholic church being one of the evangelicals’ main targets). This may seem frivolous until one considers that such pamphlets are distributed at low or no cost by the thousands to many evangelical churches and therefore shape the outlook of countless numbers of people. See http:// www.chick.com/catalog/comics/0117.asp. More substantial are the polemics of writers like Robert Spencer, such as his The Truth about Muhammad: Founder of the World’s Most Intolerant Religion (Washington, DC: Regnery, 2007). 6.  The many writings of W. Montgomery Watt, such as Muhammad, Prophet and Statesman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961) or The Majesty That Was Islam (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1974) exemplify this tendency. 7.  A number of writers associated with the so-called “Inarah” school, including their apparent leader, a Middle Eastern Christian who writes under the pseudonym Christoph Luxenberg, seem to be pursuing a renewed form of Christian polemic.

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sions about the Qur’ān that may seem very challenging to Muslims are not necessarily evidence of hostile or polemical intent, but often grow directly out of an author’s particular approach to the text, and out of his or her general assumptions about history and reality. Such authors may indeed be deeply opposed to any kind of religious polemic, but at the same time insistent on the need to stand by the conclusions about the Qur’ān to which their systematic and methodical studies have brought them. It is important, therefore, to understand the various philosophical concepts and methodological tools that have shaped nonpolemical scholarship on the Qur’ān in the West. An effort to sketch these out will form the remainder of this essay. The Rationalist Tradition The tradition of rational thought—essentially, the belief that the phenomena of life and of the universe are best understood through rational/logical analysis—culminated in the West in the European “Enlightenment” of the eighteenth century. It posed, and poses, a fundamental challenge to the concepts of “revealed truth” that underpinned traditional Christian dogmas. The history of Europe was profoundly shaped by the struggle between these two philosophical traditions—often encapsulated in such paradigmatic cases as the victory of the heliocentric view advanced by Copernicus over the traditional view which saw Earth as the center of the universe, or the clash between Darwin’s theory of evolution and the biblically based theory of “Creationism.” By the late nineteenth century, however, the notion that even the basic doctrines and sacred texts of the Christian tradition—the Hebrew Bible and the Gospels or “New Testament”—could be analyzed by rational means had become well established in Europe. Rational discourse also underpinned an upsurge in scientific discovery and industrial development beginning in the eighteenth century, so that it can be said that rationalism became, and has remained until today, the dominant paradigm of western intellectual life, although some people in the West still cling to what they consider revelation-based “truths” about the natural world.8 The conflict between revelation and reason in the West remains acute and, by its nature, will always be so; one is tempted to say that one must either subscribe wholly to one or the other viewpoint, or harmonize them by adopting reason for most matters but “bracketing out” questions related to central religious dogmas, which one agrees not to question 8.  Creationism is especially strong in the United States; there is, for example, a well-visited Creation Museum in Petersburg, Kentucky, and evangelical universities like Bob Jones University in Greenville, South Carolina espouse “Young Earth” creationism. (See http://www.bju.edu/academics/college-and-schools/arts-and-science/ natural-science/biology/.)

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or analyze and accepts “on faith”—not really a harmonization, but rather a decision to stand with one foot in each camp, to segment one’s thinking into two separate spheres, each of which follows one approach. Needless to say, the conflict between reason and revelation in the western tradition poses the same challenge to similar notions of revealed truth inherent in the Islamic tradition. One of the cornerstones of Enlightenment rationalist scholarship was the discipline of philology, which emerged from the careful comparison and analysis of texts.9 In Enlightenment Europe, this took the form especially of the study and reconstruction of the classic texts of ancient Greece and Rome; but it was also directed at the analysis of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament, which for several centuries now have been subjected to probing analyses. The comparison of ancient biblical Hebrew with other, related, languages such as Aramaic, Arabic, and Akkadian, and the literatures in these languages, also became part of the philological tradition of scholarship. Rational analysis and the philological tradition are important for our purposes because the first true scholars of the Qur’ān in the West, and most of those pursuing qur’anic studies in recent times, have relied heavily on both rational analysis and on comparative Semitic philology. Together, rationalism and philology formed the main components of what is usually called the historical-critical method—at first applied to the texts of the Bible, but then extended by scholars to the study of the Qur’ān.10 Historical-Critical Method: Contextualization The aim of the historical-critical method is to reach a better understanding of the Qur’ān’s origins and development as a text. It is “historical” in the sense that it assumes the Qur’ān to be the product of a particular historical and human environment or context. Exploring the Qur’ān’s historical context— actual or presumed—thus constitutes a major component of this approach. It is “critical” in the sense that it assumes that rational deduction, particularly comparison of the Qur’ān text with other texts, can help us understand how the Qur’ān fits into its original context. It is important to note that on the central question of the Qur’ān’s “truth claims”—that is, on the issue of whether the Qur’ān is, or is not, the revealed word of God—this approach remains neutral, or simply sets aside the question of the text’s possible divine origin as something beyond the capacity of 9.  See now the comprehensive overview of James Turner, Philology: the Forgotten Origins of the Modern Humanities (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014). 10.  A concise overview of this approach is provided in Edgar Krentz, The Historical-Critical Method (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975). See also David R. Law, The Historical-Critical Method: a Guide for the Perplexed (London and New York: Continuum, 2012).

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historical analysis either to prove or to disprove.11 Its concern, rather, is with the text of the Qur’ān as it arose and has been transmitted on earth, and its relationship to its earthly and human context. Although the method itself is noncommittal on the question of the Qur’ān’s divine origin, some scholars who have employed the method have espoused a definite religious agenda. These scholars fall into the category of “hybrids,” who, on the one hand, use systematic modes of analysis, but, on the other, have a polemical objective.12 The first serious western efforts to understand the Qur’ān in accordance with the historical-critical method were undertaken already in the middle of the nineteenth century in Germany. In 1844, Gustav Weil published an Historical-Critical Introduction to the Qur’ān that, among other things, attempted to establish a chronological sequence of the Qur’ān’s sūrahs.13 Weil’s work was followed by the better-known study by Theodor Nöldeke on the History of the Qur’ān, first appearing in German in 1860. It was later reissued in a muchexpanded second edition, was translated into Arabic, English, and other languages, and is still widely consulted today. 14 Nöldeke adopted, in particular, Weil’s breakdown of the Qur’ān’s sūrahs into four chronological phases: early, middle, and late Meccan, and Medinan. The assignment of the Qur’ān’s content into Meccan and Medinan sūrahs was not, of course, new with Weil and Nöldeke: it was only new to the West. It had been done already a thousand years earlier by scholars in the Islamic world, for whom it was closely tied to the study of Qur’ān commentary (tafsīr) and of the biography of the prophet Muḥammad (sīrah). These two fields of study—tafsīr and sīrah—were developed together by Muslim scholars who were first elaborating a coherent narrative of Islam’s origins. In the process, they produced a special branch of knowledge, called “occasions of revelation” (asbāb al-nuzūl), that claims to describe precisely when in the prophet’s life each passage in the Qur’ān was revealed. That is, these earlier Muslim scholars were attempting to establish a firm historical context for the different 11.  On the inability of historical analysis to evaluate supernatural truth-claims, see my essay “The Historian, the Believer, and the Qur’ān,” in Gabriel Said Reynolds (ed.), New Perspectives on the Qur’ān: The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context 2 (London and New York: Routledge, 2011), 25–37. 12.  See above, at n. 7. 13.  Gustav Weil, Historisch-kritische Einleitung in den Koran (Bielefeld: Velhagen & Klasing, 1844). The discussion of the chronology of the sūrahs is found on pp. 54–80. 14.  Theodor Nöldeke, Geschichte des Qorāns (Göttingen: Dieterich, 1860). A second edition, in three volumes, appeared a half century later under the editorship of Friedrich Schwally (Leipzig: Weicher, 1909–1938). On this fundamental work, see François Déroche, “La Genèse de la Geschichte des Qorâns,” in François Déroche, Christian Julien Robin, and Michel Zink (eds.), Les origins du Coran, le Coran des origines (Paris: Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres, 2015), 1–25.

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parts of the Qur’ān, and the assignment of a sūrah to either the Meccan or Medinan period of the prophet’s life was merely the most basic step. This earlier Islamic tradition of placing the Qur’ān in the context of the prophet’s life was adopted by western scholars who followed the historicalcritical method. Certainly the first among them, like Weil and Nöldeke, assumed the general validity of the traditional Islamic origins narrative—that is, they took for granted the notion that the Qur’ān arose in Arabia, and accepted the basic contours of the prophet’s life as described in the sīrah literature; they even embraced many of the deductions of the asbāb al-nuzūl literature on the relationship between particular qur’anic passages and certain events in the prophet’s life. The text of the Qur’ān, however, posed problems for scholars of the historical-critical school. Although the rich Islamic commentary and asbāb al-nuzūl traditions offer countless details on the presumed historical context of most passages, the text itself offers hardly any clear references to actual individuals, events, or places that can be unambiguously linked to its presumed Arabian context. Moreover, its style or structure struck many of these scholars as confused and disorganized.15 According to one story found in the Islamic tradition, the text was assembled in its present form after the death of Muḥammad by an editorial committee appointed by the third caliph, drawing on several written transcripts and on the memory of believers who recalled various passages.16 This account led some western scholars to assume that the text we now have represents a pastiche of diverse materials that might be made more coherent by thoughtful reorganization. Perhaps the most ambitious effort of this kind was Richard Bell’s two-volume translation of the Qur’ān into English, with a “critical rearrangement of the sūrahs” that included complex suggestions on how one might relocate various passages within the text.17 But even this undertaking remained firmly in the grip of

15.  An attitude typified by Thomas Carlyle, On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History (New York: J. Wiley, 1859), who calls the Qur’ān “as toilsome reading as I ever undertook. A wearisome confused jumble, crude, incondite; endless iterations, long windedness, entanglement; most crude, incondite;—insupportable stupidity, in short!” (p. 58)—and this in a lecture that offers generally a very positive assessment of Muḥammad as a man. 16.  See Harald Motzki, “The Collection of the Qur’ān: A Reconsideration of Western Views in Light of Recent Methodological Developments,” Der Islam 78 (2001): 1–34; also Viviane Comorro, “Pourquoi et comment le Coran a-t-il été mis par écrit?,” in Déroche, Robin, and Zink (eds.), Les origins du Coran, 191–205, who discusses several different narratives that circulated in the Islamic community about how the Qur’ān took shape. 17.  Richard Bell, The Qur’ān, translated, with a critical rearrangement of the sūrahs, 2 vols. (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1937–1939). The book features an elaborate

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the traditional sīrah literature in its understanding of the Qur’ān’s historical context. The Qur’ān’s inclusion of stories about earlier prophets and communities is another feature of the text that aroused a great deal of interest among western scholars from an early date. Since most of these stories were familiar to them in some form from the Hebrew Bible and the Christian Gospels, they sought to establish how the qur’anic material resembled, or differed from, parallel reports in the biblical tradition. A landmark of such studies was Heinrich Speyer’s detailed study Biblical Stories in the Qur’ān.18 The assumption underlying such work was that the Qur’ān is best understood by viewing it in the context of the Judeo-Christian tradition. Other western scholars, particularly of the early twentieth century, chose to reflect on the role of “Jewish” and “Christian” material in the Qur’ān in a rather reductionist manner—sometimes claiming that the Qur’ān is merely a distorted copy of the earlier texts. Such works, regardless of the scholarly acumen with which they were pursued, can be classified within the tradition of religious polemic; their objective, whether openly voiced or not, was to demonstrate that the Qur’ān, and Islam, are derivative and therefore inauthentic and hence illegitimate. Two noteworthy efforts in this vein, which seem to be competing with each other for the “honor” of which religion can claim more credit as the inspiration for Islam, were C. C. Torrey’s The Jewish Foundation of Islam19 and Richard Bell’s The Origin of Islam in Its Christian Environment.20 The reductionist trend in scholarship misses an essential point, however; besides examining parallels with another tradition, one must also explain why something was deemed worthy of borrowing, as well as what was not borrowed from the earlier tradition and why, and above all, how what was borrowed is used in its new context—for often, such “borrowings” are used in completely different ways, and for completely different purposes, in their new context, and must therefore be considered creative reinterpretations of earlier material, rather than merely something borrowed.21

system of insets and of dotted lines bracketing passages to be interpolated, and must have been a nightmare for the typesetters. 18.  Heinrich Speyer, Die biblischen Erzählungen im Qoran (Gräfenhainichen: Schulze, 1931). 19.  C. C. Torrey, The Jewish Foundation of Islam (New York: Jewish Institute of Religion, 1933). 20.  Richard Bell, The Origin of Islam in Its Christian Environment (London: Macmillan, 1926). Some of the work of the “Inarah” group seems to fall in this reductionist category. 21.  See my critique of the reductionist trend in “The Historian, the Believer, and the Qur’ān,” 37.

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The range of different works by western scholars that take as their focus the relationship between the Qur’ān and the biblical tradition was (and continues to be) very broad, encompassing both works that can be viewed as reductive and polemical, and others that are more neutral and concerned simply with attaining a better understanding of what the relationship actually is. Whatever the nature of a specific work, however, they are all attempts to contextualize the Qur’ān historically by placing its text in the context of other known traditions or religious writing. They are, thus, all exercises in the application of the historical-critical method to the text of the Qur’ān. The Preparation of a Critical Edition of the Qur’ān These many different ventures to understand the Qur’ān on the basis of a historical-critical analysis of the text confronted western scholars with a discomforting fact—the lack of what they considered a reliable edition of the text, a version that is as close as possible to the “original” or Urtext as it first appeared at the time of the prophet himself. Since the eighteenth century, if not before, western scholars have been concerned with establishing from various manuscripts a sound edition of key texts such as those of classical Greek and Latin authors, or of the Hebrew Bible or Gospels. It is therefore unsurprising that they would desire also to have a reliable Urtext edition of the Qur’ān. This desire was accentuated by their awareness that the Islamic tradition itself speaks of “canonical variants” of the Qur’ān text, and by the fact that the Qur’ān manuscripts available to them contained many variant readings. The first “standard” western edition of the Qur’ān, produced by Gustav Flügel in 1834,22 was soon recognized by other scholars to be deficient in many ways, yet the task of creating a philologically grounded critical edition of the Qur’ān was daunting to contemplate given the huge number of Qur’ān manuscripts in existence. For many years, therefore, western scholars merely grumbled about the absence of a good edition. It was only at the beginning of the twentieth century that Arthur Jeffery, Gotthelf Bergsträsser, and Otto Pretzl began an ambitious project to create a critical edition of the Qur’ān.23 The idea was to use the then relatively new possibility of securing photographs of early Qur’ān manuscripts from libraries in Europe and the Islamic world as the basis for collating a philologically 22.  Gustav Flügel, Corani textus arabicus ad fidem librorum manuscriptorum et impressorum et ad precipuorum interpretum lectiones et auctoritatem (Lipsiae: Typis et sumptibus Caroli Tauchnitii, 1834). 23.  On this project, see Gabriel Said Reynolds, “Introduction: Qur’anic Studies and Its Controversies,” in Gabriel Said Reynolds (ed.), The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context (London: Routledge, 2008), 1–25, at 3–7.

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sound critical edition. During the 1930s, thousands of photographs were taken and stored on microfilm at the Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften in Munich, Germany. The project, however, seemed cursed by fate. First, the publication in 1924 of the “King Fū’ād” or Egyptian edition of the Qur’ān, based on one particular variant reading (the Ḥafṣ < ‘Āṣim reading), provided a more reliable working text than the earlier Flügel edition. This to some extent removed the sense of urgency on which the drive to create a critical edition depended, as many western scholars simply used the Egyptian edition as the basis of their research, even though it was soon pointed out that this Egyptian edition has problems of its own and is not entirely suited to critical research. But even more serious blows to the plan to create a critical edition were in store. Bergsträsser, Professor of Semitics at the University of Munich and the project’s brilliant moving force, disappeared in a mysterious mountaineering accident in 1933; his colleague Pretzl was killed early in World War II; and Jeffery, as an Australian teaching in the United States, was unable to access any of the collected materials during the War. At the end of the War, Anton Spitaler, Bergsträsser’s successor in Munich, who had inherited the microfilm archive from him, announced that the archive had been destroyed by Allied bombing. This seemed definitively to end the hope of creating a critical edition of the Qur’ān, and in the years following the War, up until about 1970, there was relatively little new critical research on the Qur’ān in the West; what was done was carried out on the basis of the Egyptian edition of 1924. The Revisionist Wave: 1970–Present The plan for a critical edition of the Qur’ān foundered in part because of the disappearance of the microfilm archive that was to be the basis for it, but also for another reason: already by the late 1930s, some scholars—including Otto Pretzl, who was at that time heading the project—had begun to doubt that the Urtext of the Qur’ān could in fact be recovered, for these reasons: because of the great number of variant readings found in early manuscripts, because the text appears to have been transmitted for some time in oral form, and because of the highly defective script in which the earliest copies of the Qur’ān were written, which left almost all vowels unmarked and the reading even of some consonants ambiguous. The years immediately before and following World War II had seen a number of detailed studies of the question of variant readings.24 24.  See, for example, Arthur Jefferey, Materials for the Study of the Text of the Qur’ān: The Old Codices (Leiden: Brill, 1937), and a long series of articles by Edmund Beck appearing in the journal Orientalia between 1945 and 1954. Anton Spitaler evidently had also become interested in this issue, announced in his brief communication, “Die

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Even more fundamental, however, was the emergence, beginning about 1970, of new theories about the Qur’ān’s historical context. These new theories were rooted in a growing sense that the Arabic-Islamic historical tradition, particularly the sīrah or traditional biography of the prophet Muḥammad, might be much less reliable than hitherto thought (as we have seen, almost all the historical-critical studies of the Qur’ān undertaken before this time had assumed the general validity of the traditional Islamic origins narrative).25 The new work, based on earlier researches by such scholars as Ignaz Goldziher, Henri Lammens, Josef Schacht, and Albecht Noth,26 cast grave doubt over the entire Islamic historiographical tradition, and implied in particular that the sīrah was exegetical and largely constructed from the text of the Qur’ān itself, not a collection of independent historical evidence. Efforts to explain things in the Qur’ān by recourse to the sīrah were, therefore, nothing more than circular argumentation, according to this view. This means that the Qur’ān, to a degree hitherto unsuspected by many western scholars, appears to be a text whose actual historical context is unknown, or at least quite uncertain. Various revisionists therefore proposed radically new ideas as representing the Qur’ān’s actual context. Among the first to do so was Günter Lüling, who proposed that the Qur’ān actually consisted in part of reworked liturgical hymns produced by a hitherto undetected Meccan Christian community27—a theory that clearly flies in the face of the later Islamic tradition’s view that there were no Christians in Mecca. Equally radical was work by Patricia Crone and Michael Cook, who in their book Hagarism proposed a totally new narrative of how Islam began, based mainly on the testimony of contemporary or near-contemporary nonMuslim sources, rather than on what the much later Islamic sources tell us.28 Another scholar, John Wansbrough, also building on a critique of the Islamic Nichtkanonischen Koranlesarten und ihre Bedeutung für die arabische Sprachwissenschaft,” Actes du XXe Congrès International des Orientalistes, Bruxelles, 5–10 Septembre 1938 (Louvain: Bureaux du Muséon, 1940), 314–315. 25.  For an overview of the development of this critique of the traditional narrative sources, see Fred M. Donner, Narratives of Islamic Origins: The Beginnings of Islamic Historical Writing (Princeton: Darwin Press, 1998), “Introduction.” 26.  Ignaz Goldziher, Muhammedanische Studien, 2 vols. (Halle: Niemeyer, 1888– 1890); Henri Lammens, Qoran et Tradition: Comment fut composée la “Vie” de Mahomet (Paris: Bureaux des “Recherches de Science religieuse,” 1910); Joseph Schacht, “A Revaluation of Islamic Tradition,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (1949): 143–154; Albrecht Noth, Quellenkritische Studien zu Themen, Formen, und Tendenzen frühislamischer Geschichtsüberlieferung (Bonn: Selbstverlag der Universität Bonn, 1970). 27.  Günter Lüling, Über den Ur-Qur’ān: Ansätze zur Rekonstruktion vorislamischer christ­ licher Strophenlieder im Qur’ān (Erlangen: Lüling, 1974). 28.  Patricia Crone and Michael Cook, Hagarism: The Making of the Islamic World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977).

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historiographical tradition as well as analysis of the Qur’ān itself, argued in two major books appearing in 1977 and 1978 that the Qur’ān did not actually coalesce as a closed canon of scripture for perhaps 250 years, and did so in a “sectarian milieu” of monotheistic polemic located, probably, in southern Iraq.29 These works ignited an intense debate among scholars of early Islam— and attracted many new scholars to this hitherto rather sleepy grove of academe, as people suddenly realized that there were real and fundamental questions about early Islam and the Qur’ān to be debated, questions that had long lain dormant or had simply been ignored. The nature of the debate generated novel approaches to the study of the Qur’ān and its context. One approach was to sidestep the question of context altogether, and to attempt to elucidate passages by relating them to others in the text. This approach had sometimes been pursued in Arabic works from the earliest days of the Muslim community (and is sometimes known as tafsīr al-qur’ān bi’l-qur’ān, “explaining the Qur’ān through the Qur’ān.”).30 Another approach was to attempt to extrapolate from the Qur’ān itself what its historical context might have been—an inversion of what had been the normal procedure (and the opposite of the usual procedure when trying to understand a text, which is to attempt to see it in light of its historical and literary context). Given the fact that the Qur’ān’s statements on its actual historical setting are often indeterminate (or, as Tarif Khalidi has put it, many passages are couched in an “eternal present tense”31 that defies temporal specificity), this procedure can be tricky, but it offers the advantage of providing some kind of check on the formerly dominant view derived from the sīrah tradition, and the deceptive false certainty about context that it provided. Salient examples are some articles by Patricia Crone on qur’anic pagans,32

29.  John Wansbrough, Qur’anic Studies: Sources and Methods of Scriptural Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977). Idem, The Sectarian Milieu: Content and Composition of Islamic Salvation History (Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1978). 30.  Perhaps the best-known western work of this kind is Rudi Paret’s Der Koran: Kommentar und Konkordanz (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1971). For an overview, see Mun‘im Sirry, “Qur’anic Cross-References,” at https://iqsaweb.wordpress.com/tag/tafsir-alquran-bil-quran/. 31.  Tarif Khalidi, The Muslim Jesus (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 10. 32.  Patricia Crone, “The Religion of the Qur’anic Pagans,” Arabica 57 (2010): 151–200; eadem, “Angels versus Humans as Messengers of God: The Views of the Qur’anic Pagans,” in Philippa Townsend and Moulie Vidas (eds.), Revelation, Literature, and Community in Late Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011), 315–336.

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as well as G. R. Hawting’s The Idea of Idolatry and the Emergence of Islam33 and a number of works by other scholars.34 The proposal of these revisionist ideas was partly due to a continuing curiosity on the part of western scholars about Islam’s relationship to Christianity and Judaism. Some scholars were impressed by qur’anic passages that seem to suggest that the kind of Christianity with which the prophet may have been in contact—or which the Qur’ān describes—was in some way different from the familiar forms of late antique Near Eastern Christianity—late antique Chalcedonian orthodoxy, Miaphysitism, and Nestorianism. Lüling and others proposed that some form of what is usually called “Jewish Christianity” (that is, a tradition that recognized Jesus as messiah but continued to observe Jewish law) may be what the Qur’ān is describing.35 Since there is no concrete evidence for the presence of Jewish-Christian communities in seventh-century Arabia, however, other scholars, notably Sidney Griffith, have argued that the perceived differences between the Qur’ān’s naṣārā and known versions of eastern Christianity have to do with the Qur’ān’s own theological critique of certain basic Christian doctrines.36 And, indeed, a number of western scholars have continued to probe the relationship between the Qur’ān and the earlier Jewish and Christian traditions in the manner of Speyer’s study of biblical stories in the Qur’ān, not in an effort to prove the superiority of one over another, but simply better to understand the Qur’ān in the context of early and contemporary religious writings which, among other things, might tell us much about how the Qur’ān text was received by its contemporary audiences. In addition to many works by Griffith, one might include here Brannon Wheeler’s study of the Qur’ān’s treatment

33.  G. R. Hawting, The Idea of Idolatry and the Emergence of Islam (London: Curzon, 1999). 34.  An early example may be found in Robert Brunschvig, “Simples remarques negatives sur le vocabulaire du Coran,” Studia Islamica 5 (1956): 19–32. 35.  For example, P. Roncaglia, “Éléments Ébionites et Elkésaïtes dans le Coran: Notes et hypotheses,” Proche Orient Chrétien, 21 (1971): 101–126; Günter Lüling, Die Wieder­entdeckung des Propheten Muhammad: Eine Kritik am “christlichen” Abendland (Erlangen: Lüling, 1981), 223–255; Joachim Gnilka, Die Nazarener und der Koran: Eine Spurensuche (Freiburg: Herder, 2007); Patricia Crone, “Jewish Christianity and the Qur’ān (Part One),” Journal of Near Eastern Studies, 74 (2015): 225–253. 36.  Sidney Griffith, The Bible in Arabic: The Scriptures of the “People of the Book” in the Language of Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013), 28–29, 36–37. See also idem, The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque: Christians and Muslims in the World of Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008).

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of prophetic figures.37 Gabriel Reynolds’s The Qur’ān and Its Biblical Subtext38 argues convincingly that the Qur’ān is not so much borrowing from earlier material as offering an independent theological response to, and a correction of, many of the issues raised in earlier Jewish and, especially, Christian texts. The definitive resolution to what may be called the Qur’ān’s “context problem’—that is, the uncertainty that was cast over its context by the early wave of revisionist writing, especially that of Wansbrough—has still not been attained, but the discovery and radiocarbon dating of some early Qur’ān manuscripts suggest very strongly that the Qur’ān is, after all, a text that originated in the seventh century (we shall have more to say on these discoveries below). Moreover, some recent work has provided hints that the Qur’ān most likely originated somewhere in western Arabia39—although this still leaves uncertainty about many aspects of its original context, such as its exact time frame and, in particular, the kind of community, or communities, in which it originated. New Discoveries and Their Impact Two major developments have provided a new impetus to the study of the Qur’ān in the West in recent years. The first was the discovery in 1972 by workmen engaged in restoration of the Great Mosque of Ṣan‘ā’, Yemen, of a trove of ancient Qur’ān manuscripts and fragments that had been sequestered, and subsequently forgotten, in the ceiling of the mosque. In 1979, the Yemeni authorities secured the assistance of a team of German scholars to assist in the conservation and cataloging of this collection. This trove contained some manuscripts that proved to be of very early date, including some leaves on parchment that have been radiocarbon dated to the middle of the seventh century CE. The analysis of this large corpus of material has been, unfortunately, inexplicably slow, but some detailed studies are now finally beginning to be published.40 37.  Brannon Wheeler, Prophets in the Qur’ān: An Introduction to the Qur’ān and Muslim Exegesis (London: Continuum, 2002). 38.  Gabriel Reynolds, The Qur’ān and Its Biblical Subtext (London: Routledge, 2010). 39.  Fred M. Donner, Narratives of Islamic Origins, ch. 2, “The date of the Qur’anic Canon,” tries to demonstrate on the basis of inner-qur’anic evidence that the text does hail from western Arabia and from the early seventh century CE. 40.  E.g., Behnam Sadeghi and Uwe Bergmann, “The Codex of the Companion of the Prophet and the Qur’ān of the Prophet,” Arabica 57 (2010): 343–436; Elisabeth Puin, “Ein früher Koranpalimpsest aus Ṣan‘ā’ (DAM 01-27.1),” in K-H. Ohlig and M. Groß (eds.), Schlaglichter: Die beiden ersten islamischen Jahrhunderte (Berlin: Schiler, 2008), 461–493; eadem, “Ein früher Koranpalimpsest aus Ṣan‘ā’, Teil II,” in M. Groß and K.-H. Ohlig (eds.), Vom Koran zum Islam (Berlin: Schiler, 2009), 523–581.

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The other important development was the disclosure by Anton Spitaler of Munich that the archive of microfilms of early Qur’ān manuscripts amassed by Bergsträsser, Pretzl, and their colleagues in the 1920s and 1930s had not been destroyed by bombing during World War II at all, as he had led people to believe, but had been kept by him in secret for almost fifty years. He revealed this near the end of his life and handed over the long-concealed archive to a former colleague, Prof. Angelika Neuwirth of Berlin.41 Neuwirth then organized a massive research project based on these manuscripts, called the Corpus Coranicum project. These two developments were paralleled by, and perhaps stimulated, a third trend: a simultaneous deepening of interest in the study of early Qur’ān manuscripts, which is now an important focus of Western Qur’anic studies. A leader in this field has been Prof. François Déroche of the Collège de France, who has engaged in the careful analysis of the earliest Qur’āns found in museums of Paris, London, St. Petersburg, and elsewhere, and has done more than anyone else to classify early Qur’āns into coherent groups on the basis of their epigraphy, orthography, decoration, layout, and other features. He contends that these early Qur’āns, written in large and well-spaced script on large folios, would have required hundreds of sheets of parchment and thus likely represent the product of official workshops sponsored by the ruling Umayyad dynasty, as few individuals would have had the resources or the time to produce them. Déroche’s work permits some deductions about the particular workshops from which they may have come, and helps us understand better the early transmission of the text, and the nature of the text itself.42 His students and others promise to continue this important line of work.43 Other scholars are resuming work on the old question of the qur’anic variant readings, now on the basis of detailed study of actual early Qur’ān manuscripts.44 The Corpus Coranicum project of the Berlin-Brandenburg Akademie der Wissenschaften, which now controls the extensive collection of Qur’ān microfilms amassed 41.  Why Spitaler concealed this archive for a half century, and why he eventually decided to reveal its existence after hiding it for so long, remain a mystery. 42.  See in particular: François Déroche, The Abbasid Tradition: Qur’āns of the 8th to 10th Centuries (New York: Nour Foundation in association with Azimuth Editions and Oxford University Press, 1992); idem, Les manuscrits de style ḥiǧāzī, 1. Le manuscript arabe 328 (a) de la Bibliothèque nationale de France (Lesa, [Italia]: Fondazione Ferni Noja Noseda; Paris: Bibliothèque nationale de France, 1998); idem, La transmission écrite du Coran dans les débuts de l’Islam: le codex Parisino-petropolitanus (Leiden: Brill, 2009); idem, Qur’āns of the Umayyads: a first overview (Leiden: Brill, 2014). 43.  See, for example, the meticulous dissertation of Eléonore Cellard, La transmission manuscrite du Coran: Étude d’un corpus de manuscrits datables du 2e H./8e siècle J.-C. (Paris: Institut National des Langues et Civilisations Orientales, 2015). 44.  A noteworthy recent example is Keith Small, Textual Criticism and Qur’ān Manuscripts (Lanham, MD: Lexington, 2011).

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almost a century ago, is also paying close attention to such details of the text, as well as exploring more fully how the Qur’ān may fit into the literary cultures of the late antique Near East, understood broadly, to which we now turn. Renewed Search for Context As noted above, the rise of revisionist approaches to the Qur’ān had the effect of throwing the traditional understanding of the Qur’ān’s historical context into doubt. Some of the revisionist assertions were incompatible with the traditional view: for example, the idea that the Qur’ān did not crystallize as a sacred text for almost three hundred years (Wansbrough); or the idea that it was originally the product of a Christian community (Lüling, Luxenberg), or a Jewish one (Hagarism); or the idea that it was formed in Iraq or Syria rather than in Arabia (Wansbrough, Hawting); or the idea that the prophet Muḥammad never existed at all (Luxenberg, Popp, Nevo). These assertions had been supported by detailed scholarly argumentation and they could not be hastily disproven. Their appearance stimulated a renewed attempt by many scholars to understand more precisely just what was the historical context of the Qur’ān, if the context assumed by the traditional narrative was no longer so certain. Many of these new efforts viewed the revisionist hypotheses as possibilities, but as nothing more than that, and aimed above all to test them against a wider range of evidence than had hitherto been the norm. Most Western scholars who had worked on the Qur’ān before the mid-1970s had felt little need to become knowledgeable about the history and theologies of the eastern churches, or their writings in Syriac, Greek, Coptic, and Armenian. Nor did they feel that the study of matters such as the history of the Byzantine or Sasanian empires, or of the numismatics or archaeology of the Near East in the century before and after the rise of Islam, were relevant to the study of the Qur’ān. The revisionist theories of the 1970s and later—whatever their strengths and weaknesses—completely changed that attitude. Today, virtually all students in the West who wish to investigate the Qur’ān see it as part of a larger complex of problems, which we can call the question of Islamic Origins; they understand that gaining as much knowledge about the religious, cultural, and political life of the seventh century—including such things as a deep knowledge of, say, Syriac and the rich religious literature of the eastern churches that wrote in that language—is an essential part of their training. The massive Corpus Coranicum projects, mentioned above, takes exploration of the full late antique background of the Near East as one of its main objectives, on the assumption that the literary and religious context of the Qur’ān can be properly understood only if the full literary and religious output of the Near East in the fourth–eighth centuries is thoroughly known. Part of its agenda, therefore, is

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to provide up-to-date scholarly studies of relevant texts from the late antique Near East, including pre-Islamic Arabic inscriptions and works in Syriac, Coptic, Greek, Armenian, Middle Persian, and other languages. Whereas earlier efforts to discuss the Qur’ān in its historical context had assumed a narrow contextual setting for the Qur’ān, focused on pre-Islamic Arabic poetry, for example, or had been obsessed with the connections between the Qur’ān and the biblical tradition, often with reductionist objectives, more recent efforts to establish the Qur’ān’s context cast a much wider net and look to establish the intellectual and textual world into which the Qur’ān came. Sometimes this task still seems to be pursued with a (usually unspoken) polemical or reductionist goal—such as showing that Islam “really” began as Christianity. Most work of this kind, however, is not reductive, but rather is interested in the historical context of the Near East as a way of grasping how the Qur’ān text fits into the religious discourse of its time, how it was perceived by the populations of the Near East, and how they might have responded to it.45 The impact of the revisionist scholarship of the 1970s and 1980s has led some scholars to see the Qur’ān as a product of a somewhat longer chronological frame than merely the life of Muḥammad. Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, for example, argues that the Qur’ān includes, in addition to material left behind by the prophet, other textual material of later date that was added by the text’s ultimate redactors.46 David R. Ross seems to place some passages in the context of theological disputes of the first half of the eighth century CE.47 This seems inconsistent with an increasing body of evidence, drawn from the study of early Qur’ān manuscripts, which suggests that the rasm was already largely fixed by the end of the seventh century;48 but the possibility that interpolations of limited scope and number may have been possible as late as the last decade of the seventh century cannot yet be discounted,49 particularly in light of the discovery by David Powers of what appears to be one case of later tampering with an early Qur’ān manuscript in order to clarify a point of law.50 45.  Reynolds’s book The Qur’ān and Its Biblical Subtext, cited above, is a good example of this trend. 46.  Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann, Die Entstehung des Korans: Neue Erkenntnisse aus Sicht der historisch-kritischen Bibelwissenschaft (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft/ WBG, 2012). 47.  David Reid Ross, The Arabs and Their Qur’ān, 5th ed., 2012. Self-published via CreateSpace.com. Available via Amazon.com. 48.  See Nicolai Sinai, “When Did the Consonantal Skeleton of the Qur’ān Reach Closure? Part 1,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 77 (2014): 273–292. 49.  For a few possible instances, see Fred M. Donner, “Dīn, muslim, und islām im Koran,” in Georges Tamer (ed.), Kritische Koranhermeneutik: In memorian Günter Lüling (forthcoming). 50.  David Powers, Muḥammad Is Not the Father of Any of Your Men: The Making of the

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Literary and Structural Analysis Not all Western studies of the Qur’ān have been concerned primarily with trying to understand its historical or literary context. Some work—beginning even before the rise of the revisionist theories of the 1970s—chose to analyze the Qur’ān simply as a text, avoiding the complications raised by concerns about its historical context, looking for literary and structural features that might elucidate the text’s meaning and contribute to an understanding of what we might call the Qur’ān’s aesthetics. Some such researches may have been motivated partly by the exasperation felt by some scholars with those earlier critiques of the Qur’ān that had emphasized its apparently disorganized structure, and assumed that the text was an assemblage of originally separate bits, cobbled together during the process of editing. As we have seen, such an assumption underlay the efforts of R. Bell to reorganize the text, and he was not the only scholar who took this view. To counter this attitude, which seems to imply that the Qur’ān has no literary unity, others have sought to confirm the Qur’ān’s literary cohesion. One approach has been to examine different genres in the Qur’ān. Western scholars have isolated oath formulas,51 punishment stories,52 the Qur’ān’s “mysterious letters” opening some sūrahs,53 polemical discourse,54 the depiction of the “signs” (āyāt) of God in the natural world, among others,55 for comparative study across the whole Qur’ān. Such studies provide a better appreciation of the nature of qur’anic discourse, and often show that there is a definite inner logic or clear development visible within a given genre. Another trend in the realm of literary and structural analysis may be termed “micro-analysis.” Such work, perhaps best exemplified by Angelika

Last Prophet (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009), chs. 8–9. 51.  E.g., G. Rex Smith, “Oaths in the Qur’ān,” Semitics 1 (1970): 126–156; Lamya Kandil, “Die Schwüre in den Mekkanischen Suren,” in Stefan Wild (ed.), The Qur’ān as Text (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 41–57. 52.  See especially the excellent study by David Marshall, God, Muḥammad, and the Unbelievers (Richmond, Surrey: Curzon, 1999). 53.  EQ, s.v. “Mysterious Letters” (Keith Massey). 54.  Mehdi Azaiez, La polémique dans le Coran: Essai d’analyse de contre-discours et de la riposte coranique (PhD diss., Aix-en-Provence, 2012). 55.  E.g., EQ, s.v. “Law and the Qur’ān” (Wael Hallaq); Devin J. Stewart, “Saj‘ in Qur’ān: Prosody and Structure,” Journal of Arabic Literature 21 (1990): 101–139; Angelika Neuwirth, “Images and Metaphors in the Introductory Sections of the Makkan sūrahs,” in Colin Turner (ed.), The Koran: Critical Concepts in Islamic Studies, 3: Style and Structure (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004), 244–273.

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Neuwirth’s study of the early Meccan sūrahs,56 focuses on a specific part of the Qur’ān (perhaps one sūrah, or several) and subjects it to an exhaustive, detailed, almost letter-for-letter investigation, seeking to uncover structural relationships (in sound, in writing, or in meaning,) such as rhyme patterns, parallelisms, recurrences or repetitions, proportionality in subdivisions, sequential patterns, or oppositions. A particular approach used by Neuwirth is what she calls “colometric analysis,” that is, the study of the small subunits of individual sentences, including such features as alliteration and patterns of stress and rhythm.57 Such work generally seems to have as its objective to demonstrate that the traditionally recognized sūrahs of the Qur’ān are, in fact, coherent and self-contained units, not composites of original material; the implication is that the sūrahs are the original units, not something put together subsequent to the revelation by editors in the course of the text’s transmission. Another form of structural analysis has focused on uncovering what is usually called a “ring structure” within individual sūrahs, exemplified by the work of Michael Cuypers and others.58 Ring composition (in which a literary work exhibits a “nesting” structure, such as A-B-C-D-C’-B’-A’) has been identified in the traditional literatures of many cultures the world over, but the structure it provides is often undetected by modern readers used to a more linear or goal-oriented form of presentation. Exercises in the recovery of qur’anic ring composition, like some other forms of literary analysis, also tend to vindicate the notion that the sūrahs are autonomous, self-contained, original compositions, and not composites. Yet another approach to literary analysis of the Qur’ān is stylometry, a purely formal or structural approach that tracks verse length as an indicator of the date of a particular passage.59 The analysis of the Qur’ān is also being 56.  Angelika Neuwirth, Studien zur Komposition der mekkanischen Suren (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1981). 57.  Neuwirth imports the notion of colometric analysis from studies of classical rhetoric, such as Eduard Norden, Die antike Kunstprosa vom VI. Jahrhundert v. Chr. bis in die Zeit der Renaissance (originally Leipzig: Teubner, 1898), which has seen many subsequent editions. 58.  Michel Cuypers, Le festin: Une lecture de la sourate al-Mā’ida (Paris: Lethellieux, 2007). English trans. The Banquet: A Reading of the Fifth Sura of the Qur’ān (Miami: Convivium Press, 2009). See also Raymond K. Farrin, “Sūrat al-Baqara: A Structural Analysis,” The Muslim World 100 (2010): 17–32. A good introduction to ring composition is provided in Carl Ernst, How to Read the Qur’ān (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2011), 160–166. 59.  See Nora K. Schmid, “Quantititive Text Analysis and Its Application to the Qur’ān: Some Preliminary Considerations,” in Angelika Neuwirth, Nikolai Sinai, and Michael Marx (eds.), The Qur’ān in Context: Historical and Literary Investigations into the Qur’anic Milieu (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 441–460; also Behnam Sadeghi, “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Programme,” Arabica 58 (2011): 210–299.

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carried out using computers to facilitate the identification of purely formal regularities. Bannister’s study of oral-formulaic features in the Qur’ān has demonstrated that such features are widespread. 60 His research should inspire further investigations of this kind, and, at the very least, suggests that the text underwent a period of oral transmission before becoming fixed in written form, a conclusion that to some extent seems to contradict the conclusions of those analysts who have found evidence of deep literary coherence in the Qur’ān’s sūrahs. Of course, purely formal analysis of the Qur’ān often cannot be completely disentangled from considerations of context; ironically, however, even when formal literary analysis of the Qur’ān is attempted without reference to the Qur’ān’s historical context, we find that formal analysis may nonetheless deliver significant insights for the question of the Qur’ān’s context. The discovery from various forms of formal analysis that the sūrahs, at least in most cases and for the most part, appear to be independent compositions with a definable structure of their own, offers suggestive hints bearing both on what the original form of the Qur’ān may have been, and how it may have undergone transmission—two central problems in the consideration of the Qur’ān’s historical context. Finally, we may note a recent increase in interest among Western scholars in the question of qur’anic eschatology. Given the patently eschatological character of many qur’anic passages, this subject has always been in the background, at least since it was first extensively developed by Paul Casanova early in the twentieth century,61 but for some reason was not much pursued for many years (perhaps in part because of the idiosyncratic nature of some of Casanova’s arguments). In recent years, however, a renewed interest in Islamic eschatology in general, and in qur’anic eschatology (including apocalyptic eschatology) in particular, is visible in collective volumes and the convening of numerous conferences,62 and as parts of works treating the Qur’ān more generally.63 This important theme in the Qur’ān—partly recognizable by the distinctive forms of expression used in the Qur’ān’s eschatological pas60.  Andrew G. Bannister, An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’ān (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2014). An earlier effort to examine the Qur’ān’s oral-formulaic qualities, but without the advantage of computer-aided analysis, is Alan Dundes, Fables of the Ancient? Folklore in the Qur’ān (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2003). 61.  Paul Casanova, Mohammed et la fin du monde, etude critique sur l’islam primitif (2 vols., Paris: Geuthner, 1911–1924). 62.  See, for example, Harold J. Ellen (ed.), Heaven, Hell and the Afterlife: Eternity in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, 3 vols. (Santa Barbara: Praeger, 2013); Sebastian Günther and Todd Lawson (eds.), Roads to Paradise: Eschatology and Concepts of the Hereafter in Islam Conference on Islamic Eschatology (3 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 2017). 63.  E.g., Andrew Rippin, “The Commerce of Eschatology,” in Stefan Wild (ed.),

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sages, but obviously a theme that has both unique content as well, perhaps, as unique form—will probably form a focus of continued study for the foreseeable future. Experiencing the Qur’ān Yet another facet of recent Western qur’anic studies deals with the way the Qur’ān, especially the recited Qur’ān, is experienced by those who hear it. Whereas some examinations of the Qur’ān as literature are, as we have seen, concerned with aesthetics, these studies strive to understand the Qur’ān as a phenomenon (in part, an aesthetic phenomenon) and its impact on the individual psyche. Sometimes considerations of this sort are brought into studies of the Qur’ān’s literary style—as seems to be the case with Michael Sells’s widely acclaimed study of the early Meccan sūrahs.64 Perhaps the main study of this sort is Navid Kermani’s God is Beautiful: the aesthetic experience of the Qur’ān, written originally in German by a Muslim who has been trained in, and works in, the West.65 Conclusion The preceding sections give some idea of the motivations that have underlain Western studies of the Qur’ān, and suggest the enormous diversity of such studies—and we have barely scratched the surface.66 Given their varied characters and approaches, we cannot characterize Western studies of the Qur’ān as monolithic, or as having attained a clear consensus on almost any issue. Moreover, the present essay has dealt only with works that address the Qur’ān itself, leaving aside other, equally vast fields of study, such as examinations of the huge literature of tafsīr or Qur’ān commentary. Where, then, is the field of qur’anic studies in the West today? Again, let us remember the caveat voiced at the beginning: it is impossible today to assume that work undertaken in the West is all done by non-Muslims; and The Qur’ān as Text (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 125–135; Donner, Muhammad and the Believers, 78–82; Shoemaker, Death of a Prophet, index s.v. “Eschatology.” 64.  Michael A. Sells, Approaching the Qur’ān: The Early Meccan Suras (Ashland, OR: White Cloud Press, 2007). 65.  Naveed Kermani, God Is Beautiful: The Aesthetic Experience of the Qur’ān (Malden, MA: Polity, 2015; German original 2003). 66.  The over six hundred entries in the bibliography of Reynolds, New Perspectives on the Qur’ān (pp. 485–511)—itself far from exhaustive—gives an idea of how little could be included in this essay.

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it is harder than ever to separate Western studies of the Qur’ān from those undertaken in many parts of the world, including the Islamic world. Muslim and non-Muslim scholars are increasingly working together, or in dialogue, or at least with an awareness of one another’s work, on the Qur’ān. The revisionist theories about Islam’s origins arising in the West in the 1970s posed profound challenges to traditional understandings of the Qur’ān and its context. As unsettling as those ideas were, they had the salubrious effect of stimulating a tremendous outpouring of new scholarship on everything about Islam’s origins, including on the Qur’ān. Now, a full generation after those ideas were first enunciated, we can see that some of the more extreme views proposed were incorrect, or at least, overstated, while others have opened promising insights; and as a result, our present understandings are built on a much firmer foundation of careful scholarly work. One important fact that seems now beyond serious doubt is that the Qur’ān, in some form, is a text dating from the earliest history of the Muslim community. The careful work of scholars like Déroche, Sadeghi, Puin, Sinai, Neuwirth, and others on early Qur’ān manuscripts (including the Ṣan‘ā’ manuscripts) has led to the identification and approximate dating of several very ancient copies, or partial copies. These make it quite certain that the Qur’ān—in some form—dates to the seventh century, and is not a text that slowly crystallized in the eighth or ninth century. These early copies, moreover, and work on the Qur’ān’s literary style, also seem to show that many of the different sūrahs into which the Qur’ān is divided are original units, not assemblages of disparate materials as was once thought. These findings are important positive ground gained in our understanding of the Qur’ān’s origin and early development. There remain, however, many matters that are uncertain, on which future critical study will have to concentrate. While it does seem certain that the text is early, there are some murky features of this early text that we still do not yet understand, or are only beginning to understand. For one thing, the earliest copies we have are written in a rasm or consonantal skeleton that is highly defective—that is, one that leaves many things unclear, such as the actual pronunciation of many words and sometimes which words they are, because diacritical points are used haphazardly, and vowels not at all. Furthermore, there seem to have been shifts in the conventions of orthography of some letters—notably, in the use of the alif or other marks to render the long ā sound, variable rendering of yā’ and alif maqṣūrah, and the writing of the hamzah. Then there is the existence of numerous “variant readings,” found not only in the literary traditions about such variants, but more importantly, in the actual Qur’ān manuscripts themselves. Most of these variants represent only minor differences from one another, but some are strikingly different,67 and 67.  For example, the famous variant in Q 3:19, which, in the standard text, reads

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it is not clear how these variants can be incorporated into the traditional model of manuscripts descending from a single Urtext, usually referred to as the “‘Uthmānic Qur’ān.” One of the Ṣan‘ā’ manuscripts, moreover, is a palimpsest, with a lower layer of writing that has been erased or scraped off in order to write a new text. The lower layer, which is readable through the use of ultraviolet light and other modern techniques, is considered by some to be a non-‘Uthmānic “Companion Codex,” not a descendant of a presumed “‘Uthmānic” text. This copy, which shows much greater divergence from most other versions than do the so-called “canonical variants,” is indubitably of great antiquity, and poses even greater challenges to our understanding of how the text ultimately came into being and how it reached respectable levels of coherence and codification. All these factors suggest, at the very least, that the Qur’ān, while demonstrably an early text—or perhaps we should better say, in light of the phenomenon of variants, a family of texts—was in the earliest stages of its transmission not yet entirely stable in all respects. This leaves open the possibility that the original early text may have received some interpolations or modifications perhaps as late as the end of the seventh century CE; but only much more detailed critical work, especially in the extant manuscripts, will be able to unravel all the implications, textual and historical, of the available evidence. The research of the past decade or so, it seems to me, has brought critical work on the Qur’ān to the threshold of what looks to be a most promising and exciting new era: I am therefore inclined to agree with Gabriel Reynolds’s suggestion, a few years ago, that we may be entering on a “golden age of qur’anic studies.”68 Further work with now securely identified and dated early Qur’ān manuscripts will be a key focus, but new approaches in literary and structural analysis will no doubt also continue to play a part. The fact that so many new people are becoming involved is of fundamental importance, as each brings new ways of looking at things to bear on questions surrounding the Qur’ān. The very creation of IQSA, and the convening by IQSA of annual conferences with scholars from all over the world is eloquent testimony to the renewed vitality of Qur’anic studies. It will be exciting to watch what the years ahead bring.

inna al-dīn ʿinda Allāh al-islām, “Verily, [true] religion with God is Islam,” but for which the Ibn Mas‘ūd codex apparently read inna’l-dīn ʿinda Allāh al-ḥanīfiyyah,” “Verily, [true] religion with God is al-ḥanīfiyyah,” referring to the “religion of Abraham,” depicted in the Qur’ān as the original monotheist. 68.  Reynolds, New Perspectives on the Qur’ān: The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context, 2 (London: Routledge, 2011), “Introduction,” 1–21.

Indonesian Muslim Responses to Non-Muslim Approaches to Qur’anic Studies

YUSUF RAHMAN

The Qur’ān has been studied not only by Muslims but also by non-Muslims.1 In his “Western Scholarship and the Qur’ān,” Andrew Rippin discusses the history of qur’anic studies by Western scholars from the medieval period to the contemporary period, with their different approaches and characteristics, arguing that “scholarly” works on the Qur’ān and tafsīr by Western scholars appeared only after the nineteenth century.2 Similarly, in his “Western Scholarship and the Qur’ān,” Abdullah Saeed describes the historical context surrounding studies by Western scholars on the Qur’ān, their approaches and views, as well as their contributions to qur’anic studies. The term “Western” scholarship is problematic, since, as Rippin notes, it may include Muslim scholars who live and write in the West, like Fazlur Rahman, Naṣr Ḥāmid Abū Zayd, Amina Wadud, and Abdullah Saeed. Some have referred to Western scholarship as “non-confessional” or “critical dispassionate” approaches to Islam.3 In the present chapter, “Western scholarship” refers to historical and critical attitudes to the Qur’ān and tafsīr manifested by non-Muslim scholars, as compared to the normative and confessional approaches often applied by Muslims. 1.  EI 2, s.v. “The Ḳur’ān” (A.T. Welch). 2.  Andrew Rippin, “Western Scholarship and the Qur’ān,” in Jane D. McAuliffe (ed.), Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 235–251, esp. 236. 3.  Ibid. 45

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Muslims have responded differently—negatively and positively—to Western scholarship on the Qur’ān and tafsīr. Morteza Karimi-Nia, for example, has identified theological and polemical responses, as well as scientific academic studies.4 This chapter focuses on the responses of Indonesian Muslims to studies of the Qur’ān and tafsīr by non-Muslim scholars. How have Indonesian Muslims responded to Western scholarship on the Qur’ān and tafsīr and why do they respond that way? In order to answer these questions, I first examine how Indonesian Muslims learned about or were introduced to Western scholarship on Islam, in general, and on the Qur’ān and tafsīr, in particular. In what language and forms did they read these studies, how did they respond to these works, and why did they respond in a negative or positive manner? Islamic Studies in Indonesia and Western Networks For centuries, Indonesian Islam has been linked to the rest of the Muslim world, especially the Arab Middle East. Azyumardi Azra has examined the networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ʿulamāʾ in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.5 The most important figures in that period were Nur al-Din al-Raniri, ‘Abd al-Rauf Sinkili, Muhammad Yusuf al-Makassari, ‘Abd al-Samad al-Palimbani, and Muhammad Arshad al-Banjari, of all whom studied in Mecca and Medina and then returned to Indonesia to teach and write. In the twentieth century, Indonesian Islam was influenced by Islamic modernism as advocated by Jamāl al-Dīn al-Afghānī and Muḥammad ‘Abduh. Such influences can be seen in the establishment of modernist mass organizations such as Muhammadiyah (1912), al-Irsyad (1913), and Persis (1920s).6 In the 1970s, there emerged a reformist group (kelompok pembaharu) consisting of, amongst others, Nurcholish Madjid, Harun Nasution, Abdurrahman Wahid, 4.  Morteza Karimi-Nia, “Contemporary Qur’anic Studies in Iran and Its Relationship with Qur’anic Studies in the West,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 14:1 (2012): 45–72, esp. 61. 5.  Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‘Ulama in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Hono­ lulu, Hawa’i: University of Hawa’i Press, 2004). See also Azra, “Globalization of Indonesian Muslim Discourse: Contemporary Religio-Intellectual Connections between Indonesia and the Middle East,” in Johan Meuleman (ed.), Islam in the Era of Globalization: Muslim Attitudes towards Modernity and Identity (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002), 31–50. 6.  Azra, “Globalization of Indonesian Muslim Discourse,” 32. See also M. Abdullah, S. Arifin, and K. Ahmad, “The Influence of Egyptian Reformists and Its Impact on the Development of Literature of Qur’anic Exegesis Manuscripts in the Malay Archipelago,” Arts and Social Sciences Journal 3:1 (2012): 1–8.

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and Munawir Sjadzali. This group attempts to modernize Islamic scholarship and to challenge traditionalist and conservative thinking.7 In the second half of the twentieth century, academic and scientific approaches were introduced at the IAIN (Institut Agama Islam Negeri, Indonesian Institute of Islamic Studies), which was established in the 1960s on the model of Al-Azhar University.8 In the 1960s and 1970s, Harun Nasution expanded the IAIN curriculum and its educational approach.9 As the Rector of IAIN Jakarta from 1973 until 1984, Nasution encouraged rational, critical, and independent methods modeled on Western ones.10 This reform, which has been discussed by Abdullah Saeed, was supported, indeed imposed, by the state, through the Ministry of Religious Affairs. The Minister of Religious Affairs at the time was Mukti Ali,11 who wanted IAIN to be “a modern institution of Islamic learning, whose graduates would be open-minded agents of modernization, able to change the traditional outlook of Indonesian Muslims.”12 Following this reform, IAIN adopted Western historical, sociological, and empirical approaches to Islamic studies,13 which are now studied from many perspectives, as reflected in Harun Nasution’s book, Islam Ditinjau dari Berbagai Aspeknya (Islam Seen from Its Various Aspects). In addition to the reform of IAIN, between 1983 and 1993 the Minister of Religious Affairs, Munawir Syadzali, 7.  See Taufik Abdullah, “The Formation of a New Paradigm? A Sketch on Contemporary Islamic Discourse,” in Mark R. Woodward (ed.), Toward a New Paradigm: Recent Developments in Indonesian Islamic Thought (Tempe, AZ: Arizona State University, 1996), 47–88, esp. 64. 8.  On the history of IAIN, see Abdullah Saeed, “Towards Religious Tolerance through Reform in Islamic Education: The Case of the State Institute of Islamic Studies of Indonesia,” Indonesia and the Malay World 27:79 (1999): 177–191; Johan Meuleman, “The Institut Agama Islam Negeri at the Crossroads: Some Notes on the Indonesian State Institutes for Islamic Studies,” in Johan Meuleman (ed.), Islam in the Era of Globalization: Muslim Attitudes Towards Modernity and Identity (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002), 281–297. 9.  On Harun Nasution, see Saiful Mujani, “Muʿtazilah Theology and the Modernization of the Indonesian Muslim Community,” Studia Islamika 1:1 (1994): 91–131; Richard C. Martin and Mark R. Woodward with Dwi S. Atmaja, Defender of Reason in Islam: Mu‘tazilism from Medieval School to Modern Symbol (Oxford: Oneworld, 1997), esp. part II, “Harun Nasution and Modern Mu‘tazilism.” 10.  Johan Meuleman, “The Institut Agama Islam Negeri at the Crossroads,” 286. 11.  On Mukti Ali, see Ali Munhanif, “Islam and the Struggle for Religious Pluralism in Indonesia: A Political Reading of the Religious Thought of Mukti Ali,” Studia Islamica 3:1 (1996): 79–126. 12.  Saeed, “Towards Religious Tolerance through Reform in Islamic Education,” 184. 13.  Azyumardi Azra, “The Making of Islamic Studies in Indonesia,” in Fuad Jabali and Jamhari (eds.), Islam in Indonesia: Islamic Studies and Social Transformation (Montreal; Jakarta: Indonesia-Canada Islamic Higher Education Project, 2002), 96–102.

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developed and ran a program to send Indonesian lecturers to Western countries.14 In the 1980s many students were sent to McGill University,15 Leiden University,16 and to universities in the United States and Australia. The goal was to expand the intellectual horizons of Indonesian students and to introduce them to the Western tradition of critical scholarship. When these scholars returned to Indonesia, they transmitted Western critical scholarship to their students. IAIN became a melting pot and a meeting place for Middle Eastern and Western approaches to the study of Islam. It must be acknowledged that many criticisms and objections have been leveled against the reform of IAIN and the sending of lecturers to Western universities. Opponents call it a form of “Mu‘tazilization” and “westernization.”17 We will return to this issue below. During this period, Indonesian Islamic literature was enriched by the translation of the works of many scholars, including Muslim scholars from the Middle East (Ḥasan al-Bannā, Sayyid Quṭb, Yūsuf al-Qaraḍāwī, Mutawwallī Sha‘rāwī), Muslim scholars living in the West (Fazlur Rahman, Naquib alAttas, Ismail Faruqi, Akbar S. Ahmed and Mohammed Arkoun), and nonMuslim scholars (W. M. Watt, Bernard Lewis, N. J. Coulson, and W. C. Smith).18 It is clear that Indonesian Islamic studies have been very much influenced by Western scholarship as a result of curriculum reform at IAIN, the sending of Indonesian Muslim students to Western universities, and the publication of translated works.

14.  The Ministry also sent Indonesian lecturers to the Middle East. 15.  See Fuad Jabali and Jamhari, IAIN and Modernisasi Islam di Indonesia (Jakarta: Logos Wacana Ilmu, 2002). 16.  See Nico Kaptein, “The Transformation of the Academic Study of Religion: Examples from the Netherlands and Indonesia,” in Fuad Jabali and Jamhari (eds.), Islam in Indonesia: Islamic Studies and Social Transformation, 55–64. 17.  See Adian Husaini, Membendung Arus Liberalisme di Indonesia (Jakarta: AlKautsar, 2009); idem, Virus Liberalisme di Perguruan Tinggi Islam (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2009); idem, Hegemoni Kristen-Barat dalam Studi Islam di Perguruan Tinggi (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2006); Hartono Ahmad Jaiz, Ada Pemurtadan di IAIN (Jakarta: Pustaka al-Kautsar, 2005). 18.  Johan Meuleman, “South-East Asian Islam and the Globalization Process,” in Johan Meuleman (ed.), Islam in the Era of Globalization: Muslim Attitudes towards Modernity and Identity (London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2002), 13–29.

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Indonesian Qur’anic Studies and Western Scholarship Very few studies have been devoted to the relationship between qur’anic studies in the Indonesian context and its relation to Western scholarship. In his Popular Indonesian Literature of the Qur’ān,19 Howard M. Federspiel reviews the historical development of qur’anic studies in modern Indonesia, albeit without mentioning any links to Western scholarship. Similarly, Islah Gusmian’s Khazanah Tafsīr Indonesia: dari Hermeneutika hingga Ideologi,20 and Michael Feener’s “Notes Toward the History of Qur’anic Exegesis in Southeast Asia,” focus mostly on tafsīr literature in Indonesia and Southeast Asia, without discussing its relationship to Western scholarship. In his Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World: Transmission and Responses, Peter G. Riddell analyzes the pre-twentieth century relationship between Indonesian (Southeast Asia) and the Middle East in the field of tafsīr, ‘ulūm al-Qur’ān, fiqh, and Sufism.21 Even when discussing the scholarship of Hamka, Hasbi ash-Shiddieqy, and others in the twentieth century, he focuses on their connections to the Middle East. In the present study, I will shed some light on the relationship between Western scholarship and qur’anic and tafsīr studies in Indonesia. Compared to other Islamic studies disciplines, such as law, theology, and mysticism, which began to use critical, historical, and sociological approaches quite early in the IAIN reform era,22 qur’anic studies scholars started to use these approaches much later. One of the reasons for this is that most of those who teach qur’anic studies in IAIN graduated from Middle Eastern universities. Most of the doctoral dissertations in the field of qur’anic studies at IAIN Jakarta and IAIN Yogyakarta23 are normative and dogmatic, even though

19.  H. M. Federspiel, Popular Indonesian Literature of the Qur’ān (Ithaca, NY: Cornell Modern Indonesia Project, 1994), esp. ch. 1, “Studies of the Qur’ān in the Context of the Indonesian National Scene.” 20.  Islah Gusmian, Khazanah Tafsīr Indonesia dari Hermeneutika hingga Ideologi (Bandung: Teraju, 2002). 21.  Peter G. Riddell, Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World: Transmission and Responses (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2001). 22.  These courses were introduced by Harun Nasution and Mukti Ali when they returned from McGill University. In addition to the new courses, they also introduced new methodologies in studying Islam. See Fuad Jabali and Jamhari, IAIN and Modernisasi Islam di Indonesia, 32. 23.  M. Atho Mudzhar examines dissertation themes at IAIN Jakarta and IAIN Yogyakarta until 2000. See his “Islamic Studies in Indonesia in the Making: In Search of a Qiblah,” in Fuad Jabali and Jamhari (eds.), Islam in Indonesia: Islamic Studies and Social Transformation, 85–95, esp. 92.

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they were written during the directorship of Harun Nasution.24 Most of these works follow the pattern of thematic interpretation (tafsīr mawḍū‘ī), a decidedly nonanalytical approach.25 Western scholarship and its methodologies were first introduced after lecturers from IAIN Yogyakarta and IAIN Jakarta who had studied in the West returned to Indonesia.26 These lecturers introduced the works of Orientalists and new approaches to qur’anic studies to the Undergraduate Program in qur’anic and ḥadīth studies by offering courses such as “Kajian Orientalis terhadap al-Qur’ān dan Hadis” (Orientalist Studies on Qur’ān and Ḥadīth), “Hermeneutika dan Semiotika” (Hermeneutics and Semiotics) and “Kajian Modern terhadap al-Qur’ān dan Hadis” (Modern Studies on the Qur’ān and Ḥadīth). The course on Orientalist studies on Qur’ān and ḥadīth includes the works of Wansbrough, Rippin, Goldziher, and Schacht, as well as the response to them by Muslim scholars like Rahman, ‘Abd al-Rauf, and Muḥammad Musṭafā al-A‘ẓamī. Unfortunately, students must rely on secondary sources, since they have difficulty understanding the primary sources, which are mostly written in English. However, several publications by Muslim scholars have been translated into Bahasa Indonesia. In another course, “Modern Approaches to the Qur’ān and Ḥadīth,” students are introduced to the publications of modern Muslim scholars who have proposed new approaches to the study of the Qur’ān and ḥadīth, such as Fazlur Rahman, Ḥasan Ḥanafī, Muḥammad Shaḥrūr, Naṣr Ḥāmid Abū Zayd, Amina Wadud, Asma Barlas, Farid Essack, and Khaled Abou el-Fadl. Western Scholarship and Its Reception in Indonesia Western scholarship varies greatly in its approach to the Qur’ān and tafsīr. There are two major camps of Orientalists. The first is “old” Orientalists, 24.  Some of the doctoral dissertations are discussed by Gusmian in his Khazanah Tafsīr Indonesia. 25.  Ahmad Najib Burhani, “Transmission of Islamic Reform from the United States to Indonesia: Studying Fazlur Rahman’s Legacy through the Works of Ahmad Syafi’i Maarif,” Indonesia and the Malay World 41:119 (2013): 29–47. On thematic interpretation of the Qur’ān, see Izza Rohman, “New Approaches in Interpreting the Qur’ān in Contemporary Indonesia,” Studia Islamika 14:2 (2007): 203–264. 26.  Izza Rohman argues that many factors influenced the emergence of new approaches to qur’anic studies. See Rohman, “New Approaches in Interpreting the Qur’ān in Contemporary Indonesia,” 208. In my view, these social, historical, contextual, and critical approaches to qur’anic studies, except for the thematic approach, which is normative, are mainly influenced by qur’anic scholarship developed in the West.

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for example, Ignaz Goldziher (d. 1921), Theodor Nöldeke (d. 1930), Edward Sells (d. 1932), and Arthur Jeffery (d. 1959), who focus on what lies behind the text of the Qur’ān. For example, Edward Sells’s Historical Development of the Qur’ān and A. Jeffery’s The Foreign Vocabulary of the Qur’an focus on foreign influences on the Qur’ān and the history of its formation, using philology, text criticism, form criticism and other methods. The second camp is known as revisionists, that is to say, scholars who question the accuracy of the traditional Islamic sources because they are not supported by independent and reliable evidence. John Wansbrough and Andrew Rippin are often regarded as the main proponents of qur’anic revisionism. Recently, there has been a shift in paradigm in qur’anic studies.27 Whereas “old” orientalists focused more on what lies behind the text, “new” orientalists insist on the importance of what is in front of it, that is to say, how the Qur’ān has influenced those who read or hear it, and how the reader or listener receives and understands the Qur’ān. This paradigm shift is associated with a move from a philological approach and text criticism to a literary approach, as in The Literary Structures of Religious Meaning in the Qur’ān, edited by Issa J. Boullata.28 In this work, Boullata, Angelika Neuwirth, A. H. Johns, A. M. Zahniser, Michael Sells, and A. T. Welch focus on the literary style of the Qur’ān. Boullata, a specialist in Arabic literature, examines the miraculous nature of the Qur’ān, while Neuwirth—one of the main opponents of the revisionists—writes on the thematic unity of the Qur’ān. The majority of Indonesian Muslims are not aware of this scholarly diversity,29 largely because most Western scholarship is accessible only in English, French, and German. Only a few books have been translated into Bahasa Indonesia. In addition, Indonesians know Western scholarship through articles and books, written in Bahasa Indonesia, that respond negatively to this scholarship. Western Scholarship on the Qur’ān in Bahasa Indonesia Only a few books by Western scholars have been translated into Bahasa Indonesia. Taufik Adnan Amal has translated W. Montgomery Watt’s revision

viii.

27.  Stefan Wild, “Preface,” in S. Wild (ed.), The Qur’ān as Text (Leiden: Brill, 1996),

28.  Published in Richmond (Surrey: Curzon Press) in 2000. 29.  See, for example, Adnin Armas, “Kritik Arthur Jeffery terhadap al-Qur’ān,” Islamia 1:2 (2004): 7–19; idem, Metodologi Bibel dalam Studi Al-Qur’an (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2005).

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of Bell’s Introduction of the Qur’ān into Bahasa Indonesia.30 Amal, a qur’anic studies scholar and lecturer at the State Islamic University in Makassar, has published many books and articles related to qur’anic studies (see below). An article by Rippin on the methodology of John Wansbrough has been translated into Bahasa Indonesia by Zakiyuddin Baidhawy.31 On the history of tafsīr, monographs by J.M.S. Baljon and J.J.G. Jansen on modern Qur’ān interpretation were translated in 1991 and 1997 respectively.32 Goldiziher’s Die Richtungen der islamischen Koranauslegung has also been translated, albeit not directly from German, but from its Arabic translation, Madhāhib al-tafsīr al-Islāmī by ‘Abd al-Ḥalīm al-Najjār. The Indonesian translation appeared only in 2003, almost half a century after the publication of the Arabic translation in 1955.33 Toshihiko Izutsu’s scholarship on qur’anic studies has been translated into Bahasa Indonesia and has been well received.34 His semantic approach to the language of the Qurʾān is discussed in numerous dissertations, theses, and undergraduate essays, as well as in academic articles and books in Bahasa Indonesia. Apart from these translations, the primary channel of access to Western scholarship for most Indonesians is through the writings of Indonesian scholars. Indonesian Muslims on Western Scholarship In 1990 Taufik Adnan Amal reviewed the contribution of John Wansbrough to the field of qur’anic studies in an article entitled, “al-Qur’ān di Mata 30.  W. M. Watt, Pengantar Studi al-Qur’an, trans. Taufik Adnan Amal (Jakarta: RajaGrafindo Persada, 1995). 31.  Andrew Rippin, “Analisis Sastra terhadap al-Qur’an, Tafsir, dan Sirah: Metodologi John Wansbrough,” in Richard Martin (ed.), Pendekatan Kajian Islam dalam Studi Agama, trans. Zakiyuddin Baidhawy (Surakarta: Muhammadiyah University Press, 2002), 201–222. 32.  J. M. S. Baljon, Tafsir Qur’an Muslim Modern, trans. A. Naimullah Muiz (Jakarta: Pustaka Firdaus, 1991), and J. J. G. Jansen, Diskursus Tafsir al-Qur’an Modern, trans. Hairussalim and Syarif Hidayatullah (Yogyakarta: Tiara Wacana, 1997). 33.  Ignaz Goldziher, Mazhab Tafsir: Dari Aliran Klasik hingga Modern, trans. M. Alaika Salamullah, Saifuddin Zuhri, and Badrus Syamsul Fata (Yogyakarta: Elsaq Press, 2003). The reason behind the long delay in translation is not clear. On the history of the Arabic translation of Goldziher, see Walid Saleh, “al-Tarjamah al-‘Arabiyyah li-Kitāb Ignaz Golziher’s al-Madhāhib al-Islāmiyya fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 14:1 (2012): 201–214. 34.  Toshihiko Izutsu, Konsep-Konsep Etika Religius dalam Al-Qur’an, trans. Agus Fahri Husein (Yogyakarta: Tiara Wacana, 1993), and idem, Relasi Tuhan dan Manusia dalam al-Qur’an, trans. Agus Fahri Husein (Yogyakarta: Tiara Wacana, 1997).

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Barat: Kajian Baru John Wansbrough” (The Qur’ān in the Eyes of Western Scholars: A New Approach of John Wansbrough).35 Previously, Amal, together with Samsu Rizal Panggabean, published a book entitled Tafsir Kontekstual Al-Qur’an: Sebuah Kerangka Konseptual.36 In many respects, Amal’s method was influenced by the “double movement theory” of Fazlur Rahman. He wrote his M.A. thesis at IAIN Yogyakarta on Rahman’s legal thought.37 In 2001 he published Rekonstruksi Sejarah al-Qur’an (Reconstruction of the History of the Qur’ān),38 in which he critically discusses the history of the qur’anic text, that is, the origins and the revelation of the Qur’ān, its collection, and codification. In addition to treating Muslim sources critically, he refers extensively to Western scholarship. M. Quraish Shihab, a professor of qur’anic studies in Indonesia and PhD graduate from Al-Azhar University, criticized Amal for referring to Western scholars without adequately critiquing their ideas.39 However, he praises Amal for enriching Islamic and qur’anic studies in Indonesia and encourages those who disagree with him to write a book or article in response to his ideas. Arguably in response to Amal, an Indonesian translation of Muḥammad Musṭafā al-Aʿẓamī’s The History of Qur’anic Text was published in 2005.40 Aʿẓamī’s goal in this book is to debunk the ideas of Orientalists. In his foreword to the Indonesian version of Aʿẓamī’s book, Muhammad Kamal Hassan, the Rector of the International Islamic University Malaysia (IIUM), expresses his concern about mistaken, liberal errors that were developing in Indonesia. He appointed some Indonesian scholars at the International Institute of Islamic Thought and Civilization (ISTAC) at IIUM to translate Aʿẓamī’s work, which, in his view, successfully refutes Orientalist ideas and arguments, which are destructive to Islam.41 The translation of Aʿẓamī’s book triggered heated debates and polemics between Adnin Armas and Mun’im Sirry in the national newspaper, Republika, 35.  Jurnal ‘Ulumul Qur’an 1:4 (1990). 36.  Bandung: Mizan, 1998. 37.  The thesis was published under the title Islam dan Tantangan Modernitas: Studi atas Pemikiran Hukum Fazlur Rahman (Bandung: Mizan, 1989). 38.  Yogyakarta: Forum Kajian Budaya dan Agama (FKBA), 2001. This book has been published several times and it is now available in digital format by Divisi Muslim Demokratis 2011. I am using the digital text. 39.  See M. Quraish Shihab, “Pengantar,” in Rekonstruksi Sejarah al-Qur’an, vi. 40.  Aʿẓamī, Sejarah Teks Al-Qur’an: Dari Wahyu sampai Kompilasi, trans. Sohirin Solihin, Ugi Suharto, Anis Malik Thoha, dan Lili Yuliadi (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2005). The English version was published in 2003 by UK Islamic Academy, Leicester, England. 41.  See Hassan, “Pengantar,” in Aʿẓamī, Sejarah Teks al-Qur’an: Dari Wahyu sampai Kompilasi, xxiii–xxiv.

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especially with regards to a visit by Aʿẓamī to Indonesia in 2005 and the launching of the Indonesian translation of his book. In his “Selamat Datang Profesor Aʿẓamī!” (Welcome, Professor Aʿẓamī!),42 Armas, who was then a PhD candidate at IIUM, praises Aʿẓamī as a hero who successfully refutes Orientalist arguments and, at the same time, criticizes modern Muslim scholars who imitate their thought. Armas himself has published a book, Metodologi Bibel dalam Studi al-Qur’an (Biblical Methodology in Qur’anic Studies),43 in which he argues that the Orientalists seek to destroy and undermine Islam and the Qur’ān through their ideas about borrowing, hermeneutics, and deconstruction. Sirry, who was an MA student at UCLA at the time, published a response to Armas’s article in which he criticized Aʿẓamī for failing to address Western scholarship in an academic manner and to discuss the range of Western qur’anic scholarship.44 Sirry accuses Aʿẓamī of religious prejudice when he discusses Orientalist scholarship, which, in his view, is shaped by his religious and political ideology. In his recently published book, Kontroversi Islam Awal: Antara Mazhab Tradisionalis dan Revisionis (Controversies Over Early Islam: Between Traditionalist and Revisionist Schools), Sirry refers to Fred Donner’s Narratives of Islamic Origins, in which Donner presents four approaches to early Muslim sources: the descriptive, the source critical, the tradition critical, and the skeptical.45 The important differences between these four approaches, however, are not acknowledged by Syamsuddin Arif, who makes sweeping generalizations about all Western scholarship on the Qur’ān. In his Orientalis and Diabolisme Pemikiran, Arif portrays Western scholarship on the Qur’ān, for example, Nöldeke’s Geschichte des Qorans, Mingana’s “Transmission of the Kur’an,” Jeffrey’s Materials for the History of the Text of the Qur’ān, and Wansbrough’s Quranic Studies, as products of skepticism. He states: “Contrary to Muslim scholars, Western Orientalists start from prejudice and doubt, and they will end with doubt.”46

42.  Armas, “Selamat Datang Profesor Aʿẓamī!,” Republika, 30 March 2005. 43.  Adnin Armas, Metodologi Bibel dalam Studi al-Qur’an: Kajian Kritis (Jakarta: GIP, 2005). In 2003, Armas published Pengaruh Kristen-Orientalis terhadap Islam Liberal: Dialog Interaktif dengan Aktivis Islam Liberal (Jakarta: GIP, 2003). 44.  Sirry, “Rekonstruksi Sejarah Teks Alquran,” Republika, 1 April 2005. 45.  See Sirry, Kontroversi Islam Awal: Antara Mazhab Tradisionalis dan Revisionis (Bandung: Mizan, 2015), 39–56. 46.  Syamsuddin Arif, Orientalis & Diabolisme Pemikiran (Jakarta: GIP, 2008), 23. Arif earned his undergraduate degree from International Islamic University Malaysia in 1996, his MA degree from International Institute of Islamic Thought and Civilization (ISTAC) Malaysia in 1999 (he wrote his thesis on “Ibn Sina’s Theory of Intuition”), and his PhD degree from ISTAC in 2004 (his dissertation is entitled “Ibn

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It seems clear that scholars like Aʿẓamī, Armas, and Arif refer only to the Western revisionist scholarship. Their failure to address the range of Western qur’anic scholarship is the focus of Sirry’s criticism of Aʿẓamī. According to Sirry, Aʿẓamī fails to mention those Western academics whose scholarship is sympathetic to, and appreciative of, Islam,47 such as Bell, Watt, Welch, Madigan, and Cragg. He argues that Western scholarship is rich and diverse. In a response to Sirry published in the next issue of Republika, Armas claimed that Aʿẓamī did not refer to these scholars in his book because they are not “scholars and experts” (sarjana dan pakar) in the history of the Qur’ān.48 Sirry penned a rebuttal of Armas, which, for unknown reasons, Republika did not publish. In his rebuttal, “Antara Pakar dan Kuffar dalam Kajian Alquran” (Between Scholars and Unbelievers in Qur’anic Studies), which Sirry shared with me via e-mail, he argues that the main reason why Western scholarship is not received and accepted by many traditional Muslims is because Westerners are considered to be kuffār (unbelievers). In fact, Arif warns all Muslims not to read non-Muslim scholarship, whatever its merits. In support of his position he cites Q 2:120: “The Jews and the Christians will never be satisfied with you until you follow their way/religion” (wa-lan tarḍā ʿanka’l-yahūdu wa-lā’l-naṣārā ḥattā tattabiʿa millatahum).49 According to Arif, this verse means that Orientalists—Jews and Christians—have a hidden agenda to destroy Islam and will continue to do so if Muslims continue to follow them. Arif also referenced Q 2:120 in a public lecture presented at ISTAC in May 2010, entitled “The Challenge of Orientalists in Islamic Thought.”50 Like Arif, Hamid Fahmy Zarkasyi warns that Western scholarship should be treated with caution because it is based on a Western worldview, which is different from that of Islam. For him, the Islamic worldview—ideas about God, prophet, man, life, and the world—is not acceptable to, and is incompatible with, the Western worldview.51 The Western worldview was developed Sina’s Cosmology: A Study of the Appropriation of Greek Philosophical Ideas in 11th Century Islam”). 47.  Sirry, “Rekonstruksi Sejarah Teks Alquran.” 48.  Armas, “Orientalis dan Studi Alquran,” Republika, 14 April 2005. 49.  Arif, Orientalis and Diabolisme Pemikiran, 21. Arif explains that “Diabolisme” comes from the word “Diabolos,” which means devil (Ar. iblīs). Thus, “diabolisme pemikiran” means devilish thought. 50.  See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZW7Z1UH7L0. In his public lecture, Arif discussed the history of Orientalism and gave examples of Orientalists and their methodologies. Most of the scholars mentioned in his presentation, however, were revisionists, like Goldziher, Schacht, Wansbrough, and Crone. He finds these scholars dangerous. 51.  Zarkasyi, “Mendudukkan Orientalis,” in Misykat: Refleksi tentang Islam, Westernisasi and Liberalisasi (Jakarta: INSISTS, 2012), 69–76.

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by Europeans on the basis of Greek, Roman, and, to some degree, Islamic civilization. Following his Malaysian mentor, Syed Naquib al-Attas, Zarkasyi, who graduated from ISTAC in 2006,52 asserts that the Islamic worldview is centered on the concept of One God, based on revelation and reason, and characterized by the monotheistic method of thinking.53 Because of these cultural differences, Western scholarship cannot be adopted and implemented in Islamic studies. Elsewhere, Zarkasyi warns that “each [worldview] has its own features and elements. If an element of a specific worldview is inserted or infiltrated with another element of another worldview, it will create confusion.”54 Another PhD graduate of ISTAC, Adian Husaini, argues that the Western worldview and civilization have penetrated Islamic thought, especially in Indonesia. He warns his readers that Muslims are living in an age of “intellectual confrontation,” a phrase that he borrows from Professor al-Attas.55 Husaini asserts that this “Western invasion,” which he refers to elsewhere as “liberal viruses,”56 has been introduced in Islamic higher education, where scholarship by “liberalized and secularized” Muslims is taught to unwitting Muslim students. Husaini criticizes the inclusion of Western methodology, especially biblical methodology, in the study of qur’anic hermeneutics in the curriculums of UIN and IAIN. The earliest criticism of the use of hermeneutics in qur’anic studies is found in Islamia, published by the Institute for the Study of Islamic Thought and Civilizations (INSISTS). In its first issue, “Hermeneutika versus Tafsīr Al-Qur’ān” (Hermeneutics versus qur’anic tafsīr), Islamia published several articles by authors who insisted that hermeneutics is foreign to the Islamic tradition and not suitable for use in the study of the Qur’ān.57 In his “Problem Teks 52.  Zarkasyi earned his undergraduate degree at Institut Studi Islam Darussalam Gontor Ponorogo. He received two Masters degrees: An M.Ed in education from the University of Punjab, Lahore, Pakistan (1986), and an MPhil in Islamic studies from the University of Birmingham (1998). In 2006, he received his PhD from ISTAC in Islamic thought. 53.  Zarkasyi, “Worldview Islam dan Kapitalisme Barat,” Jurnal Tsaqafah 9:1 (2013): 15–36, esp. 24. 54.  Zarkasyi, “‘Barat’ (The West),” Islamia 1.1 (2004): 119. 55.  See Husaini, Wajah Peradaban Barat: Dari Hegemoni Kristen ke Dominasi SekularLiberal (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2005), esp. xxi and 231. 56.  See Husaini, Hegemoni Kristen-Barat dalam Studi Islam di Perguruan Tinggi (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2006), and idem, Virus Liberalisme di Perguruan Tinggi Islam (Jakarta: Gema Insani Press, 2009). Husaini earned an undergraduate degree from the Faculty of Veterinary Medicine IPB, an MA in International Relation from Universitas Jayabaya in Jakarta, and a PhD from ISTAC-IIUM, with a dissertation on “Exclusivism and Evangelism in the Second Vatican Council: A Critical Reading of the Second Vatican Council’s Documents in the Light of the Ad Gentes and the Nostra Aetate.” 57.  Islamia 1:1 (March 2004). See also Islamia 1:2 (August 2004), where the authors

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Bible dan Hermeneutika” (The Problem of Biblical Text and Hermeneutics), Husaini argues that hermeneutics is part of “the hegemony of secularism and liberalism,”58 and that its source is found in a religious and civilizational tradition that is different from that of Islam. Zarkasyi –the editor-in-chief of Islamia – argues that hermeneutics originates in the Western worldview (Greek and Christian) and is not value free.59 The main point is that hermeneutics is deeply connected with Christian and Western thought, which has been used to study the Bible; if Muslims use it to study the Qur’ān, they will apostatize.60 Armas, Arif, Zarkasyi, and Husaini have responded very negatively to Western qur’anic scholarship. They accuse Western non-Muslim scholars of having a hidden agenda, namely, to distort Islam and the Qur’ān. This agenda is visible in their criticism of Islamic sources and in their use of biblical methodology to undermine the Qur’ān. They argue that this Western scholarship operates within a Western worldview that is incompatible with Islam. In their view, Islamic studies is always in a permanent “intellectual confrontation” with Western imperialism. However, they fail to see the diversity of Western scholarship and they refer repeatedly to revisionist scholars. They strive to demonstrate the cruelty and ruthlessness of Western scholars whose works have “invaded” Islamic teachings. Most of these critiques were written by Indonesian students and lecturers who have studied and taught at ISTAC in Kuala Lumpur; and they were published by Gema Insani Press. ISTAC, as is well-known, was established by Prof. Dr. Naquib Al-Attas, whose agenda was the “Islamization of knowledge and science.” He believed that knowledge and science are not neutral, and that they must be Islamized. At the same time, the main purpose of Gema Insani Press is to “discover the Islamic intellectual heritage and to reject mistaken and incorrect thoughts.”61 While most graduates of ISTAC are dismissive of Western scholarship, some have taken a more positive position and others have even studied at Western universities, where they took courses on qur’anic studies and tafsīr. M. Nurkholis Setiawan, for example, earned a PhD from the University of Bonn in 2003 with a dissertation on the literary interpretation of the Qur’ān, criticize the works of contemporary Muslim scholars such as Muhammad Arkoun, Nasr Hamid Abu Zayd, and Ḥasan Ḥanafi. 58.  Husaini, “Problem Teks Bible dan Hermeneutika,” Islamia 1:1 (2004): 7–15, esp. 14. 59.  Zarkasyi, “Menguak Nilai Dibalik Hermeneutika,” Islamia 1:1 (2004): 16–29. 60.  See also Hartono Ahmad Jaiz, Ada Pemurtadan di IAIN (Jakarta: Pustaka alKautsar, 2005). 61.  See the cover of Al-Insan 2:1 (2005). In addition to Al-Insan, Gema Insani Press also publishes several journals and magazines: Prestasi, Perspektif, Sinergi, Al-Qalam, and Al-Huda.

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under Professor Stefan Wild. In an article entitled, “Mengkaji Sejarah Teks Alquran” (Study of the History of the Qur’anic Text), Setiawan affirms the diversity of Western qur’anic scholarship. For example, he asserts that there are differences of opinion among Western scholars about the collection of the Qur’ān:62 some scholars accept the account of the codification of the Qur’ān during the caliphates of Abū Bakr and ‘Uthmān, and others call this account into question. Clearly, Western scholarship is not monolithic. Similarly, Sahiron Syamsuddin, who graduated from the Otto-Friedrich University of Bamberg in 2006, divides Western scholarship on the Qur’ān into three categories: the historical-critical approach, the interpretive approach, and the anthropological and sociological approach.63 He acknowledges that there is debate over the historical-critical approach, but suggests that the interpretive approach has often been used by Muslims in their study of the Qur’ān. The year 2015 witnessed the publication of two important books in Bahasa Indonesia dealing with Western qur’anic scholarship. The first is Al Makin’s Antara Barat dan Timur: Batasan, Dominasi, Relasi, dan Globalisasi (Between the West and the East: Boundaries, Dominations, Relations and Globalization),64 and the second is Sirry’s above-mentioned book, Kontroversi Islam Awal: Antara Mazhab Tradisionalis dan Revisionis. Al Makin discusses ideas held by many Muslims that, in his view, have become an ideology, namely, that anything Western must be rejected because it is un-Islamic and that Muslims must filter Western viruses that can distort Islamic belief. Even more dangerous, he says, is enmity towards fellow Muslims whose ideas are considered distorted because of westernization. By labeling other Muslims as apostates on the basis on their ideas, these scholars create a division within Islam itself. Al Makin explains that Western scholars are critical not only of Islam but also of their own religion.65 But just because they have critically investigated—or to use their term “deconstructed”—their religion, it is not now their turn to deconstruct Islam. He adds that Western 62.  M. Nur Kholis Setiawan, “Mengkaji Sejarah Teks Alquran,” in Sahiron Syamsuddin et al. (eds.), Hermeneutika Alquran: Mazhab Yogya (Yogyakarta: Islamika, 2003). Setiawan earned his undergraduate degree from IAIN Sunan Kalijaga Yogyakarta 1993, his MA in Islamic studies from Leiden University 1996, and his PhD from the University of Bonn in 2003, with a dissertation entitled “Die Literarische Koraninterpretation: Eine Analyse ihrer Frühen Elemente und ihrer Entwicklung.” 63.  Sahiron Syamsuddin, “Pendekatan Orientalis dalam Studi Al-Qur’ān,” in Islam Agama dan Nilai Kemanusiaan: Fetschrift untuk M. Amin Abdullah (Yogyakarta: CIS Forum UIN Sunan Kalijaga, 2013). Syamsuddin earned his undergraduate degree from IAIN Yogyakarta in 1993, his MA from McGill University in 1998, and his PhD from Otto-Friedrich University of Bamberg, Germany in 2006. 64.  Published by Serambi Ilmu Semesta, Jakarta, March 2015. 65.  Al Makin, Antara Barat dan Timur (Jakarta: Serambi Semesta, 2015), 64–67.

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critical study is based not on a desire to distort or destroy Islam, but rather is conducted for the sake of pure scholarship. The conclusions reached and the methodologies used are not always accepted by other scholars. Subsequent research has strengthened or revised certain theories and conclusions. In his Kontroversi Islam Awal, Sirry addresses recent developments in the academic study of Islam in the West, especially since the 1970s, which marked the emergence of what he calls “revisionist scholarship.” He discusses several ideas put forth by revisionist scholars, such as Wansbrough’s thesis about the canonization of the Qur’ān. The various responses to Wansbrough’s thesis,66 according to Sirry, reflect the vibrant nature of Islamic studies in the West today. Western studies on the Qur’ān are hardly monolithic but rather wide-ranging and diverse in terms of contents and methods. Sirry’s book is a timely publication on serious issues about early Islam that is written in a comprehensible manner.67 As an academic work, it engages with academic discourse, and it has no theological, religious, or nonreligious agenda. Many books written by Muslims for a Muslim audience do have religious motives. 68 However, Sirry wrote his book for Muslim and non-Muslims alike and it is intended to stimulate critical engagement by asking and answering important questions. In his words, “This book is written by someone who questions the so-called ‘unquestionable issues’ and is addressed to readers who perceive questioning the unquestionable as valid and permissible.”69 The serious issues discussed by Sirry include theories on the origins of Islam, the emergence of the Qur’ān, the biography of Muḥammad, and the Islamic expansion. It must be acknowledged, however, that some contemporary Western scholars do not like Islam and/or have religious motives, but one must not generalize on this point. Most Western scholars have a passion for knowledge and intellectual commitment, and Muslims should acknowledge and respect those passions and commitments. Some Western scholars are searching for the best method to gain an accurate understanding of the dating of the early Qur’ān manuscripts, as evidenced by the discovery in July 2015 of an early Qur’ān fragment at Birmingham University.

66.  See Sirry, Kontroversi Islam Awal, esp. 51–55, 141–145. 67.  Sirry earned his undergraduate degree at the International Islamic University Islamabad Pakistan, his MA at the University of California Los Angeles, and his PhD degree at the University of Chicago. In addition to Kontroversi Islam Awal, he has published Polemik Kitab Suci: Tafsir Reformis atas Kritik Al-Qur’an terhadap Agama Lain (Jakarta: Gramedia, 2013), and Tradisi Intelektual Islam: Rekonfigurasi Sumber Otoriatas Agama (Malang: Intrans, 2015). 68.  In his oral presentation of “The Challenge of Orientalists in Islamic Thought,” Arif explicitly states that he writes his book as a Muslim, for Muslims. 69.  Sirry, Kontroversi Islam Awal, 9–10.

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Conclusion Indonesian Muslim responses to Western scholarship on the Qur’ān and tafsīr may be classified broadly as apologetic or reformist. Apologists argue simplistically that all Western scholarship on the Qur’ān is based on prejudice and skepticism. By contrast, reformists try to identify different streams of Western scholarship and they adopt a critical attitude towards different approaches in qur’anic studies. The apologists are represented by scholars and students from INSISTS who graduated from ISTAC in Malaysia. By contrast, the reformists are represented by lecturers at UIN Jakarta and UIN Yogyakarta who graduated from Western universities. In my view, the division between apologists and reformists may be resolved through dialogue and academic discussions that will produce a more dynamic Indonesian qur’anic scholarship. Indonesian Muslim scholars must take part, together with fellow Muslims and Western scholars, in critical research on the Qur’ān and tafsīr. They should also attempt to develop collaborations that, in the words of Gabriel Said Reynolds, will contribute to a “Golden Age of Qur’anic Studies.”70 Through dialogue and interaction it may be possible to correct misconceptions and enhance scholarly studies on the Qur’ān.

70.  See Gabriel Said Reynolds, “Introduction: The Golden Age of Qur’anic Studies?,” in New Perspectives on the Qur’ān: The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context 2 (London: Routledge, 2011), 1–21, esp. 21.

Semitic Rhetoric and the Qur’ān: The Scholarship of Michel Cuypers

ADNANE MOKRANI

Michel Cuypers1 is a pioneering figure in the systematic application of the Semitic rhetorical analysis (SRA) on the Qur’ān.2 To date, he has written three books3 and several articles as part of a complete project: the application of SRA to the qur’anic text. The objective of this chapter is to review 1.  Michel Cuypers is from Belgium. He is member of the Congregation of the Little Brothers of Jesus, the Dominican Institute for Oriental Studies (IDEO) in Cairo, Egypt, and the International Society for the Study of Biblical and Semitic Rhetoric (RBS). 2.  It seems that the first application of SRA to ḥadīth texts was done by two Catholics and two Muslims: Roland Meynet, Louis Pouzet, Naïla Farouki and Ahyaf Sinno, Rhétorique sémitique: textes de la Bible et de la Tradition musulmane (Paris: Editions du Cerf, 1998). The book was first published in Arabic: Ṭarīqat al-taḥlīl al-balāghī wa’ltafsīr: taḥlīlāt nuṣūṣ min al-kitāb al-muqaddas wa min al-ḥadīth al-nabawī al-sharīf (Beirut: Dār al-mashriq, 1993). 3.  Le Festin, une lecture de la sourate al-Mā’ida, Collection “Rhétorique Sémitique” (Paris: Lethielleux, 2007), translated to English as: The Banquet: A Reading of the Fifth Sūra of the Qur’ān (Miami: Convivium Press, 2009). For this book, Cuypers received “the World Prize for the Book of the Year,” awarded by the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance of Iran (2009). His other book entitled La Composition du Coran, Collection “Rhétorique sémitique” (Pendé: Gabalda, 2012), was translated into English under the title The Composition of the Qur’ān: Rhetorical Analysis (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015). His most recent book is entitled Une apocalypse coranique: Lecture des trente-trois dernières sourates du Coran (France: Gabalda, Collection, 2014). It is now available in English translation (Atlanta: Lockwood, 2018). 61

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Cuypers’s methodology, techniques and specific concepts and terminology, with examples from the Qur’ān. Hopefully, the essay will serve as a general introduction for scholars who encounter SRA for the first time.4 What Is SRA? SRA is not directly interested in the history of the text, but rather takes the text as it is, in its final, canonical form, and tries to understand its structure. From this point of view, it is synchronic unlike historical criticism. However, SRA and historical criticism may be viewed as complementary methodologies.5 SRA emerged in the middle of the eighteenth century with the discovery, by biblical scholars, of the phenomena of (1) parallelism (ABC // A’B’C’), (2) chiasmus or inverted parallelism (ABC // C’B’A’), and (3) ring composition (ABC / x / C’B’A’). At first, these patterns were discovered at the level of small textual units (symmetries between two verses, for example); subsequently, much larger textual units were discovered. Today, the French Jesuit Roland Meynet is the main theorist and practitioner of SRA of the Bible.6 “Rhetoric” here refers to the composition of the speech, that is, how are the parts of speech arranged to form a coherent set, what the ancient Greek and Latin treaties on rhetoric called dispositio. This arrangement in Semitic texts is different from that in Greek texts. Whereas Greek rhetoric proceeds in a linear way, starting from an introduction, progressing continuously towards a conclusion, Semitic rhetoric is based on the principle of symmetry. SRA is built on a complex set of symmetries that forms a real system.

4.  This chapter is a brief summary of The Composition of the Qur’ān and some of Cuypers’s articles, including “Pour une exégèse contextuelle du Coran,” Islamochristiana, 33 (2007), 23–49. I also draw on his conference presentation at the Pontifical Institute of Arabic and Islamic Studies (PISAI), in Rome, April 2010 (unpublished). This chapter has been approved by M. Cuypers. I would like to thank the “Mominoun without Borders” Foundation and especially Yunis Qandil for their support. 5.  SRA has been criticized by advocates of historical criticism for ignoring the supposed history of the text, focusing only on the structure as it has been received. See Guillaume Dye, “Réflexions méthodologiques sur la ‘Rhétorique coranique,’” in D. De Smet and M. A. Amir-Moezzi (eds.), Controverses sur les écritures canoniques de l’islam (Paris: Cerf, 2014), 147–171. For a detailed response, see Cuypers, “Analyse rhétorique et critique historique, réponse à Guillaume Dye,” in Midéo, 31 (2015), 55–82. 6.  Professor of biblical theology for many years at the Pontifical Gregorian University (currently professor emeritus). He published a monumental Treatise of Biblical Rhetoric (Leiden: Brill, 2012), which reviews the history of this method and explains its components in a comprehensive manner.

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Levels of the Text What is distinctive about Semitic rhetoric is the multiplicity of levels (a long text may have as many as ten different levels) and the fact that each of these levels is constructed on the same principle of symmetry, although variously applied. The result is a complex textual architecture that the exegete must analyze level by level. In the analysis, it is essential to begin with the lowest level and to move gradually to the highest level. Term A term is the minimal textual unit, the basic material with which a text is composed. The basmalah, for instance, has four terms: In-the-name / of-God / the-Mercy-giving / the-Merciful. Bi-smi / -llāh / al-Raḥmān / al-Raḥīm

Member A member generally includes several terms that constitute a group of grammatically connected terms. In Q 101, al-Qāriʿah, for instance, the members are not regular: each member may be a single word, but usually it is a clause or two. The calamity What is the calamity? 3 And what will let you know what the calamity is? 4 On the day when the people shall be like moths scattered, 5 and the mountains shall be like carded wool. 6–7 Then as for him whose balance is heavy, he shall be in a pleasant life, 8–9 but as for him whose balance is light, his mother shall be the abyss. 10 And what will let you know what it is? 11 A burning fire. 1 2

This division of the text, which is provisional, takes into account only the internal coherence of the members. This division must be confirmed by the external coherence of the members, that is, their capacity to form a symmetrical relationship with another member, contiguous or not. Notice that the division into verses is not an indication of the different members: verses 6 and 7 are a single member, as are verses 8 and 9. A long verse may contain many members.

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Segment The combination of two or three parallel members produces the first level of composition of the text, that is, the segment. Most often segments consist of two or three members (never more than three) and sometimes only one, as we have seen in Q 101, which is composed of six segments: three have a single member, and three have two. – 1 The calamity What is the calamity? = 2 = 3 And what will let you know what the calamity is? + 4 On the day when the people + 5 and the mountains

shall be like moths scattered, shall be like wool carded.

– 6–7 Then as for him whose balance is heavy, he shall be in a pleasant life, – 8–9 but as for him whose balance is light, his mother shall be the abyss. = 10 And

what will let you know what it is?

+ 11 A burning fire.

a. Members 1, 10 and 11 are isolated, while the other members form parallel pairs or bi-member segments: b. Members 2 and 3 take up a similar question, slightly modified. c. Members 4 and 5 are constructed grammatically in the same manner and have a similar meaning: on the Day of Judgment, the people will be scattered when the mountains explode. d. Members 6–7 and 8–9 share the same grammatical construction, but with opposite meaning. Piece Just as a segment is usually the combination of two or three members, but sometimes contains only one, a piece usually has two or three segments, but sometimes has only one. It never has more than three segments. The two pieces below are set out in inverted symmetry (ABC/C’B’A’).

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A – 1 THE CALAMITY (qĀrI‘A) B = 2 What is the calamity? = 3 And what will let you know

what is

the calamity?

shall be like C + 4 On the day when the people + 5 and the mountains shall be like

moths scattered, wool carded.

C’ + 6–7 Then as for him whose balance is heavy, he shall be in a pleasant life, + 8–9 but as for him whose balance is light, his mother shall be the abyss. B’ = 10 And

what will let you know

what it is?

A’ – 11 A BURNING FIRE (ḥĀmIyA)!

a. At the two ends (AA’) isolated terms appear: “the calamity” (evoking a cosmic upheaval) / “a burning fire” (evoking Hell). The correspondence between these two extreme terms is emphasized by their assonance: qĀrI‘A / ḥĀmIyA. b. In the median position (BB’), we find two almost identical questions. c. In the central position (CC’), two segments share a parallel grammatical structure. The two segments form a manifest complementary parallelism: the first (C) describes the cataclysm of the Last Day, the second (C’) the Judgment. Part Just as segment can have one, two or three members, and a piece can have one, two or three segments, so too a part can have one, two or three pieces. Q 101 is a single part (see above) evoking the Day of the Judgment in two complementary pieces, set out in a mirror composition or chiasmus. Each piece has three segments: • The first piece (1–5) describes the cosmic upheaval (the calamity) of the Last Day; • The second piece (6–11) describes the Judgment itself, with reward for just men and punishment for bad men (a blazing fire).

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Passage Segments, pieces, and parts are the lower levels of a composition: they are usually part of a wider textual set from which they cannot be separated. The passage represents the first autonomous level: even as a part of a wider text, it forms a whole, both in shape and meaning, so that it can be read or recited independently of what precedes or what follows. Q 101 is independent for instance; it may be considered as a passage composed of one part. Let us consider a passage extracted from Q 5. It contains three parts: the first has three pieces, the second has only one, the third has two. There are fewer symmetries than in the first examples, and they are indicated by repetitions of terms or synonymies that disclose the composition of the text. If THE PEOPLE OF THE BOOK had believed and been pious, b we would have wiped out from them their bad actions, c and we would have let them enter to the gardens of delight. 66a And if they had followed the Torah and the Gospel b and what has been sent down to them from their Lord, c they would have eaten of what is above them and of what is under their feet. d Among them is A MODERATE COMMUNITY, e but [for] MANY AMONG THEM, what they do is bad! 5,65a

Prophet, communicate what has been sent down to you from your Lord! b And if you did not do this, c you would not communicate his message! d And God will protect you from men. e Surely, God does not guide the unbelieving people. 67a

68a Say, “O people of the Book, you do not rely on anything b as long as you do not follow the Torah and the Gospel c and what has been sent down to you from your Lord.” d And certainly makes MANY AMONG THEM grow e what has been sent down to you from your Lord, f in rebellion and unbelief. g And do not torment yourself for unbelieving people.

Surely, those who believe, b and THOSE WHO PRACTICE JUDAISM, AND THE SABIENS AND THE CHRISTIANS, c  whoever believes in God and the Last Day d and does good works e—there is no fear for them, f and they will not be afflicted. 69a

70a Surely, we have received the covenant of the CHILDREN OF ISRAEL, b and we have sent to them messengers. c Each time came to them a messenger d with what their souls did not want, e some they treated as liars, f and some they killed.

They reckoned there would be no test, b and they became blind and deaf. c Then God came back to them. d Then became blind and deaf MANY AMONG THEM. e But God is well-seeing what they do. 71a

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a. The “People of the Book” appears at the start of each part; in 65a, as the People of the Book; in more detail in the central part (69b), and, finally, as the “children of Israel,” as part of the “People of the Book,” in the third part (70a). b. In the outer parts, the People of the Book and the children of Israel are represented as ungrateful beneficiaries of God’s care. In the first part, God sends down the Scripture to them (66b and 68c); in the third part, he sends messengers (70b–c), and He himself “comes back to them” after their first act of infidelity (71c). However, they do not respond to the divine benevolence, but rather rebel and do not believe (65a; 68f–g), treat the prophets as liars and kill them (70e–f). c. The outer parts of the passage end with the syntagma “what they do”—condemning the actions of the People of the Book (66e), for God knows well what they do and sees it is wrong (71e). d. However, the outer pieces and the outer parts have the syntagma “many among them” (66e; 68d; 71d) as their last or penultimate terms. Most but not all of the People of the Book or the children of Israel are rebels, but some are faithful. Sequence The sequence represents the level of composition above the passage. The text analyzed above (Q. 5:65–71) is the third of three passages that constitute the sequence 5: 51–71. The three passages are arranged in a concentric manner: 5: 51–58; 59–64; 65–71. The sequence depicts the status of the different groups present in the new community founded by the Prophet, and their mutual political relationships. In the first passage, the believers form “God’s party”: they are allied to God, to his Prophet and to the other believers, but are told not to make an alliance with the People of the Book, who ally with one another. Only the “hypocrites” among the believers ally themselves with the People of the Book. The second passage is a virulent condemnation of the unbelief and perversity of most of the Jews. The third passage examines the status of believers and non-believers among the People of the Book—while many are unbelievers, some are believers who may, as a consequence, achieve salvation. The sequence may be represented schematically as follows: No alliance with the People of the Book

51–58

Condemnation of the majority of the Jews

59–64

Possible salvation for Jews and Christians who believe 65–71

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The coherence of the sequence is ensured not only by a common theme, but also by numerous terms or syntagmas that are identical, synonymous or antithetical, in two or even three passages, and by the structure of all three passages, each composed of three parts, arranged concentrically.7 Section The level of composition above the sequence is the section (with the possibility of an intermediate level, that of the subsection). Because of its size, it is not possible to reproduce here the complete text of a section. Sūrat al-Mā’ida has two large sections (section A, vv. 1–71; section B, vv. 72–120), arranged in mirror formation. Each section has three subsections. Section A has five sequences, organized as follows: First subsection – Entering the Islamic covenant Sequence A1 – The accomplishment of the covenant in Islam Sequence A2 – Jews and Christians refuse to enter the covenant

1–11 12–26

Second subsection – On justice in the Muslim city Sequence A3 – Crime and punishment Sequence A4 – Muḥammad, judge of Jews and Christians

27–40 41–50

Third subsection Sequence A5 – The status of Muslims and the People of the Book

51–71

The two sequences that make up the first subsection are complementary. The first calls on Muslims to remain faithful to the alliance that links them to God; the second reprimands Jews and Christians for their infidelity to their covenants, and enjoins them to enter the Islamic covenant. The second subsection defines the exercise of justice in Medina. The first sequence regulates punishments for certain crimes, the second appoints Muḥammad as the supreme judge of the city. The third subsection deals with the religious and political status of the different groups present in Medina (Muslims, Jews, and Christians) and their mutual relations. The entire section deals with the organization of the new community of believers. Based on respect for the covenant with God, the community recognizes the Prophet as the supreme judicial authority. But the community must take its place next to the two other religious communities in the region, the Jews and the Christians.

7.  See the detailed analysis in The Banquet, 267–322.

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Book Normally, the level of composition above the section is the book, here, the entire Qur’ān. Now, scholars do not know how the Qur’ān was produced. Below the book, the long sūrahs at the beginning of the Qur’ān exceed the size of a unique section. They may be regarded as “booklets” included in the larger book. Figures of Composition The symmetries that characterize SRA can take three compositional figures: parallelism, mirror construction, and concentric construction. But these figures can appear in two ways: either in total symmetries, when most or all the elements of a portion of text correspond to another portion of text, or in partial symmetries, when only one term or more have corresponding terms in another textual unit, thus serving as an indication of composition. Partial symmetries are more difficult to locate than total symmetries, but they are also more frequent. A. Total Symmetries These symmetries are found especially in the lower textual levels: segments and pieces. 1. Parallel Construction A parallel construction or parallelism is a figure of composition in which elements in paired relations are arranged in a same manner: ABC/A’B’C’. We may distinguish between synonymic parallelism, antithetic parallelism and complementary parallelism. The synonymic parallel construction The passage in the center of Q 5 makes the following statement about “believers” (Muḥammad’s community), Jews, Sabians, and Christians: – 69e there is no fear for them – f and they will not be afflicted.

This is a bi-member segment, both of whose members have a similar meaning, that is, salvation.

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At the level of pieces, the first two segments of the first sūrah, al-Fātiḥah, are synonymic: members 1 and 3 are nearly identical, members 2 and 4 both contain an epithet of divine sovereignty (Lord/Ruler), followed by a complement (of the worlds / of the Day of the Judgment). – 1 In the name of God, – 2 Praise be to God,

the Mercy-giving, the Merciful. Lord of the worlds,

= 3 = 4

the Mercy-giving, the Merciful, Ruler of the Day of Judgment.

The antithetical parallel construction Antithetical parallelisms often occur in the eschatological or moral sphere, as in the following segment (S. 101): – Then as for him whose balance is heavy, – but as for him whose balance is light,

he shall be in a pleasant life, his mother shall be the abyss.

Or in the following piece: – 6 Guide us along the straight road – 7 the road of those whom You have favored, = not [ghayr] of those who earn Your anger, = nor [wa lā] who are lost.

The complementary parallel construction The second member of the following segment explains the first one: – 6 Guide us along the straight road – 7 the road of those whom You have favored,

2. Mirror Composition In a mirror composition, four or more elements (always an even number) are arranged in two inverted symmetric patterns: ABC/C’B’A’. The mirror composition is a variant of the chiasmus, the well-known figure of classical rhetoric. Q 101 (The Calamity) is composed of a part that includes two pieces whose segments are arranged in a mirror composition (see above).

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3. Concentric Construction (Ring Composition) This composition is extremely frequent in the Qur’ān at the level of parts, passages, and sequences. Here, a central element separates but simultaneously connects the parallel or mirror elements that surround it. The most elaborate shape that a concentric composition may take is the following: ABC / x / C’ B’ A’. But we find the other simpler forms, such as: A / x / A’ ; AB / x / A’ B’ or AB / x / B’ A’, etc. Al-Fātiḥah is a part arranged in a simple ring composition: both extreme pieces are two complementary forms of prayer (worship / demand), and the exact center of the sūrah marks the transition between the two. – 1 In the name of God, – 2 Praise be to God,

the Mercy-giving, Lord

the Merciful. of the worlds,

= 3 = 4 Ruler

the Mercy-giving, of the Day

the Merciful, of Judgment.

+ 5 You do we worship, + and You do we ask for help. – 6 Guide us along the straight way – 7 the way of those whom You have favored, = not [ghayr] = nor [wa lā]

(of those who) earn Your anger, who are lost.

B. Partial Symmetries In total symmetries, one or more element of a symmetric wing, or all taken together, correspond to those of the other wing. Partial symmetries exist between terms or members that occupy a specific position in the textual system: at the beginning, the end, the two extremities, or the center. They can meet at every level of textual organization: segments, pieces, parts… etc. Because they serve as signs of composition, it is important to locate them. Initial Terms Initial terms are identical or similar terms or syntagmas that mark the beginning of symmetrical textual units, corresponding to the anaphora of classical rhetoric. Identical terms can mark the beginning of parallel members of a segment, as in the following bi-member:

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+ 5 You do we worship, + and You do we ask for help

The initial terms of both members of the final segment of the Fātiḥah are synonymic negative particles: – Ghayr-i l-maghḍūb-i ʿalay-him – Wa lā l-ḍāllīn

Final Terms Final terms are identical or similar terms or syntagma that mark the end of symmetrical textual units, corresponding to the epiphora of classical rhetoric. If THE PEOPLE OF THE BOOK had believed and been pious, b we would have wiped out from them their bad actions, c and we would have let them enter to the gardens of delight. 66a And if they had followed the Torah and the Gospel b and what has been sent down to them from their Lord, c they would have eaten of what is above them and of what is under their feet. d Among them is A MODERATE COMMUNITY, e but [for] MANY AMONG THEM, what they do is bad! 65a

67a Prophet, communicate what has been sent down to you from your Lord! b And if you did not do this, c you would not communicate his message! d And God will protect you from men. e Surely, God does not guide the unbelieving people.

Say, “O people of the Book, you do not rely on anything b as long as you do not follow the Torah and the Gospel c and what has been sent down to you from your Lord.” d And certainly makes MANY AMONG THEM grow e what has been sent down to you from your Lord, f in rebellion and unbelief. g And do not torment yourself for unbelieving people. 68a

69a Surely, those who believe, b and THOSE WHO PRACTICE JUDAISM, AND THE SABIENS AND THE CHRISTIANS, c whoever believes in God and the Last Day d and does good works e – there is no fear for them, f and they will not be afflicted.

Surely, we have received the covenant of the CHILDREN OF ISRAEL, b and we have sent to them messengers. c Each time came to them a messenger d with what their souls did not want, e some they treated as liars, f and some they killed. 70a

71a They reckoned there would be no test, b and they became blind and deaf. Then God came back to them. d Then became blind and deaf MANY AMONG THEM. e But God is well-seeing what they do.

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The outer pieces of the passage end with the syntagma “what they do”—the actions of the People of the Book are condemned (66e), for God knows well what they do (71e); and the outer pieces and the outer parts of the passage end with “many among them” (66e; 68d; 71d). Not all the People of the Book or the children of Israel, therefore, are rebels; many of them are, but some are faithful. Extreme Terms Extreme terms are identical or similar terms or syntagma that mark the extremities of a textual unit, corresponding to the inclusion of classical exegesis. Q 101 has, at both extremities, isolated terms taken from the semantic field of eschatology: “the calamity” / “a burning fire.” The last piece of the Fātiḥah has one antithesis at both extremities: – 6 Guide us along the straight path – 7 the path of those whom You have favored, = not = nor

(of those who) earn Your anger, who are lost.

Median Terms Median terms are identical or similar terms or syntagma that mark the end of a textual unit and the beginning of the unit that is symmetric to it, corresponding to the hook-word of traditional (biblical) exegesis. In the Fātiḥah, “the path,” at the end of the first member of segment 6–7a, is repeated at the beginning of the second member, thus marking the complementarity of both members of this parallel segment: the second member explains the “straight” path expressed in the first one. – 6 Guide us along the straight path – 7 the path of those whom You have favored,

Central Terms In Q 5, verses 48 and 69, which have similar themes, appear at the center of the final passages of sequences A4 and A5. Both insist on the practice of “good deeds.” The verses proclaim that the members of other religions mentioned in the second verse, that is, “believers,” Jews, Sabians, and Christians, may attain

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salvation. Salvation requires nothing more than faith in God and good deeds, which will be submitted to God’s Judgment. Center of passage 48–50, A4

Center of passage 65–71, A5

For each of you we have made a way and a path, h and if God had wanted, he would have made you a single community. i But he tests you in what he has given you j – surpass yourselves in good works. k Unto God shall you return, all together; l he will tell you of that in which you have been differing.

Surely, those who believe, b and those who practice-Judaism, and the Sabians and the Christians, c whoever believes in God and the Last Day d  and does good works e – there is no fear for them, f and they will not be afflicted.

48g

69a

In the same sūrah, the center of two symmetric sequences, 27–40 and 41–50, is occupied by a quotation, the first one taken from the Mishna (32), the second one from the Torah (45), both introduced by the same verb: “We have prescribed” katabnā. Each sequence treats life and death. Center of sequence A3: 5.32

Center of sequence A4: 5.45

32 Therefore we have prescribed for the children of Israel that whoever kills a soul – not for another soul or for corruption on the earth – it is as though he had killed the whole of humanity. And whoever makes to live, it is as though he had made the whole of humanity live.

45 And therein we have prescribed for them, “Life for life, eye for eye, nose for nose, ear for ear, tooth for tooth, and for wounds retaliation.” And whoever would give alms of this, this will be an expiation for him.

Convergence of Indications In the analysis of a text, we can often identify several possible structures. The larger the number of indications, the better the structure. A structure based on a single indication is suspicious. The center of concentric constructions At the higher textual levels (passage, sequence, section), the figure of concentric composition is very frequent in the Qur’ān. This figure is important for the interpretation of the text, because of the special characteristics of the center and its specific role within the system. These characteristics have been theorized by the Bible exegete Nils Wilhelm Lund (1885–1954) in his book on Chiasmus in the New Testament (1942).

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According to Lund, seven “laws” structure the texts of the Bible in a typically Semitic way, unknown to Greek rhetoric. Of these seven, only four will be explained here, those that we encounter most frequently in the Qur’ān. Lund’s First Law The center is always the turning point. The Fātiḥah illustrates this law perfectly. The center (“You do we worship, and You do we ask for help”) marks the transition between the first piece, a prayer for God that uses some of His most beautiful Names, and the third, a prayer to be guided on the straight path, not the path of those who have been led astray. The first member of the center (5a) refers to what precedes, the second to what follows (5b). – 1 In the name of God, the Mercy-giving, the Merciful. – 2 Praise be to God, Lord of the worlds, = 3 the Mercy-giving, the Merciful, = 4 Ruler of the Day of Judgment. + 5 You do we worship, + and You do we ask for help. – 6 Guide us along the straight way – 7 the way of those whom You have favored, = not (of those who) earn Your anger, = nor who are lost.

Lund’s Second Law At the center, there is often a change in the direction of thought, and an antithetical idea may be introduced. The original direction is then resumed and continued until the system is concluded. This feature is designated as the law of the shift at the center. 5,65a If THE PEOPLE OF THE BOOK had believed and been pious, b we would have wiped out from them their bad actions, c and we would have let them enter to the gardens of delight. 66a And if they had followed the Torah and the Gospel b and what has been sent down to them from their Lord, c they would have eaten of what is above them and of what is under their feet. d Among them is A MODERATE COMMUNITY, e but [for] MANY AMONG THEM, what they do is bad!

Prophet, communicate what has been sent down to you from your Lord! b And if you did not do this, c you would not communicate his message! d And God will protect you from men. e Surely, God does not guide the unbelieving people. 67a

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68a Say, “O people of the Book, you do not rely on anything b as long as you do not follow the Torah and the Gospel c and what has been sent down to you from your Lord.” d And certainly makes MANY AMONG THEM grow e what has been sent down to you from your Lord, f in rebellion and unbelief. g And do not torment yourself for unbelieving people. 69a Surely, those who believe, b and THOSE WHO PRACTICE JUDAISM, AND THE SABIENS AND THE CHRISTIANS, c  whoever believes in God and the Last Day d and does good works e—there is no fear for them, f and they will not be afflicted.

Surely, we have received the covenant of the CHILDREN OF ISRAEL, b and we have sent to them messengers. c Each time came to them a messenger d with what their souls did not want, e some they treated as liars, f and some they killed. 70a

71a They reckoned there would be no test, b and they became blind and deaf. c Then God came back to them. d Then became blind and deaf MANY AMONG THEM. e But God is well-seeing what they do.

In the outer parts, the People of the Book and the Children of Israel are the ungrateful beneficiaries of God’s care. These two extreme parts are perfectly continuous, but the first part is abruptly interrupted by the center, which introduces an antithetical idea that interrupts the line of thinking: the People of the Book, if they believe and perform good deeds, will be saved. Note that the declaration in the central part (verse 69) is theological and transhistorical, while the parts that frame it allude to specific situations and attitudes, based on the contingency of history: “If the People of the Book had believed… if they had followed the Torah and the Gospel… for many among them what they do is bad…,” the Qur’ān denounces the rebellion and unbelief of many of them, treating the prophets as liars and killing some of them, etc. There is a strong shift in register between the center, which expresses a universal idea, and the literary units that frame it, which deal with historical and, therefore, contingent events. This example highlights the theological importance of the paradoxical contrast between the center and the units that frame it. Lund’s Fourth Law8 It happens frequently that an idea that occurs at the center of one system recurs at the extremes of a corresponding second system that apparently was constructed to match the first. This phenomenon is called the law of shift from center to extreme. Lund’s fourth law is very common, important, and 8.  I omit Lund’s third law for the purpose of synthesis.

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disconcerting. Unaware of it, advocates of historical criticism often claim that such-and-such a verse was “moved,” is “not in its place” or is “an addition.” In fact, the verse is completely “in its place,” a sign of the link that unites two rhetorical systems. The first two verses of Q 5 present a typical case of “the movement of the center towards the extremities”: in this case, the final extremity of the first system moves towards the center of the second system. O you who believe, b be faithful to your commitments! The beast of flocks is made lawful for you,

1a c

d

e g

except what will be recited to you.

HUNTING is not lawful f when you are in a state of pilgrim sanctity. Truly, God commands what he wishes.

2a

c

O you who believe, b do not declare lawful (= do not profane) God’s rites, nor the sacred month, nor the offerings, nor the garlands, nor those making-their-way-to the Sacred House e [who] seek favor and satisfaction from their Lord. f But when you are no longer in a state of pilgrim sanctity, then GO HUNTING!

And do not let hatred of a people h who held you back from the Sacred Mosque i incite you to transgress. j And help one another to righteousness and fear [of God], k and do not help one another into sin and hostility. l Fear God! m Truly, God is terrible in his punishments. g

The center of the second part (2f) corresponds, logically and rhetorically, to the end of the first part (1e–f): Is not lawful for you game/hunting when you are in a state of pilgrim sanctity. 2f But when you have left the state of pilgrim sanctity, then go hunting. 1e f

Here we see an example of Lund’s fourth law according to which there is often a correspondence between the outer edges (or one of the outer edges) of a system, and the center of another system. However strange this may appear to our modern, western logic, member 2f is in the perfect place as far as Semitic rhetoric is concerned. Situated at the center of the second part, it is a clear sign that this part is to be taken together with the first part. The first

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part ends with the prohibition of the consumption of game and hunting during the pilgrimage, while the center of the second part recalls that hunting is permitted only when a pilgrim has emerged from the state of pilgrim sanctity. In a linear reading, both extreme pieces of the second part (2a-e / 2g-m) logically follow: each mentions the sacred character of the pilgrims who go to the sanctuary (2d-e), and the text continues by extending this inviolability to the ancient enemies of the believers (2g-h). The authorization to hunt, once the pilgrimage ends (2f), clearly disrupts this logical order. Richard Bell, a prominent representative of historical criticism of the Qur’ān, concludes: “This clause is misplaced.”9 Lund’s Fifth Law Certain terms tend to gravitate towards central positions within a given system, such as the divine Names in the psalms and quotations in the New Testament. Other peculiarities of centers have been noticed: the center frequently takes the form of a question or a sentence, thereby drawing the attention of the reader-listener to an important point, inviting him to think. Often one finds in the center an interpretive key to the entire system. Let us examine these characteristics of the center. The Quotation In our discussion of partial symmetries, we cited two examples of quotations that appear in Q 5. Center of sequence A3: 5.32 Therefore we have prescribed for the children of Israel that whoever kills a soul – not for another soul or for corruption on the earth – it shall be as though he had killed all mankind; whereas, if anyone saves a life, it shall be as though he had saved the lives of all mankind. 32

Center of sequence A4: 5.45 And therein we have prescribed for them, “Life for life, eye for eye, nose for nose, ear for ear, tooth for tooth, and for wounds retaliation.” And whoever would give alms of this, this will be an expiation for him.. 45

The Question The center frequently takes the form of a question. The question at the center of Q 12, Yūsuf, is typical. The sūrah contains twelve sequences arranged in mirror form, with two wings of six sequences. 9.  Richard Bell, The Qur’ān: Translation with a critical re-arrangement of the Suras (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1937), 93, n. 3.

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A  Prologue 1–3 B  Vision of Joseph 4–7 C  Problem of Joseph with his brothers: the trickery of the brothers against Joseph 8–18 D  Relative promotion of Joseph 19–22 E  Attempted seduction of Joseph by a woman 23–34 F  Joseph in prison, interpreter of the visions of two prisoners and prophet of monotheism 35–42 F’  Joseph in prison, interprets the vision of the king 43–49 E’  Denouement of the seduction by the woman: Joseph rehabilitated 50–53 D’  Definitive promotion of Joseph 54–57 C’  Problems of Joseph with his brothers: the trickery of Joseph against his brothers 58–98 B’  Accomplishment of the vision of Joseph 99–101 A’  Epilogue 102–111

In the sixth sequence (v. 35–42), Joseph, in prison, is asked by two fellowprisoners to interpret their dreams. Before answering, Joseph delivers a short speech, exhorting them to turn away from the polytheism of their fathers and to convert to the one God. This speech appears in the quasi-central passage of the sequence. At the center of this passage, we encounter the decisive question: 39

Fellow-prisoners, would many diverse gods be better than God the One, the All Powerful?

Placed at the end of the first wing of the large mirror construction of the sūrah, this question occupies the quasi-center of the entire sūrah, underlining the typically qur’anic monotheistic message. The Sentence There are many cases in the Qur’ān in which the center is occupied by a sentence, often a wisdom sentence, but sometimes a theological, ethical or legal sentence. Theological sentence In Q 5, we have quoted as an example of central terms two verses with a similar theme (48/69), in symmetrical position, at the center of the final passage of two successive sequences. These verses are very important from the point of view of a possible qur’anic theology of religions.

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Center of passage 65–71, A5

For each of you we have made a way and a path, h and if God had wanted, he would have made you a single community. i But he tests you in what he has given you j—surpass yourselves in good works. k Unto God shall you return, all together; l he will tell you of that in which you have been differing.

69a Surely, those who believe, b and those who practice Judaism, and the Sabians and the Christians, c whoever believes in God and the Last Day d and does good works e—there is no fear for them, f and they will not be afflicted.

48g

These central sentences are frequently in opposition to the verses that frame them, as predicted by Lund’s second law, which emphasizes the frequency of an antithesis between the center and what surrounds it. Thus, verse 48g–l expresses a transhistorical truth and is framed by verses in which God addresses his Prophet directly, in his very incidental disputes with the People of the Book (the beginning of v. 48 and v. 49). Verse 69, which expresses a very open and tolerant theological position, contrasts sharply with the polemical verses directed towards the People of the Book, which frame it (65–68/70–71). Ethical sentences Attached to the quotation of the lex talionis, in the same Q 5:45, we read the following statement: and whoever would make charity of it, it will be an expiation for him.

The lex talionis is mentioned first as a legal reference that establishes a proportion between a crime and its punishment. But the legal level is immediately transcended by the superior ethics of generosity, encouraging the renunciation of the same law. Even more surprising is Q 5:93, rarely quoted in questions relating to legal or illegal foods and drinks. To those who believe and do good works, no sin [is imputed] for what they have eaten, as long as they fear [God] and believe and do good works, then again fear [God] and believe, then again fear [God] and practice good works. And God loves the good-doers. 93

This verse at the center of the passage Q 5:87–96, formulated in the third person, is in tension with the verses that frame it, formulated in the second person, which impose a complete series of dietary restrictions, including the famous prohibition of fermented drinks: O you who believe, fermented drink, gambling, carved stones and divining arrows are corruption from the work of Satan. Stay away from them! 90

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Conclusion This chapter is a brief introduction to Cuypers’s work, providing a general understanding of SRA and its application to the study of the Qur’ān. The present study is no substitute for Cuypers’s books, especially The Composition of the Qur’an, which is both concise and comprehensive; it may be considered as an instruction manual in this field. However, theoretical study is not sufficient; we must practice and struggle with the method, performing exercises, individually or collectively, in workshops, of course with the help of a skilled master. This chapter is a project in progress, for at least two reasons: First, the methodology itself is in progress. In the beginning, it was called “biblical rhetoric” and afterwards “Semitic rhetoric”; with the discovery of a possible application to texts written in non-Semitic languages, like ancient Greek and Egyptian, the adjective “Semitic” became conventional.10 Secondly, it is necessary to apply SRA to the entirety of the Qur’ān. Cuypers maintains that the method is applicable not only to single sūrahs but also to their order in the Qur’ān, and he has tried to prove this by giving examples from the short sūrahs at the end of the Qur’ān.11 His intuition is that the Qur’ān is composed of a series of pairs of sūrahs. It is necessary to complete this project to draw out the specific characteristics of Qur’anic Semitic rhetoric. It may also be useful to compare Cuypers’s methodology with the recent scholarship of Raymond Farrin,12 where we find similar results concerning the structure of the Qur’ān, despite the technical difference between the two approaches. When the project is complete, we will be able to speak for the first time of a complete tafsīr based on a modern methodology, which represents the fruit of a new kind of dialogue, that is, a methodological dialogue between biblical studies and qur’anic studies.

10.  See Cuypers, The Composition of the Qur’ān, 179–182. 11.  Cuypers, “L’ordre des sourates dans le Coran répond aux règles de la rhétorique sémitique,” in R. Meynet and J. Oniszczuk (eds.), Studi del terzo convegno RBS (Rome: G&B Press, 2013), 255–270. 12.  See Raymond Farrin, Structure and Qur’anic Interpretation: A Study of Symmetry and Coherence in Islam’s Holy Text (Oregon: White Cloud Press, 2014).

From Clerical to Scriptural Authority: The Qur’ān’s Dialogue with the Syriac New Testament

EMRAN EL-BADAWI

“Clerical authority” refers to the religious, social and political power vested in institutions or individuals and their capacity to lead a bodypolitik. “Scriptural authority” refers to the teachings extrapolated from the interpretation and study of holy books. In the late antique Near East, “clerical authority” (Arab. sulṭān; Syr. shulṭānā) was ultimately bestowed by God, both upon holy men (clergy; Arab. rahbāniyyah) and upon holy books (scripture; Arab. kitāb);1 and Jewish rabbis, Christian priests and charismatic holy men exercised considerable influence on the lives of a diverse, sectarian Near Eastern audience.2 The Qur’ān exhorts this audience to return to scriptural authority, which it views to be a purer, more ancient and untainted source of leadership (Arab. imām). The text delegitimizes rabbinic authority, argues that the early Church went astray and posits the supreme authority of scripture in place of the clergy.

All translations are my own. 1.  See further EQ, s.v. Authority (Wadad Kadi). 2.  On the influence of holy men (and women) on the late antique and early Islamic Near East, see Peter Brown, “The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity,” Journal of Roman Studies 61 (1971), 80–101; Patricia Crone and Martin Hinds, God’s Caliph: Religious Authority in the First Centuries of Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Sebastian Brock and Susan Harvey, Holy Women of the Syrian Orient (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987); Claudia Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005). 83

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The delegitimization of rabbinic authority in the Qur’ān is in conversation with the condemnation of the Pharisees by Jesus in the Syriac Gospels. The Qur’ān’s account of the early Church’s decline and perversion goes back to the Syriac Acts of the Apostles, especially chapters 13 and 20, where Paul’s mission to the gentiles overtakes Peter and his Jewish flock. The dispute between Peter and Paul is most acutely fought over the issue of circumcision at the Council of Jerusalem in 50 CE. This dispute shook the early Church and contributed to the weakening of the early Jerusalem leadership. But some members of the early Church continued to practice circumcision and observe Jewish law. Near Eastern Christendom became more fractured over subsequent centuries. The Christological controversies of the fourth and fifth centuries CE gave rise to the three Eastern Churches. A number of Arab tribes belonged to the West Syrian, East Syrian, and Chalcedonian Churches. Other Arabic-speaking groups, such as those in the Qur’ān’s milieu, shared an affinity with the “Jewish-Christian” community of the early Church. As we embark on this examination of the relationship between the Qur’ān and the Syriac New Testament, we discuss how the Qur’ān comes to reject the authority of both Jewish rabbis and Christian priests. The Qur’ān always refers to these rabbis and priests in the plural. This observation reinforces the idea that the text functions in a milieu in which the institution of the clergy is highly active and organized.3 The clergy is explicitly discussed in Āl ‘Imrān (Q 3), al-Mā’idah (Q 5), al-Tawbah (Q 9) and al-Ḥadīd (Q 57). The Transgressions of the Rabbis Q 3 and 5 are concerned with, among other matters, the integrity of the prophet Muḥammad’s community of believers. Many of the passages in these two sūrahs seek to integrate Jews and Christians into this community while protecting it from scriptural tampering and theological schism. Q 3:69–103 asserts that “submission to tradition” (islām; cf. Syr. mashlmānūtā) is the true religion, condemns the disobedience (kufr) of the People of the Book (ahl alkitāb) and warns those who believe (alladhīna āmanū) from going down the same 3.  The use of the plural as a means of identifying an institution, culture, or community is a semantic and rhetorical device applied on several occasions to good holy men, like prophets (anbiyāʾ), messengers (rusul), saints (awliyāʾ), sincere ones (siḍḍīqūn) and martyrs (shuhadāʾ). The poets (shuʿarāʾ) are the only class of evil holy men who are identified once in the plural (Q 25:224). Otherwise, ancient as well as false classes of holy men are usually referred to in the singular, e.g., poet (shāʿir; Q 69:41), temple priest (kāhin; Q 69:42), magician (sāḥir; Q 51:52), and instructed or possessed man (muʿallam majnūn; Q 44:14).

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path. Q 3:78 alludes to the clergy as the group (farīq) who distort scripture and knowingly lie about God.4 Q 3:79 then states, It is not [lawful] for any creature that God would bring him the Writings, Law and Prophets (al-kitāb wa’l-ḥukm wa’l-nubuwwah) and then say to the people, “be my servants above God.” To the contrary, be teachers (rabbāniyyūn)5 according to the scripture you used to teach (tuʿallimūn al-kitāb) and according to what you used to interpret (tadrusūn).6

Q 3:78–79 argue that the rabbis in the Qur’ān’s milieu have overstepped the limits of their clerical authority to the point of falsifying scripture and demanding subservience to the authority of their person. The polemic challenges the rabbis to stay true to the juridical nature of their profession, as “interpreters and scholars” of scripture. It is the preservation of scripture and maintenance of the juridical tradition that endows as well as limits their authority. The scripture to be preserved is composed of the three sections of the TANAKH, albeit in atypical sequence—the Writings, the Law and the Prophets (al-kitāb wa’l-ḥukm wa’l-nubuwwah)—which are also cited in Q 6:89.7 The scholarly tradition to be maintained is made up of the Talmud and Midrash: tuʿallimūn is a verbal calque for talmūd and tadrusūn is derived from the same root as midrāsh.8 However, in my view the nuances of Q 3:78–79 compel us to consider this passage alongside the image of Jesus as the true teacher or rabbi in the Syriac Gospels (Syriac rabōnī; Arabic rabbānī). His “teaching” (yulpānā) and words—unlike those of the wicked Pharisees—were “authoritative” (mshaltā; cf. Matt 7:29; Mark 1:22–27; Luke 4:32).

4.  The accusation of “distorting the scriptures” leveled against members of the clergy may be a hermeneutical strategy on the part of the Qur’ān to condemn the latent differences in Bible canons at the time. See Bart Ehrman, Lost Christianities: The Battles for Scripture and the Faiths We Never Knew (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003). Alternatively, the accusation may point to more egregious editorial practices as a result of the Christological controversies. See idem, The Orthodox Corruption of Scripture: The Effect of Early Christological Controversies on the Text of the New Testament (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). 5.  See Abū Muḥammad ‘Abd Allāh b. Muslim b. Qutaybah, Tafsīr gharīb al-qurʾān, ed. Aḥmad Ṣaqr (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘ilmiya, 1978), 143, which glosses rabbāniyyūn as ʿulamāʾ. 6.  See Abū al-Ḥasan al-Wāḥidī, Asbāb nuzūl al-qurʾān, ed. Kamāl Zaghlūl (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1991), 115–116, which sets this passage in a rather fantastic tale involving the Christians of Najran and the Prophet Muḥammad. 7.  Heb. ketūbīm, tōrāh and nebīʾīm, respectively. On the legal dimension of kitāb, see EQ , s.v. “Book” (Daniel Madigan). 8.  The fact that this scholarly tradition is endowed with authority (sulṭān) is confirmed in Q 68:37.

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In a sequence of interrelated passages in Q 5:41–69, God consoles the messenger (Muḥammad), who warns the Jews (al-yahūd, alladhīna hādū) and Christians (al-naṣārā) who have joined his community of believers against heresy and schism. He also commands them to abide by their own Hebrew and Christian Scriptures (al-tawrāt wa’l-injīl ).9 In these passages, rabbis are mentioned twice. The first mention occurs in Q 5:44, after the text argues that the Jews paid lip service to the community of believers when in fact they served different communities. It states: Indeed we have revealed the Hebrew Scripture (al-tawrāt) which contains guidance and light so that the prophets who have submitted may judge by it on behalf of those who accept Judaism (alladhīna hādū), the teachers and the scribes (al-rabbāniyyūn wa’l-aḥbār), according to what they managed to preserve from the scripture of God over which they were witnesses.

As in Q 3:79, so too in Q 5:44 the teachers should be subservient to scripture, which alone commands supreme authority. Hebrew Scripture should be legally binding over the Jewish bodypolitik, including their teachers and rabbis. This brings us to the second reference to teachers in Q 5:61–63. The passage states, And when they [i.e., Jews and Christians] came to you (pl.), they said “we believe,” when in fact they had entered and departed in [a state of] disobedience, and God is most knowledgeable about what they used to conceal. Thus you see many of them racing towards wickedness, offence and their devouring bribes (suḥt).10 Truly evil is what they used to do! If only the teachers and scribes (alrabbāniyyūn wa’l-aḥbār) had prohibited them from speaking their wickedness and devouring bribes. Truly evil is what they used to carry out!

According to this passage, the Jews—from the perspective of the Qur’ān— pose as believers but secretly cause wickedness, offense, and devouring of bribes. The details surrounding these crimes echo Jesus’s invectives against the Pharisees in Matt 12 and 15. The implications of the polemic in Q 5:44, 61–63 underscores the failure of rabbis and scribes to prevent their bodypolitik from committing such crimes. Similarly, Q 62:5 illustrates the failure of rabbinic leaders to “bear the burden of the Torah.”11 They failed to serve as an institution of leadership and, to the contrary, misguided their people. 9.  On the inclusion of Jews, Christians, and other monotheists among the believers, see Fred Donner, Muhammad and the Believers: At the Origins of Islam (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010), 68–74. 10.  Ibn Qutaybah, Tafsīr gharīb al-qurʾān, 143 has rashā (bribery) as a gloss for suḥt, which fits the context of the invectives in the Gospels. 11.  Q 62:5 is in conversation with traditions echoing Gen 49:14, including Tract. Avodah Zarah 5b.

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As in passages from Q 3 and 5, Q 9:30–35 warns the community of believers against the subservience of the Jews (al-yahūd) to their rabbinic leadership—beginning with the figure of Ezra the Scribe (fifth century BCE)—as well as the deification of Christ by the Christians (al-naṣārā). The passage then condemns Jews and Christians: They [i.e., Jews and Christians] have taken their scribes (aḥbārahum) and their priests (ruhbānahum) as lords (arbāban)12 above God and Christ the son of Mary. Yet they were not commanded but to worship one God… Oh you who believe, indeed many of the scribes (al-aḥbār) and priests (al-ruhbān) devour the wealth of people falsely (la-yaʾkulūn amwāl al-nās biʾl-bāṭil) and obstruct [others] from the way of God. For those who hoard gold and silver and do not spend it in the way of God, warn them of an agonizing torment (Q 9:31, 34).13

The main polemic in this passage is directed against the Jews and rabbinic leadership. Q 9:34 criticizes the submission of the Jewish bodypolitik to the will of their “scribes” (aḥbār) and “priests” (ruhbān), over and above the worship of the “one God.” This polemic echoes passages in the Syriac Gospels and Acts of the Apostles. That is to say, the pairing of “scribes and priests” rearticulates the pairing of “scribes and Pharisees” (sāfrē wa prīshē) in Matthew’s Gospel. Also the criticism against submission to the rabbinic authority reflects the words of Peter, “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29). Furthermore, the condemnation of crimes committed by the scribes and Pharisees is in close dialogue with the Syriac language of the Synoptic Gospels, where Jesus condemns the scribes and Pharisees for reveling in the pride of being called “my lord, my lord” (rabī rabī; Matt 23:5–8), for “devouring the households of widows” (āklīn bātē d-armlātā; Mark 12:40; Luke 20:47) and for their greed and hypocrisy in matters of charity (Matt 6:1), all of which condemn them to hell (Matt 23:31–33).14 The Perversion of Early Church Leadership The Qur’ān’s understanding of Christian leadership is more complex than its outright condemnation of rabbinic authority. The early Church is viewed as 12.  Cf. Francois de Blois, “Naṣrānī and Ḥanīf: Studies on the Religious Vocabulary of Christianity and Islam,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 65:1 (2002): 9, n. 49. De Blois traces ruhbān and aḥbār to a Christian context in the Persian sphere. 13.  Like Ibn Qutaybah and others, Wāḥidī, (Asbāb nuzūl al-qurʾān, 249) claims that the ʿulamāʾ and qurrāʾ among the People of the Book accepted bribery. See EI 2, s.v. “Rāhib” (A. J. Wensinck). 14.  On the Qur’ān’s intertextual dialogue with the Gospels, see Emran El-Badawi, The Qur’ān and the Aramaic Gospel Traditions (London: Routledge, 2013).

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fundamentally good. This positive view, however, changes as the early Church comes to be dominated by Gentiles. From the Qur’ān’s perspective—I argue—the spread of the church among Gentiles marks a period of decline and deterioration because the Church stops observing Jewish law, which the Qur’ān considers sacred. This is where the text’s dialogue with the Syriac Acts of the Apostles is most illuminating. We begin by examining Q 5’s warning against the hypocrisy and disloyalty of the Jews and Christians in Muḥammad’s community of believers. Verses 82–85 state: You will surely find the severest of people in enmity to those who believe are the Jews and those who have associated [lords above God; alladhīna ashrakū], and you will surely find the closest of them in friendship to those who believe are those who said, “We are Christians (naṣārā).” This is because among them are elders (qissīsūn)15 and priests (ruhbān),16 and because they are not arrogant. For when they hear what was revealed to the messenger, you see their eyes flowing with tears on account of what truth they have learned. They say, “Lord we believe, so record us among the witnesses (shuhadāʾ)! For why should we not believe in God and what truth has come to us? Thus we desire that our Lord enters us among the apostles (ṣāliḥūn).”17 So God rewarded them on account of what they said with gardens underneath which rivers flow, [dwelling] therein forever. For such is the reward of the strong.18

Unlike the Jews and those who associate lords above God—perhaps Chalcedonian Christians—there is a subset of Christians who are most friendly and faithful to Muḥammad’s community of believers. They are quite possibly Christians who nominally belong to one of the eastern churches, but whose tradition and perhaps even observance of Jewish law go back to the early Church in Jerusalem. The speech act, “we are Christians,” echoes an imagined conversion of pagans to Christianity. Coupled with their inclusion among the “witnesses” (shuhadāʾ) and “apostles” (ṣāliḥūn)—that is, the sāhdē 15.  Abū Bakr ‘Abd Allāh b. Abī Dāwūd al-Sijistānī, Kitāb al-maṣāḥif, ed. Salīm Hilālī (Cairo: al-Farīq al-ḥadītha, 2002), 476 mentions ṣīddīqīn (Zadokites?) as an alternate. 16.  The accusative case of “priests” (ruhbānan) after the partitive “among them” (minhum) is unexpected and does not conform to the rules of classical Arabic grammar. Could this word preserve a Syriacized substratum—rahbānē ? 17.  The Arabic noun ṣāliḥ is generally understood to mean “righteous one” or “pious one.” However, in this context, it is clearly synonymous with, if not derived from, Syriac shlīḥā, “apostle.” 18.  Wāḥidī (Asbāb nuzūl al-qurʾān, 205–207) claims that this passage goes back to the episode between Ja‘far b. Abī Ṭālib (d. 8/629) and his sympathetic Christian hosts in Abyssinia. This claim seems plausible on the surface, but unlikely given the passage’s conversation with Acts.

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and shlīḥē mentioned in Acts (cf. Q 4:69)—this statement echoes that of Peter before the people of Jerusalem, “To this we are witnesses (sāhdē  )” (Acts 3:15; cf. 5:32; 10:39). Among the ranks of these Christians were elders (qissīsūn) and priests (ruhbān), not the evil “elders” (qashīshē) and “priests” (kāhnē) of rabbinic leadership most frequently referenced in the New Testament, but rather the believing “elders” (qashīshē) and “apostles” (shlīḥē ) of the early Church in Jerusalem mentioned in Acts 15–16. The qur’anic representation of this nascent Christian leadership implies that its leaders were not “arrogant,” that is, they did not demand the subservience of the Jewish people. Nor did they demand the reverence of the people at the expense of worshipping the one God (see above). Moreover, once the Christians extolled in this passage “hear what was revealed”—ostensibly to the prophet Muḥammad—they irrevocably join his community of believers and are rewarded by God for their faith. The underlying logic is that the new faith of the Qur’ān is the legitimate heir to the early Church. Among the founders of the early Church in Jerusalem were the disciples Peter and John (Acts 3–4, 8). Among the “prophets and teachers” (nabīyē w-malpānē) sent to help found the Church in Antioch were the disciple Barnabas and the apostle Paul (Acts 13:1). At the Council of Jerusalem (ca. 50 CE) Paul and his growing gentile camp convinced much of the early Church that Gentile converts to Christianity need not be shackled by the authority of Jewish law (Gal 2; Acts 15)—especially with regard to male circumcision. Q 57 gives additional detail concerning the development of the early Church and commentary on the events narrated in Acts. From the qur’anic perspective, Jewish law and scripture are one and the same (cf. discussion below on Q 11:17; 46:12), and Paul’s revolutionary act signaled the demotion of scriptural authority and the inevitable promotion of clerical authority in its place.19 The Church became divided after Paul’s bold move at the Council of Jerusalem. According to the New Testament, God had bestowed upon Peter the “apostleship to the circumcised,” and upon Paul the “apostleship to the Gentiles” (Gal 2:8), who made up the majority of the population outside Judaea. In Acts 20:28, Paul exhorts the Gentile masses as follows: Watch, therefore, over yourselves and all the flock (marʿītā) which the Holy Spirit has entrusted unto you (aqīmkūn) as clergy (episqōpē),20 to care for the church of God (d-tērʿūn l-‘idteh d-alāhā), which he purchased with his blood.

Concerning this episode and the formation of the early Church, Q 57:26–27 states, 19.  On the authority latent in some uses of kitāb, see EQ, s.v. “Book” (Daniel Madigan). 20.  I take the NRSV translation of the Greek term episkopos as “overseer” to be synonymous with clergy in this context.

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Indeed We sent (arsalnā) Noah and Abraham; and we placed in their offspring prophecy and scripture (al-nubuwwah wa’l-kitāb). Some of them are guided but many of them are corrupt. Then We matched (qaffaynā) their followers (ʿalā āthārihim) with our messengers (rusul), and We matched (qaffaynā) them with Jesus the son of Mary, and We gave him the Gospel (al-injīl) and placed in the hearts (qulūb) of those who followed him leniency (raʾfah), mercy (raḥmah) and leadership (rahbāniyyah),21 which they perverted (ibtadaʿūhā) [and which] We did not decree for them (mā katabnāhā ʿalayhim), except [rather] for the desire to please God (ibtighāʾ riḍwān allāh). However, they did not care for it as it should have been cared for (fa-mā raʿawhā ḥaqq riʿāyatihā). Thus We gave to those among them who believed their wage (ajrahum), but many of them are corrupt.22

This passage is in strong dialogue with the “prophets and teachers” in Acts 13:1 and the “shepherd of the Church of God” in Acts 20:28. In the context of Q 57:26, the progeny of Noah and Abraham are the Christians of Antioch. Their “prophecy and scripture” (al-nubuwwah wa’l-kitāb) represent none other than the “prophets and teachers” (nabīyē w-malpānē) of Acts 13:1. That “some of them are guided” echoes the “remnant of Israel” found throughout Hebrew Scripture and Romans 9:27, but refers specifically to the minority of Christians who clung to the scriptural authority that lay at the heart of Jewish law. Thus, the statement “but many of them are corrupt” is likely a denunciation of Paul and his camp who amassed Gentile followers at the expense of Jewish law. Q 57:27 then claims that God “matched” (qaffā) the corruption of the Church in Antioch with the more established and conservative Church in Jerusalem, which was rooted in the teachings of God’s “prophets” (rusul), “Jesus the son of Mary” and “the Gospel.” Furthermore, God “placed in the hearts” of the Christians of Jerusalem “leniency (raʾfah), mercy (raḥmah) and leadership (rahbāniyyah),” which are all innately good (cf. Acts 8:21; 2 Cor 3:3; 4:1).23 21.  The translation of rahbāniyyah as “monastic state” in EI 2, s.v. “Rahbāniyya” (A. J. Wensinck) is correct generally, but imprecise given the passage’s precise conversation with specific passages in the New Testament. 22.  Muslim exegetes do not appear to be aware of the passage’s conversation with Acts. See, for example, Ibn Qutayba, Tafsīr gharīb al-qurʾān, 454–455. Majd al-Dīn Abū Ṭāhir Muḥammad b. Ya‘qūb al-Fayrūzābādī, Tanwīr al-miqbās min tafsīr Ibn ‘Abbās, ed. Yousef Meri, trans. Mokrane Guezzou (Amman: Royal Aal al-Bayt Institute for Islamic Thought, 2007) 652, demonstrates little knowledge of the passage’s conversation with Acts. He speculates that “they built monasteries and cloisters to escape the sedition of Paul, the Jew.” 23.  Classical exegetes—including Muqātil b. Sulaymān, Tafsīr Muqātil b. Sulaymān, ed. Aḥmad Farīd, 3 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-kutub al-‘ilmiyyah, 2003), 3:327—and modern translators incorrectly truncate the alliterated tripartite list—raʾfah wa raḥmah wa rahbāniyyah—so as to exclude the latter as a purely human contrivance. However,

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In fact, the clergy of the early Church was established out of the “desire to please God” (ibtighāʾ riḍwān allāh). However, this “leadership” (rahbāniyyah) eventually became “perverted” (ibtadaʿ) after the Council of Jerusalem in which many leaders of the early Church conceded to Paul’s abandonment of Jewish law and to his growing Gentile flock. For this new (perverted) Church, expanding its membership to the Gentile majority was more important than adhering to Jewish law. In this context, ibtidāʿ should be understood as “perversion,” that is, transforming or rejecting the spirit of Jewish law, rather than simply “innovation.” The “leadership” of the early Church (rahbāniyyah) in Q 57:27 is synonymous with the “clergy” (episqōpē) in Acts 20:28. From the qur’anic perspective, the Church was taken over by Paul and his camp and was, therefore, “corrupt.” Moreover, efforts by Paul’s camp to “watch over” their “flock” (marʿītā) and to “care for the church of God” (d-tērʿūn l-ʿidteh d-alāhā) in Acts 20:28 have failed. This is precisely what is meant by the statement, “they did not care for it as it should have been cared for” (mā raʿawhā ḥaqq riʿāyatihā; Q 57:27), where the Arabic verb raʿaw and the Aramaic noun marʿītā and verb tērʿūn are all derived from the root r-ʿ-y, meaning to tend to, care for, or feed a flock.24 The concluding remark of Q 57:27 assures us that God paid a believing minority of the clergy their wages for fulfilling their role as shepherds (e.g., Gen 31:41), but insists that—once again—the majority are corrupt (cf. Q 5:81; 57:16; Rev 2:23–24). In sum, the Qur’ān condemns the early Church only after it had stripped itself of its commitment to Jewish law. This Jewish-Christian sensibility, furthermore, has its origins in the Council of Jerusalem and—before that—the debate between the Churches in Jerusalem and Antioch. Renewing the Authority of Scripture in the Jewish-Christian Context In this chapter I have argued that the qur’anic condemnation of rabbinic leadership is in conversation with the invectives directed by Jesus towards this reading is incomplete. For God placed all three items in the hearts of Jesus’s followers, the last of which, rahbāniyyah, was innately good but later perverted. The term rahbāniyyah in the Qur’ān should be understood as fulfilling the same function as the saintly leadership (imāma) or clerical institutions (mashyakha) of later Islamic times. 24.  Robert Payne-Smith, A Compendious Syriac Dictionary (Oxford: Clarendon, 1903), 545–546. The same terminology and spirit are employed in the ḥadīth ascribed to Muḥammad: “Beware! Every one of you is a shepherd; and every shepherd is responsible for his flock,” Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī (Beirut: Dār al-fikr, 1997), 20:4496. See also Beeston, Dictionnaire sabéen, 113.

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the Pharisees in the Syriac Gospels, and that the Qur’ān considers the early Church’s relinquishing of Jewish law and the Church’s spread among the Gentiles to be a process of decline and corruption. This qur’anic perspective on Church history builds upon the Syriac Acts of the Apostles. Taken together, these arguments have several implications for the study of the Qur’ān and its late antique milieu. Despite the Qur’ān’s generally negative assessment of the clergy, it is not in principle against them as an institution; rather, the Qur’ān condemns the perpetual misconduct of its leaders—for example, arrogance, hoarding of wealth, and neglecting its promises. Clerical authority is by nature prone to the abusive whims of the human beings who make up the body of the clergy. The misuse of clerical authority, according to the Qur’ān, justifies a return to scriptural authority. In other words, the authority to lead the community should no longer remain vested in holy men, but rather in holy books. This is why the Qur’ān posits Jewish law, first, and itself, second, as the only source of guidance for the community. First, Q 11:17; 46:12 declares that prior to the Qur’ān, the “Law of Moses” (kitāb mūsā) was a “leader and mercy” (imāman wa raḥmatan), where imām means “leader” (subsequently it came to signify an Islamic clergyman).25 Second, Q 13:37 declares that the Qur’ān is an “Arabic Law” (ḥukm ʿarabī), implying that it is a compliment to, or substitution for, earlier Jewish law (cf. Q 5:44–47).26 It follows that the clergy should obtain their authority to lead the community through the study of scripture—that is, Talmud and Midrash. This qur’anic appeal to scholarly and juridical practice may, in part, explain why law (fiqh) flourished in the second/eighth century Near East as the earliest and most quintessential Islamic science.27 This, however, is a discussion for another day. There are further implications concerning clerical authority in the Qur’ān and its relationship to Jewish-Christianity. Consider that the qur’anic term ruhbān generally refers to priests or members of a clergy. Hence, rahbāniyyah in Q 57:27 means “clergy” in general. But when ruhbān is appended to rabbāniyyūn or aḥbār, it refers to rabbinic authority; and when it is appended to qissīsūn it refers to the early Church and its leadership in Jerusalem (see above). The use of ruhbān to refer to the clergy of both Judaism and Christianity suggests that clergy in those two religious communities served the same clerical function. This terminology appears to be a relic from a time and place where the 25.  On the intersection of imām and kitāb, see EQ, s.v. Book (Daniel Madigan). 26.  On religious authority in the qur’anic use of ḥukm (lit. “judgment”), see EQ, s.v. Authority (Wadad Kadi). 27.  See, generally, Arthur Vööbus, Important New Manuscript Sources for the Islamic Law in Syriac: Contributions to the History of Jurisprudence in the Syrian Orient (Stockholm: ETSE, 1975); Ahmed El-Shamsy, The Canonization of Islamic Law: A Social and Intellectual History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).

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clerical authority of Jewish rabbis and Christian priests were one and the same. Among Christians in the Qur’ān’s milieu, the “good naṣārā,” who were a minority, were the ones who kept Jewish law. This may be a reference to the earliest generation of Christians, or “Jewish-Christians.” “Bad naṣārā” did not keep Jewish law. This idea, and the strong dialogue between Q 57:26–27 and Acts 13:1; 20:28, implies that the Church experienced a golden age until it was taken over by the Gentile bodypolitik of the Roman Empire and divided by the Christological controversies that make Christ God (Q 5:17, 72–75).28 For early Christians, the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles remained the link to Jesus and the first bishops of Jerusalem. Between 135 CE and the first articulations of the Qur’ān ca. 610, the clerical authority of Jewish law was “interpreted and studied” (cf. Q 3:79) both outside of Jerusalem and outside the Talmudic and Midrashic traditions. Before the legal insights of Jacob bar Addai (d. 578), Babai the Great (d. 628) and other renowned authors of the Syriac-speaking Churches, anonymous “scholars and jurists” between the second and fifth centuries CE authored or translated Syriac texts like the Didache, Didascalia and Pseudo-Clementine literature. These texts were foundational for the development of religious laws among Arabic-speaking Christians and within the Qur’ān’s milieu.29 This brief explanation does not do justice to the complex relationships between the Arabic Qur’ān and the world of late antique Syriac literature. My aim, rather, is to demonstrate that the legal sensibilities of the Qur’ān are mediated—not through secretive Christian origins or heretical influences—but rather through a well-developed network that emphasized the authority of scripture, the “interpretation” of its verses and the “study” of its laws.

28.  See Richard Rubenstein, When Jesus Became God: The Epic Fight over Christ’s Divinity in the Last Days of Rome (New York: Harcourt Brace & Co., 1999); cf. Phillip Wood, We Have No King but Christ: Christian Political Thought in Greater Syria on the Eve of the Arab Conquest (c.400–585) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 173, who describes the activity of Syriac-speaking Churches as “mob politics.” 29.  See Holger Zellentin, The Qur’ān’s Legal Culture: The Didascalia Apostolorum as a Point of Departure (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 13–27. Similar to Did. 26, the community in Q 4:28 and Q 5:110 believes that Jewish law should be lightened but not abolished.

A Qur’anic Theodicy: Moses in the Sūrat al-Kahf (Q 18)

DAVID PENCHANSKY

Sūrat al-kahf contains two connected stories whose protagonist is Moses. This complex of stories (Q 18:60–82) comprises about one-fifth of the sūrah. Moses as depicted here has little to do with the Moses who led the Israelites in biblical stories. Although Moses is mentioned frequently elsewhere in the Qur’ān, the stories in sūrat al-kahf have no parallel. In the first of these stories, Moses and his servant are on a quest for the junction of the two seas (majmaʿ al-baḥrayn). In the second, Moses becomes the student of a mysterious, Godimbued stranger; they travel together, with disturbing results.1 I here summarize the two stories and offer my interpretation. The First Story In the first story, Moses and his servant travel on a quest for the junction between the two seas. He will not stop, he says, until he finds it. “The junction of the two seas” (Q 18:60) represents an in-between place where heaven and earth meet.2 Some older commentators have identified it with a real place 1.  Brannon M. Wheeler notes, “Newby identifies three different ‘Moseses’ in the comments reported to have been collected by Ibn Isḥāq.” See Brannon M. Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82? Reexamining Arent Jan Wensinck’s Theory,” Journal of the American Oriental Society 118:2 (1998): 155. 2.  Wheeler states, “By locating the ‘meeting place of the two waters’ at the edges of the Earth, the exegetes are identifying it with the Garden of Eden also thought to 95

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where a great river empties into a sea, perhaps the Nile into the Mediterranean.3 But the Arabic word for “sea” differs from “river.” Everything in the narrative points to a mythic setting, not a “real” geographic space. Wheeler suggests, “Moses’s quest for the meeting place of the two waters is a journey to the water of life flowing out of the Garden of Eden at the ends of the earth.”4 In the mythic interpretation of the junction, Moses finds himself in a place where anything can happen. The two figures reach this junction, but they continue, not realizing or recognizing that they have arrived at their destination. However, while there, “they forgot their fish,” and it swam away. Although in v. 61 the narrator says, “they forgot the fish,” in v. 63 Moses’s servant confesses, “I forgot the fish.” Yet, if the servant’s story is correct, no one forgot the fish. Rather, the servant lost the fish, watching it as it swam away. A bit later, Moses asks the servant to prepare a meal. Presumably, he expects that they will eat the fish they have taken on their journey. At that point, the servant confesses that he forgot the fish and that it swam away. Satan made him forget to tell Moses, he says. “This is what we were seeking…” (Q 18:64), Moses exclaims when he realizes that they have reached and passed their destination. They turn around and return to that magical place. The junction of the two seas is a liminal place where Moses expects to meet his heart’s desire. However, in v. 61 (the second verse of the narrative), when they reach the junction, they remain unaware of their arrival at the place. The narrator announces: “When they reached the junction…” (Q 18:61), thus informing the reader of their arrival. The sūrah continues, “So when they had passed beyond (that place)…” (18:62).5 Whatever signs Moses expected, he missed them on his first pass. Moses inadvertently passes by the destination of his quest, and then returns. This narrative movement underscores the sign, the revived fish, and links it to the place, the junction between the seas. The next few events, vitally important, are related in fragments, some of them out of order. In v. 62, the two travelers leave the junction (still not recognizing it), and they “forgot their fish.” The fish intended for their meal was certainly dead. It might have happened like this: When they reached the junction of the two seas, which was their destination, by some mishap the fish, intended as their meal, fell into the water, came to life, and swam away. Wheeler notes, “[T]he resurrection of the fish when it touched the water of

be located in either the far west or far east.” See Brannon M. Wheeler, Moses in the Qur’an and Islamic Exegesis (London: Routledge, 2002), 30. 3.  Gabriel Said Reynolds, The Qur’an and the Bible: Text and Commentary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2018), 464. 4.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?,” 170. 5.  When the servant refers to the place, he refers to it as “the rock,” al-ṣakhrah (v. 63), not “the junction.”

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life, [was] intended as a sign to Moses that he had reached the meeting place of the two waters.”6 Astonished by what he has seen, the servant keeps the incident from Moses. The servant knows that they have left without their meal, but Moses does not. Most commentators conclude that the fish miraculously revived and swam away. The servant declared it “an amazing thing,” (ʿajaban). A live fish swimming away would not have been amazing. Amazing is a dead fish that comes back to life.7 Later Islamic tradition fills in some details. One interpretation, quoted in Schwarzbaum, imagines the story as follows: “Their fish, however, suddenly stirred and leapt from the basket into the sea, “taking its way into the sea with a free course” (18:60). Allah withheld the running water from the fish, and the latter glided upon the surface of the sea erected like a vault.”8 This reading identifies the term saraban or “swimming off” (in the Droge translation) as the miracle that occurred when the live fish discovered a supernatural passageway between the two seas.9 The interpretation reported by Schwarzbaum differs from the traditional one. In the traditional reading, the fish comes back to life. In this other reading, a miracle occurs when the living fish escapes. In v. 63 the servant confesses to Moses that he forgot the fish. “Did you see when we took refuge at the rock? Surely I forgot the fish….” He describes the behavior of the fish using the same words as the narrator in v. 61: “[I]t took its way in the sea.” The same language also appears in Q 18:63. The servant then adds a final comment: “Amazing!,” “A marvel!” (ʿajaban) Moses’s reaction surely surprised the servant. Instead of scolding him for forgetting their food, Moses declared, “This is what we were seeking” (Q 18:64). They do not eat, but instead break camp and retrace their steps. What did Moses mean when he said, “This is what we were seeking?” Some detail in the servant’s account led Moses to conclude that “this is what we were seeking.” Only when Moses hears that the dead fish came to life and swam away, does he become convinced of the place’s identity. Schwarzbaum explains Moses’s motivation by referring to the second story: “Allah had informed Moses beforehand that the revival of the roasted fish would point out Khiḍr’s abode.”10 That is why they retraced their steps. In the beginning of 6.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?,” 163. 7.  Bukhāri suggests that the fish had always been alive, in some kind of bucket, and the “marvel” was the manner of its escape. I find the argument unpersuasive. See Haim Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” Fabula: Zeitschrift fūr Erzӓhlforschung 3 (1959): 149–150. 8.  Ibid., 151. 9.  Ibid. 10.  Khiḍr was the Stranger’s name in subsequent traditions. See below for a fuller treatment of this name (Khiḍr) in the later traditions that build upon the Qur’ān. Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 154.

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the first narrative, Moses describes the desired place. He announces that he will never stop until he reaches it. Now Moses declares that this site is in fact the fabled “junction between the two seas” (Q 18:60). However, the reader still does not know what Moses expects to find there, or how he learned of its existence. Later traditions add details to explain how the resurrected fish signaled to Moses that they had reached the desired location. This first qur’anic story lacks an ending. The reader does not learn what transpired when Moses and his servant return to the fabled place. Rather, the narrative ends here. Moses sought the waters that impart immortality. The revived fish convinces Moses that he has found its location. Parallel narratives in Jewish and Christian sources also mention a traveler with a servant who seeks a source of magical water that gives life. Many of these cognate stories include a dead fish that the water brings back to life, as in Sūrat al-Kahf. Most of the scholarly debate on this passage focuses upon the relationship between the qur’anic tale and possibly older, non-Islamic stories. The qur’anic passage assumes that the reader already knows the story. That is why the second story (see below) lacks a beginning, which, had it existed, would have more fully defined Moses’s quest for wisdom, a major concern of the second story. Also, as mentioned, the first story lacks an ending. These variant narratives from Jewish and Christian sources are too similar to the first story (Q 18:60–64) for their common details to be a coincidence. However, I will not endeavor to determine which version is the Urtext or to determine the direction of influence. Suffice it to say that the priority of the Jewish or Christian stories claimed by many Western scholars has never been conclusively established. Be that as it may, non-Islamic narratives contain details that the qur’anic version does not have. Their collective witness confirms that, in the qur’anic narrative, Moses was seeking water that confers eternal life. Many of the other stories refer explicitly to the water’s magical powers. That is why, when Moses hears about a dead fish coming back to life, he knows that he has found the source. Each of the protagonists in these stories—Jewish, Christian, and Islamic—witnesses a fish immersed in magical waters that comes back to life. This detail is mentioned in a traditional interpretation of the qur’anic account, as noted by Wheeler: “The cook washes a salted fish in the water source at which point the fish escapes into the water, but the cook does not tell anyone about the fish.”11 In the Hellenistic Greek tradition, Alexander the Great is the protagonist, whereas in Rabbinic sources, it is Elijah the prophet who seeks the life-giving water. Many contemporary scholars compare the qur’anic story to a tale about Rabbi Akiba that dates from the eleventh century CE.12 It is often spec11.  Wheeler, Moses in the Qur’an and Islamic Exegesis, 12. 12.  Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 125, 128, 140.

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ulated that these narratives are variants of much earlier traditions, no longer extant. However, Julian Obermann counters that these Jewish and Christian works are expansions of Q 18: “Particularly influential are two Elijah narratives in Arabic adaption, by a North African Jewish authority of the eleventh century—the renowned Nissīm ibn Shāhīn of Cairo.”13 Ibn Shāhīn wrote an expanded version of the Moses narrative that influenced both Islamic and Jewish commentaries.14 According to Wheeler, Ibn Shāhīn’s version is the most detailed of the cognate stories that retell the narrative of Q 18:60–82. Thus, the qur’anic narrative thay underlies Ibn Shāhīn’s expansion is likely earlier than the other narratives. No manuscript of this expanded version of the story dates before the eleventh century CE.15 The details of Ibn Shāhīn’s legend about Joshua and Elijah derive from early commentaries on Q 18:65–82, according to Wheeler.16 It is impossible to determine which of the accounts preceded and influenced the others. Even so, in the other sources, the water at the junction of the two seas imparted life. It is therefore reasonable to conclude that in the qur’anic version too, Moses sought the life-giving waters for their regenerative properties. As Michael Pregill observes, “the long-established scholarly view that the story of Moses and the anonymous servant of God in sūrah 18 of the Qur’ān is derived from postbiblical Jewish sources is based on an almost willfully irresponsible reading of the evidence.”17 A comparison of these stories suggests that the qur’anic version likely did not depend on the earlier Jewish and Christian versions. I agree with Wheeler that the Jewish and Christian narratives are variants of the qur’anic narrative (or some earlier narrative no longer extant). All the alternate versions of the story, Jewish, Christian, and Islamic, recognize that the miracle in the story is the revival of the fish. Wheeler and some other contemporary qur’anic scholars offer an alternate version in which the miracle begins with a fish that is alive. The manner in which the fish escapes constitutes the miracle. Wheeler seems to prefer the alternative version, that is, that the fish escapes, not in the water, but through a magical pathway: Given the information in the Quran alone, it is uncertain that the fish in 18:61 was dead and escaped by being brought back to life in the water of life… In

13.  Julian Obermann, “Two Elijah Stories in Judea-Arabic Transmission,” Hebrew Union College Annual 23:1 (1950): 388. 14.  Ibid., 389. 15.  Ibid., 400. 16.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?” 153; idem, Moses in the Qur’an and Islamic Exegesis, 20. 17.  Michael E. Pregill, “The Hebrew Bible and the Quran: The Problem of the Jewish ‘Influence’ on Islam,” Religion Compass 10 (2007): 13.

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neither case is there an indication, first, that the fish was dead and, second, that if it were dead its escape was due to its contact with the water of life… there is no indication in vss. 61 and 63 that this resurrection took place on account of the fish coming into contact with the water of life.18

As Wheeler correctly asserts, the Qur’ān does not make explicit the connection between the fish and the water. However, Moses says after he learns of the fish, “that is what we were seeking.” The water of life was his goal. The servant reveals that they have indeed found the water that restores the dead to life. The Junction between the Two Stories The story as it stands leaves one stranded.19 The reader never finds out what happens to Moses and his servant at the junction between the seas. The desire for closure makes the reader want to continue the narrative by means of the second story. Bukhārī (d. 256/870) ties the two together in a smooth and detailed narrative.20 In his account, God informs Moses that he will find the person he seeks at a place where he loses his fish.21 Bukhārī adds details not found in Q 18. Schwarzbaum observes, “Verse 64 of the Koranic text… forms a sort of “bridge” or junction linking together the story of Moses, his page Joshua and the forgotten revived fish….”22 The brief account of Moses and the fish in the Qur’ān contains no such message from God directing him to the junction. The first story about a quest is then joined to what follows. This connection tightens because the second story in the Qur’ān begins precisely when the first story ends. Moses meets “one of [God’s] slaves” (Q 18:65). In early post-qur’anic tradition, this slave is called khiḍr. Schwarzbaum notes, “Even the earliest Moslem exegesis identified this unnamed ʿabd [slave] with the ‘Green Prophet’ khaḍir or khiḍr. The earliest Islamic records containing this identification date back to the end of the first century of the Hijra.”23 18.  Wheeler, Moses in the Qur’an and Islamic Exegesis, 13. Perhaps he thereby seeks to argue the originality of the qur’anic version. 19.  I use “junction” to describe the place in the narrative that marks the transition from the first story to the second. The seam that separates the two stories occurs when they arrive at the junction between the seas. The narrative junction between the two stories corresponds to this spatial junction. 20.  Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 149, n. 156. 21.  Ibid., 132, 149–150. 22.  Ibid., 132. Joshua, Moses’s successor in the Hebrew Bible, takes the servant’s role. 23.  Ibid. See also Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?” 153.

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The first story lacks an ending, leaving the reader eager for an answer to the many questions it raises. Immediately (Q 18:66), the second story mentions the same named protagonist, Moses. The reader readily connects the ending of the first story to the beginning of the second. The now longer, combined story continues, and closure is deferred until the end of the second story. There is no specific connection between the stories save for the use of the name Moses. Moses’s servant, the figure who loses the fish in the first story, makes a brief appearance in the second story.24 The two return to the junction and encounter the enigmatic figure. Verse 65 states, “they found a servant (ʿibād min ʿibādinā). Then Moses’s servant (called “young man”) disappears. Other than the name “Moses,” this brief appearance of Moses’s young companion provides the only connection between the two stories. It is the reader who must forge the connection between the two stories. The basic elements with which the interpreters link the two are: (1) Moses searches for the junction between the two seas; and (2) at the junction, he finds the Stranger. In Islamic texts written in the eighth century CE, one finds traces of a dispute over the identity of the qur’anic ʿabd.25 Wheeler notes that the qur’anic narrative is “ambiguous about the identity of the servant of God and whether Moses intended to meet this servant at the meeting place of the two waters.”26 A tradition attributed to Ubayy b. Kaʿb (d. 30/649) explains the origin of the quest, and why it is fulfilled when Moses encounters the Stranger. In this narrative (as summarized by Wheeler): Moses rises to address the Children of Israel and someone asks him who is the most learned among them. Some have imagined that Moses believed that he was the wisest human, and so God sent him after a human wiser than he.27

When Moses answers that he himself is the wisest person in his community, God reveals that one yet more learned awaits him at the confluence of the two seas.28 The Second Story Moses meets “ʿibād min ʿibādinā” who was “given mercy by us” and “taught knowledge by us” (Q 18:65). It is difficult to translate the word ʿabd here. I first considered a directly equivalent word, “a slave.” However, what does 24.  Moses’s companion, the one who cares for him, is called fata, literally “young man.” The most common word for an individual fulfilling this role is ʿabd or “servant.” However, ʿabd is used to describe the second individual, whom I call “the Stranger.” 25.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?,” 149. 26.  Ibid., 164. 27.  Ibid., 154. 28.  EQ, s.v.“Khaḍir/khiḍr” (J. Renard), 81.

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ʿabd mean in this context? It does not signify a person who is owned or has been enslaved. Nor does it signify a pious individual, a good Muslim, one who submits to God. Rather it refers to an elite class of God’s servants, whether human or angelic, who have a unique relationship of service to God. The narrator informs the reader of this by Moses’s reaction to the Stranger, the Stranger’s far-reaching knowledge, and his claims for himself. The designation does not demean the figure, as “slave” might in other contexts. Neither is it a term that by itself conveys or suggests authority. Yet, the figure of the Stranger wields authority. Moses immediately recognizes this authority and asks to become his student: “May I follow you so that you teach me some of what you have been taught (of) right (knowledge)?” (Q 18:66). Although the Arabic word ʿabd and the English word “slave” have much in common, “slave” does not fully describe this figure. The common postqur’anic traditions call him khiḍr, which signifies “green man.” This name suggests that the Stranger has a supernatural, mythic quality. The color green evokes growth and life, connecting him with the fountain of immortality. However, these associations are not explicit in the sūrah itself. By calling this enigmatic figure “the Stranger,” I retain his mysterious nature and distance him from the sense of service conveyed by the word itself. Moses clearly knew or recognized some divine quality about him. Calling him “the Stranger,” then, captures the ambiguity of his identity. Here and elsewhere in the Qur’ān, God is the primary narrator, identified by the first-person plural, “we,” “our,” “us.” The narrator informs the reader that He has taught this unknown person many things. Upon encountering him, Moses wants the Stranger to initiate him into these mysteries. “Moses said to him, ‘May I follow you so that you teach me some of what you have been taught (of) right knowledge’” (Q 18:66). The Stranger tries to discourage him, saying, first, that Moses will have no patience for the task: “How could you have patience for what your mind cannot comprehend?” (Q 18:68). Moses swears that he will be patient and fully obedient. He says, “You will find me, if God pleases, patient, and I shall not disobey you in any command” (Q 18:69). The Stranger accepts Moses’s companionship, albeit with one stipulation—that Moses ask him no questions.29 “If you follow (me), do not ask me about anything, until I mention it to you” (Q 18:70). Moses readily agrees, and they begin their journey. The second story mentions three episodes in which the Stranger acts in a manner that is inexplicable and disturbing. In each episode, Moses reacts, breaking his silence and violating the terms of his discipleship. Each episode

29.  Schwarzbaum identifies an ancient folk motif in which the postulant is commanded not to ask any questions. See Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 134, 163.

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is introduced by the statement, “so they both set out until… .” Schwarzbaum characterizes the incidents as the three “atrocities.”30 In the first episode, Moses and the Stranger take passage on a ship. The Stranger sinks or attempts to sink the ship while they are on it. “What are you doing?” Moses cries out. “Are you trying to drown us all?” (Q 18:71). The Stranger responds, “I told you that you could not be patient” (Q 18:72). Moses begs for another chance: “He says, ‘Do not take me to task for what I forgot, and do not burden me (with) hardship in my affair’” (Q 18:73). There is some dispute over whether the ship was sunk or just damaged; and over whether it would be readily recoverable by the poor family that owned it. Most interpreters, past and present, make a case for reduced, recoverable damage, no doubt to defend the reasonableness and rationality of the Stranger’s actions. However, the text specifies that the Stranger tried to sink the ship and to drown the passengers. Moses thinks that the Stranger intends to destroy the ship. The hypothesis of a recoverable ship is counter-intuitive. Its advocates want to portray the Stranger in a positive light and, further, they recognize that the Stranger represents God, whose reputation they want to protect. The two travelers move on. Next, they encounter a young boy. “So they both set out (and continued on), until, when they met a young boy, he killed him” (Q 18:74a). Moses explodes in rage (Q 18:74b), “You have killed an innocent! You have done a terrible thing!” The Stranger ignores the accusation. In response, he addresses Moses, repeating the same formula as before: “I told you that you could not be patient” (Q 18:76). A contrite and humbled Moses begs for one more chance: “He says, ‘If I ask you about anything after this, abandon me. You have had enough excuses from me’” (Q 18:76). Note the change of tone compared to v. 73. Moses’s arrogance melts away and he becomes a supplicant. Moses and the Stranger continue their journey. They enter a village whose inhabitants refuse to receive them. The Stranger finds a broken wall in the town and repairs it. Incensed at this apparent display of generosity offered to a selfish and inhospitable people, Moses says, “At least you could have charged them for fixing their wall” (Q 18:77). The Stranger gives Moses no more chances. He separates from him, finally and decisively. He says: “This is the parting between me and you” (Q 18:78). However, before he abandons Moses, the Stranger explains each of the three actions that had upset the Israelite. These exchanges between the Stranger and Moses follow a three-fold ritualized pattern characteristic of folktales. Three times the Stranger violates Moses’s sense of what is right. Three times Moses protests, first about the destruction of the ship, second, about the murder of the child, and third, about the repair of the wall. And two times the Stranger forgives his lapse. The third time is the key. The third 30.  Ibid., 133.

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response is different, thus drawing attention to itself. It emphasizes the deep chasm between Moses and the Stranger. These three explanations get to the heart of the story. Along with Moses, the reader has been waiting for someone to make sense of what has happened. What the Stranger says to justify his behavior produces the theological content of the passage. The Stranger’s Explanations for His Behavior First, concerning the sinking of the ship: The Stranger explains that the ship belonged to an impoverished family that made its living on the sea. He intended to sink it to keep it out of the hands of an evil king: “As for the ship, it belonged to poor people working on the sea, and I wanted to damage it, (because) behind them (there) was a king seizing every ship by force” (Q 18:79). Second, the Stranger explains that he killed the child because he feared that he would become a burden on his believing parents: As for the young boy, his parents were believers, and we feared that he would burden them both (with) insolent transgression and disbelief. We wanted their Lord to give to them both in exchange (one) better than him in purity and closer (to them) in affection. (Q 18:80–81)

God would give them a better child to replace the insolent one. According to Ṭabarī (d. 923/310), “This boy is described as exceedingly handsome, rich and lovely. His parents rejoiced when he was born and grieved over his death. Had he remained alive, he would have caused their annihilation.”31 As for the third episode, the Stranger explains that he fixed the wall to benefit two orphan brothers. Their father had hidden a treasure in the wall. After he died, the wall had fallen into disrepair. By repairing the wall, the Stranger prevented the wrong people from discovering the treasure prematurely. It would remain undisturbed until the two boys came of age. As the Stranger separates from Moses, he spits out a parting insult: “That is the interpretation (of) what you were not able (to have) patience with” (Q 18:82). There the story ends. Conclusion The “Moses” section of Sūrat al-kahf has two stories. As mentioned, the ambiguous transition between the two leads the reader to combine them and to treat them as a single tale. To do that, however, the reader must fill in narrative gaps. In the reader’s mind, Moses’s quest for the water of life is transformed into a quest for divine wisdom. At base, however, the two Mo31.  Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 153.

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ses narratives are two distinct stories, each with its own narrative arc. The second story, consisting of seventeen verses (Q 18:65–82), subsumes the first, which has five verses (Q 18:60–64). The first story originally had a function or meaning of its own. However, in its present location, the first story serves to introduce the second. The details of the first story, a quest for the water of eternal life, resemble the details in cognate Mediterranean stories. In the Qur’ān, these details serve to introduce Moses as a diligent seeker, and they situate him in a magical place where anything can happen. What happens is that he meets the Stranger, who imparts wisdom. The Stranger, who appears only in the second story, is an ambiguous figure who has been taught by God. By itself, this would make him a righteous and holy person. However, he also carries an air of divine authority. Indeed, later narratives identify him as a “quasi-divine being.”32 In Q 18, he is unnamed. God has shown him divine mercy and has taught him divine knowledge. The Stranger acts on God’s behalf. He claims a divine mandate for each of his actions. When he explains why he killed the child, he speaks with God’s voice “As for the young boy, his parents were believers, and we feared that he would burden them both…” (Q 18:80). As noted, the use of first person plural (“we”) is characteristic of speech attributed to God in the Qur’ān. In contrast, shortly afterward, the Stranger refers to God as “our Lord.” Even where the Stranger’s speech makes a clear distinction between himself and God, what the Stranger does, he declares, is what the Lord wanted: “Your Lord wanted them [viz., the two brothers] both to reach their maturity and bring forth their treasure as a mercy from your Lord…” (Q 18:82). Further examples are: “We feared…” (Q 18:80); “We wanted their Lord…” (Q 18:81). The narrator’s attribution of divine mercy and divine knowledge to the Stranger signals that his decisions are divinely guided: The Stranger insists, “I did not do it on my (own) command” (Q 18:82). In summary, the Stranger acts on God’s behalf and as God’s representative. The words describing the Stranger deliberately make ambiguous the relationship between him and God. This blurring allows the Qur’ān to speak indirectly about God, using this intermediary figure as a proxy. In this way, the Qur’ān addresses a subject that would be disturbing if it was explicitly about God. The Stranger stands for God, and his troubling and inexplicable actions serve as a commentary on the tragic and inexplicable events of life. He articulates how God defends his governance of the universe. The first Moses story in Q 18 offers a different explanation for why bad things happen. The servant in the first story blames Satan when he forgets their fish (Q 18:63), thereby articulating a dualistic theodicy in which a bad supernatural being, Satan, is responsible for bad things. Only good, then, comes from God. However, in the second story, this intermediate figure, the 32.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?” 163–164.

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Stranger, does evil, inexplicable things. Thus, the sūrah suggests that God, not Satan, may be behind such events. If one holds God responsible, the result is a different, more transgressive theodicy, more akin to that in the books of Job and Ecclesiastes in the Hebrew Bible.33 The Stranger suggests that behind every inexplicable event, whether disaster (as in the first two stories) or the benevolence of a windfall, (as in the third), God’s reasons remain hidden. Schwarzbaum sees a pattern in how these incidents conclude: “the Koranic notion of an apparently unjust or queer act which turns out to be of benefit to the righteous.”34 If one knows the reasons for God’s actions, one can make sense of the chaos and seeming randomness of life’s events. The Stranger (= God) sinks the ship to thwart an evil king’s designs. He murders the child as a mercy to his parents. He hides the treasure to protect the assets of the two orphan brothers. It is possible, however, that the Stranger does the orphans no favor by keeping the money out of their hands. Perhaps they need the money at that moment and not years afterwards. In that case, the third episode conforms to the pattern in which the Stranger seems to inflict harm. Unfortunately, neither Moses nor the people affected can see the divine hand at work in these two episodes. The family that owns the ship is not aware of the evil king who steals ships. The parents do not know that their child will bring them grief. And the orphan brothers are ignorant about the treasure, hidden for their own good. The second story defends God’s governance of the world, in other words, it is a theodicy. Wheeler recognizes that the story of Moses and the Stranger has traditionally been understood as a kind of theodicy. As he notes, “The story is usually understood as a vindication of God’s justice, and an indictment of the human claim to divine knowledge.”35 But he sees the “problem of evil” as a later concern of the Islamic community, appearing in later exegesis and not in Q 18. He notes: “The notion that Q 18:65–82 is about theodicy is not clear from the Qur’ān itself.”36 I disagree. In my view, theodicy is an intrinsic concern of the narrative. The reason that Wheeler does not believe the story is a theodicy is because he denies the strong connection between the Stranger and God: [I]t is not obvious from the Qur’ān that Moses is questioning God’s justice, but rather the actions of the unnamed character.… Likewise, it is not clear from

33.  Similarly: “I take refuge with the Lord of the daybreak, from the evil of what He has created” (Q 113:2). The Book of Isaiah says, “I form light and create darkness,/  I make weal and create woe;/  I the LORD do all these things” (Isa 45:7). 34.  Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 148. 35.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?,” 153. 36.  Ibid. See also idem, Moses in the Qur’an and Islamic Exegesis, 34.

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Q 18:65 that the “servant of God” Moses encounters is supposed to be divine or a divine representative.37

Because Wheeler sees no connection between the Stranger and God, the behavior of the Stranger and the explanations that he offers do not in any way reflect upon God. Earlier in the same article, however, Wheeler himself refers to the qur’anic version as a theodicy: “There is no evidence to make the theodicy story [emphasis added] of Q 18:65–82 depend on a particular Jewish or Christian source.”38 God causes innocent people to suffer for a reason, although the reason is not apparent. This assertion, along with the Stranger’s command that Moses not ask any questions, defends the theodicy against any challenge. By forbidding questions, God silences any conceivable objection that an individual might raise regarding life’s unfairness. There is always a reason for suffering. This formulation of theodicy vindicates God and promises happiness to all who trust in His goodness and power. However, Moses’s questions remain. These questions, however valid and compelling, are prohibited. The Stranger demands patience and silence from Moses, and above all, not to question. One cannot know whether the Stranger’s explanation satisfies Moses, because Moses is silent at the end of the second story. First, he is silenced by the prohibition of questions. Then, when he breaks down and asks the questions, the Stranger responds, not with answers but with formulaic statements. These statements (“How can you comprehend…?” “You do not have the patience…”) diminish Moses, while at the same time evading his questions and objections. At the end, the Stranger peremptorily dismisses Moses from his presence before he has a chance to respond, had he wished to do so. At this point, the narrator closes the story, leaving Moses hapless, standing, abandoned by the divine agent who would have taught him wisdom. The Stranger gets the last word. One might have expected that the Stranger’s explanations would satisfy the reader and serve as the “moral” of the tale, offering suggestions about how to behave and what to believe. But—and here is the crux—they are very poor and unsatisfying explanations, as many readers have noticed.39 As Schwarzbaum puts it, “The justification of the first two queer acts is rather of a trivial, unconvincing nature….” 40

37.  Wheeler, “The Jewish Origins of Qur’ān 18:65–82?,” 159. 38.  Ibid., 153. 39.  The Stranger’s explanation for the wall only loosely fits the schema, in that it represents the benevolence of God’s unpredictable actions. 40.  Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 156.

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By sinking the ship, the Stranger prevents an evil king from appropriating it by force. Destroying the ship might keep it out of the king’s hands. However, obviously it renders the vessel useless to the poor family. Second, he kills the child because he fears it will grow up to be a burden on his parents. However, would pious parents want their unbelieving son to be murdered? Would they not rather have preferred that he remain alive? What makes the Stranger think that the parents would be satisfied to exchange an old child for a new one? Further, the Stranger only feared that the child would turn out badly: “we feared that he would burden them both…” (Q 18:80). The word “feared” points to an absence of certainty. Schwarzbaum notes with irony the Stranger’s “extraordinary prescience predicting the future depravity of the murdered boy.”41 The Stranger’s wording makes him sound uncertain. An argument made by later commentators (although not found in the Qur’ān itself) is that because the young child died before he could be wicked, his death was a blessing to him as well as to his parents. This last argument brings to mind the following passage in the Wisdom of Solomon (4:10–15). There were some who pleased God and were loved by him, and while living among sinners were taken up. They were caught up so that evil might not change their understanding or guile deceive their souls.… Being perfected in a short time, they fulfilled long years; for their souls were pleasing to the Lord, therefore he took them quickly from the midst of wickedness. Yet the peoples saw and did not understand, or take such a thing to heart, that God’s grace and mercy are with his elect, and that he watches over his holy ones.

The reader, considering these explanations, would likely identify with the bereft parents and the indigent fishing family. From their perspective, each of these actions is disturbing, even with the hidden explanation. According to Tha‘labī (d. 427/1035), Moses ultimately regrets having chosen to meet such a nasty fellow who commits such awful atrocities.42 What the Stranger did on the ship is disturbing. The Stranger’s murder of the child is horrific. In the face of divine injustice, Moses cannot restrain himself. He complains bitterly that the Stranger has acted immorally and foolishly: “Have you killed an innocent person? Certainly, you have done a terrible thing” (Q 18:74). The story weaves together two distinct voices that respond to suffering— the voice of piety, represented by the Stranger, who urges trust, patience and, above all, no questions; and that of Moses, who, although silenced, protests pointless pain and suffering inflicted upon the innocent. Neither voice effectively dominates the story. The attentive reader hears both.

41.  Ibid. 42.  Schwarzbaum, “The Jewish and Moslem Versions of Some Theodicy Legends,” 153.

Contemporary Shiʿi Approaches to the History of the Text of the Qur’ān

SEYFEDDIN KARA

Shiʿi approaches to the history of the text of the Qur’ān are largely unknown in Western academia.1 Aside from Friedrich Schwally’s brief treatment of the subject, Western scholars have discussed the history of the text of the Qur’ān mostly in relation to the Sunni perspective and sources.2 The predominant Sunni view is that the project of collecting the text was initiated at the behest of the caliphs Abū Bakr and ʿUthmān (ʿUmar was also involved).3 Shiʿi scholars, based on their traditions, claim that the fourth caliph or first Shiʿi Imām, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, collected the Qur’ān immediately after the demise of the Prophet. Some Sunni traditions that we will see in the following echo I would like to thank Harald Motzki and Muhammad Saeed Bahmanpour for their criticism and corrections on an early draft of this essay. I have included some of their comments in the text. I thank James Piscatori, Robert Gleave, Colin Turner, David S. Powers, and the anonymous reviewers for their extensive suggestions, corrections, and criticism. Needless to say, I take full responsibility for any shortcomings in the essay. 1.  Throughout the essay, Shiʿis refers to Twelver Shiʿis. 2.  Schwally’s work was translated into English in 2012 under the title The History of the Qur’ān (Theodor Nöldeke et al., The History of the Qur’ān [Leiden: Brill, 2012]). I discuss Schwally’s arguments in my article, “Suppression of ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib’s Codex: Study of the Traditions on the Earliest Copy of the Qur’ān,” Journal of Near Eastern Studies 75:2 (2016): 267–289. 3.  On the traditional Sunni view, see Mohammad Mustafa Azami, The History of the Qur’anic Text: From Revelation to Compilation (Leicester: UK Islamic Academy, 2003). 109

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these claims, but they did not become part of the debate on the textual history of the Qur’ān.4 Considering the opposition of Shiʿis to “orthodox” Islam, their sources may provide a different perspective and contribute additional evidence or arguments about the textual history of the Qur’ān. One of the advantages of studying the Shiʿi view is that if there was an irregularity in the text of the Qur’ān, the Shiʿis would have disputed the authenticity of the text that was adopted by their rivals. I will first outline the Shiʿi position on some of the key issues pertaining to the textual history of the Qur’ān and then present the traditions concerning ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib’s collection of it. I will focus on the works of two eminent Shiʿi scholars: Sayyid Abū’l-Qāsim al-Mūsāwī al-Khū’ī (1899–1992) and Muḥammad Hādī Ma’rifat (1930–2007). Al-Khū’ī was one of the most prominent Shiʿi scholars in the twentieth century and a marjaʿ taqlīd or source of imitation. He was a prolific writer and authored several works in the fields of Islamic jurisprudence, ʿilm al-rijāl (biographical evaluation) and qur’anic studies. His commentary on the Qur’ān, al-Bayān fī tafsīr al-qurʾān,5 has been translated into English under the title The Prolegomena to the Qur’ān.6 Muḥammad Hādī Maʿrifat was a student of al-Khū’ī and is one of the most significant contemporary Shiʿi experts on the science of the Qur’ān. His tenvolume magnum opus, al-Tamhīd fī ʿulūm al-qurʾān,7 is arguably the most comprehensive Shiʿi work on the sciences of the Qur’ān. An abridged translation of the work has been published under the title Introduction to the Sciences of the Qur’ān.8 The first volume is largely devoted to the early history of the Qur’ān. Denial of Judeo-Christian Influence on the Qur’ān Maʿrifat allocates a considerable part of the first volume of his work to arguments about Judeo-Christian influence on the formation of the Qur’an. 4.  For the most recent evaluation of the debate on the origins of the qur’anic text, see Nicolai Sinai, “When Did the Consonantal Skeleton of the Quran Reach Closure? Part I,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 77:2 (2014): 273–292; idem, “When Did the Consonantal Skeleton of the Quran Reach Closure? Part II, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 77:3 (2014): 509–521. 5.  Abū’l-Qāsim al-Khū’ī, Al-Bayān fī tafsīr al-qurʾān (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-ʿalām, 1997). 6.  Abū’l-Qāsim al-Khū’ī, The Prolegomena to the Qur’ān, trans. Abdulaziz A. Sachedina (Qum: Ansariyan Publications, 2000). 7.  Muḥammad Hādī Maʿrifat, Al-Tamhīd fī ʿulūm al-Qur’ān (10 vols.; Qum: Mu’assasat tamhīd, 2011). 8.  Muḥammad Hādī Maʿrifat, Introduction to the Science of the Qur’ān, trans. Salim Rossier (2 vols.; London: SAMT, 2014).

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After addressing the style of the Qurʾān and emphasizing its origins as an oral text, he turns to the role of the Prophet in the process of the revelation. He criticizes Muslim scholars who do not assess the traditions9 concerning the revelation of the Qur’ān, such as the story of Waraqa b. Nawfal, whose confirmative role in the event of revelation is widely accepted by Muslim scholars and has been used as evidence for the truthfulness of Muḥammad. Waraqa’s confirmative role may have reassured Muslims who approach the subject from a religious perspective, but has raised doubts in the minds of Western scholars about the authenticity of the Qur’ān, as it implies that Muḥammad was not sure of himself, and possibly was under the influence of a Christian monk. Some Western scholars use the Waraqa episode to argue that the Qur’ān was written under the influence of Christianity and that Waraqa, who is sometimes described as a learned Christian, was one of Muḥammad’s tutors.10 The narrative that describes Muḥammad’s first encounter with the archangel Gabriel is perceived as odd by Maʿrifat. The awesome nature of the event reportedly left Muḥammad confused and scared, and thus he needed to be reassured, first by his wife Khadīja and then by her cousin, Waraqa. The episode is reported in the canonical Sunni ḥadīth collections of al-Bukhārī and Muslim, as well as by Ibn Hishām and al-Ṭabarī and, hence, is generally accepted by Muslim scholars. Maʿrifat, however, disputes the reliability of the episode on several grounds. First, he argues that the episode goes against “Islamic teachings,” according to which Muḥammad’s status is greater than that of other prophets such as Ibrāhīm and Mūsā. In the Qur’ān, God never leaves his Prophets in fear and always supports them in difficult situations. According to Shiʿi doctrine, prophets are infallible in both religious and worldly affairs and they do not commit any errors in either of these areas. The infallibility of the prophets is greatly emphasised in Shiʿi sources. Thus, it seems unlikely that God would expose His favorite messenger to such a terrifying experience.11 Secondly, Maʿrifat finds it difficult to understand how Muslim scholars, who are expected to be “men of investigation” and scrutiny, equate the knowledge of the Prophet’s wife to 9.  See Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥīḥ al-bukhārī (9 vols.; Beirut: Dār Ṭawq al-Najāt, 2001), 1:7, 1:173–174, 9:29–30. 10.  See Gustav Weil, The Bible, the Koran, and the Talmud: Biblical Legends of the Mussulmans (New York: Biblio Bazaar, 1855); William St Clair Tisdall, The Sources of Islam: A Persian Treatise, trans. Sir William Muir (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1901); Alfred Guillaume, The Legacy of Israel, ed. Edwyn R. Bevan and Charles Singer (Oxford: Clarendon, 1927); Arthur Jeffery, The Foreign Vocabulary of the Qur’ān (Baroda: Oriental Institute, 1938); Theodor Nöldeke, The Quran: An Introductory Essay, ed. N. A. Newman (Hatfield, PA: Interdisciplinary Biblical Research Institute, 1992); Sir William Muir, The Corân: Its Composition and Teaching, and the Testimony It Bears to The Holy Scriptures (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1878). 11.  Muḥammad Hādī Maʿrifat, al-Tamhīd, 1:115.

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that of Muḥammad, who achieved the state of perfection and was charged with conveying God’s message. Therefore, Muslim scholars should not accept a story in which Khadīja reassures Muḥammad about his prophethood. Before reaching the prophetic office, Maʿrifat explains, Muḥammad went through a rigorous training and purification process so that he could cope with the burden of revelation. This is why he made regular visits to the cave of Ḥirāʾ, where he prepared himself for revelation. For Maʿrifat, the story of Waraqa contradicts the status of the Prophet as defined in Muslim sources. Surely he had no need for reassurance from his wife or from a Christian scholar. He goes so far as to claim that this story is an infringement on the noble status of the Prophet. Hence, he rejects the authenticity of the reports about Waraqa’s confirmation of Muḥammad’s prophethood.12 Maʿrifat’s rejection of the Waraqa episode does not depend exclusively on theological arguments. He also identifies discrepancies in different versions of the episode. In one, it is Khadīja who goes to see Waraqa, by herself, and it is Khadīja who gives the account of the first revelation. In another version, Khadīja takes Muḥammad to Waraqa and asks her husband to relate the experience to her cousin. In return, Waraqa affirms that “this was Gabriel whom God had sent to Moses.”13 In a third version, Waraqa meets Muḥammad while he is circumambulating the Kaʿba and asks him about what had happened. Muḥammad replies with an account of the event, and Waraqa then confirms Muḥammad’s prophethood. In a fourth version, Waraqa questions Muḥammad about Gabriel, and Muḥammad responds, “He comes to me from Heaven, his wings are pearl and the surfaces of his feet are green.” In a fifth version, Abū Bakr comes to Khadīja, who instructs him to take Muḥammad to Waraqa. Clearly, these reports differ about who accompanied Khadīja on the trip to see Waraqa. In some, the meeting takes place between Waraqa and Muḥammad, without Khadīja playing the role of intermediary. Even the content of the conversation between the Prophet and Waraqa varies: In the fourth version, the Prophet’s description of Gabriel is different from the description that Khadīja gives to Waraqa. Maʿrifat asks a crucial question: If Waraqa knew that Muḥammad was a true messenger of God, why did he not become a Muslim?14 According to some traditions, he died a Christian, while others say he eventually converted to Islam. This is another strong indication, for Maʿrifat, that the story is fabricated. A detailed and rigorous examination of the traditions regarding the first revelation and the role of Waraqa has been carried out by Gregor Schoeler.15 12.  Ibid. 13.  Al-Bukhārī, Ṣaḥiḥ al-bukhārī, 1:7. 14.  Muḥammad Hādī Maʿrifat, al-Tamhīd, 1:116. 15.  Gregor Schoeler, The Biography of Muḥammad: Nature and Authenticity, ed. James

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Based on his rigorous examination of the variants16 of the traditions, using the isnād-cum-matn method,17 Schoeler concludes that the traditions pertaining to the first revelations do not qualify as firm historical evidence.18 The Collection of the Qur’ān Maʿrifat also scrutinises the accounts on how the revelations received by Muḥammad were recorded in writing. He echoes the mainstream Shiʿi contention that Muḥammad was illiterate, in the sense that he could not write but could perhaps read, and thus needed scribes to record the revelation. The first of those scribes was, unsurprisingly, his cousin, ʿAlī b. Abī  Ṭālib, who continued to record the revelation until the end of his life. According to Maʿrifat, ʿAlī’s status was unique among the scribes since he did not leave any revelation unwritten; if he was not present when a verse was revealed, the Prophet later dictated to him the verse that was revealed in his absence. This implies that other scribes, like Ubayy b. Kaʿb and ʿAbd Allāh b. Masʿūd, omitted parts of the revelation from their codices. Further, according to Maʿrifat, ʿAlī also recorded the interpretation of the verses that Muḥammad reportedly taught him. The idea that the Qur’ān was collected into a single text during the lifetime of the Prophet appeals to many Muslims, including some Shiʿi scholars. In their view, it stands to reason that since the Qur’ān was revealed to the Prophet, he would have overseen the collection of the text between two covers. This position is supported by traditions in which it is said that the Qur’ān was studied and memorized in its entirety during the lifetime of the Prophet, which suggests that the Qur’an was a complete text during his lifetime. For

E. Montgomery, trans. Uwe Vagelpohl (New York: Routledge, 2011), 38–78. 16.  Schoeler also discusses other studies on the subject, e.g., by Aloys Sprenger and Uri Rubin. See Gregor Schoeler, The Biography of Muḥammad: Nature and Authenticity, 66–79. 17.  Schoeler used the isnād-cum-matn method in his The Biography of Muḥammad for the first time. In the same year Harald Motzki, in his “Quo vadis, Ḥadīṯ-Forschung?” (Der Islam 73 [1996]: 40–80) also used the same method. Schoeler’s original work, Charakter und Authentie der muslimischen Überlieferung über das Leben Mohammeds (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1996) was translated into English in 2011 under the title of The Biography of Muḥammad: Nature and Authenticity. 18.  Stephen J. Shoemaker challenges Schoeler’s conclusions in his “In Search of ʿUrwa’s Sīra: Some Methodological Issues in the Quest for ‘Authenticity’ in the Life of Muḥammad,” Der Islam, 85:2 (2011): 303–321. For a rebuttal of his critique, see Andreas Görke, Harald Motzki, and Gregor Schoeler, “First-Century Sources for the Life of Muḥammad? A Debate,” Der Islam 89:1–2 (2012): 22–33.

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this reason, some Sunni and Shiʿi scholars have concluded that the Qur’ān must have been collected during the lifetime of the Prophet.19 Abū’l-Qāsim al-Khū’ī supports this view in his Prolegomena to the Qur’ān. AlKhū’ī’s main argument is that the traditions regarding the collection of the Qur’ān contain discrepancies and contradictions. After mentioning twentytwo different traditions on the subject, he points out twelve contradictions in the texts of these traditions, and then concludes that all of them were fabricated.20 His main argument is the lack of clarity about who was the first person to compile the Qur’ān. The traditions mention Abū Bakr, ʿUmar, and ʿUthmān as having undertaken the project. According to al-Khū’ī, it is impossible that all three would have compiled an official copy of the Qur’ān; hence there is a serious flaw in the traditions. Al-Khū’ī also identifies a discrepancy in the traditions relating to the person who managed the compilation of the Qur’ān (Zayd b. Thābit or someone else). There are also inconsistencies in the reports about which verses were to be included in the Qur’ān, and the identity of the person who advised Abū Bakr to compile the Qur’ān. This is the main evidence upon which al-Khū’ī establishes his hypothesis that the Qur’ān must have been compiled during the lifetime of the Prophet.21 He supports his hypothesis on the grounds that the Prophet paid great attention to the Qur’ān during his lifetime and that it is unlikely that he would not have attempted to compile the Qur’ān himself. Al-Khū’ī’s view is marginal and to some extent comparable to the views and methodology of John Burton.22 Like Burton, he agrees that there are contradictions in the Muslim traditions concerning the collection of the Qur’ān, for which reason they cannot be authentic.23 The view that Muḥammad collected the Qur’ān during his lifetime has not found strong support among either Sunni or Shiʿi scholars, due to absence of historical evidence. Maʿrifat asserts that the collection of the Qur’ān is a historical matter and that al-Khū’ī’s view, based largely on theological reasoning, is not grounded in credible historical evidence. According to Maʿrifat, the argument that this or that position makes “more sense” is invalid. Scholars must use historical evidence to support their arguments, and al-Khūʾī does not do this.24 19.  The contention that the Qur’an was collected during Muḥammad’s lifetime is held by Sunni scholars such as Qāḍī Abū Bakr b. al-Ṭayyib al-Bāqillānī (d. 1013), Abū Bakr b. al-Anbārī (d. 940), al-Karmānī (d. 1020) and al-Ṭayyibī, and by Shiʿi scholars such as al-Sayyid al-Murtaḍā (d. 1044) and Abū’l-Qāsim al-Khū’ī (d. 1992). 20.  al-Khū’ī, The Prolegomena, 64–70. 21.  Ibid., 170. 22.  John Burton, The Collection of the Qur’an (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977). 23.  al-Khū’ī, The Prolegomena, 170. 24.  Muḥammad Hādī Maʿrifat, al-Tamhīd, 1:289.

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Maʿrifat states that there is no contradiction in the Sunni reports regarding the textual history of the Qur’ān. The problem is that Sunni scholars could not find a clear explanation for how the Qur’ān took its present form. For Maʿrifat, the reports about the collection of the Qur’ān by Abū Bakr with the advice of ʿUmar are correct. But Abū Bakr’s copy was not an official copy; it was a personal attempt to save the Qur’ān from any possible infringement after the death of the Prophet. Like Abū Bakr, a few other Companions dutifully collected the Qur’ān. However, Abū Bakr was the caliph, and the codex prepared for him by Zayd gave the impression that it was an official copy. In fact, it was only a personal copy, which Abū Bakr passed to ʿUmar who, shortly before his death, passed it to his daughter Ḥafṣa. The copy that ʿUthmān collected was the official copy. It was checked against Ḥafṣa’s copy, which was later returned to her and destroyed.  Maʿrifat also challenges the argument that Companions memorized the Qur’ān during the Prophet’s lifetime and the text of the Qur’an must have been collected before his death. He contends that there is a difference between memorising the Qur’ān and collecting it. The reciters did not need to know the order of the chapters in order to memorize the Qur’ān; they memorized it without referring to a codex. Hence, this evidence does not support the conclusion that the Qur’ān was collected during the lifetime of the Prophet.25 Finally, Maʿrifat asserts that the revelation was still ongoing during the lifetime of the Prophet. Thus, although the Prophet placed the verses in the relevant chapters, he did not produce a standard codex in which the chapters were placed in order. Instead, Muḥammad instructed ʿAlī to carry out the task before he died.26 Maʿrifat embraces the Sunni account of the event and takes great pains to show that there is no contradiction in the reports about the collection of the Qur’ān. Despite Maʿrifat’s ability to locate the relevant sources and his insight into the science of the Qur’ān, he fails to provide a systematic analysis with a consistent method. His treatment of the traditions is not consistent, and he frequently shifts from isnād analysis to matn analysis. For example, when he treats traditions about the Waraqa episode, he focuses exclusively on discrepancies in the matn (text); yet when he treats Shiʿi traditions on taḥrīf (the distortion of the qur’anic text), his focus shifts to the isnāds (chains of transmission). Such inconsistencies cause methodological problems, as he does not explain why he shifts his method. In addition, when he studies ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib’s codex, he presents more than a dozen traditions, but fails to provide any analysis of them.

25.  Ibid. 26.  Ibid., 1:290.

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ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib’s Codex Shiʿi scholars in general concur with Sunni traditions stating that, in addition to ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, three other senior scribes recorded the Qur’ān in Medina: Ubayy b. Kaʿb, Zayd b. Thābit and ʿAbd Allāh b. Masʿūd. Sunni traditions indicate that if Ubayy was not present when a revelation occurred, the Prophet would ask Zayd or Ibn Masʿūd to record it. Apart from these four Companions, no one else played a significant role in the recording of the Qur’ān. These scribes later compiled their personal codices, except for Zayd. According to Maʿrifat, only ʿAlī’s codex preserved the “natural order” of the chapters of the Qur’ān, that is to say, the order of the revelation as it took place.27 But Maʿrifat presents no evidence that the Prophet himself advised a particular order for the chapters of the Qur’ān. Be that as it may, he emphasizes that there is no dispute about the order of the verses in the chapters.28 Most Shiʿi scholars hold that the Qur’ān was collected after the death of the Prophet. Maʿrifat presents the Shiʿi perspective in a systematic way. He divides the collection of the Qur’ān into two stages: First, the collection of the individual revelations, which was undertaken by the Prophet himself; and second, the arrangements of these revelations in chapters, which was carried out by the Prophet’s Companions after his death. In support of his argument, Maʿrifat refers to the opinions of Sunni and Shiʿi scholars who hold this view, for example, Abū Ḥusayn b. Fāris, Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī, and Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabāṭabā’ī.29 Unlike Sunnis, however, Shiʿis believe that after the death of the Prophet, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib collected the first codex. According to Maʿrifat, Shiʿi scholars agree that several Companions compiled their own copies after ʿAlī: Abū Bakr instructed Zayd b. Thābit to collect the Qur’ān. The caliph then transmitted this codex to ʿUmar. When ʿUmar died, his daughter Ḥafṣa inherited the codex. Finally, when ʿUthmān wanted to produce an official codex, the committee that he appointed checked the official codex against Ḥafṣa’s codex. In addition, Ibn Masʿūd, ʿUbayy b. Kaʿb and Abū Mūsā al-Ashʿarī all collected their own codices.30 Unlike Sunni scholars, Shiʿi scholars regard Abū Bakr’s codex as a personal codex. Thus, they have a plausible answer to the question: Why did ʿUthmān collect the Qur’ān if an official codex (Abū Bakr’s) already existed? ʿUthmān could have used the already existing “official” codex. This is an important flaw in the Sunni account regarding the collection of the Qur’ān, and Maʿrifat’s explanation seems to remove this flaw from the account.

27.  Ibid., 1:280. 28.  Ibid., 1:277–278. 29.  Ibid., 1:285. 30.  Ibid.

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Maʿrifat maintains that ʿAlī’s copy was “more complete” in the sense that it followed the “natural order” of the chapters. In addition, it included essential information in the margins, like the verses that were abrogated and the circumstances in which specific verses were revealed. The other codices did not preserve the “natural order” nor did they include information about abrogated verses or reports on the circumstances in which specific verses were revealed. Hence, Maʿrifat argues, ʿAlī’s text was superior to other versions.31 Shiʿi scholars base their arguments largely on the traditions that were recorded in early Muslim sources. I have located twenty-four traditions in Shiʿi and Sunni sources32 pertaining to ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib’s collection of the Qur’ān. These traditions were attributed to ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (d. 40/661) himself, to Imām Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq (d. 148/765) and to Muḥammad b. Sīrīn (d. 110/728). Although it is impossible to discuss all of these traditions in this essay, we may mention some of them by way of example. For Shiʿis, one of the most compelling pieces of evidence for ʿAlī’s collection of the Qur’ān is included in a well-known tradition recorded in Kitāb Sulaym b. Qays. The book contains a compilation of the sayings of the Imāms, ostensibly recorded by Sulaym b. Qays al-Hilālī (d. 689/70 or 76/695), an ardent supporter of ʿAlī and a follower of the first four Imāms. The book is arguably the oldest surviving Shiʿi book, dating back to the first Islamic century.33 The introductory chapter states that Sulaym b. Qays entrusted the book to his Persian student, Ābān b. Abī ʿAyyāsh (d. 138/755–6), who conveyed it to another person just before his death.34 Some Shiʿi scholars have questioned the authenticity of the book and they suspect that its content may be inauthentic,35 but according to Hussain Modarressi the original core of the work has been largely preserved in the current version, and he dates it to the reign of Hīshām b. ʿAbd al-Mālik (r. 105–125/724–743).36 However, according to Amir-Moezzi, it is impossible to recover the original core of the book.37

31.  Ibid, 1:292–299. 32.  Kara, Study of the Traditions on the Earliest Copy of the Qur’ān.” 33.  It is generally believed that Shiʿi scholars began to write books in the early second century AH. Most of these works have been lost, although they are mentioned in later works. See Etan Kohlberg, “Al-uṣūl al-arbaʿami’a,” in Harald Motzki (ed.), Ḥadīth: Origins and Developments (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 43–147. 34.  For a detailed study of the work and its dating, see Robert Gleave, “Early Shiite Hermeneutics and the Dating of Kitāb Sulaym Ibn Qays,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 78:1 (2015): 83–103. 35.  Jaʿfar Subḥānī, Kulliyāt fī ʿilm al-rijāl (Qom: Al-Ḥawzah al-ʿilmiyyah, 1990). 36.  Hossein Modarressi, Tradition and Survival: A Bibliographical Survey of Early Shiite Literature (Oxford: Oneworld Publications, 2003), 1:83. 37.  Gleave, “Early Shiite Hermeneutics,” 86.

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The tradition recorded in Kitāb Sulaym b. Qays is twenty-three pages long and gives an account of the events that reportedly took place immediately after the death of the Prophet. The relevant part of the tradition reads: Ābān b. Abī ʿAyyāsh, from Sulaym b. Qays, who said: I heard from Salmān al-Fārisī, who said: When the Messenger was taken [died]… he [ʿAlī] saw the people’s treachery and lack of loyalty to him, and he therefore remained in his house and devoted himself to the compilation and the collection of the Qur’ān. He did not come out of his house until he had collected what was [written] on loose pages (ṣuḥuf   ), sharpened wood, leaves or flattened hinged bone and pieces of skin (riqāʿ), until he had collected all of it and written it down as it was revealed, including [whatever was] abrogated of it and the abrogating [verses].  When Abū Bakr sent for him asking for his allegiance, ʿAlī, peace be upon him, replied, “I am busy; I have taken an oath that I will not wear my robe except for prayer until I have finished collecting and compiling the Qur’ān.” He [eventually] collected it, [placed] it in a cloth, and sealed it. He then set out for people who had gathered in the presence of Abū Bakr at the Mosque of the Prophet. ʿAlī called out in his loudest voice: “O people! I have not emerged [from my house] since the Messenger of God died; I have been busy with his burial and then with the Qur’ān until I compiled all of it in this single cloth.38 God did not reveal a single verse to His Messenger that I have not included; there is not a single verse that I have not collated and there is not a single verse that the Messenger of God did not recite to me and teach me its interpretation (ta’wīl).” Then ʿAlī told them: “Lest you say on the Day of Judgment that I did not call upon you to help me and did not remind you of my right and did not call you to the Book of God, from its beginning to its end.” ʿUmar replied: “What we have from the Qur’ān is better than what you offer us.” Then ʿAlī returned to his house…39

Certain parts of the tradition have a strong sectarian undertone, for example, a detailed description of the Companions’ alleged physical attacks against ʿAlī in order to persuade him to pledge allegiance to Abū Bakr. As I have noted elsewhere,40 these allegations are baseless and seem to be a later addition to the book. It is likely that some later partisan Shiʿis included these points to make sense of Imām ʿAlī’s belated pledge of allegiance to Abū Bakr, which, in their view, should never have occurred. The tradition explicitly identifies 38.  ʿAlī refers to the cloth in which he carried the codex from his house to the Mosque of the Prophet. 39.  Sulaym b. Qays al-Hilālī, Kitāb Sulaym b. Qays al-Hilālī (3 vols.; Qum: al-Hādī, 1984), 2:577. 40.  Seyfeddin Kara, “Suppression of ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib’s Codex.”

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the second caliph, ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, as the person who confronted ʿAlī at the Mosque of the Prophet and rejected ʿAlī’s codex on the grounds that he had a better one. A similar tradition, to be mentioned below, is recorded in Ibn Shahrāshūb’s (d. 588/1192) Manāqīb Āl Abī Ṭālib.41 The tradition refers to the same episode but does not mention the name of the person who confronted ʿAlī in the Mosque of the Prophet. Instead it states, “A man [in the crowd] stood up and confronted him.” It is possible that a partisan Shiʿi may have inserted ʿUmar’s name in the tradition to inflame anti-ʿUmar feelings, but it is also possible that ʿUmar’s name was later removed from the tradition to avoid persecution by Sunni rulers. Be that as it may, based on the similarity between this text and the other variants of the same tradition, attributed to Ibn Sīrīn, it is likely that the excerpt quoted above is from the original part of Kitāb Sulaym b. Qays alHilālī and can be dated to the first half of the second century.42 The tradition states that after the death of the Prophet, ʿAlī remained in his house because he was certain that people would not support him. For this reason, he wanted to dedicate himself to a rewarding activity, the collection of the Qur’ān. As I will note below, the idea that ʿAlī’s codex played a role in the succession crisis is found in most of the relevant traditions. Another variant is mentioned in the Fihrist of Muḥammad b. al-Nadīm, (d. 380/990), the famous Shiʿi scholar and bibliographer. The tradition is attributed to ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib: Ibn al-Munādī said: Al-Ḥasan b. al-ʿAbbās reported to me, I received the information through ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Abī Ḥammād, from al-Ḥakam b. Zuhayr al-Sadūsī, from ʿAbd Khayr, from ʿAlī, peace be upon him, that [ʿAlī] perceived a bad omen connected with the people at the time of the death of the Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace. He therefore swore that he would not remove his cloak from his back until he had compiled the Qur’ān, and he stayed in his house for three days until he had compiled the Qur’ān. This was the first codex (muṣḥaf   ) in which the Qur’ān was compiled from memory. The codex was with the family of [Imām] Jaʿfar.43

In the same book Ibn al-Nadīm claims that he saw parts of this codex: In our own time, I myself saw at the home of Abū Yaʿlā Ḥamza al-Ḥasanī, may Allah be merciful to him, a codex from which some pages had dropped out, written in the handwriting of ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. The Banū Ḥasan44 hold it 41.  Ibn Shahrāshūb, Manāqīb Āl Abī Ṭālib (1956), 1:320. 42.  Seyfeddin Kara, “Suppression of ʿAlī Ibn Abī Ṭālib’s Codex.” 43.  Muḥammad b. Isḥāq b. al-Nadīm, Kitāb al-Fihrist (Beirut: Dār al-Maʿrifah, 1997), 45–46. 44.  Descendants of the second Imām al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.

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as an inheritance, as time passes by, and this is the arrangement of the sūrahs in that codex.45

Although Ibn al-Nadīm was certain that the codex he saw was part of ʿAlī’s, there is no way to verify his claim. Ibn al-Nadīm died some 250 years after ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib and would not have known if the codex he saw was in ʿAlī’s handwriting or if the text was from the codex of ʿAlī. It is possible that the manuscript Ibn al-Nadīm saw was not ʿAlī’s own compilation. Reportedly, ʿAlī wrote copies of the ʿUthmānic codex when he was the fourth caliph and Ibn al-Nadīm may have seen parts of these copies. Nevertheless, Ibn al-Nadīm’s account demonstrates that in the fourth/tenth century Shiʿis believed that ʿAlī compiled his own codex. Abū Nuʿaym Aḥmad b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Iṣfahānī (d. 430/1038), the famous Shāfiʿī ḥadīth transmitter, records another tradition attributed to ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib in his Ḥilyat al-awliyā’: We have been told by Saʿd b. Muḥammad al-Ṣayrafī, he was told by Muḥammad b. ʿUthmān b. Abī Shayba, he was told by Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad b. Maymūn, he was told by al-Ḥakam b. Zuhayr, from al-Suddī, from ʿAbd Khayr, from ʿAlī, who said: “When the Prophet, peace be upon him, died, I swore that I would not take my robe off my back until I had collected the Qur’an between two covers (lawḥayn). Thus, I did not take off my robe until I had collected the Qur’ān.”46

Another tradition is included in the Tafsīr of ʿAlī b. Ibrāhīm al-Qummī (d. 306/919), an early and one of the most important sources of Shiʿi traditions.  Al-Qummī was one of the teachers of Muḥammad b. Yaʿqūb b. Isḥāq al-Kulaynī (d. 329/941), who narrates many traditions from him in his Kāfī.47 The tradition is attributed to the sixth Imām Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq: From him,48 from Aḥmad b. Abī ʿAbdallāh, from ʿAlī b. al-Ḥakam, from Sayf b. ʿUmayra, from Abū Bakr al-Haḍramī, from Abū ʿAbdallāh: The Prophet said to ʿAlī: “O ʿAlī! The Qur’ān is behind my bed on scrolls, silk and leaves. Take it and collect it and do not lose it, as the Jews lost the Torah.” ʿAlī took them and placed them in a yellow cloth. Then [when the Prophet died] he

45.  Ibn al-Nadīm, Kitāb al-Fihrist, 46. 46.  Abū Nuʿaym Aḥmad b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Iṣfahānī, Ḥilyat al-awliyā’ wa-ṭabaqāt al-aṣfiyā’ (Beirut: Dār al-kutub al-ʿilmīyya, 1988), 67. 47.  Muḥammad b. Yaʿqūb b. Isḥāq al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī fī ʿilm al-dīn (15 vols.; Qum: Dār al-ḥadīth, 2008). 48.  In the Biḥār al-anwār, Majlisī quotes the same tradition from Tafsīr al-Qummī, but he specifies ʿAlī b. al-Ḥusayn in the sanad.

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locked himself in his house and said: “I will not put on [my robe] until I have collected [the Qur’ān.]” [During this period,] when people came to visit him he would receive them without his robe, until he had collected the Qur’ān. Then he [ʿAlī] said: “If people read the Qur’ān as Allah revealed it there would be no dispute between two people.”49

In his Muṣannaf, the ḥadīth collector ʿAbd Allāh b. Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm b. Abī Shayba (d. 235/849–850) records another tradition attributed to Ibn Sīrīn (d. 110/728): I was told by Yazīd b. Hārūn, who said: I was informed by Ibn ʿAwn, from Muḥammad [b. Sīrīn], who said: When Abū Bakr became the caliph, ʿAlī remained in his house. Abū Bakr was told [about this] and he sent for him. [When ʿAlī arrived, Abū Bakr asked him]: “Do you dislike my caliphate?” “No! I do not dislike your caliphate. But there has been an insertion into the Qur’ān. Hence when the Prophet died, I imposed on myself that I would not put on [my cloak] except [for prayer] until I had collected it [the Qur’ān] for the people”. Abū Bakr replied: “An excellent idea!” 50

In his Faḍāʾil al-qurʾān, ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad b. Ayyūb b. al-Ḍurays al-Bajalī (d. 294/906) records a tradition attributed to Ibn Sīrīn: Aḥmad reported to us, Muḥammad narrated to us, Abū ʿAlī Bishr b. Mūsā narrated to us, Ḥawza b. Khalīfa narrated to us, Ibn ʿAwn narrated to us, from Muḥammad b. Sīrīn, I suppose from ʿIkrima (ʿIkrima fī-mā aḥsabu),51 who said: At the beginning of Abū Bakr’s caliphate, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib sat in his house in order to compile the Qur’ān. Abū Bakr was told, “[ʿAlī] does not wish to swear allegiance to you.” Abū Bakr then sent for him, and when ʿAlī was present, he said, “Are you averse to swearing allegiance to me?” [ʿAlī] said, “No! By God.” [Abū Bakr] asked, “Why are you upset with me?” He replied, “I noticed that something was added to the Book of God. I therefore promised myself that I would not put on my cloak except for prayer until I had collected it.” Abū Bakr replied: “An excellent idea!” Muḥammad said: I asked ʿIkrima: “Did he compile it as it was first revealed?” He [ʿIkrima] replied: “Were mankind and the jinn to come together to compile it like this, they would not be able to do so.”52 49.  ʿAlī b. Ibrāhīm al-Qummī, Tafsīr al-qummī, ed. Ṭayyib Mūsawī Jazāirī (3 vols.; Qum: Dār al-kitāb, 1983), 2:451. 50.  ʿAbd Allāh b. Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm b. Abī Shayba, Muṣannaf Ibn Abī Shayba, ed. Usāma b. Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad Abū Muḥammad (28 vols.; Cairo: al-Fārūq alḥadīth li’l-ṭibāʿah wa’l-nashr, 2007), 10:65. 51.  The source of the tradition is not ʿIkrima but Ibn Sīrīn; ʿIkrima’s name was erroneously inserted in the sanad (see Seyfeddin Kara, “Suppression of ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib’s Codex”). 52.  Abū ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad b. Ayyūb b. al-Ḍurays al-Bajalī, Faḍāʾil al-qurʾān

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Although there are dozens of traditions on this topic, some Sunni scholars contest the idea that ʿAlī collected the Qur’ān. The Palestinian scholar Muhammad ʿIzzat Darwaza (d. 1984) is a contemporary example. In his al-Tafsīr al-ḥadīth, Darwaza mentions “the codex of ʿAlī that introduces an order of the chapters that is different from the present the Qur’ān.” However, he argues that there is not a single authentic tradition that supports the view that ʿAlī compiled a codex, and no one has seen the text. In order to support his position, he mentions the tradition in which Ibn Sīrīn searches for ʿAlī’s codex in every part of Medina but cannot find it.53 Hence, he concludes, Shiʿis invented this idea in order to show their opposition to Abū Bakr, ʿUmar, and ʿUthmān.54 Darwaza’s argument is undermined by his reliance on only one tradition and his disregard for the traditions about ʿAlī’s codex. In addition, the fact that Ibn Sīrīn was unable to locate ʿAlī’s codex does not necessarily lead to the conclusion that the codex did not exist. In any case, according to Shiʿi traditions the codex was preserved by descendants of ʿAlī but was not accessible to the public. In his Manāqīb Āl Abī Ṭālib, Ibn Shahrāshūb (d. 588/1192) records another tradition attributed to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq: According to a tradition from the People of the House, ʿAlī did not wear his cloak for anything other than prayer until he had written the Qur’ān and compiled it. He isolated himself from the people for a while in order to compile it. He then took it [the Qur’ān] to the people, carrying it in a garment. The people were gathered in the mosque, and they opposed him after he came out of isolation. They said, “Abū al-Ḥasan [ʿAlī] has come for a reason.” When he reached the middle [of the mosque], he put down the Book in front of them and said: “The Messenger of God said: ‘Verily, I am leaving amongst you that which, if you cling fast to it, you will never go astray—the Book of God and my kinfolk (ʿitratī), the People of my House.’ This is the Book and I am the kinsman (ʿitra).” A man [in the crowd] stood up and confronted him, “If you have a Qur’ān, we have one like it and we have no need for either you or the book.” [ʿAlī] then picked up the Book and returned it [to his house], after showing them the proof (al-ḥujjah).55

(Damascus: Dār al-fikr, 1987), 32. 53.  Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī, al-Itqān fī ʿulūm al-qur’ān (Beirut: Resalah Publishers, 2008), 130. 54.  Muhammad ʿIzzat Darwaza, al-Tafsīr al-ḥadīth (12 vols.; Cairo: Dār iḥyā’ al-kutub al-ʿarabiyyah, 1963), 1:74. 55.  Ibn Shahrāshūb, Manāqīb Āl Abī Ṭālib (4 vols.; Najaf: al-Maṭbaʿa al-Ḥaydarīyah, 1956), 2:320.

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Conclusion Maʿrifat provides a systematic account of one of several Shiʿi views on the textual history of the Qur’an. However, the above-mentioned shortcomings, together with his effort to show that the accounts of the collection of the Qur’ān contain no contradictions, may be considered a deliberate effort to purge Shiʿism of “unorthodox” views. This idea is strengthened by Maʿrifat’s failure to analyze the traditions related to ʿAlī’s collection of the Qur’ān, traditions that would not pass a thorough examination if carried out according to the traditional methods of ḥadīth criticism. Be that as it may, Maʿrifat adopts a contemporary Shiʿi view56 on the textual history of the Qur’ān and tries to defend and promote this view. Given the lack of studies on the subject, it is difficult to claim that Maʿrifat’s sole aim is to purge “unorthodox” views from the Shiʿi approach to the textual history of the Qur’ān. Such an assertion would require an in-depth and systematic study of the relevant traditions; current scholarship provides only an overview of the scholars’ views on the issue.57 As discussed, the position of Shiʿi scholars on the textual history of the Qur’an is by and large similar to that of Sunni scholars. Shiʿis and Sunnis concur that ʿUthmān collected the official version, which is the basis for the present text of the Qur’an. However, Shiʿis maintain that the first codex was collected by ʿAlī but that, due to its political implications, his codex was rejected by fellow Muslims. The influence of the succession crisis on the formation of the Qur’ān has largely been neglected. Although there are some differences in the details, the main theme of the reports mentioned above is that after the Prophet’s death, ʿAlī decided to remain in his house for some time to compile the Qur’ān. Due to his occupation with the collection of the Qur’ān, ʿAlī did not pledge allegiance to Abū Bakr, thereby causing tension between him and Abū Bakr. According to the 56.  I exclude Amir-Moezzi from this generalization as he holds that the present Qur’ān came into existence much later than Sunni traditions claim. He ascribes to the view that the present copy of the Qur’ān was collected during the reign of ʿAbd al-Mālik b. Marwān. Given the time gap between the demise of the Prophet in 632 CE and ʿAbd al-Mālik b. Marwān’s reign (685–705), it is possible that the Qur’ān was falsified by the Umayyads. See Amir-Moezzi in Revelation and Falsification: The Kitāb al-qirā’āt of Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Sayyārī, ed. Etan Kohlberg and Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi (Leiden: Brill, 2009), Introduction. 57.  Hossein Modarressi, “Early Debates on the Integrity of the Qur’ān: A Brief Survey,” Studia Islamica 77 (1993): 5–39; Rainer Brunner, “The Dispute about the Falsification of the Qur’ān between Sunnis and Shi’is in the 20th Century,” in Studies in Arabic and Islam: Proceedings of the 19th Congress (Leuven: Peeters, 2002), 437–46; Todd B. Lawson, “Note for the Study of a ‘Shi’i Qur’an,’” Journal of Semitic Studies 36:2 (1991): 279–295; W. St. Clair Tisdall, “Shī‘ah Additions to the Koran,” The Muslim World 3:3 (1913): 227–241; al-Sayyārī, Revelation and Falsification.

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isnād-cum-matn method, the traditions about ʿAlī’s collection of the Qur’ān can be dated to 110/728, approximately one hundred years after the event reportedly took place. The evidence of the traditions strongly suggests that from the first decade of the second century AH, Shiʿi scholars believed that ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib had collected the first copy of the Qur’ān and that his collection preceded the collections of Abū Bakr and ʿUthmān.58 There is a measure of concurrence between the Sunni and Shiʿi scholars on the textual history of the Qur’ān, as the Shiʿis accept, by and large, the Sunni version of this textual history while insisting that the first codex was collected by ʿAlī. The concurrence of two rival politico/religious factions reinforces the historicity of Muslim accounts of the textual history of the Qur’ān.

58.  Harald Motzki dates the relevant traditions to Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī’s (d. 124/742) date of death. See his “The Collection of the Qur’ān.”

The Computer and the Qur’ān: An Analysis and Appraisal

ADAM FLOWERS

It is an exciting time in the field of Qur’anic Studies. To be sure, this excitement arises from the relative “state of disarray,”1 as noted by Fred Donner, in which the field finds itself. Fundamental questions as to the origins of the Qur’ān corpus remain unresolved, and scholarly opinion is widely divergent with regard to their methodological approaches and answers to these questions. While ostensibly debilitating, this lack of scholarly consensus within qur’anic studies has facilitated the incorporation of novel and innovative approaches from without. For example, computerized analyses of the Qur’ān text arrived. These computerized analyses, on the whole, are statistical in nature; that is, computers are tasked with tracking the frequencies of particular linguistic features in the Qur’ān and calculating these frequencies as a percentage of the total text of an individual sūrah or group of sūrahs. Ultimately, these frequencies are compared across sūrahs, and arguments are made on the basis of these literary comparisons. Computerized statistical studies are primarily quantitative approaches to a literary text, and their proponents see them as objective means by which to cut through the rampant disarray in qur’anic studies. But in a field unaccustomed to the application of quantitative methodologies to literary texts, two equally misguided camps run the risk of emerging among established scholars: those who wholly accept the conclusions of computerized statistical analyses based on perceived objectivity 1.  Fred Donner, “The Qur’ān in Recent Scholarship: Challenges and Desiderata,” in Gabriel Said Reynolds (ed.), The Qur’ān in Its Historical Context (London: Routledge, 2008), 29. 125

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or their inability to critically engage quantitative methodologies; and those who reject the conclusions out of hand because of unfounded skepticism or a similar incapacity for critical engagement. It is the goal of the present study to bridge this divide by offering a balanced critique of existing computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān and providing a framework for the future employment of computerized analyses that is tailored to the literary peculiarities of the Qur’ān corpus. This goal will be accomplished in two parts: (1) an extended assessment of Behnam Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program” and Andrew G. Bannister’s An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’ān and (2) a discussion of qur’anic genre and its implications for the productive utilization and interpretation of computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān corpus. The timing of such a project merits discussion. At the time of writing, there have been only two extended computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān text, namely, the aforementioned works by Sadeghi and Bannister. The particular successes and failures of each of these studies will be addressed in the course of this chapter, but it can be said here that each study demonstrates the marked potential of computerized statistical techniques in understanding the historical process of the revelation of the Qur’ān. At their most basic level, computerized analyses of the Qur’ān offer a means of collecting and organizing linguistic data unmatched in efficiency and comprehensiveness; in one part of his study, Sadeghi tracks the Qur’ān’s usage of 3693 uncommon morphemes simultaneously.2 An analysis of such scope is unfeasible without computers. There is no doubt that the continued utilization of computerized analyses of the Qur’ān will broaden the horizons for the collection of its linguistic data. Although the capability of such a tool is undeniable, we still must demonstrate its usefulness. An adequate analogy may be found by looking to carpentry. When cutting wood, a carpenter uses different types of saws, some hand-powered, some mechanically powered. Undoubtedly, a mechanically powered saw offers the more powerful and efficient alternative, but does this mean that carpenters use only mechanically powered saws, regardless of the project at hand? Certainly not. A carpenter uses a mechanically powered saw for tasks requiring its increased power, perhaps the cutting of multiple planks at once. Likewise, a hand saw may be used in projects requiring greater finesse and detail. The expertise of the carpenter lies in his or her skilled utilization of the appropriate tool for the appropriate occasion. For the tool of computerized statistical analysis of the Qur’ān to truly demonstrate its effectiveness, its user must similarly understand the situations in which it can be effectively employed and fine-tune its application to the task at hand. 2.  Behnam Sadeghi, “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program,” Arabica 58 (2010): 278.

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But with only two book-length studies employing extended computerized statistical analyses, basic questions remain unresolved: How should computerized analyses be applied to the Qur’ān? Is the bulk collection of linguistic data an effective means of studying the literary structure of the Qur’ān? If so, what can be concluded from an analysis of this data? What cannot? It is the goal of the present study to answer these questions in a manner that dispenses with the perceived inscrutability of quantitative methodologies and establishes a framework for future applications of computerized statistical analyses that accord with the multigenred reality of the Qur’ān corpus. Behnam Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program” The publication of Behnam Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program” in 2010 was a significant step forward in the incorporation of computerized statistical means of analysis into qur’anic studies. Sadeghi’s “Chronology” is the first modern attempt to apply a computerized statistical analysis to the full text of the Qur’ān. In doing so, Sadeghi employed a methodology founded in the field of stylometry, the use of statistical approaches to quantify literary style. As apparent from its title, his “Chronology” seeks to establish a chronology of the qur’anic revelation (using the chronology of the Iranian scholar Mehdi Bazargan as a basis) by charting changes in the Qur’ān’s average verse length and usage of specific morphemes.3 While Sadeghi effectively employs stylometry as a means of generating quantifiable stylistic profiles of qur’anic passages, his lack of engagement with the Qur’ān as a multigenred text undermines the validity of his conclusion that “concurrent smoothness” evinces chronological development. The present analysis of Sadeghi’s study, and the subsequent analysis of Bannister’s study, is organized into two parallel sections: a summary of the author’s methods of collection, comparison, and interpretation of linguistic data followed by my own critique of each of these methods. In this way, the complexities of each author’s statistical analyses can be comprehended before their effectiveness is discussed. This separation facilitates an informed critique, for it prevents a lack of familiarity with quantitative methodologies from hampering an appraisal of each author’s conclusions. Only after the computerized statistical analyses are themselves clearly explained will an assessment of the conclusions commence. With this established, we now turn to an analysis of Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program.” 3.  Ibid., 210–211.

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Summary In order to obtain stylistic profiles of the phases of Mehdi Bazargan’s proposed chronology, Sadeghi catalogs the Qur’ān’s employment of three sets of specific morphemes along with the average verse length of its sūrahs. The primary linguistic feature of his study is the morpheme, a unit of language that retains meaning, but cannot be divided into smaller, meaningful parts. To illustrate this linguistic concept, let us examine the English word “dogs.” The word “dogs” can be divided into two distinct morphemes: the singular noun “dog” and the plural ending “s.” “Dog” is a morpheme because it is a word stripped of additional signifiers of meaning, that is, other morphemes; every word in a language is either a single morpheme or a combination of morphemes. The “s,” too, is a morpheme, even though it cannot stand alone as an independent marker of meaning. But, when affixed to another morpheme, like the word “dog,” it is an indicator of the plural form. In this way, morphemes can be divided into independently meaningful morphemes, like words, and morphemes dependent upon other morphemes for meaning, like plural endings. Sadeghi applies this concept of morphemes to the Arabic of the Qur’ān. Over the course of his study, he works with three separate lists of Arabic morphemes: extremely common, slightly less common, and uncommon. A look at the list of extremely common morphemes provides a useful illustration of what Sadeghi’s computerized statistical analysis is examining. This list includes the twenty-eight most frequent morphemes in the Qur’ān, ranging from common conjunctions like wa and fa to the case ending vowels a, i, and u. When Sadeghi says he is “analyzing the relative frequencies of morphemes,”4 he is using a computer to catalog each instance of all the morphemes in one of his three lists across each phase of Bazargan’s proposed chronology. In the case of the list of extremely common qur’anic morphemes, he catalogs every instance of each of the twenty-eight total morphemes for each chronological phase and then calculates the percentage of the total morphemes in each phase that each extremely common morpheme makes up. Sadeghi condenses Bazargan’s chronology into twenty-two groups, so the results of his initial cataloging of the twenty-eight most common morphemes in the Qur’ān will yield the relative frequency of each of these morphemes twenty-two times; a total of 616 relative frequency values are produced. Sadeghi proceeds to graph the relative morpheme frequencies of each group, as seen in figure 1 (his fig. 18):5

4.  Ibid., 252. 5.  Ibid., 270.

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Fig. 1. Relative morpheme frequencies. Sadeghi, “The Chronology of the Qur’ān,” fig. 18.

Because this is a two-dimensional representation of twenty-eight variables, Sadeghi must use the method of PCA (Principal Component Analysis) graphical representation to approximate stylistic similarity. For an explanation of how this PCA graphical representation is calculated, see “Chronology,” 250–252.6 The interpretation of figure 1 is relatively straightforward. Each point represents one of the twenty-two groups in Bazargan’s chronology, and the closer one point is to another, the more stylistically similar they are in terms of their morpheme usage. The dotted lines connect concurrent groups. A foundational assumption underlies this interpretative framework: the relative morpheme frequency of a text is an adequate indicator of literary style. This assumption merits unpacking.

6.  Ibid., 250–252.

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Implicitly, Sadeghi’s use of morpheme frequency as an indicator of literary style follows the stylometric principal that the employment of commonly used morphemes by an author is a largely unconscious process. Any composer of a literary artifact, whether oral or written, makes conscious stylistic decisions. These decisions commonly include a text’s meaning, tone, and genre. But how does an author generate meaning, say, in a text? One way is to employ morphemes with inflexible meanings and connotations; these often include nouns, adjectives, and verbs whose purpose is to impart specific meanings to a situation. For example, in the sentence, “He was frustrated and unhappy,” the adjectives “frustrated” and “unhappy” define the mental state of the subject. If the author wants to change the mental state of the subject, he or she can substitute these adjectives for others as in, “He was cheerful and delighted.” The author consciously changes these adjectives to impart different meanings. But what about common morphemes like “and,” Arabic wa? Or the definite article “the,” Arabic al? Common morphemes such as these do not dictate meaning in the way that many nouns, adjectives, and verbs do; rather, conjunctions and definite articles convey syntactic as opposed to thematic meaning. In the previous examples, the conjunction “and” is used equivalently in content of opposite meaning. For this reason, stylometry assumes that variances in the usages of many common morphemes are not tied to conscious stylistic decisions like imparting meaning and are, therefore, largely unconscious. This assumption will be revisited when discussing Sadeghi’s conclusion that the “smooth progression” of morpheme frequency across the twenty-two groups constitutes a stylistically significant pattern. In addition to cataloging morpheme frequency, Sadeghi calculates the average verse length across each of Bazargan’s twenty-two groups. This process is straightforward: Sadeghi uses a computer to calculate the number of words in each verse of a specific group and finds the average verse length for that entire group. The primary markers of style utilized are fourfold: three different sets of morphemes (extremely common, slightly less common, and uncommon) and average verse length. When Sadeghi charts these four stylistic markers across the twenty-two groups of Bazargan’s chronology, the result is four different stylistic profiles of each group. Each of the twenty-two groups will have a quantifiable value, based on either morpheme frequency or average verse length, which corresponds to one of these four stylistic markers. Essentially, Sadeghi is attempting to quantify stylistic features of the Qur’ān text in order to generate numerical stylistic profiles that can be productively compared with each other. Representing a text’s literary style as a quantifiable value ostensibly provides a neutral means of comparison of style between different texts, and it is from the comparison of the stylistic profiles of each of Bazargan’s chronological phases that Sadeghi derives his conclusions.

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Sadeghi proceeds to compare the four stylistic profiles generated by calculating morpheme frequency and average verse length across Bazargan’s proposed chronology, arguing that the chronology is verified if these stylistic profiles independently “vary over its phases in a smooth fashion.”7 After Sadeghi’s initial collection of linguistic data, he employs a two-step process of comparison: first, a comparison within each of the four groups of stylistic features and, second, a comparison between each of these four groups. In both of these comparisons, Sadeghi is seeking to identify a particular type of observable pattern, namely, one that develops across Bazargan’s chronological groups “in a smooth fashion.” Sadeghi defines this criterion thusly: “[t]he smoothest sequence is the one in which style progresses most gradually, which is to say that texts that are near in time are stylistically similar… [S]moothness means that texts that are close to each other in the chronological sequence are located near each other in terms of stylistic distance.”8 In other words, a given text should be stylistically similar to those texts immediately preceding and following it chronologically. A smooth progression, then, is a gradual change in style in which one can observe clear stylistic development, but also a stylistic similarity between texts of the same time period. Because Sadeghi quantifies the style of each of Bazargan’s twenty-two groups according to three different sets of morphemes and average verse length, he has four quantifiable ways to measure stylistic similarity between individual groups. Ultimately, the smoothest sequence of groups is the one that minimizes the stylistic disparity between consecutive groups, with the result that, if one totals the difference in value between all consecutive groups, that total value will be the lowest. Let me now demonstrate how Sadeghi applies this concept of stylistic smoothness to Morpheme List A, or the most common qur’anic morphemes. For this, we must return to figure 1. Sadeghi employs multiple graphical representations to analyze the smoothness of Morpheme List A, but figure 1 is the simplest and suffices in illustrating stylistic smoothness. Sadeghi argues that figure 1 exhibits three, distinct “regimes”: (I) Groups 1–6, (II) Groups 7–11, and (III) Groups 12–22. Because groups closer to each are more similar in their usage of the most common morphemes in the Qur’ān, each regime contains qur’anic passages of relatively similar stylistic profiles. When analyzing these three regimes, Sadeghi finds two instances of stylistic smoothness: the progression of Groups 1–6 in Regime I and the larger progression from Regime I to II to III.9 This means that Groups 1–6 are stylistically similar to each other and display stylistic development; there is no clear stylistic development within Regimes II or III. On a macroscopic level, stylistic similarity and clear progression occur between the three regimes. If one were to 7.  Ibid., 210. 8.  Ibid., 225. 9.  Ibid., 271.

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combine these two observations of smooth progression, a stylistic progression of eight phases emerges: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7–11] [12–22]. In terms of the frequency of their employment of the twenty-eight most common morphemes in the Qur’ān, Sadeghi argues that Bazargan’s chronology can be further reduced into these eight phases displaying a smooth progression of style. A similar procedure of graphical representation and examination for smooth progression occurs for the three other markers of style, namely, frequency of slightly less common and uncommon morphemes and average verse length. Sadeghi then proceeds to compare the patterns found in each of the four analyses to each other, looking for the occurrence of “concurrent smoothness,”10 i.e., the occurrence of smooth stylistic progression across different markers of style. Thus, if each of Sadeghi’s four markers of style progress smoothly over the same sequence of phases, that sequence of phases can be claimed to demonstrate concurrent smoothness. Indeed, Sadeghi argues that each of these four markers of style varies smoothly across Bazargan’s chronology, establishing a final seven-phase ordering of the initial twenty-two groups: [2] [3] [4] [5] [6–11] [12–19] [20–22].11 Sadeghi calls this ordering the “Modified Bazargan Chronology.”12 Sadeghi concludes that the “concurrent smoothness” witnessed between independent markers of style across this Modified Bazargan Chronology evinces both the validity of this chronological sequence and that the Qur’ān was composed by a single author. Sadeghi summarizes his argument that “concurrent smoothness” evinces the correct chronological sequence as follows: If one reduces Bazargan’s twenty-two groups in this way, then one observes a phenomenon that cannot be due to chance: several different, independent markers of style vary over these phases in a smooth fashion, adjacent clusters having relatively similar stylistic profiles. Such smoothness is observed with four markers of style: mean verse length and three powerful, independent multivariate markers. The only discernable explanation for the observed concurrent smoothness is chronological development. One who denies this conclusion has the burden of explaining the pattern in some other way.13

10.  Ibid., 283. 11.  Group 1 is conspicuously missing. Sadeghi explains that this omission on “Bazargan’s Group 1 is excluded and no corroboration is claimed for it for three reasons: (1) at 415 words it is not clear whether it is large enough for the chosen markers of style to characterize it meaningfully; (2) its initial position makes it difficult to assess smoothness—and (3) for an important reason to be mentioned later below.” Ibid., 283. 12.  Ibid., 282. 13.  Ibid., 282–283.

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Four independent linguistic markers have demonstrated a similar pattern of smooth progression of style across the same sequence of qur’anic revelation, establishing that this sequence displays a legitimate stylistic pattern. In Sadeghi’s view, this concurrent smoothness corresponds to chronology because there are no other apparent explanations for such a pattern. In the following section, I will provide an alternate explanation for this phenomenon. Additionally, Sadeghi argues that the appearance of concurrent smoothness corroborates the theory of a single author of the Qur’ān.14 Because the style of the Qur’ān appears to vary smoothly over time, Sadeghi contends, any proposal of multiple authors would need to explain how and why this continuity of style was maintained. Inasmuch as the analyzed markers of styles include morpheme frequency and verse length, both of which, it may be argued, are unconscious stylistic choices, it becomes implausible to assert that multiple authors would be able to maintain such a smooth trend over the course of the entire Qur’ān text. Again, I will confront the validity of this conclusion in the following section. In sum: Sadeghi’s “Chronology” offers a computerized statistical analysis of the Qur’ān that can be divided into three steps: collection of linguistic data, comparisons between that data, and conclusions from that data. Sadeghi collects the morpheme frequency of three different sets of morphemes along with average verse length in an effort to quantify the style of the Qur’ān text. He then compares changes in style across Bazargan’s chronology for specific markers of style, looking for examples of “smooth” progression between the twenty-two groups. Finally, Sadeghi compares the trends seen in each of the four markers of style to each other, arguing for “concurrent smoothness,” namely, that all four markers exhibit smooth stylistic progression across the same sequence of groups. He concludes that this concurrent smoothness confirms this sequence of groups of sūrahs as the correct chronological sequence and that it evinces a single author. We now turn to my critique of these methods and conclusions. Analysis Sadeghi’s collection of stylistic data and subsequent creation of stylistic profiles is an effective means of characterizing the style of portions of the Qur’ān text through quantification. As in any useful literary study of stylistic development, Sadeghi attempts to use broad linguistic evidence to understand if and how style changes throughout the Qur’ān. What differentiates Sadeghi’s attempt from all those preceding it, however, is his use of the computer; a computerized statistical analysis allows for a wider-range of linguistic features to be cataloged. In total, Sadeghi easily catalogs the appearance of 3,835 dif14.  Ibid., 288.

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ferent morphemes throughout the entire Qur’ān text, in addition to cataloging the average verse length of each qur’anic verse. A manual linguistic analysis cannot achieve comparable efficiency or comprehensiveness. Additionally, computerized analyses of the Qur’ān have the benefit of utilizing digital Qur’ān texts in which each word is morphologically tagged. This morphological tagging, in particular, makes utilizing morphemes in linguistic analyses feasible, as these morphemes are stored digitally, ready to be accessed by a computer. What is a laborious endeavor when done manually becomes an afterthought with the help of a computer. In a field as contested as qur’anic studies, the easier incorporation of any new means of stylistic analysis is welcome. But do morphemes offer an effective means of characterizing qur’anic style? The answer is decidedly yes. Sadeghi’s use of morpheme frequency as a means of generating a text’s stylistic profile is equivalent to the use of average verse length, rhyme, or any other syntactic feature for such a purpose. It is merely a stylistic phenomenon that is being tracked across the Qur’ān. Indeed, morpheme frequency may even have increased efficacy as an indicator of style because the use of many morphemes is a product of unconscious stylistic decisions. If an author unconsciously includes certain morphemes, the frequencies of these morphemes are less likely to vary according to the conscious decisions of the author, namely, those that are centered around meaning and theme. This fact positions morpheme frequency as an impartial criterion of qur’anic style. Sadeghi is correct to champion the use of morpheme frequency as a legitimate marker of literary style; as will be discussed, it is the conclusions that he draws from the patterns in morpheme frequency that are unsound, not the method of analysis itself. Likewise, the “concurrent smoothness” of stylistic markers seen across Bazargan’s chronology does, in fact, demonstrate that this chronological sequence exhibits a noteworthy pattern of placing stylistically similar groups of qur’anic passages near each other. Sadeghi’s assertion that each of his four stylistic markers constitutes an independent criterion appears sound;15 while there may be an inherent linguistic relation between certain morphemes and verse length or even between morphemes themselves in terms of their employment, the fact that the study employs a total of 3,835 different morphemes renders these potential cases of false confirmation statistically insignificant. Broadly speaking, if Bazargan’s groups are condensed into the sequence of [2] [3] [4] [5] [6–11] [12–19] [20–22], the stylistic criteria of the morpheme frequency of the most common, slightly less common, and uncommon morphemes, along with average verse length, all confirm a development of qur’anic style in which chronologically proximate groups display stylistic similarity. Therefore, four independent markers of style confirm a 15.  Ibid., 218.

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pattern of smooth progression across Bazargan’s chronology, and this pattern deserves scrutiny. Because the Qur’ān is a multigenred text, however, concurrent stylistic smoothness cannot be assumed to be caused by chronological development; such smoothness can be equally attributed to an organization of qur’anic material into groups of distinct genres. As noted, Sadeghi argues that the appearance of concurrent smoothness across four independent markers of style proves the correctness of their chronological order because it is “the only discernable explanation.”16 Unfortunately, Sadeghi does not elaborate. It is important to note here that there is no inherent reason that concurrent smoothness should be connected to chronology. Concurrent smoothness is merely evidence of a pattern of organization displayed by a particular sequence of qur’anic passages; whether this organization is based on chronology or, as I will argue, genre is in no way substantiated by Sadeghi’s analysis alone. Sadeghi declares that concurrent smoothness evinces chronology either because he truly cannot think of another explanation or, more likely, he is determined to make a chronological argument despite other possible explanations. That this second case is accurate is substantiated by his inclusion of a brief response to the criticism that I will make, namely, that concurrent smoothness can also be achieved if the stylistic progression across Bazargan’s chronology is rooted in changing uses of different genres of discourse. Sadeghi himself concedes that qur’anic genre may be helpful in understanding the Qur’ān’s stylistic development: While the Qur’ān displays continuous generic evolution, there may also be room for speaking of discrete genres in the Qur’ān, specifically with regard to legal vs. non-legal material. Studies have shown that discrete genres can affect style heavily. For better results, the variables of time and discrete genre must be studied together.17

Sadeghi understands that the Qur’ān may employ discrete genres and that genre arguably has a large influence on literary style, yet he maintains that chronological development is the only explanation for concurrent stylistic smoothness. Sadeghi’s inclusion of such an appraisal of genre without including it as a possible organizing factor in Bazargan’s chronology is puzzling. In a footnote to his discussion of genre, he writes: Against my conclusions, one might argue that the stylistic variation over the seven clusters merely reflects that each cluster has material of different discrete stylistic profiles (e.g., genres) in differing proportions. For example, [2] would have no legal content, [3] would have a little, [4] would have a little more, and

16.  Ibid., 283. 17.  Ibid., 286.

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so on. Although the gradual decline in the amount of eschatological material in the Meccan phase… may have contributed somewhat to such an effect, on the whole what one observes is genuinely gradual change in style rather than the mixing of discrete styles in gradually changing proportions; thus eschatological passages experience stylistic evolution as well. Generally, the Qur’ān’s style comprises a continuum rather than sharp, discrete categories.18

This argument is predicated upon an unfounded assumption: the Qur’ān exhibits “gradual change in style rather than the mixing of discrete styles in gradually changing proportions.”19 Sadeghi is arguing that the Qur’ān has a single, underlying “style” that changes over time and that this underlying progression of “style” transcends genre boundaries. Unfortunately, beyond his brief mention of the stylistic development of eschatological content, he offers no proof, his own or citations of others, of an underlying, smooth stylistic development across multiple genres. To Sadeghi, distinct genres and their stylistic conventions do not inherently affect the Qur’ān’s utilization of stylistic features such as the frequency of common morphemes, even though he previously states that “[s]tudies have shown that discrete genres can affect style heavily.” Sadeghi’s subsequent concession that “studying the variable of genre and its interaction with the variable of time remains a desideratum”20 acknowledges the potential value of genre criticism in a literary analysis of qur’anic chronology, but establishes its value as wholly supplementary to his study. In the currently underdeveloped state of genre studies of the Qur’ān, an assumption that discrete qur’anic genres have only ancillary bearing on the stylistic character of the text and are, instead, themselves influenced by an underlying, amorphous “style,” is dubious. But even if Sadeghi’s criticisms of genre as an organizing principal of Bazargan’s chronology do not hold up to scrutiny, why is it imperative that a computerized statistical analysis of the Qur’ān incorporate genre into its interpretive framework? As mentioned by Sadeghi, genre has the ability to modify, or perhaps the characteristic of modifying, literary style. For the purposes of this study, genre can be defined as “a recognizable and established category of written [or oral] work employing such common conventions as will prevent readers or audiences from mistaking it for another kind.”21 The “conventions” particular to a discrete genre may govern a text’s form, style, or content; indeed, in order for a discrete genre to exist, it must manipulate the text in such a way that renders it recognizable from other genres. In a study such as Sadeghi’s that looks for stylistic patterns across the entire Qur’ān text, 18.  Ibid., 286–287. 19.  Ibid., 286. 20.  Ibid., 290. 21.  The Oxford Dictionary of Literary Terms, s.v. “Genre” (C. Baldrick).

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it stands to reason that if the Qur’ān exhibits discrete genres, these genres and their respective stylistic conventions would be a major contributing factor to differences in literary style. The appearance of discrete genres, while not disproving that chronology accounts for concurrent stylistic smoothness, provides a likely alternative that merits immediate investigation. While generalization abounds in western scholarship concerning the existence of distinct genres of qur’anic discourse, no concerted effort has been made to thoroughly catalog these genres. Carl W. Ernst provides the best overview of qur’anic genre in his essential How to Read the Qur’an. In introducing the Meccan sūrahs, Ernst states, “[t]here are also many instances of distinctive literary forms and genres, such as oaths, end-times or apocalyptic, signs of God in nature, and debate… that are helpful to understanding different expressions of the Qur’ān.”22 Ernst, by associating “genres” with “literary forms,” rightly suggests that distinct genres of qur’anic discourse do more than merely introduce new themes into an underlying literary style; rather, these genres dictate the stylistic form, thematic and syntactic, that the different portions of the Qur’ān take. Ernst further asserts: Scholars have broken down the types of material that appear with the sūrah into “building blocks” of various types, which could be considered the basic literary genres of forms of composition within the Qur’ān… It is also worth keeping in mind that the Qur’ān exhibits definite changes in the kinds of building blocks employed as one moves from the early Meccan sūrahs to the Medinan period.23

Not only are distinct genres of discourse apparent in the Qur’ān, but the Qur’ān also employs different genres in different periods of revelation. This characterization of the Qur’ān as a dynamic, multigenred text raises serious doubt on Sadeghi’s assertion that the only explanation for his observed stylistic pattern is chronological ordering. At the very least, the organization of the Qur’ān according to discrete genres provides a plausible alternative to the stylistic progression witnessed in “Chronology.” If different genres exhibit different stylistic profiles, as Ernst suggests, it is possible that the distinct stylistic profiles displayed across the seven groups of Sadeghi’s Modified Bazargan Chronology correspond to the stylistic profiles of distinct genres. A recognition of the Qur’ān as a multigenred text calls into question Sadeghi’s stylometric methodology. Sadeghi’s particular application of stylometry to the Qur’ān text has its antecedents in a vast array of stylometric research; in every study, however, stylometry is being applied to a text or texts

22.  Carl W. Ernst, How to Read the Qur’an: A New Guide with Select Translations (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2011), 12. 23.  Ibid., 51.

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of a single genre.24 Beyond those stylometric studies that Sadeghi cites, I have found only one that attempts to apply stylometric techniques across different genres.25 This study gathers both the prose and theatrical works of several English-language authors and attempts to use stylometry to correctly assign works of different genres to their authors. The results of this analysis support the inability of current stylometric techniques to effectively operate across genre lines. The study concludes that the stylometric techniques employed “[do] not [seem] able to capture the overall difference between same-author and different-author text pairs across two genres in our corpus.”26 Such an assessment renders Sadeghi’s conclusion that the Qur’ān has only one author highly questionable. If one of the few, if not only, examples of purposefully applying stylometry across multiple genres has failed in its goal, the usefulness of Sadeghi’s “Chronology” must be questioned. Disregarding any potential advances in stylometric technique, it seems that Sadeghi’s application of stylometric methodology, along with its techniques and assumptions, to the multigenred text of the Qur’ān is unsound. In order for such a computerized statistical analysis to be successful, it must be run upon distinct genres of discourse individually. This argument is at the heart of the proposed framework for computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān laid out in the concluding section. Before presenting this framework, however, it is necessary to examine the other major example of a computerized-analysis of the Qur’ān, Andrew G. Bannister’s An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’an.27 Andrew G. Bannister’s An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’ān When published in 2014, Andrew G. Bannister’s An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’an represented only the second book-length computerized-analysis of the Qur’ān, preceded only by Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān.” While both authors employ computerized statistical analyses, Bannister grounds his in the field of oral-literary theory. The goal of Bannister’s study is to demonstrate the oral mode of composition of the Qur’ān by tracking its “formulaic” content. He utilizes a computer to trace syntactic patterns throughout the full Qur’ān text and draws historical conclusions concerning the Qur’ān’s 24.  Sadeghi, “The Chronology of the Qur’ān,” 221–222. 25.  Mike Kestemont, Kim Luyckx, Walter Daelemans, and Thomas Crombez, “Cross-Genre Authorship Verification Using Unmasking,” English Studies 93:3 (2012): 340–356. 26.  Ibid., 349. 27.  Andrew G. Bannister, An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’an (Plymouth: Lexington Books, 2014).

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textual history based upon changes in the frequency of these syntactic patterns, that is, formulas. While Bannister’s oral-formulaic analysis is successful in quantifying a largely presumed stylistic difference between Meccan and Medinan sūrahs, his conclusions as to the source of this stylistic difference, like Sadeghi’s, are hampered by a lack of recognition of the Qur’ān as a multigenred text. Summary Adhering to the tenets of oral-formulaic analysis, Bannister catalogs instances of repeated qur’anic language, which, he argues, correspond to the “formulaic” language necessary in the composition of oral literature.28 A basic principle of oral-formulaic analysis is as follows: the task of spontaneously composing a piece of oral literature necessitates the composer’s employment of formulaic language, or repeated expressions, often fixed in their meter, that serve to convey particular images or ideas. According to oral-formulaic theory, these formulas were necessitated by the difficulties of producing impromptu oral literature that conformed to specific metrical conventions. Instead of generating a new image or idea that also fit recognized literary conventions, the oral composer drew upon a corpus of formulas previously established by past composers in the same tradition.29 For this reason, literature that is composed orally bears characteristic repetitions of phrases and themes. Bannister seeks to find these formulas in the Qur’ān. In order to find these formulas, Bannister first uses a computer to build “a database of every set of three bases that occur throughout the entire text.”30 By “bases,” Bannister appears to mean most independent morphemes (like nouns, verbs, and adjectives), and not dependent morphemes (like the attached conjunctions wa or fa or possessive suffixes). They do not, however, mean Arabic roots. He gives the example of the phrase bismi allāhi’l-raḥmāni’lraḥīmi:31 this phrase, when broken down into its respective bases, becomes ism allāh raḥmān raḥīm and represents two three-base sequences, ism allāh raḥmān and allāh raḥmān raḥīm. Once the computer has cataloged each three-base sequence, 77,559 in total, Bannister calculates the number of times a particular three-base sequence is repeated in the Qur’ān. If a three-base sequence is repeated multiples times in the Qur’ān, Bannister labels it a formula. In order to quantify a sūrah’s employment of formulaic language and calculate its “formulaic density,” Bannister calculates the percentage of indi28.  Ibid., 138–156. 29.  “Corpus” here does not denote a written corpus, but more probably a collection of memorized formulas circulating between oral composers of the same tradition. 30.  Ibid., 139. 31.  Ibid.

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vidual bases within each sūrah that appear in any of the three-base “formulas” found in the Qur’ān.32 Bannister uses Sūrat al-Fātiḥah as an example. Of the twenty-nine total bases in al-Fātiḥah, eleven of them “form part of three-base sequences that occur at least twice in the whole Qur’ān.”33 If one divides these eleven bases that appear in qur’anic formulas by the total number of bases in the sūrah (29), one calculates the “formulaic density” of Sūrat alFātiḥah: 37.93%. The percentage correlating to formulaic density, Bannister argues, represents the amount of the sūrah that displays formulaic language. He proceeds to apply this calculation to all 114 sūrahs of the Qur’ān (fig. 2).34 With the formulaic density of each sūrah calculated, Bannister proceeds to compare the sūrahs to each other, centering his comparisons on the Meccan and Medinan division.35 After compiling his initial results, Bannister divides the sūrahs into those traditionally labeled “Meccan” and those traditionally labeled “Medinan” and computes the average of each group’s formulaic density. The result, Bannister contends, characterizes the extent to which each period of revelation utilizes formulaic language: for the Meccan period the average formulaic density is 39.34% while for the Medinan period the average is 55.01%.36 Additionally, the average formulaic density for the Qur’ān, as a whole, is 52.18%. While Bannister tweaks the variables of his analyses throughout his study, the above data sufficiently summarize his findings: the Qur’ān displays a remarkably high amount of formulaic language, and the Medinan period material has a markedly higher amount of formulaic language than the Meccan period material. Bannister explores the differences in formulaic language between Meccan and Medinan period passages at the level of the verse.37 For this, he employs the same method of calculating formulaic density for the sūrah, but instead applies it to individual verses. Unsurprisingly, Medinan period verses are, on the whole, more formulaic than Meccan period verses, mirroring the results at the level of the sūrah.38 He notes that large differences in formulaic density between concurrent verses may be evidence of later redaction, even suggesting that some of these “interruptions” in verse-level formulaic density may map onto Richard Bell’s division of the Qur’ān text.39

32.  Ibid. 33.  Ibid., 140. 34.  Ibid., 142. 35.  Ibid., 142–146. 36.  Ibid., 143. 37.  Ibid., 163–205. 38.  Ibid., 181. 39.  Ibid., 186–202.

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Fig. 2. Percentage of three-base sequences in all suras found elsehwere in the Qur’ān. From Bannister, An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’an, table 5.6 and figure 5.7.

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Finally, Bannister attempts to locate “formulaic systems” across the Qur’ān.40 Formulaic systems are repetitions of a specific image or idea that, while not exact, demonstrate a clear thematic and syntactic relation to the other formulas in the same system. Bannister provides an example of such a formulaic system in the Qur’ān:41 1.  The Arabic root jhd + a particle + the Arabic root sbl + allāh a.  jāhadū fī sabīli allāhi b.  tujāhidūna fī sabīli allāhi c.  mujāhidūna fī sabīli allāhi d.  yujāhidūna fī sabīli allāhi These four iterations constitute a formulaic system because, despite their differing utilizations of the Arabic root jhd, each is expressing a nearly exact idea, struggling in the way of God, with nearly exact syntax. If the exact repetition of a phrase constitutes a formula, then near exact iterations of a phrase constitute formulaic systems. Bannister cites thirty examples of these formulaic systems in the Qur’ān. Largely through a comparison of formulaic densities, Bannister concludes that, generally, the Qur’ān exhibits characteristics of an orally composed text and, specifically, the Medinan sūrahs contain more oral, original material than the Meccan sūrahs. Citing the formulaic density of the Qur’ān at 52.18%, Bannister first concludes that the Qur’ān is a fundamentally oral text.42 That is, this preponderance of formulaic language confirms that the Qur’ān was composed orally; such a high degree of formulaic language would only be needed in situations of spontaneous oral performance. Bannister then revisits the differences in formulaic density between Meccan and Medinan sūrahs, arguing that, among other factors, the higher average formulaic density of the Medinan sūrahs indicates that “the material in those sūrahs traditionally labeled “Medinan” better preserves the oral mode in which Muḥammad first preached the qur’anic material.”43 Before he finishes the page, however, he tempers this argument stating, “one can still question what that data means, but, in this case, that there are highly significant differences between the construction of “Meccan” and “Medinan” sūrahs is unquestionable.”44

40.  Ibid., 207–242. 41.  Ibid., 208. 42.  Ibid., 274. 43.  Ibid., 277. 44.  Ibid.

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Analysis While the Qur’ān clearly displays formulaic language and is suited for oralformulaic analysis, the lack of a larger literary context undermines the efficacy of “formulaic density” as a stylistic marker. As noted, the concept of the formula and the formulaic system is rooted in the existence of a previously established oral-literary tradition complete with ready-made formulaic content from which to draw. Indeed, a text is considered formulaic because it participates in a larger oral-formulaic tradition. This consideration brings to light two different types of formulas within a single text: those formulas repeated within a particular text and those formulas not repeated in a particular text but repeated in other literature within the same tradition. Bannister easily recognizes the first type of formula; the entire study is predicated upon finding repeated expressions within the Qur’ān. But he fails to recognize the second type, dismissing those words and clauses not repeated within the Qur’ān as non-formulaic content. However, it is evident from his own description of formulas that this is unfounded. Just because a word or clause is not repeated elsewhere in the Qur’ān does not mean it is not “formulaic”; it is possible, and even likely in the earliest sūrahs, that the language of the Qur’ān is echoing language from elsewhere in its literary tradition. In order to provide a more accurate demonstration of what is and what is not formulaic in the Qur’ān, the language of the Qur’ān must be analyzed against the language of other literature produced within its same literary tradition. Obviously, Bannister is not at fault for failing to offer this comparison. No examples of literature comparable and contemporary to the Qur’ān have survived. The closest example, geographically and temporally, may be the corpus of pre-Islamic poetry, but its authenticity and stylistic relation to the Qur’ān are hotly contested. It may be fruitful, however, to undertake a comparative oral-formulaic analysis of the Qur’ān and pre-Islamic poetry. No such study exists, however, and there is little else in the way of fleshing out the literary tradition in which the Qur’ān was a part. For this reason, formulaic density remains an imprecise criterion with which to characterize qur’anic style. The absence of a literary tradition with which to compare the Qur’ān and the corresponding inability to recognize formulaic language not repeated elsewhere in the Qur’ān disproportionally affects the calculation of the formulaic densities of the Meccan sūrahs. As established above, oral-literary theory states that literature composed in an oral society makes use of the formulaic language characteristic of the tradition of which it is a part. Imagine, for example, the first revelation of the Qur’ān, whichever passage this may refer to. As a production of oral literature, it should employ formulas to aid its composition. As the first qur’anic revelation, however, it must draw upon formulas outside the qur’anic corpus because, obviously, no qur’anic corpus

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yet existed. This must have been the case for, at the very least, the earliest qur’anic revelations. This consideration has significant consequences for the calculation of a passage’s formulaic density. Because it is conceivable that early qur’anic revelation exhibits extra-qur’anic formulas, these formulas would not be recognized in Bannister’s analysis, with the result that the formulaic densities of the early qur’anic revelation would be improperly low. This is precisely the phenomenon witnessed in Oral-Formulaic. Only after a sufficient corpus of qur’anic revelation has been accumulated do intra-qur’anic formulas become feasible; the Qur’ān would need to be recognized as part of an existing literary tradition through the utilization of known formulaic language before it could create formulaic language of its own. It is, therefore, expected that Bannister’s analysis calculates chronologically later revelations as having higher formulaic densities than earlier ones, as the earlier revelations would contain formulaic content outside the qur’anic corpus, invisible to Bannister’s analysis. Despite these reservations, the comparison of formulaic densities does expose an inherent stylistic difference between Meccan and Medinan sūrahs. No matter how many base sequences Bannister uses (2, 3, 4, or 5), Medinan sūrahs consistently display higher formulaic densities than their Meccan counterparts. As just discussed, this is plausibly attributed to Meccan sūrahs’ incorporating more extra-qur’anic formulaic language, for Bannister’s statistical analysis recognizes only formulaic language within the Qur’ān. No matter the source of these results, however, it is clear that Meccan and Medinan sūrahs display significant stylistic dissimilarities. There are at least two possible explanations for these differences: either the Meccan sūrahs are less formulaic than Medinan sūrahs, or the Meccan sūrahs utilize formulas outside the scope of Bannister’s study. Both of these explanations highlight a fundamental difference in how Meccan and Medinan sūrahs are composed. Unfortunately, the questions surrounding the exclusive use of intra-qur’anic formulas in Bannister’s study do not allow for a more specific claim than broad, stylistic differences. He does, however, provide quantitative support for a largely presumed stylistic difference between sūrahs of the two periods. Much like Sadeghi’s stylometric analysis, Bannister’s interpretation of his data is hampered by his lack of recognition that differences in formulaic density between Meccan and Medinan sūrahs can also be attributed to differences in the employment of distinct genres. It should be noted that Bannister incorporates the methods of oral-formulaic analysis developed to analyze texts of a single genre.45 The multigenred character of the Qur’ān, again, complicates the interpretation of the stylistic data. If the Qur’ān consisted

45.  Ibid., 65–97.

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of a single genre, say legal injunctions, changes in formulaic density may correlate to the historical processes of composition or redaction, as it can be assumed that all the formulas were being utilized according to a common practice, that imposed by the genre of legal injunctions. But the presence of multiple, distinct genres in the Qur’ān renders these correlations problematic. As noted, distinct genres have distinct stylistic profiles; each genre possesses characteristic expressions of characteristic themes. Naturally, whenever a specific genre is utilized, so too will its specific modes of expression. Multiple occurrences of the same genre, then, will generate repeated instances of the syntax characteristic of that genre. These repeated instances of syntax, in Bannister’s oral-formulaic analysis, will be cataloged as a repeated phrase and labeled a “formula.” In this way, different genres produce different “formulas.” In a multigenred text such as the Qur’ān, different genres presumably employ different kinds of formulaic language. Any observed changes in the Qur’ān’s employment of formulas may therefore correspond to changes in the Qur’ān’s employment of genres. It is likely that different genres utilize different formulas in different amounts. For example, it would not be unexpected that legal injunctions contain different formulas in different amounts than eschatological signs, for different genres exhibit different stylistic tendencies. These two basic, and probable, suppositions are sufficient to call into question any claims that formulaic density in the Qur’ān necessarily relates to the extent to which passages reflect original, oral material or later redactions. Indeed, if qur’anic genre is considered alongside Bannister’s oral-formulaic analysis, many of his unprecedented claims, for example, that Medinan sūrahs contain more original, oral material than the Meccan sūrahs, are severely weakened. Using genre criticism to critique the results of Sadeghi’s and Bannister’s studies does not prove that the Qur’ān’s employment of multiple genres is the sole cause behind the stylistic phenomena observed by each study. Rather, such a critique asserts that the Qur’ān’s employment of many distinct genres has a significant effect on the literary style of the Qur’ān and that to ignore such a characteristic feature in a stylistic analysis of the Qur’ān is a critical misstep. This is especially true of computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān, for their ability to comb the entire Qur’ān text for syntactic markers and patterns exposes such analyses to the wide variety of genres that the Qur’ān employs. It seems clear, then, that any computerized statistical analysis must incorporate genre criticism into its interpretative and methodological framework. Despite the novelty of computerized statistical analyses and the arrested development of genre studies of the Qur’ān, the reconciliation of these two aspects is difficult. What follows is a proposed framework for the application of computerized statistical analyses to the Qur’ān that treats the Qur’ān as a multigenred text.

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A Methodological and Interpretative Framework for the Application of Computerized Statistical Analyses to the Qur’ān The analyses of Behnam Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program” and Andrew G. Bannister’s An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’an have shown the potential explanatory power of incorporating genre criticism into computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān. Unlike many texts, scripture or otherwise, the Qur’ān is a composite text of several discursive genres. Because individual genres have such impact on the style of a text, any stylistic analysis of the Qur’ān must account for each of its distinct genres and its potential effects upon qur’anic style; the pitfalls of Sadeghi’s and Bannister’s analyses are testaments to that consideration. But this is not an easy task. Western scholarship has scarcely focused on defining the distinct genres of the Qur’ān, much less their internal stylistic developments. Nonetheless, computerized statistical analyses offer too powerful a tool to abandon or use ineffectively; it is imperative to establish a framework for the employment of computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān that facilitates their productive employment across a multigenred Qur’ān text. In the remainder of this study, I will present such a framework, arguing that in order for computerized statistical analyses to serve as an effective tool in the literary analysis of the Qur’ān, they must first be applied to individual qur’anic genres and then compared with each other. Qur’anic genres consist of distinct literary forms that, as Carl Ernst states, are the “building blocks” of the sūrahs.46 Because little has been done in the way of defining what constitutes a qur’anic genre, its definition must be scavenged from a variety of sources. According to Ernst, examples of qur’anic genre include “oaths, end-times, or apocalyptic, signs of God in nature, and debate.”47 Thematically, each of these examples is distinct. Little can be concluded from this description about their syntaxes, but it is clear, at least, that qur’anic genres exhibit different thematic content. Neal Robinson confirms this notion when discussing the six “registers” of the Meccan sūrahs: polemic, eschatology, God’s personal communication with the Messenger, the signs of God’s power and beneficence, lessons from history, and the status and authenticity of the revelation.48 That Ernst’s “genre” and Robinson’s “register” are equivalent is attested by the broad agreement between their descriptions of distinct literary forms. Angelika Neuwirth, too, confirms these categories of qur’anic genre and hints at their syntactic differences: “eschatological prophecies,” she says, may be introduced by “clusters of idhā (‘when…’)-phrases… 46.  Ernst, How to Read the Qur’an, 51. 47.  Ibid., 12. 48.  Neal Robinson, Discovering the Qur’an: A Contemporary Approach to a Veiled Text (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 2003), 125.

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followed by a ‘then…’-phrase”49 while “debates” are characterized by statement-response formulas, “‘when they say…, respond…’ (wa-yaqūlūna… faqul).”50 Each literary genre, it appears, maintains an individual thematic and syntactic stylistic profile. The relationship between literary genre and the sūrah, however, is contested. Neuwirth, a proponent of sūrahs as genres in themselves, states, “The vast majority of the sūrahs are neatly composed texts that may be understood to constitute a literary genre in themselves…. Only some of the long sūrahs appear to be haphazard compilations of isolated text passages, their shape due to the redaction process itself.”51 According to this view, many sūrahs form coherent wholes that may constitute their own genres, but some sūrahs are compilations without any obvious literary coherence. Without a firm scholarly consensus, following this tack is wise; because sūrahs are either intentional literary compositions or not, they must be analyzed on a case-by-case basis. Such a view is compatible with Ernst’s description of distinct qur’anic genres as the “building blocks” of sūrahs, too, for these “building blocks” would form a literarily intelligible whole in some sūrahs while not in others. A broad outline of qur’anic genre has emerged: Qur’anic genres exhibit distinct themes, distinct syntaxes, and may be constituent parts of sūrahs, or perhaps entire sūrahs themselves. Unfortunately, as demonstrated in the analyses of Bannister and Sadeghi, computerized statistical analyses of the Qur’ān text have not yet incorporated these distinct qur’anic genres into their methodological or interpretative frameworks. Because qur’anic genres can affect thematic, syntactic, and organizational structures, any stylistic analysis of the Qur’ān must confront the varying stylistic effects of different genres on the Qur’ān’s use of language. But how does one account for these genres, particularly in computerized statistical analyses designed to make arguments about the Qur’ān’s textual history? At the time of writing, I have found no extant statistical analysis of a literary text that can successfully distinguish between stylistic characteristics of individual genres within the same multigenred corpus. This means, if the benefits of efficiency and comprehensiveness afforded by computerized statistical analyses are to be reaped in qur’anic studies, the individual genres of the Qur’ān must be recognized, removed from their immediate literary contexts, and analyzed alongside all other examples of that same genre. Computerized

49.  Angelika Neuwirth, “Structural, Linguistic and Literary Features,” in Jane Dammen McAuliffe (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to the Qur’ān (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008), 104. 50.  Ibid., 108. 51.  Ibid., 97–98.

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statistical analyses should be applied to groupings of distinct qur’anic genres separately in order reduce the number of variables of stylistic change. Analyzing stylistic patterns exhibited by groups of passages within the same genre is what computer-statistical analyses of literary texts have been developed to do. The goal of dividing the Qur’ān into discrete genres and only then applying computerized statistical analyses is, in effect, to run multiple single-genre statistical analyses whose results can then be compared with each other. This method reduces the number of conflicting stylistic variables present when analyzing a multigenred text all at once. If for example, all stylistic analyses of individual genres exhibit the same observable patterns, one can conclude that a universal pattern in qur’anic style is occurring. Additionally, without the interfering factors of the different stylistic profiles of different genres, historical conclusions drawn from the stylistic data have greater plausibility. There are no precedents for the division of the entire Qur’ān text into its component genre forms, however. The development of a methodology that can define and separate the Qur’ān into its component genre forms is the vital next step in the application of computerized statistical analyses to the Qur’ān text. Concluding Remarks Behnam Sadeghi’s “The Chronology of the Qur’ān: A Stylometric Research Program” and Andrew G. Bannister’s An Oral-Formulaic Study of the Qur’ān demonstrate that computerized statistical analyses offer powerful new techniques in the study of qur’anic style; the ability of the computer to quickly and comprehensively catalog minute linguistic phenomena is unparalleled in manual stylistic analysis. Both analyses, however, suffer from the failure to incorporate qur’anic genre criticism into their methodological and interpretative frameworks. Using statistical methodologies developed for the study of literatures of a single genre, both Sadeghi and Bannister assume that the same conclusions drawn from the stylistic patterning of single-genre texts can be applied to the multigenred text of the Qur’ān. Unfortunately, this is not the case, as the various, distinct genres found in the Qur’ān, each with its own stylistic profiles, do not allow for a unified interpretation of the stylistic data generated by each study. In order for computerized statistical analyses to be applied to the Qur’ān effectively, the individual genres of the Qur’ān must be recognized and grouped together. Only then can computerized statistical analyses be applied to the Qur’ān without reservation.

PART 2 TRENDS AND ISSUES IN TAFSĪR STUDIES

Reading the Qur’ān Contextually: Approaches and Challenges

ABDULLAH SAEED

In a recent pamphlet published by the militant group ISIS (Islamic State in Iraq and Syria), the group attempted to justify the practice of slavery. In the document, called Su’āl wa jawāb fi al-sabi wa’l-riqāb (Questions and Answers on Taking Captives and Slaves),1 ISIS justifies capturing women and enslaving them on the basis of their “unbelief ” in Islam: “Unbelieving [women] who are captured and brought into the abode of Islam are permissible to us.” According to the document, ISIS members are permitted to have sex with these women. The qur’anic text used to support this position states: [How] prosperous are the believers! Those who pray humbly, who shun idle talk, who pay the prescribed alms, who guard their chastity except with their spouses or their slaves––with these they are not to blame (Q 23:1–6 Abdel Haleem’s translation).

Here, ISIS justifies its practice of slavery by citing qur’anic texts. For them, the content of texts such as this one justifies the practice, and no one has the authority to abolish it. This chapter focuses on what I call a contextualist approach2 to interpreting the Qur’ān, including the text published by ISIS to justify its practice of slavery. I present a brief justification for the contextualist approach, an 1.  http://www.memrijttm.org/islamic-state-isis-releases-pamphlet-on-femaleslaves.html 2.  See Abdullah Saeed, Reading the Qur’ān in the Twenty-First Century (London: Rout­ ledge, 2014). 151

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outline of how it works, and the principles that can be used to constrain it. I also outline some of the arguments presented by those who oppose such an approach to the Qur’ān. I focus here on one type of qur’anic text: ethico-legal texts. There are, of course, other kinds of texts that explore, for instance, historical matters or theological issues. These texts, in my view, pose less of a challenge for scholars because a contextualist or textualist approach (see below) will yield roughly the same or a similar result. The vast majority of the Qur’ān’s ethico-legal texts pose minimal interpretive difficulty for Muslims because the contexts in which these texts have been applied have remained largely the same over time. For example, texts addressing the need to be honest or to treat one’s parents well do not yield different interpretations depending on the context. This is also the case for texts associated with rituals, such as daily prayers, fasting, and performing the pilgrimage. A contextualist approach is important for analyzing ethico-legal qur’anic texts that are closely connected to Arabian society, cultural norms, and the institutions of the early seventh century CE. Preliminary Observations Let me begin with some preliminary observations about qur’anic interpretation. First, while qur’anic interpretation is perhaps one of the most versatile and inclusive disciplines in the Islamic tradition, it has tended to view ethicolegal texts within a strict legal framework, governed largely by ideas developed in the Islamic legal tradition for the interpretation of legal texts. Second, in the modern period, most debates surrounding the interpretation or reinterpretation of the Qur’ān have centred on its ethico-legal texts. Many concerns have emerged about the compatibility between earlier interpretations and modern expectations, particularly in the areas of gender equality, human rights, the application of prescribed punishments, bioethics, the nature of the state and the issue of governance, distribution of wealth and inheritance, and family law-related matters. To address these concerns, many Muslim scholars and thinkers, especially those with modernist, neomodernist, or post-modernist backgrounds, have called for the rethinking and reinterpretation of such texts. Third, the interpretation of such texts has been dominated by what I call a “textualist” approach. By textualist approach, I do not mean simply a purely linguistic or literal approach. Rather, I am referring to an overemphasis on meanings that have been transmitted to us from the past and on the linguistic meaning of the text. As with many types of interpreters, one can place textualists on a continuum, from hard textualism, which focuses closely on meanings transmitted from the past and the linguistic meaning of the text, to soft textualism, which

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tends to be slightly less strict in following “inherited meanings.” Problems associated with the textualist approach appear when we examine a number of ethico-legal qur’anic texts and their interpretation. It can be argued that a contextualist approach is necessary for those qur’anic texts that are likely to pose significant challenges in today’s context. Since Muslims, by and large, hold the view that the Qur’ān is a text for all times and places, a “literal” reading can obscure the higher objectives embedded in the qur’anic text. Furthermore, an exclusive focus on a text without reference to its context may increase the gap between what the Qur’ān seems to be saying on a particular issue and what Muslims in their everyday lives see as relevant, important, and necessary. One example of the challenges associated with the textualist approach in a contemporary context can be found in the qur’anic texts related to slavery. As discussed above, ISIS recently issued a declaration concerning slavery, arguing that because texts in the Qur’ān justify and support slavery, Muslims today should bring back this institution. Here ISIS relies almost entirely on a textualist approach. This is despite the fact that most Muslim scholars in the twentieth century take the position that slavery should be abolished. To reach this position, these scholars take into account the contemporary context, emphasizing the higher objectives of the Qur’ān and the dignity of the human person as we understand it today. The resulting interpretation, based on a contextualist approach, is clearly more in line with many of today’s values and norms. Defining the Contextualist Approach Some teachings of the Qur’ān are contextual in nature, which means there is a close relationship between the text and context of the original qur’anic revelation in the early seventh century CE. This is not a new idea. Indeed, the revelations received by all of the prophets occurred in specific contexts and were relevant to those contexts. Even when God’s revelation came to the Prophet Muḥammad, it considered the social, political, cultural, economic, and intellectual context of the Prophet and the community to which he was sent. While most of these teachings remained relevant and applicable to subsequent contexts and generations, some have become less relevant or even irrelevant over time, as is the case with slavery. Changes have also occurred in how we understand the role and function of women in society. In the seventh-century Hijaz, many women were socially and economically dependent upon their male family members, particularly their father or husband. Today, this is no longer the case in many societies; therefore, the qur’anic teachings related to the role and function of women should be reinterpreted with a view to the current context. If they are not, they may perpetuate norms and values that are problematic. They may even disenfranchise certain segments of the population.

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How a Contextualist Approach Works Context works on two different levels: a literary and linguistic level, and a macro level. When reading a specific qur’anic text, most interpreters evaluate how it fits within a larger literary or linguistic framework. This type of interpretation is generally well-understood in the tradition, so I will not focus on it here. Instead, I am more interested in the macro context, that is, the social, political, economic, cultural, and intellectual contexts associated with the text. For our purposes, this means the early seventh century CE and the geographical region of the Hijaz. This is what I refer to as “macro context 1.” The Qur’ān makes frequent references to the social, political, economic, and cultural life of the Hijaz just before the advent of Islam. It also discusses the prevailing beliefs, norms, customs, and practices in the region before and during the emergence of Islam. Mecca and Medina, the two most important towns in the Hijaz, are said to have had their own norms, cultures, and social structures. The Hijaz at this time was a mixed community, and included pagans, Christians, and Jews. It was a melting pot of diverse cultures, beliefs, practices, and norms. Both the language and content of the Qur’ān are related to different elements of this macro context. For instance, Abdulaziz Sachedina explains the close connection between the qur’anic text and Hijazi tribal culture. He proposes that the Prophet Muḥammad wanted to teach new ideas about God without discarding certain prevailing ideas. In Hijazi society, which was male-dominated, tribal people tended to be chauvinistic in their affairs. The Prophet and the Qur’ān appear to have condoned some of that chauvinism, while at the same time proposing major reforms. The second macro context that is relevant to our discussion is the social, political, cultural, intellectual, and economic context of the twenty-first century. This is what I call macro context 2. Although the specific contexts of Muslim societies vary across the world, these contexts share some common characteristics: the emergence of a wide range of new institutions, norms, and outlooks; new ideas about governance, such as democracy, equal citizenship, and the management of economies; a strong emphasis on human rights, dignity, and the equality of all people regardless of their faith; information and information systems; communication and transport systems; the independence of states and adherence to international law; and the management of war and peace as a collective project of all nations. A key feature of today’s macro context is an emphasis on the need to avoid unquestioning imitation of the views and interpretations of past scholars (taqlīd), and an acknowledgment that there is a need to adopt a greater spirit of questioning by reexamining, and using reason to interpret qur’anic texts. This spirit is apparent in the work of scholars like Muḥammad ‘Abduh (d. 1905 CE), who argues that God’s guidance (the ultimate aim of the

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Qur’ān) can only be understood when revelation is used alongside reason. ‘Abduh notes that the Qur’ān itself points to the importance of reason in how it constructs arguments and debates, and frames instructions. Influenced by Abduh, scholars such as Rashīd Riḍā (d. 1935 CE) follow a similar approach, emphasizing the importance of reason in today’s macro context and criticizing “blind” imitation. Muḥammad Asad (d. 1992 CE) uses this approach to interpret qur’anic texts concerning miracles, which he reads as important spiritual metaphors. Similarly, other scholars like Ibn ʿĀshūr (d.1973 CE) and Fazlur Rahman (d. 1988 CE) argue that interpreters should emphasize the ethical dimension of the Qur’ān. In a sense, these scholars are contributing to the development of a wide range of approaches, ideas, and principles for interpreting the Qur’ān that better reflect contemporary concerns. Between these two macro contexts are connector contexts, which link the text and its interpretations over time. What makes the contextualist approach difficult is that it requires the interpreter to be thoroughly familiar with macro contexts 1 and 2, as well as with all the connector contexts. The interpreter must be fully familiar with how the text’s interpretation has changed over time and in different contexts, including today. The Contextualist Approach3 There are four steps one can take when interpreting a qur’anic text contextually. In step one, the interpreter should reflect on the world of the qur’anic text, the nature of that text, and its importance for Muslims. The interpreter should also reflect on his or her worldview, life experiences, education, values, presuppositions, likes, dislikes, and influences, as well as society’s norms and values. These matters may all have an impact on how the interpreter views the text. In step two, the interpreter should ask questions about the text, including its accuracy and reliability. The Qur’ān, Muslims believe, is the word of God, preserved by their community. They accept its historical authenticity and treat it as a historically reliable text. However, the interpreter must assess the reliability of associated texts, such as qirā’āt and ḥadīth, which are also used in the process of interpretation. In step three, the interpreter addresses the text’s basic “meaning.” This complex process involves a range of substeps and analyses. They include understanding the linguistic and literary context in which the text functions and its thematic unity; a linguistic analysis of the text, which may involve syntactical, morphological, stylistic, semantic, or pragmatic investigations; identifying 3.  Saeed, Reading the Qur’ān, 94–108.

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the type of text one is dealing with and any parallel texts in the Qur’ān or ḥadīth; and understanding the relevant timeframe and the addressees of the text. The interpreter should attempt to reconstruct the text’s macro context 1 as far as possible in order to understand what the first recipients of the revelation—the Companions—emphasized or deemphasized in the understanding of the text. This multilayered analysis is required to generate the most comprehensive understanding of the text. In step four, the interpreter focuses on how a Muslim living today may relate to the meaning of the text produced by the analyses concluded in step three. Rather than neglecting or rejecting the long interpretive history of a particular text, the interpreter acknowledges the role played by the Islamic tradition in shaping our understanding and ultimately determining how we interpret the text today. This step involves analyzing the modern context (macro context 2), comparing and contrasting it with macro context 1, and taking into account the connector contexts. This approach will yield a relevant contemporary interpretation of the text without taking away the underlying objective of the text or its overall message. Once the interpreter has arrived at an interpretation of the text, it should be checked for its reasonableness among members of the interpretive community to which the interpreter belongs. Criticisms of the Contextualist Approach Some contemporary scholars have criticized the contextualist approach, which they regard as an affront to the Qur’ān, the ḥadīth, and to the long tradition of Islamic scholarship. They view approaches like this as a denial of traditional methods used to understand and interpret the Qur’ān, as well as a subjugation of the Islamic tradition to “foreign,” postmodernist perspectives. Critics perceive the contextualist approach as being detrimental to the authority of the Shari‘ah, which was established using deduction and induction from the Qur’ān and Sunna. Some fear that the process of historicization and deconstruction may lead others to conclude that the Shari‘ah is a man-made product and therefore not binding. For example, according to the Moroccan thinker Tāha ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, what he calls a “reformist reading” seeks to circumvent the theological demands of the Qur’ān in three ways: humanizing revelation, rationalizing revelation, and historicizing revelation.4 By “humanizing revelation,” ʿAbd al-Raḥmān means that reformists desacralize the Qur’ān by treating it as a cultural/human production. Such activities include, in his view, avoiding expressions that glorify the Qur’ān (e.g., al-Qur’ān al-karīm), or describing it as a phenomenon (zāhirah) instead of as a 4.  Tāhā ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, Rūḥ al-ḥadāthah (Beirut: al-Markaz al-thaqāfi al-ʿarabī, 2006), 177–178.

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revelation from God. Such methodologies and their foundational premises, he argues, result in the view that the Qur’ān can be treated and studied like any other text. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān argues that the humanization of the Qur’ān will lead to one or more highly problematic outcomes: the Qur’ān will be understood only in accordance with the norms of the culture in which it appeared and in the language of that culture; the Qur’ān will no longer be connected to the Absolute; and every text becomes context. If everything is relative, he argues, then no interpretation is worthier in its truth claims than another, and no one can lay claim to an authoritative interpretation that disqualifies other interpretations. This humanization also leads to a hermeneutic in which the Qur’ān is disconnected from its divine origin: it is impossible to know the intention of the author due to His remoteness and metaphysical transcendence. Thus, the meaning and significance of the text hinges entirely on the human reader, who can engage it only through the lenses of his or her own cultural, sociological, political, and intellectual horizons.5 For ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, “rationalizing revelation” involves circumventing the belief that the qur’anic revelation has its source in the “wholly other” or metaphysical realm. As part of this rationalisation, he argues, reformists have undermined the traditional sciences of the Qur’ān under the pretext of critical thought, subjecting the Qur’ān to the methods of textual criticism that were applied to the Old and New Testaments. By relying on modern literary tools and methodologies (for example, deconstruction), reformists cast aside all that may conflict with modern rationality.6 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān argues that the historicization of revelation is yet another strategy adopted by reformists to undermine the sacredness and divinity of the Qur’ān. This strategy involves questioning the existence of immutable commands (aḥkām thābitah) by placing qur’anic passages in the cultural, social, and linguistic contexts in which they were first revealed. Since the Qur’ān was revealed to an audience that was not yet ready to understand certain matters through analytical reasoning, reformists may argue that certain truths were communicated to the audience in a mythical language and should not be understood literally. Other salient features of this strategy include, first, the use and abuse of asbāb al-nuzūl (occasions of revelation) by arguing that historicization was widely practised by early scholars, and, second, the claim that the language of the Qur’ān is vague and may not always allow for the sort of legal deductions made by the scholars of fiqh. By extension, because of the fluid nature of the qur’anic discourse, certain commands can be revised to suit the contemporary context.7

5.  Ibid., 177–181. 6.  Ibid., 181–186. 7.  Ibid., 186.

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Like ʿAbd al-Raḥmān, many Muslims are concerned about reformist approaches to qur’anic interpretation. They think that these approaches are undisciplined and may lead to the complete destruction of fundamental practices and values. Many fear that adopting such approaches will promote relativistic tendencies and self-serving interpretations. A Brief Response to the Critics ʿAbd al-Raḥmān’s description of the contextualist approach can be challenged. The contextualist approach does retain the fundamental beliefs that Muslims hold about the Qur’ān: that it was revealed by God to the Prophet Muḥammad; that it is sacred; that it is a guide for human beings; that it is a divine text that was conveyed by the Prophet; and that, with some exceptions, the methodologies employed by earlier interpreters can still be used effectively. The contextualist approach to qur’anic ethico-legal texts does not impose what one wants on the text. Rather, it is a principled approach that takes linguistic analysis seriously, while broadening its methodology to include many more elements. In this sense, the contextualist approach can be seen as part of mainstream Muslim thinking about interpretation, not an alien approach to Islamic tradition imposed on the Qur’ān from outside. Indeed, the contextualist approach can be found embedded in Islamic tradition. ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, the second caliph, used such an approach in his interpretation of similar texts. Evidence of this can be found in the tafsīr tradition. For instance, in Qur’ān 9:60 it is stipulated that zakāt should be given to eight categories of people. As adviser to the caliph Abū Bakr, ʿUmar decided to deny zakāt to one category of recipients mentioned in this verse: those “whose hearts need winning over.” ʿUmar based his decision on the fact that the Qur’an was revealed at a time when Islam and Muslims were weak, and that the verse gave certain community leaders financial incentives to strengthen the new faith by gaining their support. This reasoning manifests an awareness that some qur’anic rulings are context specific and context dependent. Despite questions about the historical reliability of reports attributed to the second caliph, Islamic tradition generally takes his interpretations seriously. The contextualist approach is mindful of maintaining the fundamental beliefs and practices of the religion. One key consideration that guides the contextualist approach is the hierarchy of values in the Qur’ān that is recognized and acknowledged by Muslim scholars. The interpretation of any qur’anic text should not conflict with the most important and fundamental beliefs, values, and practices espoused by the Qur’ān. The five categories of values (al-aḥkām al-khamsah) exemplify thinking in scholarly circles about a possible hierarchy: obligatory (wājib), prohibited (ḥarām), recommended (mandūb), reprehensible (makrūh), and permissible (mubāḥ).

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The contextualist interpreter must be guided by a hierarchy of qur’anic values, as manifested by the higher objectives of Shari‘ah (maqāṣid al-sharīʿah) and what the Qur’ān refers to as right action (al-ʿamal al-ṣālih). The hierarchy provides a method for determining which texts and teachings are universal in nature, and which can be particularized or contextualized. This hierarchy has five levels: obligatory, fundamental, protectional, implementational, and instructional. The first three levels of values are generally considered by Muslims to be fundamental, immutable and, thus, universally applicable. This means that a contextualist interpretation should not conflict with or reinterpret these universal values.8 Each category of values may have one or more subcategories. The first level, obligatory values, may further be subdivided into (1) fundamental beliefs pertaining to the six pillars of īmān (belief); (2) fundamental rituals/practices such as prayer (ṣalāt), pilgrimage (ḥajj), and fasting (ṣiyām); and (3) what is clearly spelled out in the Qur’ān as being permissible (ḥalāl), using terms such as uḥilla, uḥillat, aḥalla Allah, or aḥlalnā, and what is clearly prohibited (ḥarām), using terms such as ḥurrima or ḥarrama. While there may be disagreement over the scope of what is and is not permissible, when the Qur’ān declares something to be clearly prohibited, no interpreter should conclude that it is permissible. For example, the Qur’ān says that ribā (commonly understood as usury or interest) is prohibited. Therefore, ribā must always be understood as prohibited, although what constitutes ribā (for example, different forms of interest) and its scope may be subject to interpretation.9 The second level is the fundamental values emphasized repeatedly in the Qur’ān. These include basic values like the protection of religion, human life, family, and property. Scholars like al-Ghazālī (d. 1111 CE) spoke of the “five universal values” or al-kulliyyāt al-khamsah, which encompass the protection of life, honor, property, religion, and progeny. These are usually understood to be the higher objectives of Shari‘ah (maqāṣid al-sharīʿah). Fundamental values, as discussed here, are considered universal in nature, and the contextualist approach should treat them as such.10 The third level is values that provide legislative support for the fundamental values. For instance, the protection of property is a fundamental value. However, that value has no meaning unless put into practice, for example, by the prohibition of theft and the enforcement of that prohibition.11 Thus, the protectional value of the prohibition of theft becomes a universal value because it is directly connected to the fundamental value of the protection of property, itself a universal value. 8.  Saeed, Reading the Qur’ān, 64–73. 9.  Ibid., 64–73. 10.  Ibid. 11.  Ibid., 66–67.

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The fourth level is implementational values, that is, specific measures used to implement protectional values. For instance, the protectional value of the prohibition of theft is implemented by taking specific measures against those who engage in such activity. One measure mentioned in the Qur’ān is the amputation of a thief ’s hand. However, this measure appears to be context specific and related to the kinds of punishments used by communities in Arabia at the time of the qur’anic revelation. Thus, it does not appear to be universal.12 The fifth level, instructional values, is closely connected to the specific instructions in the Qur’ān that apply to a specific situation. A substantial portion of qur’anic values are instructional, for example, the instruction to marry more than one woman in certain circumstances,13 the instruction to be fair and kind to certain people, instructions on how to deal with slaves, and instructions on how Muslims should relate to non-Muslims.14 For contextualists, instructional values are probably the most difficult to address, as some may be universal and “context independent,” while others may be specific and “context dependent.” One determines if a particular instructional value is universal or particular by using a set of guidelines. First, how frequently is the value mentioned in the Qur’ān? If a value appears frequently, this is a sign of its importance. Second, how salient is the value? This requires evaluating if the value remained important throughout Prophet Muḥammad’s life. For example, helping the disadvantaged was a key value for the Prophet throughout his life. Historical reports may help to identify whether or not a value retained its importance throughout the Prophet’s lifetime, or whether it gained prominence during a specific period or under specific circumstances. Values that maintained their importance throughout his life hold an especially important place in the Qur’ān. Third, how relevant is the value? The Prophet’s guidance was initially directed towards the people of Mecca and Medina. This means that some instructional values may have had a specific relevance to this geographic location, culture, people, and time. Other instructional values that recur frequently in the Qur’ān may have universal relevance. The contextual approach facilitates the interpretation of teachings in the way that the Qur’ān most likely intended. It makes qur’anic ideas and concepts that appear to be particular to a specific context adaptable to changing contexts and times. This type of interpretation does not lead to the modification of fundamental qur’anic values, beliefs, or practices; but it does allow the interpreter to consider changing circumstances and contexts.

12.  Ibid., 67–68. 13.  See, e.g., Q 4:2–3. 14.  See, e.g. Q 4:36.

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Concluding Remarks The scholarship that has governed the interpretation of ethico-legal texts for much of Islamic history is principled and has functioned well. However, a number of problems have emerged in the modern period because of the new macro context in which we are living, including the navigation of issues related to gender, human rights, governance, and interreligious relations. A different approach is required to interpret qur’anic texts that are related to such issues, and I argue that a contextual approach is relevant to this endeavor. A number of Muslim thinkers today are working on developing this approach, providing contemporary interpretations of qur’anic texts that ensure that the basic qur’anic values of fairness, justice, and equity are applied and maintained in our contemporary context. The fruits of this labor can be seen, for example, in many of the family law reforms in Muslim-majority societies and in the interpretation of qur’anic texts that emphasize healthy, cooperative, and friendly relationships with people of other faiths. Most recently, this approach seems to be at work in the response of a large number of Muslim scholars to the so-called “caliph” of ISIS, Abū Bakr al-Baghdādī, in which they argue that key qur’anic passages related to slavery should be interpreted in the light of contemporary circumstances. For these reasons slavery should be abolished.15

15.  Open Letter to Al-Baghdadi. See http://www.lettertobaghdadi.com/

“Qur’anism” in Modern Qur’ān Interpretation

IZZA ROHMAN

This chapter highlights some key interpretive assumptions in modern qur’anic hermeneutics, a trend (ittijāh) that I call “Qur’anism.” This trend is characterized by emphasis on the need to be faithful to the Qur’ān itself in the interpretation of the Qur’ān, which means that a comprehensive reading and cross-referential approach is a key to understanding the qur’anic text. Qur’anism challenges the role of extra-qur’anic materials in the interpretation of the Qur’ān. These emphases and challenges have contributed to the emergence of modern varieties of interpretation of the Qur’ān by the Qur’ān (tafsīr al-Qurʾān bi’l-Qurʾān—hereinafter TQbQ). This chapter examines how TQbQ is understood by several modern Muslim exegetes, including Farāhī, Iṣlāḥī, Bint al-Shāṭiʾ, Ṭabāṭabāʾī and al-Shanqīṭī and by some progressive intellectuals who have challenged traditionally dominant approaches to the Qur’ān. It also addresses the impact of such an approach on the treatment of exegetical difference of opinion, and on exegetical contestation. The chapter concludes with a brief reflection on the inability of Qur’anism to prevent different interpretations of the Qurʾān. Qur’anism in the Tafsīr Tradition What is the best way to interpret the Qur’ān? One of the most frequent responses to this question is that the Qur’ān is best interpreted by reference to the Qur’ān itself. While this answer is found in Qur’ān-related works by classical Muslim scholars, it is modern scholars who see the application of the idea as becoming more urgent and seek to apply it in an intensive and extensive way. 163

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Al-Zamakhsharī (d. 538/1144) and Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 606/1209) are among classical scholars quoted by modern ones to argue in favor of TQbQ , but both exegetes treat the subject as a minor element as compared to linguistic analysis, logical reasoning, and theological orientation. Ibn Taymiyyah (d. 728/1328) is more frequently cited to support TQbQ. In his Muqaddimah fī uṣūl al-tafsīr, Ibn Taymiyyah places this hermeneutical device at the top of a hierarchy of what is commonly known as al-tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr, thereby initiating a novel development in tafsīr.1 Subsequently, the significance of TQbQ was emphasized by Ibn Kathīr (d. 774/1373), al-Zarkashī (d. 794/1392), alSuyūṭī (d. 911/1505), and others. However, none of them makes TQbQ a major element in their exegesis, relying instead on traditions (riwāyāt) and the opinions of past generations. Beginning in the twentieth century, some scholars have noted that earlier Qur’ān exegetes did not apply TQbQ or holistic approaches to the Qur’ān more broadly. Ṭabāṭabāʾī (d. 1981), for instance, says that TQbQ was ignored and not pursued in the past. Some scholars have now published works on Qur’ān interpretations in which they make TQbQ their main component, for example, al-Mīzān by Ṭabāṭabāʾī, Aḍwā’ al-bayān by al-Shanqīṭī, Tadabburi-Qur’ān by Iṣlāḥī, and al-Furqān by al-Ṣādiqī. In addition, TQbQ is the main component of many modern thematic commentaries on the Qur’ān. These thematic commentaries represent the modern development of the classical principle of intratextuality: that one part of the Qur’ān interprets the other (al-Qurʾān yufassiru baʿḍuhu baʿḍan). For some scholars, letting the Qur’ān explain itself is the way to “real” tafsīr. This means that external interpretive sources must be ignored. Support for TQbQ and similar holistic approaches to the Qur’ān is often accompanied by the de-emphasis of extra-qur’anic sources. As Mustansir Mir has observed: many modern Muslim scholars in modern times attach diminished importance to several traditionally important exegetical sources and have chosen to focus on the qur’anic text itself, studying it with a view to finding answers and solutions to questions and issues of today. In doing so, they tend to accord primacy to the qur’anic text itself over the traditional repertoire of sources and devices for understanding that text.2

1.  See Walid A. Saleh, “Ibn Taymiyya and the Rise of Radical Hermeneutics: An Analysis of An Introduction to the Foundations of Qur’anic Exegesis,” in Yossef Rapoport and Shahab Ahmed (eds.), Ibn Taymiyya and His Times: Studies in Islamic Philosophy (Karachi: Oxford University Press, 2010), 145. 2.  Mustansir Mir, “Continuity, Context and Coherence in the Qur’ān: A Brief Review of the Idea of Naẓm in Tafsīr Literature,” Al-Bayān 11:2 (2013): 28.

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The tendency to put greater dependence upon the qur’anic text itself, coupled with a disinclination to rely on extra-qur’anic sources, is what I call “Qur’anism,” which should not be confused with the Qur’anists/Qur’anites/ Ahl al-Qur’ān/Qur’ān-alone movement, the followers of which do not accept the authority of ḥadīth and view the Qur’ān as the sole source of religious guidance. Their interpretive approach to the Qur’ān, which may be regarded as a kind of TQbQ , is an inevitable consequence of their rejection of ḥadīth. However, what I mean by Qur’anism is the endorsement of the primacy of the Qur’ān in Qur’ān interpretation, coupled with the delegitimization of reliance on traditional, non-qur’anic sources. Qur’anism does not completely abandon secondary sources, but it seriously challenges their long-established central role. Qur’anism is characterized by the following four interlinked hermeneutical assumptions: 1. Reliance on the Qur’ān itself is the most legitimate mode of tafsīr. 2. No extra-qur’anic ideas should be imposed on the Qur’ān. 3. External sources play only a secondary role in interpretation. 4. The Qur’ān serves as a “referee” for diverse exegetical opinions. In what follows I will clarify each of these principles as practiced by contemporary scholars. In the conclusion, I will make some remarks on how Qur’anism has had an impact on the treatment of differences of exegetical opinion, and how it has reoriented exegetical contestation. Reliance on the Qur’ān Itself as the Most Legitimate Mode of Tafsīr Ṭabāṭabāʾī argues that the Qur’ān does not need anything external to it to act as a guide for human beings because the Qur’ān refers to itself as “a clear explanation for everything” (tibyān li-kull shayʾ), “an illuminating light” (nūr mubīn), “a guidance” (hudā), “a clear proof ” (bayyinah), and “a distinguishing criterion” ( furqān). With all of these attributes, the Qur’ān is clearly sufficient to guide people to comprehend it. The Qur’ān must be the best guide to our understanding of it.3 In line with Ṭabāṭabāʾī, Farāhī (d. 1930) argues that the Qur’ān is the most reliable guide to itself. He states that the Qur’ān itself serves as the firm basis of exegesis and it does not depend on anything external to it in making

3.  Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān fī tafsīr al-Qurʾān (22 vols.; Beirut: Muʾassasat al-aʿlamī li’l-maṭbūʿāt, 1997), 1:14; 3:99; idem, The Qur’an in Islam: Its Impact and Influence on the Life of Muslims, trans. Assadullah ad-Dhaakir Yate (Blanco, TX: Zahra, 1987), 27, 34, 52–55.

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its meaning clear. Farāhī emphasizes the status of the Qur’ān as the guide, the basic criterion and the deciding force.4 Reliance on the Qur’ān in interpretation is justified by qur’anic instructions. As is evident in some verses (Q 4:82, 38:29, 47:24, 23:68), one is urged to perform tadabbur (deep reflection) over the Qur’ān. According to Ṭabāṭabāʾī, tadabbur means “to study one verse after another.” The association of tadabbur with the doctrine of no contradiction in the Qur’ān (lā ikhtilāf fī’l-Qurʾān), as mentioned in Q 4:82, means that the command for deep reflection is connected to the fact that one part of the Qur’ān explains another.5 A similar argument is found in the writings of progressive Muslim intellectuals. Asma Barlas quotes several qur’anic verses that support a holistic reading of the Qur’ān as a textual unity. Central to her argument are verses 89–93 of Q 15, which warn people not to break the Qur’ān into parts. These verses criticize those who divided the Muslim Scripture into arbitrary parts (al-muqtasimūn) and who tear the Qur’ān into shreds (taʿḍiyah). The Qur’ān rejects any reading that approaches it in a decontextualized, selective, and piecemeal way.6 Some traditions of the Prophet and early generation of Muslims support a cross-referential approach to the Qur’ān. Performing TQbQ is consistent with the practice of the Prophet, to whom it was revealed and who served as the teacher (muʿallim) and elucidator (mubayyin) of the Qur’ān. It is also consistent with the practice of religious authorities, such as Shiʿi Imāms, Companions, and Successors.7 In two instances, the Prophet is reported to have explained Q 6:82 with reference to Q 31:13, and Q 14:17 with reference to Q 40:15 and Q 18:29. The interpretation of one qur’anic verse by another is also credited to two Companions, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib and Ibn ʿAbbās, each of whom is reported to have said that in the Qur’ān, one part speaks for another and one part testifies for another (yanṭiqu baʿḍuhu baʿḍan wa-yashhadu baʿḍuhu baʿḍan), and that one part of Qur’ān is comparable to another, and one part refers to another (yushbihu baʿḍuhu baʿḍan wa-yuraddu baʿḍuhu ilā baʿḍ). Albeit limited in number, these traditions justify TQbQ.

4.  Ḥamīd al-Dīn al-Farāhī, Exordium to Coherence in the Qur’ān, trans. Tariq Mahmood Hashmi (Lahore: Al-Mawrid, n.d.), 29, 37. 5.  Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān, 5:19–21. 6.  Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretation of the Qur’an (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002), 15–16. Cf. Ṭāhā Jābir al-ʿAlwānī, “Al-Wiḥdah al-binā’iyyah li’l-Qur’ān al-majīd,” Thaqāfatunā li’l-dirāsāt wa’l-buḥūth 24 (2010), 15. On the spread of this idea among progressive Muslim intellectuals, particularly Muslim feminists, see Aysha A. Hidayatullah, Feminist Edges of the Qur’an (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014), 87–109. 7.  E.g., Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān, 1:15.

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The performance of TQbQ is associated with reliance on its “author,” that is, Allah. Since no one knows more about the meaning of Allah’s Word than Allah Himself, reliance on His speech (i.e., the Qur’ān) is the best way to know the meaning of the Qur’ān. This argument is made by al-Shanqīṭī and al-Ṣābūnī, among others.8 Other scholars advocate for a cross-referential/intratextual approach and, due to the distinctive nature of qur’anic structure or style, regard it as the most appropriate approach. The Qur’ān often addresses one topic in numerous places—in different verses, in different sūrahs. Therefore, an interpreter must consider all relevant verses dealing with a given subject. Without taking this step, an interpreter is likely to arrive at incorrect conclusions or to fail to get a clear picture of how an issue is treated in the Qur’ān.9 No Imposition of Extra-Qur’anic Ideas No extra-qur’anic ideas should be superimposed on the Qur’ān. Farāhī rejects all traces of subjective interpretation, which he construes as the deliberate imposition of one’s bias on the meaning of the text. He calls this taḥrīf (distortion) of the text, comparable to what Schleiermacher calls “active misunderstanding.”10 Farāhī attempts to reduce the possibility of the subjectivist imposition of meanings on the qur’anic discourse. Bint al-Shāṭiʾ (d. 1998) strongly opposed reader subjectivity that colors the interpretation of the Qur’ān. Her criticism of traditional hermeneutical, isrāʾīliyyāt-oriented, theological, mystical, philosophical, and “scientific” approaches is based on what she sees as tendentious projections of extraqur’anic ideas and materials onto the Qur’ān.11 Similarly, Ṭabāṭabāʾī seeks to avoid imposing preconceived views or the results of academic or philosophical arguments onto the Qur’ān.12 For him there is a clear difference between 8.  See Muḥammad al-Amīn al-Shanqīṭī, Aḍwā’ al-bayān fī īḍāḥ al-Qur’ān bi’l-Qur’ān (9 vols.; Mecca: Dār ʿālam al-fawāʾid, 1426 AH), 1:8; Muḥammad ʿAlī al-Ṣābūnī, al-Tibyān fī ʿulūm al-Qurʾān (Karachi: Maktabat al-bushrā, 2011), 93. 9.  E.g., Muhammad Abdel Haleem, Understanding the Qur’an: Themes and Style (London: Tauris, 2011); Ṣalāḥ ʿAbd al-Fattāḥ al-Khālidī, Taʿrīf al-dārisīn bi-manāhij al-mufassirīn (Damascus: Dār al-qalam, 2008), 150–153. 10.  Abdul Rahim Afaki, “Farāhī’s Objectivist-Canonical Qur’anic Hermeneutics and Its Thematic Relevance with Classical Western Hermeneutics,” Transcendent Philosophy 10 (2009): 258–259. 11.  Sahiron Syamsuddin, “An Examination of Bint al-Shāṭi’s Method of Interpreting the Qur’ān” (MA thesis, McGill University, 1998), 9–43. 12.  Mohammad Hossein Mokhtari, “The Exegesis of Tabatabaei and the Hermeneutics of Hirsch: A Comparative Study” (PhD diss., Durham University, 2007), 155.

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asking “what does the Qur’ān say?” and “how can this verse be explained so as to fit into one’s belief ?” The former means that we go where the Qur’ān leads us, while the latter means that we decide in advance what to believe and find ways to fit qur’anic verses to that belief. The latter approach is called adaptation (taṭbīq), rather than explanation (bayān) or interpretation (tafsīr). Many traditional approaches to the Qur’ān qualify as taṭbīq.13 Among modern progressive Muslims, one finds continuing efforts to free the Qur’ān from non-qur’anic ideas and other post-qur’anic sources, as, for instance, in the hermeneutical projects of Fazlur Rahman (d. 1988) and scholars who follow in his footsteps.14 Rahman’s rejection of interpretations based on extra-qur’anic influences is noticeable in his application of a thematic approach in his Major Themes of the Qur’an.15 If one should not impose any extra-qur’anic ideas, then how should one approach the question of presupposition? Ṭabāṭabāʾī says that TQbQ makes it possible for the text to answer questions asked by an interpreter and prevents him from imposing personal ideas on the text. Although presuppositions may pave the way for questioning the text, it is the text that should produce and organize the answer. An interpreter should not let his personal ideas, based on his pre-understanding and presuppositions, be projected onto the text. If he does, his interpretation cannot be accepted. Of course, it is impossible for any interpreter not to interpose in the act of interpretation. But the interposition is not always related to the content of the text onto which the interpreter intends to impose his or her personal perspective. An interpreter raises questions, but does not answer those questions himself or herself. Rather, it is the Qur’ān that responds to the questions. The answers are not shaped by the interpreter’s interrogation. Ṭabāṭabāʾī argues that the Qur’ān interpreter should not impose his or her prejudgment in order to determine the meaning of the qur’anic text and that such an interpretation is unacceptable.16 Ṭabāṭabāʾī argues for the possibility of keeping an interpretation free from the interpreter’s presuppositions. He objects to any approach to the Qur’ān that lets a reader impose his opinion on the Qur’ān. Such an approach would 13.  Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān, 1:11. 14.  Fazlur Rahman, Islam and Modernity: Transformation of an Intellectual Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982); idem, Major Themes of the Qur’ān (2nd ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009); Amina Wadud, Qur’an and Woman: Rereading the Sacred Text from a Woman’s Perspective (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999); Barlas, “Believing” Women in Islam; Taufik Adnan Amal and Syamsu Rizal Panggabean, “A Contextual Approach to the Qur’an,” in Abdullah Saeed (ed.), Approaches to the Qur’an in Contemporary Indonesia (London: Oxford and The Institute of Ismaili Studies, 2005), 107–133. See also Hidayatullah, Feminist Edges of the Qur’an, 87–109. 15.  Fazlur Rahman, Major Themes of the Qur’ān. 16.  Mokhtari, “The Exegesis of Tabatabaei,” 60, 205, 244, 271.

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represent or be closer to tafsīr biʾl-raʾy (exegesis based on personal opinion) or tafsīr bi-ghayr ʿilm (exegesis based on something other than knowledge), which was condemned by the Prophet.17 It should be noted, however, that Ṭabaṭabāʾī rejects presupposition only when he thinks it invalidates the natural meaning of the text, and that he sometimes thinks that a presupposition may help in understanding God’s intention. The Role of External Sources Revisited The rethinking of the role of extra-qur’anic materials in Qur’ān interpretation is another notable aspect of Qur’anism. This rethinking marks a shift from traditional dependence upon those materials. Many modern scholars have emphasized that the authority of the Qur’ān is greater than that of external sources. In Qur’ān interpretation, this authoritative asymmetry means that it is not appropriate to rely on secondary literature, such as ḥadīth/riwāyāt, asbāb al-nuzūl, sīrah, Arab history, lexicons, poetry and earlier exegeses. Instead of relying on external authorities, like traditions of the Prophet and the early generations or the opinions of exegetes, some scholars argue that one should refer to other parts of the Qur’ān that may clarify the meaning of that word or verse. An external source—whether it be a sound ḥadīth, an established historical fact, or a citation from a scripture of the earlier nations—may be invoked only in order to endorse one’s interpretation. For these scholars, external sources are secondary and in theory dispensable. One may refer to them only to confirm the interpretation that one has derived from a holistic reading of the Qur’ān. These sources are not the real source of Qur’ān interpretation. As Iṣlāḥī puts it, “The real source of tafsīr is the language of the Qur’ān, the context and placement of its verses and parallels drawn from within its text.”18 Even the sunnah, which has long been considered to be the elucidator of the Qur’ān, and which has a crucial role in tafsīr bi’l-ma’thūr (tradition-based tafsīr), has now been repositioned. Farāhī argues that “the ḥadīth narratives work only as an explanatory and non-categorical resource that must accord with the foundational one and may never override it.”19 Ṭabāṭabāʾī insists that greater reliance upon the reports of ear17.  On Ṭabāṭabāʾī’s discussion of tafsīr bi’l-ra’y, see Louis Abraham Medoff, “Ijtihād and Renewal in Qur’anic Hermeneutics: An Analysis on Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabāṭabāʾī’s al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qur’ān” (PhD diss., University of California at Berkeley, 2007), 36–43. 18.  Amīn Aḥsan Iṣlāḥī, Tadabbur-i Qur’ān (9 vols.; Lahore: Fārān Foundation, 1983), 9:8, cited by Shehzad Saleem, “Amīn Aḥsan Iṣlāḥī, Tadabbur-e-Qur’an: Pondering Over the Qur’an, Volume One (Book Review),” Islamic Studies 48:1 (2009): 120. 19.  Farāhī, Exordium to Coherence, 29.

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lier generations should be regarded as “a concealed form of tafsīr biʾl-raʾy.” Indeed, in his view, “every hermeneutic, other than tafsīr of the Qur’ān by the Qur’ān, fails to qualify as true tafsīr and tends toward raʾy.”20 Scholars of this branch of Qur’anism—Ṭabāṭabāʾī and Farāhī are striking examples—tend to argue that the meaning of the Qur’ān is clear, rather than that it can be correctly understood only with the aid of a tradition, that is to say, prejudgments, interpretations, and commentaries. They emphasize the sufficiency of the Qur’ān and the immediacy of its meaning. A connotation of a qur’anic expression is considered the least preferable when it requires interpretation through an expression external to the qur’anic discourse. The dependence on external sources has now been reduced by the exploration of several kinds of intra-qur’anic connections: (1) the relationship between all parts of a verse; (2) the relationship between a verse and its surrounding verses, both before (al-sābiq) and after (al-lāḥiq); (3) the relationship between a statement and the textual context (siyāq) of the set of verses in which it is located; (4) the relationship between a verse and the pillar/central theme (ʿamūd) or the objective (gharaḍ/hadaf  ) of the sūrah in which it is located; (5) the relationship between a verse and another part of the Qur’ān containing a similar message; (6) the relationship between a verse and another part of the Qur’ān that gives more detailed and clearer information; (7) the relationship between a verse and another part of the Qur’ān that may be useful to clarify the possible meanings hinted at by the verse; (8) the relationship between one verse and other verses whose meaning seems to be in conflict; (9) the relationship between one verse and other verses having similar or different linguistic features; (10) the relationship between the use of a word or phrase in a verse and the usage of the same word or phrase elsewhere in the Qur’ān; (11) the relationship between a conclusion derived from one verse and that derived from other qur’anic verses; (12) the relationship between variant readings (qirāʾāt); (13) the relationship between different sections of a sūrah; and (14) the relationship between two or more consecutive sūrahs. The Qur’ān as the Judge for Exegetical Opinions Proponents of TQbQ contend that an exegetical opinion supported by the Qur’ān is stronger than one not supported by the Qur’ān. It is thus understandable that some scholars argue that TQbQ is the first criterion to be used to select the best among available opinions or possible meanings. While this method of tafsīr has scarcely been put in practice in Qur’ān commentaries, Qur’anism puts a greater emphasis on this idea.

20.  Medoff, “Ijtihād and Renewal,” 37, 48.

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The idea of seeking qur’anic judgment (al-iḥtikām ilā’l-qurʾān) is central in Bint al-Shāṭi’s hermeneutic. In her view, any uncertainty about meaning can be resolved by “the judgment of the Qur’ān.” This judgment can be achieved by paying close attention to word usage and to thematic linkages between a verse and its surrounding verses or between a verse and the sūrah in which it is located. Bint al-Shāṭi’ holds that a systematic cross-examination of the overall usage of a word in the Qur’ān will produce the true meaning among lexical or metonymical possibilities. Her al-Tafsīr al-bayānī contains many examples of this kind of reliance on the judgment of the Qur’ān. Similarly, the idea of tarjīḥ (giving preponderance to one piece of evidence or opinion over another) is central to the hermeneutic of al-Shanqīṭī (d. 1973), as demonstrated here and there in his Aḍwāʾ al-bayān—a tafsīr with many qur’anic cross-references and minimal reference to other exegetical sources. He repeatedly shows how exegetical opinions can be rejected as invalid or less preferable by paying attention to all available clues (qarā’in) in a given verse and to a comprehensive reading of the Qur’ān. The claim that TQbQ will help to reduce or remove the possibility of multiple interpretations is also shared by Farāhī, Iṣlāḥī and Ṭabāṭabāʾī. Farāhī and Iṣlāḥī, for instance, hold that, properly applied, TQbQ may help us close the door of disputation among different sectarian groups. They contend that it has the potential to lead us to kalimatun sawāʾ or a “common word” in tafsīr.21 Qur’anism and the Open Qur’ān Qur’anism is characterized by greater reliance on the Qur’ān, quasi-objectivism, decreased reliance on external sources and a quest for meaning in the Qur’ān itself. Some may view this approach as an attempt to limit the meaning of the text and to argue against the legitimacy of other possible meanings of the same text.22 As Farāhī and Iṣlāḥī have noted, TQbQ may help us to reevaluate multiple interpretations and to come up with a single, best interpretation. While such an attempt is regarded as positive for those seeking to unite Muslim perspectives, it can have an impact on how a reader of the Qur’ān treats differences in exegetical opinion and flexibility in meaning. The supremacy assigned to TQbQ may give an interpreter more confidence in arguing against other possible interpretations and presenting his interpretation as the best, if not the final and conclusive, interpretation. In this way, TQbQ 21.  Farāhī, Exordium to Coherence, 29, 50; Mustansir Mir, Coherence in the Qur’an: A Study of Iṣlāḥī’s Concept of Naẓm in Tadabbur-i Qur’an (Indianapolis: American Trust Publications, 1986), 34–36. 22.  Abdullah Saeed, Interpreting the Qur’ān: Towards a Contemporary Approach (London: Routledge, 2006), 104.

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is not free from a softer form of reader authoritarianism (to borrow Abou El-Fadl’s term), that is, when he assumes that there is only one way of TQbQ and it is only through TQbQ that one can “unveil” the meaning of the text or the intention of the Divine. But Qur’anism does not stop the Qur’ān from being an “open” text, that is, one subject to dynamic interpretations. Different scholars who employ the same method of TQbQ probably will come up with different exegetical opinions based on different ijtihāds. What Qur’anism does is to shift the ground of exegetical contestation in three main areas: (1) intra-qur’anic connections; (2) an inference derived from intra-qur’anic connections; and (3) the role that external sources can play. Qur’ān interpreters have different ideas about which parts of the Qur’ān explain another part. For instance, with regard to the meaning of man ʿindahu ʿilm al-kitāb (who has knowledge of the Book) at the end of Q 13:43, alShanqīṭī cites Q 3:18, Q 10:94, and Q 16:43 to argue that the phrase refers to those who have knowledge of the Torah (Tawrāh) and the Gospel (Injīl). Ṭabāṭabāʾī, by contrast, cites five verses from Q 13 (i.e., Q 13:1, 13:7, 13:19, 13:27, and 13:43) to argue that the phrase refers to a person who has deep knowledge of the Qur’ān, namely, Imām ʿAlī. Although proponents of TQbQ agree that one verse explains another verse, they may disagree on exactly which part explains which. For example, while al-Shanqīṭī and Ṭabāṭabāʾī agree that Q 4:69 is one of several verses that explain the phrase alladhīna anʿamta ʿalayhim (those on whom God has bestowed His grace) in Q 1:7, each draws a different conclusion from this relationship. For al-Shanqīṭī, it justifies the legitimacy of the caliphate of Abū Bakr, known as al-Ṣiddīq, while for Ṭabāṭabāʾī, it implies that the verse points to Q 5:55, which mentions the wilāyah (leadership) of Imām ʿAlī. Some interpreters differ about the use of external sources, such as asbāb alnuzūl. Ṭabāṭabāʾī, for example, refers to the sabab al-nuzūl of Q 33:33 (known as the taṭhīr or purification verse) as well as narratives (riwāyāt) about the ahl albayt (People of the House) when discussing precisely who is to be included in the term ahl al-bayt. That reference to sabab al-nuzūl and riwāyāt complements his TQbQ , which confirms that the last part of Q 33:33 is independent of its surrounding verses. For al-Shanqīṭī, these riwāyāt legitimize the inclusion of ahl al-kisā’ (People of the Cloak) in the term, but his TQbQ clearly does not regard the wives of the Prophet as being included in this group. If Qur’anism continues to develop, debates over the three areas—intraqur’anic connections, inferences based on intra-qur’anic connections and the role of external sources—are likely to increase in the future. Be that as it may, Qur’anism in contemporary Qur’ān interpretation not only helps to keep the Qur’ān open, its tendency to rigidity notwithstanding, but also leaves ample room for critical engagement with the qur’anic text itself, without being hindered by the long history of the tafsīr tradition.

Understanding Patriarchal Interpretations of Q 4:34 in the Light of Stanley Fish’s “Interpretive Communities”

ADIS DUDERIJA

While there have been some creative and successful attempts by contemporary Muslim scholars to apply insights from philosophical hermeneutics1 to Islamic legal theory, in general, and to qur’anic hermeneutics, in particular (e.g., Fazlur Rahman, Farid Esack, Naṣr Ḥāmid Abū Zayd, and Felix Corner),2 less attention has been given to applying theoretical insights from contemporary literary theories to the same.3 This is particularly true with respect to reception theory and its branches, such as reader-response criticism,

I would like to thank my colleagues, Davis S. Powers and Mun’im Sirry, for their careful reading and editing of this chapter. 1.  See, for instance, the writings of Hans Georg Gadamer, Martin Heidegger, Eric Donald Hirsh, and Emilio Betti. 2.  Fazlur Rahman, Islam and Modernity: The Transformation of an Intellectual Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1982); Farid Esack, “Qur’anic Hermeneutics: Problems and Prospects,” The Muslim World 83 (1993): 118–141; Naṣr Ḥāmid Abū Zayd Re-Thinking the Qurʾān: Towards a Humanistic Hermeneutic (Utrecht: Humanities University Press, 2004); Felix Körner, Revisionist Koran Hermeneutics in Contemporary Turkish University Theology: Rethinking Islam (Würzburg: Ergon, 2005). 3.  On the use of literary theory among Muslim scholars, see Nasr Abu-Zayd, “The Dilemma of the Literary Approach to the Qur’ān,” Journal of Comparative Poetics 23 (2003): 8–47; Amin Muḥammad, “A Study of Bint Al-Shāṭi’s Qur’anic Exegesis” (PhD diss., McGill University, 1992); Mustansir Mir, “The Qur’an as Literature,” Religion & Literature 20:1 (1988): 49–64. 173

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although isolated voices have recognized their significance.4 In this chapter, I continue the efforts of these contemporary Muslim scholars to engage with (post)-Enlightenment theories of hermeneutics and literary theory to provide fresh insights into contemporary qur’anic hermeneutics. My point of departure is that the Qurʾān, regardless of its ontological claims, is a literary and socio-culturally produced text. The aim of this chapter is to employ the concept of “interpretive communities” developed by Stanley Fish (b. 1938), a noted literary critic, as a tool for identifying and explaining the patriarchal biases in selected commentaries on Q 4:34, both past and present, primarily in socio-historical terms. The focus on Fish’s “interpretative communities” approach is based on my conviction, shared by some scholars in biblical studies, that it offers a novel and useful heuristic to explain the persistence of the patriarchal nature of much of qur’anic exegesis, past and present.5 Stanley Fish’s “Interpretive Communities” I will first briefly situate Fish’s theoretical concept of “interpretive communities” in relation to interpretative theories in general and reception theory in particular. Fish’s theoretical work is often associated with “reader-response“ theory, which is part of a broader reception theory that can be traced to the works of Hans Robert Jauss (d. 1997) in the 1960s.6 Reader-response theory emphasizes the role of the reader and her/his “interpretative strategies,” that is, the possible ways in which s/he can understand words and phrases, and the biases/assumptions with which s/he comes to the text. Consistent with reception-theory-based approaches, the assumptions that precede interpretation, including cultural assumptions, are important for reader-response theory. In fact, these assumptions frame the basic terms of discussion. In this respect, 4.  For notable exceptions, see Enes Karic, “Die klassische and zeitgenossishe Hermenutik des Korans im Licht neuerer Rezepzionstheorien,” Synthesis Philosophica 4 (1989): 67–90; Khaled Abou El-Fadl, Speaking in God’s Name: Islamic Law, Authority and Women (Oxford: Oneworld, 2001); Necmettin Gokklir, “The Application of Modern Critical Theories to the Study of the Qur’ān, with a Particular Focus on Qur’anic Studies in Turkey Between 1980–2002” (PhD diss., University of Manchester, 2004). 5.  On the application of Fish’s “interpretive communities” to biblical studies, see Spencer Caleb, “Protestant Postmodernism: Theory and Theology, Affect and Art” (PhD diss., University of Chicago, 2002). 6.  The “Communities of interpretation” concept focuses on how readers receive literary texts. Reception theory emphasizes the role of the reader in determining the meanings of a text without ignoring the text itself. Instead, it posits that the site where the meaning of a text is to be determined is found in the interaction of the reader with the text, that is to say, in the process of its reception by the reader.

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the theory emphasizes the role of the interpreter/reader or, specifically, the community of interpreters/readers, in the overall process of interpretation.7 Fish first introduced the concept of “community of interpreters” in a 1976 article, entitled “Interpreting the Variorum.”8 According to Fish, what is common and thus gives rise to an “interpretive community” is the fact that people share certain beliefs, values or experiences that enable them to share and “objectify” their own subjective experiences.9 Put simply, Fish’s theory states that the meaning of a text will always operate within a set of cultural assumptions held by its interpreters. Hence, the reading of a text is culturally constructed. Fish argues that we interpret texts in a certain manner because we are part of an interpretive community that compels us to read the text in a particular way. Significantly, Fish holds that it is impossible to determine if a certain reader/interpreter10 belongs to a particular community of interpretation or not because the process is itself subject to interpretation. This leads to the idea that members of a particular community of interpretation can never know its limits since they are “trapped” by the communities of interpretation to which they belong. Readers are, in fact, the products of these communities. Fish also argues that communities of interpretation are constitutive of those who share the same reading strategies.11 This means that because reading strategies are prior to the process of interpreting, they play a decisive role in interpretation. For instance, prevalent cultural assumptions about gender (i.e., normative masculinity and femininity) that permeate certain communities of interpretation (and/or readers belonging to them) are both constitutive and determining elements of a reading strategy per se. Therefore, for Fish, it is the readers and not the writers who “write” texts by deploying reading strategies that are inherent to the communities of interpretation to which they belong prior to the act of reading. It is these communities of interpretation that are responsible for creating texts and deriving meaning from them. According to Fish, therefore, multiple readers will interpret texts in the same manner because they share the same (cultural) assumptions and, therefore, have the same reading strategies. These strategies compel or, to use Fish’s terminology, “trap” readers to arrive at certain meanings and not others. In what follows I will argue that certain Muslim scholars, past and present, subscribed to a patriarchal worldview that makes them part of the same interpretive community because of their shared belief that cultural patriarchy is normative in Islam. Consequently, cultural patriarchy constitutes a reading 7.  Stanley Fish, Is There a Text in the Class? (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982), 168. 8.  Stanley Fish, “Interpreting the Variorum,” Critical Inquiry 2 (1976): 465–485. 9.  Ibid. 10.  I use the terms “reader” and “interpreter” interchangeably. 11.  Ibid.

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strategy adopted by this community of interpretation that traps and compels these scholars to interpret the Qurʾān in a patriarchal manner. In other words, in this chapter, I apply the theoretical insights behind Fish’s interpretive communities to account for the existence of patriarchal interpretations of the Qurʾān and their persistence until today.12 The Nature of Interpretive Communities According to Fish, the meaning of any text is produced within the context of a community of interpretation: historical, sociological, cultural, and textual.13 For the purpose of this chapter, I identify the following factors that have shaped the patriarchal interpretation of the Qur’ān, especially Q 4:34: (1) The personal opinion of the exegete regarding the nature of masculinity and femininity; (2) the exegete’s approach to gender-based beliefs and customs in normative texts; (3) nonintegration of gender in the interpretation of the Qur’ān. The Exegete’s Conception of Masculinity and Femininity In her Room for Interpretation: Qur’anic Exegesis and Gender (2007),14 Karen Bauer examines factors that have influenced the interpretation of gender-related qur’anic verses, including Q 4:34. Her study is based on the writings of more than sixty influential qur’anic exegetes, primarily from the formative and classical periods of Islam, all of whom are males. She convincingly demonstrates that these “interpretations exemplify the ways in which the elements of personal opinion and common cultural understanding play out in exegetical texts.”15 Bauer argues that although these exegetes strove to be objective, their views on gender issues clearly reflect what they considered to be “well-known facts about men’s and women’s natures in their day.”16

12.  Fish argues that multiple readers, despite interacting with the same texts, will arrive at different meanings because they belong to different communities of interpretation that trap and compel them to interpret the texts differently. 13.  Abou El Fadl, Speaking in God’s Name, 122. 14.  Karen Bauer, “Room for Interpretation: Qur’anic Exegesis and Gender” (PhD diss., Princeton University, 2007). 15.  Ibid., 56–57. 16.  Ibid., 105.

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Elsewhere, Bauer states that “common cultural understandings, societal mores, historical narrative, current scientific understandings, and their [i.e., the exegetes] own opinions”17 have influenced their interpretations of these qur’anic verses. She argues that the social and historical contexts in which the exegetes lived, including contemporary social mores, played a crucial factor in determining the outcome of the interpretive process. In this respect she avers: I have shown repeatedly throughout this dissertation how exegetes aim to be objective in their interpretations of these qur’anic verses, drawing on disparate elements in order to ensure the accuracy of their interpretations. Traditional scientific theories, societal mores, and customs are all objective truths in their particular context.18

The writings of other modern scholars confirm this patriarchal gender bias in traditional qur’anic exegesis on gender verses, including Q 4:34.19 Hence, we may safely conclude that personal opinions shaped by prevalent social values and mores play an important role in determining the understanding of the Qur’ān by traditional qur’anic exegetes. This leads to the question, What kind of ideas and theories regarding women and gender were prevalent in traditional Muslim discourses? As noted by several scholars, traditional Muslim societies were governed by Islamic laws, which, because they were structured in a very gender-specific and gender-hierarchical manner, yielded gender-specific rights, duties, and norms. These gender-specific norms were comprehensive and included not only legal norms but also political, cultural, educational, and ritual ones. These norms were also applied to many aspects of personal conduct that govern gendered behavior.20 Most of these gender differences can be traced back to a specific understanding of what it means to be a female or male. In traditional Muslim exegesis, this understanding takes the form of “gender complementarity,”21 which, for reasons outlined below, I 17.  Ibid., 182, 187. 18.  Ibid., 194. 19.  For example, Nasaruddin Umar, “Gender Biases in Qur’anic Exegesis: A Study of Scriptural Interpretation from a Gender Perspective,” Hawwa 4 (2004): 337– 363; Ziba Mir-Hosseini, Kari Vogt, Lena Larsen, and Christian Moe (eds.), Gender and Equality in Muslim Family Law: Justice and Ethics in the Islamic Tradition (New York: Tauris, 2013). 20.  Kecia Ali, Marriage and Slavery in Early Islam (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2010); Amineh Mahallati, “Women in Traditional Sharīʿa: A List of Differences between Men and Women in Muslim Tradition,” Journal of Muslim Law and Culture 12 (2009): 1–9; Mir-Hosseini, Vogt, Larsen, and Moe (eds.), Gender and Equality in Muslim Family Law. 21.  Ibid.

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refer to as “gender oppositionality.” “Gender oppositionality” theory, which has several dimensions, refers to the nature of male and female sexuality as well as their respective emotional and cognitive capacities. “Gender oppositionality” posits that women are understood to be highly emotional beings with weak and easily confused, deficient, or even non-existent rational faculties. One striking example of this kind of thinking in classical Muslim societies and cultures is found in Ibn Manẓūr’s Lisān al-ʿarab, for example, in the entry on raʾy, which he defines as “well considered opinion, mental perception and sound judgment.” He goes on to apply this definition to some males only, and he indicates that women as a general category of humanity do not possess raʾy.22 Given the organic link between language and culture and the related idea that dictionaries are repositories of beliefs and ideas prevalent at the time of their compilation, Ibn Manẓūr’s entry on raʾy is significant.23 Another example of “gender oppositionality” is found in the writings of Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 1111 CE), who reports that ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib once made the following statement: The worst characteristics of men are the best characteristics of women, namely, stinginess, pride and cowardice. If a woman is stingy, she will preserve her own and her husband’s possessions; if she is proud, she will refrain from saying loose and improper words to anyone; and if she is cowardly, she will dread everything, will not go out of her house, and will avoid compromising situations for fear of her husband.24

Even if ʿAlī did not in fact make this statement, we can assume that this characterization of women reflects opinions held by Muslim scholars and linguists such as al-Ghazālī and Ibn Manẓūr. 25 Another important assumption that governs traditional Muslim sociological and legal views of females and males relates to their respective sexualities. According to this assumption, sexuality is more than just a marker of normative masculinity and femininity. Rather, female nature is derivative with re22.  See Ibn Manẓūr, Lisān al-ʿarab (20 vols.; Beirut: Dār al-fikr, 1990), 11:97. 23.  Other culturally contingent and androcentric definitions of terms in the same lexicon that refer solely to men include al-unthā for woman (“weak,” “limp”), imam (“prayer leader“), and khalīfah (“leader or vicegerent”). See Umar, “Gender Biases in Qur’anic Exegesis,” 349. 24.  Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, Marriage and Sexuality in Islam, trans. Madelaine Farah (Kuala Lumpur: Islamic Book Trust, 2012), 78. See further Nadia Harhash, “Debating Gender: A Study of Medieval and Contemporary Discussions in Islam” (MA thesis, Freie Universität, Berlin, 2016). 25.  Al-Ghazālī is widely viewed by both Sunnis and Shiʿis and by both Muslim scholars and lay Muslims, as one of the most influential Muslim scholars of all time.

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spect to that of males, whose superiority is both ontological and socio-moral. Traditional views of women are also based on the division between body and mind, sexuality and spirituality. In this respect, femininity is constructed primarily in sexual terms. Women are associated with the “irreligious” realm of sexual passion, as repositories of all lower aspects of human nature. Women are viewed as the antithesis of the “illuminate” sphere of exclusively male engendered religious knowledge. According to gender-related assumption, men are the sole bearers of religious authority.26 Other gender-related assumptions that underpin “gender oppositionality” include subscription to an Aristotelian, rigidly essentialist and patriarchal system of ethics that a priori discriminates on the basis of gender and/or social status.27 According to this system of ethics, it is proper for a woman to be subjected to control by her father, husband, brother or other male kin. The question then is: What kind of social mores and norms were prevalent during the lifetimes of influential qur’anic exegetes? In answering this question, I will rely on leading contemporary scholars who have studied Islamicate cultures,28 past and present, with respect to gender-related issues. These scholars have detected a more or less uninterrupted prevalence of patriarchal value systems and ethics, albeit in different forms. The prevalence of patriarchal norms in Islamicate cultures, both past and the present, has been identified and discussed from multiple perspectives—anthropological, sociological, cultural, political, legal, religious/theological, and historical—by prominent scholars such as Suad Joseph, Deniz Kandiyoti, Kecia Ali, Asma Barlas, Ziba Mir-Hosseini, Leila Ahmed,29 and Nikkie Keddie. Because of space constraints, I will focus on the recent work of Keddie to demonstrate the patriarchal nature of Muslim societies and cultures in the Middle East.

26.  Saʿadiyya Shaikh, “Knowledge, Women and Gender in the Hadith: A Feminist Interpretation,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 15:1 (2004): 99–108. 27.  Mohsen Kadivar, “Revisiting Women’s Rights in Islam: ‘Egalitarian Justice’ in Lieu of ‘Deserts-based Justice,’” in Mir-Hosseini, Vogt, Larsen and Moe (eds.), Gender and Equality in Muslim Family Law, 213–237. 28.  See Marshall Hodgson, The Venture of Islam (3 vols.; Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1968), 1:59. 29.  Suad Joseph and Susan Slyomovics, Women and Power in the Middle East (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001); Deniz Kandiyoti, “Bargaining with Patriarchy,” Gender and Society 2 (1988): 274–290; Asma Barlas, “Believing Women” in Islam: Unreading Patriarchal Interpretations of the Qurʾān (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002); Adis Duderija, “Islam and Gender in the Thought of a Critical Progressive Muslim Scholar-Activist: Ziba Mir-Hosseini,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 25:4 (2014): 433–449; Leila Ahmed, Women and Gender in Islam: Historical Roots of a Modern Debate (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1992).

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Keddie’s recent work, Women in the Middle East: Past and Present (2007),30 is a culmination of several decades of scholarship focusing on the Middle East.31 Keddie demonstrates that, for much of Middle Eastern Islamic history, patriarchy has pervaded Muslim societies at both the state and society/culture levels.32 What she calls “gender in-egalitarian” ideologies, including female inferiority, were characteristic features of all traditional civilizations, and Middle Eastern Muslim society is not an exception.33 She demonstrates that patriarchy was operative especially in heavily tribal traditional societies and cultures. Traditional Muslim cultures supported patriarchal laws and customs, leaving the details of organizing family life “to male heads of households, who were expected to keep order and assure production and reproduction at home.”34 Patriarchal value systems were all-encompassing and they operated among agriculturalists, urban dwellers, and nomadic tribes alike.35 Keddie argues that traditional Muslim cultures were more “patriarchal in practice and male supremacist in written ideas” than early Islamic Mecca and Medina, and that the gender in-egalitarian position of women was a result of the predominant cultural practices among the ruling class and the religious leaders in the conquered Sasanian and Byzantine Empires.36 Moreover, the development of Islamic law, and local practices regarding women, were, to a significant degree, influenced by socioeconomic and political circumstances, notably the importance of patriarchal tribes and extended families in which older men, and to a degree older women, exercised strong control over the lives and marriages of younger relatives, and boys and men had significant control over girls and women.37

According to Keddie, “one may say that in traditional times women were widely considered inferior, as they were in other societies, but women’s power and agency were always greater than most outsiders imagined.”38 Keddie 30.  Nikkie Keddie, Women in the Middle East: Past and Present (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007). 31.  The majority of the most influential classical Muslim exegetes lived and wrote their exegesis in the Islamicate context. 32.  Ibid., 14. 33.  Ibid., 15. 34.  Ibid., 14. 35.  Ibid., 16. 36.  Ibid., 30. 37.  Ibid., 166–67. The patriarchal nature of (neo)-traditional jurisprudence, and of Muslim family law in particular, has been analyzed by scholars like Kecia Ali and Ziba Mir-Hosseini, cited above. 38.  Ibid., 169.

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notes that patriarchy and its influence remain firmly rooted in the societal, cultural, and political spheres of modern Muslim societies. In modern Egypt, for example, although Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser (d. 1970) “helped to create new political and economic space for women, he did not allow independent action or try to reform patriarchal culture or family law.”39 With very few exceptions, Keddie argues, we are currently witnessing the continued strength of ideas and customs that privilege men, whether they are rooted in religious concepts or other aspects of culture.40 Sharabi calls this phenomenon of continued patriarchy in the postcolonial Arab world “neopatriarchy.”41 The recent spread and increased popularity of patriarchal Islamist political parties has further contributed to this patriarchal status quo.42 Thus, we may safely conclude that subscription to patriarchal social values and ethics was a common feature of the sociological and historical aspects of the Muslim communities of interpretation in which qur’anic exegesis took place. Gender-Based Beliefs and Customs in Normative Texts Much scholarship has been written about the patriarchal nature of normative Islamic texts.43 Although my focus in this chapter is on interpretive communities as a heuristic tool to account for the predictability/causality of interpretation, it is useful to explain how the sociological and historical elements of interpretive communities interacted with textual hermeneutics. In this context, I will now briefly examine how the Qurʾān and sunnah and the subsequent legal tradition have approached the question of the status of custom (ʿurf) visà-vis revealed law. Elsewhere, I have demonstrated that the gender-differentiated and patriarchal aspects of mainstream (neo)-traditional Sunni Muslim laws are premised on a particular interpretational model (manhaj, pl. manāhij) of the Qur’ān and

39.  Ibid., 123. 40.  Ibid., 169–170. Cf. Peter Knauss, The Persistence of Patriarchy: Class, Gender and Ideology in Twentieth-Century Algeria (New York: Praeger, 1987). 41.  Hisham Sharabi, Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 42.  See, for example, Valentine Moghadam, “Women, Structure, and Agency in the Middle East: Introduction and Overview,” Feminist Formations (Special Issue on Women in the Middle East) 22 (2010), 1–9. 43.  See Adis Duderija, Constructing a Religiously Ideal “Believer” and “Woman” in Islam: Neo-Traditional Salafi and Progressive Muslim Methods of Interpretation (New York: Palgrave, 2011).

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sunnah. For the purpose of this chapter, the main features of this model may be described as follows: (1) A philologically centered-interpretive orientation (i.e., various philological sciences have become decisive and hermeneutically powerful tools in the interpretation of the Qur’ān); (2) a “voluntarist–traditionalist” view of the relationship between reason, revelation, law, morality and ontology, which manifests itself in the idea that revelation is the only objective standard in discerning ethical values of good and bad; (3) a belief that the meaning of the qur’anic text is fixed and stable and that this meaning resides in totality in the mind of its Originator, whose will is in principle discoverable objectively (a hermeneutical approach known as “textual intentionalism”). For this reason, the role of the interpreter in the derivation of meaning is marginal; (4) decontextualization and the marginalization of the qur’anic revelatory background for the purposes of its interpretation; textual segmentalism, that is, the lack of a thematic or holistic approach to the interpretation of the Qur’ān and sunnah; (5) a largely ḥadīth-dependent concept of sunnah that conflates sunnah and sound (ṣaḥīḥ) ḥadīth; and (6) a disregard for contemporary understandings of ethical terms such as justice and fairness.44 In addition to these six features, it is also important to understand how classical Islamic law interacted with the concept of ʿurf. In the Qurʾān, ʿurf is symbiotically linked to goodness (maʿrūf  ). According to Ayman Shabana, “some exegetes argued that ʿurf can serve as source of not only legal but also moral normativity.”45 The legal dimension of ʿurf is usually connected to Q 7:199.46 Muslim scholars have developed three main definitions of the word ʿurf in this verse:

44.  Adis Duderija, “Gender Egalitarian Qur’anic Hermeneutics and the Reformation of Muslim Family Law,” in Adis Duderija (ed.), Maqasid al-Shari’ah and Contemporary Muslim Reformist Thought (New York: Macmillan Palgrave, 2014), 193–218. 45.  Ayman Shabana, “Customary Implications in Islamic Law: The Development of the concept of ʿUrf in the Islamic Legal Tradition” (PhD diss., University of California at Los Angeles, 2009), 70. 46.  Ibid., 95. Q 7:199: “Hold to forgiveness, command what is right (bi’l-ʿurf), but turn away from the ignorant.”

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(1) “What is good and commendable.” In this sense, ʿurf refers to all the values and actions that are deemed praiseworthy and good by Shari‘ah. (2) “What is known and accepted as a good common practice.” (3) “What is known to be important and necessary.”47 The word maʿrūf in the Qurʾān signifies goodness, kindness, benevolence or a recognized norm or ethical value (employed in an ethically objective manner).48 As noted by Shabana, ʿurf in the Qurʾān is often used in its implicit meaning because most of the qurʾanic injunctions that have legal implications are general in nature. This suggests that the Qurʾān assumes that these injunctions will be interpreted/understood in light of customary and commonly recognized practices and values.49 There is no evidence in the Qurʾān to suggest that these customary values and practices cannot or should not evolve/change. To the contrary, in the context of gender-based practices and norms, the Qurʾān clearly intends to mitigate the harmful effects of many customary practices prevalent at the time of revelation.50 References to ʿurf are also found in the ḥadīth literature and in the sīra (biography of the Prophet). The approach taken by the Prophet to ʿurf is consistent with the position of the Qurʾān, that is to say, so long as ʿurf does not undermine what people consider to be part of Shari‘ah, common practices are accepted. According to Shabana, three types of sunnah characterize the conceptual relationship between the sunnah of the Prophet (in his role as a carrier and communicator of revelation) and pre-Islamic customs: affirmative, reformative, and prohibitive. The first two categories were largely integrated into Islamic law while the third one was discarded.51 The identification of this process (of what is considered to be affirmative, reformative ,or prohibitive sunnah), however, depends on two considerations. First, how Muslims interpreted/understood what the Prophet considered to be “sunnah,” its scope, nature, and hermeneutical relationship with the Qurʾān and the concept of a sound ḥadīth. Second, how the concept of sunnah itself is conceptualized by Muslim religious and political leaders and how this conceptualization of sunnah developed.52 Hence, custom was integrated into Is-

47.  Ibid., 95–96. 48.  Ibid., 96. 49.  Ibid., 99–100. 50.  Duderija, “Gender Egalitarian Qur’anic Hermeneutics and the Reformation of Muslim Family Law.” 51.  Ibid., 109. 52.  Adis Duderija, “Evolution in the Concept of Sunnah during the First Four Generations of Muslims in Relation to the Development of the Concept of an

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lamic law by identifying it with a specific understanding of the concept of sunnah and/or later with ijmāʿ (the consensus of Muslim scholars). The mainstream Sunni legal tradition adopted an approach to ʿurf in such a manner that it incorporated the existing customary gender-based norms and beliefs (e.g., unilateral repudiation extended to husbands) into the normative elements of tradition, thereby enshrining patriarchy into it.53 This hermeneutical approach to ʿurf effectively reinforced the existing patriarchal bias through which normative texts were interpreted and bestowed religious legitimacy upon it in the eyes of those who shared the same textual hermeneutic. It is important to note that both traditional and neo-traditional communities of interpretation share essentially the same Sunni textual hermeneutic outlined above.54 Non-Integration of Gender as an Analytical Category The final element that will aid us in understanding the patriarchal nature of (neo)-traditional Muslim communities of interpretation pertains to their views on incorporating gender as an analytical category into exegetical interpretations. Although gender, as an analytical category, is part of the modern epistemological canon,55 I justify the use of this term here for two reasons. First, in this chapter I examine not only traditional exegesis but also neotraditional exegesis by scholars who lived and died in the second half of the twentieth century. Second, I use “gender” as an analytical tool for discussing the selected traditional exegetes for the sake of terminological consistency and conceptual clarity; the same terminology will be used when I discuss the selected modern exegetes. The lack of integration of gender leads to essentialist constructions of masculinity and femininity, as exemplified by the concept of “gender oppositionality” discussed above.56 Hence, scholars who subscribe to this view of gender, traditional or neo-traditional, do not integrate gender as an analytical category into their interpretive approaches to normative texts because, for them, the concept of gender as a sociocultural construction does not exist. Authentic Ḥadīth as Based on Recent Western Scholarship,” Arab Law Quarterly 26 (2012): 393–437. 53.  See further Duderija, Constructing a Religiously Ideal “Believer” and “Woman” in Islam. 54.  Ibid. 55.  It would be anachronistic to expect traditional but not neo-traditional Muslim exegetes to have used this concept in their interpretive models. 56.  These conceptions of masculinity and femininity were canonized in the Islamic tradition for the reasons outlined in our discussion of the role of custom in classical Islamic law (see above).

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Modern Muslim feminist scholars such as Amina Wadud and Ziba MirHosseini have rightfully lamented this nonintegration of gender as an analytical tool in exegesis by traditional and contemporary Muslim scholars.57 To be fair, until recently, the same was true with regard to general reception theory in contemporary western institutions of learning. For example, Lorimer-Lundberg complains how “reception theorists have carefully elucidated complex methods of structuring narratives but have not specifically addressed the role gender-related ideologies play in readers’ responses to those structures and the meanings they produce.”58 We safely may conclude that the lack of integration of gender as an analytical category and a conceptual tool in exegesis is a common characteristic of (neo)-traditional qur’anic exegetes as a community of interpretation. Applying Fish’s “Interpretive Communities” to Q 4:34 In the preceding sections I referred to scholarship on prevailing patriarchal biases and value systems in (pre-)modern Muslim-majority societies, such as the Middle East, as well as in major works of qur’anic exegesis. I argued that these biases and value systems have given rise to patriarchal communities of interpretation, and that these patriarchal communities have canonized patriarchal interpretations of the fountainheads of the Islamic tradition, bestowing upon them normative status and a halo of sacredness. In this section I analyze gender-related qur’anic exegetical materials, using the theoretical insights of Fish’s communities of interpretation. I will demonstrate that patriarchal interpretations can be explained as a function of the exegetes’ membership in patriarchal communities of interpretation. For two reasons, I will focus on the first part of Q 4:34,59 with special attention to the meaning of the word qiwāmah.60 First, most exegetes refer to this part of the 57.  Amina Wadud, Inside Gender Jihad: Women’s Reform in Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 48; Ziba Mir-Hosseini, “Religious Modernists and the ‘Woman Question’: Challenges and Complicities,” in Eric Hooglund (ed.), Twenty Years of Islamic Revolution: Political and Social Transition in Iran since 1979 (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press), 74–95. 58.  Patricia Lorimer-Lundberg, “Gendered Reading Communities: The Feminization of Reader Response Criticism and a Dialogic of Reading” (PhD diss., Loyola University of Chicago, 1989). 59.  Al-rijāl qawwāmūn ʿalā’l-nisāʾ bi-mā faḍḍala Allāh ba‘ḍuhum ‘alā ba‘ḍin—translated variously as “men are in charge of/the maintainers of/guardians/protectors over women, as God has bestowed more bounty on/ made excel/given more strength to one over the other.” 60.  Translated variously as “men in charge of women;” “men’s authority over women.”

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verse when making arguments based on gender oppositionality that expose their patriarchal biases and value systems. Second, this part of the verse has been identified as kind of a “master signifier” of the patriarchal nature of Islamic ethics and laws.61 My selection of exegetical materials is based on two considerations: First, these materials represent the overall tradition, and, second, they were written at different periods. I have chosen three major traditional Sunni commentaries62 that are held in high esteem in traditionalist Muslim circles: (1) Tanwīr al-miqbās,63 attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās (d. 67/687), which is considered “one of the most pivotal works for understanding the environment which influenced the development of qur’anic exegesis”;64 (2) al-Kashshāf by al-Zamakhsharī (d. 538/1144), an important proponent of a rationalist approach to qur’anic exegesis;65 and (3) Tafsīr al-jalālayn, which is widely acknowledged as one of the most significant Sunni commentaries on the Qurʾān. It was composed by the two “Jalāls”: Jalāl al-Dīn al-Maḥallī (d. 863/1459) and his pupil Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī (d. 910/1505). With respect to neo-traditional patriarchal exegesis, I have selected the works of Maududi (d. 1979), an influential Sunni “fundamentalist” from Pakistan and the founder of the Jamaat-e-Islami movement, which has a sizeable following in the Indian subcontinent and elsewhere, and Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabātābā’ī (d. 1981), a prominent and influential Shiʿi scholar. One aspect of the tafsīr tradition that has attracted scholarly attention is the resolution of apparent inconsistencies in qur’anic legal rulings by means of contextualization. These methods are referred to as al-nāsikh wa’l-mansūkh (the abrogating and the abrogated) and asbāb al-nuzūl, reports detailing the “occasions of revelation.” Although my focus here is not on how the selected exegetes engaged hermeneutically with this contextualizing literature, it is appropriate to outline the asbāb al-nuzūl associated with Q 4:34 to determine if they had any impact on exegesis. One of the most important works on asbāb al-nuzūl is that of al-Wāḥidī.66 With regard to Q 4:34, we find the following:

61.  Mir-Hosseini, Vogt, Larsen, and Moe (eds.), Gender and Equality in Muslim Family Law. 62.  See Bauer, “Room for Interpretation.” 63.  Translation by Mokrane Guezzou, http://www.altafsir.com/Ibn-Abbas.asp 64.  Ibid. 65.  See al-Zamakhsharī, al-Kashshāf (4 vols.; Beirut, Dār al-kitāb al-ʿarabī, 1965), 1:505. 66.  ʿAlī b. Aḥmad al-Wāḥidī, Asbāb al-nuzūl (d. 468/1075). According to al-tafsir.com, al- Wāḥidī is “the earliest scholar of the branch of the qur’anic sciences known as Asbāb al-nuzūl (i.e., the contexts and occasions of the Revelation of the Qur’ān). Al-Wāḥidī and subsequent scholars collected and systemized information

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Saʿīd b. Muqātil: “This verse (Men are in charge of women…) [Q 4:34] was revealed about Saʿd b. al-Rabīʿ, one of the leaders of the Helpers (nuqabāʾ), and his wife Ḥabibah bt. Zayd b. Abī Zuhayr, both of whom were Helpers. It happened that Saʿd hit his wife on the face because she rebelled against him. Her father went with her to see the Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace. He said to the Prophet: “I gave him [viz., Saʿd] my daughter in marriage, and he slapped her.” The Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace, said: “Let her retaliate against her husband.” As she was leaving with her father to execute retaliation, the Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace, called them and said: “Come back. Gabriel has come to me,” and Allah, may He be exalted, revealed this verse. The Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and give him peace, said: “We wanted something, but Allah wanted something else, and that which Allah wants is good.” Thus, retaliation was suspended.” Saʿīd b. Muḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Zāhid informed us from Ẓāhir b. Aḥmad from Aḥmad b. al-Ḥusayn b. Junāyd from Ziyād b. Ayyūb from Ḥushaym from Yūnus b. al-Ḥasan, who reported that a man slapped his wife and she complained about him to the Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace. Her family who accompanied her said: “O Messenger of Allah! So-and-so has slapped our girl.” The Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace, kept saying: “Retaliation! Retaliation! And there is no other judgment to be held.” Then this verse (Men are in charge of women…) was revealed, and the Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace, said: “We wanted one thing and Allah wanted something else.” Abū Bakr al-Ḥārithī informed us from Abū l-Shaykh al-Ḥāfiẓ from Abū Yaḥyā al-Rāzī from Saḥl al-ʿAskarī from ʿAlī b. Hāshim from Ismāʿīl from al-Ḥasan, who said: “Around the time when the verse on retaliation was revealed, a man had slapped his wife. She went to the Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace, and said, “My husband slapped me and I want retaliation.” He said, “Let there be retaliation.” As he was dealing with her, Allah, may He be exalted, revealed (Men are in charge of women, because Allah hath made the one of them to excel the other…). The Prophet, may Allah bless him and give him peace, said: “We wanted one thing but my Lord wanted something different. O man, take your wife by the hand.”67

According to these reports, Q 4:34 was revealed in response to a specific incident involving marital discord or, more precisely, domestic violence. concerning all the known reasons and contexts for the revelation of particular qur’anic verses.” See http://www.altafsir.com/WahidiAsbabAlnuzul.asp. 67.  Translation by Mr. Mokrane Guezzou: http://www.altafsir.com/WahidiAsbabAlnuzul.asp.

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According to these reports, the Prophet sympathized with the wife.68 However, as we shall see below, none of the exegetes I have selected refers to the asbāb al-nuzūl reports in their exegesis. Rather, they use the verse to make sweeping and general statements about the inherently asymmetrical capacities and natures of males and females. Ibn ʿAbbās states:69 (Men are in charge of women), they are in charge of overseeing the proper conduct of women (because Allah has made the one of them), the men through reason and the division of booty and estates (to excel the other), the women (and because they spend of their property) for the support of women by paying the dowry and spending on them, which the women are not required to do.70

Al-Zamakhsharī provides specific and detailed arguments for the superiority of men over women by referring to a point made by all of the major exegetes preceding him (hence, he is representative of the Sunni traditional exegesis up to that point in time): Men are the commanders [of right] and forbidders [of wrong], just as a governor guides the people.... The “some” in some of them refers to all men and all women. It means that men are in control of women only because God made some of them superior, and those are men, to others, and they are women. This is proof that governance is only merited by superiority (tafḍīl), not by dominance, an overbearing attitude, or subjugation. Concerning the superiority of men over women, the exegetes mention rationality (ʿaql), good judgment (ḥazm), determination, strength, writing—for the majority of men – horsemanship, archery, that men are prophets, learned (ʿulamāʾ), have the duties of the greater and lesser imamate, jihād, call to prayer, the Friday sermon, seclusion in the mosque (iʿtikāf), performing prayers during the holidays (takbīrāt al-tashrīq). According to Abū Ḥanīfa, they [viz., men] witness in cases of injury or death (ḥudūd and qiṣāṣ), they have larger shares in inheritance, bloodwit (ḥimālah), pronouncement of an oath fifty times which establishes guilt or innocence in cases of murder, authority in marriage, divorce, and taking back the wife after a revocable divorce, a greater number of spouses, and lineage passing through the male line. They also have beards and turbans.71 68.  See further Aisha Chaudhry, “‘I Wanted One Thing and God Wanted Another…’: The Dilemma of the Prophetic Example and the Qur’anic Injunction on Wife-Beating,” Journal of Religious Ethics 39:3 (2013): 416–439. 69.  The words in parentheses are the translation of qur’anic verses and those outside the parenthesis are the translation of the exegesis. 70.  http://www.altafsir.com/Tafasir.asp?tMadhNo=2&tTafsirNo=73&tSoraNo=4&tAyahNo=34&tDisplay=yes&UserProfile=0&LanguageId=2. 71.  Al-Zamakhsharī, al-Kashshāf, translation cited in Bauer, “Room for Interpretation,” 137.

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Al-Jalālayn makes the following statement: (Men are in charge of  ), they have authority over women, disciplining them and keeping them in check, because God has preferred the one over the other, that is, because God has given them an advantage over women, in knowledge, reason, authority and otherwise, and because of what they expend on them [viz. the women] of their property.72

The above commentaries on Q 4:34 exemplify the prevalent patriarchal customary, cultural, and sociological practices and ideas about what it means to be a man or a woman. Clearly, these patriarchal ideas are present in logic and arguments used by the exegetes to argue for a particular understanding of the qur’anic verse. These gender-based assumptions relate to what are considered certain inherent (i.e., God given) characteristics of men and women pertaining to cognitive, physical, and emotional capacities. Ibn ʿAbbās and alJalālayn justify men’s authority over women on the grounds that men, unlike women, are rational, fight in wars, and have certain unilateral socioeconomic obligations towards their female relative or wives. Al-Zamakhsharī provides a rich array of additional reasons, some mundane (wearing a turban, growing a beard), some religious (men’s supererogatory ritual-based obligations) and some legal (e.g., bloodwit obligation). According to Fish, interpreters are products of the communities of interpretation to which they belong. These communities impose certain reading strategies and “trap” the interpreters into adopting certain interpretations. Ibn ʿAbbās, al-Zamakhsharī and al-Jalālayn belonged to the same interpretive community. They were members of the same sociological, historical, and textual interpretive communities. Their membership in these patriarchal communities of interpretation compelled them to adopt patriarchy as a reading/writing strategy and to produce patriarchal interpretations of the verse in question. These exegetes had no qualms about presenting and justifying their interpretations as corresponding to, or reflecting, an empirical reality pertaining to the “actual” nature of sexes. For Fish, communities of interpretation remain in effect for as long as the assumptions that characterize them are considered valid by their members. In what follows, I provide evidence of this phenomenon by referring to the views of two contemporary Muslim scholars, namely, Ṭabāṭabāʾī and Maududi. Ṭabāṭabāʾī writes as follows: The clause, “that with which Allah has made some of them to excel the others,” refers to the natural characteristics of man in which he excels a woman; men have much greater judicious prudence than women, and they are much stronger and braver 72.  http://www.altafsir.com/Tafasir.asp?tMadhNo=1&tTafsirNo=74&tSoraNo=4&tAyahNo=34&tDisplay=yes&UserProfile=0&LanguageId=2. Translated by Feraz Hamsa. See http://www.altafsir.com/Al-Jalalayn.asp.

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and more capable of performing strenuous tasks that require intrepidness and forbearance; a women’s life is dominated by feelings and emotions and based on gracefulness and delicateness…. The generality of these causes shows that the resulting principle, “Men are the maintainers of women,” is not limited to husbands. In other words, the verse does not say that man is the maintainer of his wife; rather it gives authority to men, as a group, over the entire group of women, in the common affairs that affect the lives of both sexes on the whole....73

Maududi writes: Men are superior to women in the sense that they have been endowed with certain natural qualities and powers that have not been given to women or have been given to them in a lesser degree, not in the sense that they are above them in honor and excellence. Man has been made the qawwām of the family because of his natural qualities, and woman has been made his dependent for her own safety and protection because of her natural differences.74

Both Ṭabāṭabāʾī and Maududi invoke “gender oppositionality” arguments in their exegesis.75 For Ṭabāṭabāʾī, the superiority of men over women is justified on the grounds of their superior powers of reasoning and physical strength. For Maududi, male superiority is based on gendered differences relating to unspecified natural qualities. Hence, both Ṭabāṭabāʾī and Maududi subscribe to the same essentialist, patriarchal gender-based theories and assumptions held by traditional scholars. This subscription makes them part of the same patriarchal interpretive community and compels them to adopt patriarchy as a reading strategy. In her examination of manhood in traditional and modern Islam, Omaima Abou Bakr notes that patriarchy continues to manifest itself in exegesis: In both medieval and modern exegetical discourses, there are two different patriarchal constructions of maleness. The thrust of most medieval assumptions is a benevolent paternalistic attitude towards women as defenseless beings who should be cared for and treated well (assumed male privilege comes with moral and religious obligations towards their dependents), whereas the modern exegete’s attitude redefines male superiority on new scientific, psychological, and social grounds….76

73.  Muḥammad Ḥusayn Ṭabāṭābā’ī, al-Mīzān fī tafsīr al-Qur’ān (22 vols.; Beirut: Mu’assasat al-aʿlamī li’l-maṭbūʿāt, 1997), 4:351. 74.  http://www.englishtafsir.com/Qur’ān /4/index.html#sdfootnote57sym. 75.  Neither Maududi nor Ṭabāṭābā’ī departed radically from the fundamental textual hermeneutics of their classical predecessors. 76.  Omaima Abou Bakr, “Turning the Tables: Perspectives on the Construction of ‘Muslim Manhood,’” Hawwa 11 (2013): 87–107.

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As Fish’s concept predicts, multiple readers continue to interpret texts in the same manner because they share the same cultural assumptions and the same reading strategies. In my view, this aspect of Fish’s concept is well exemplified in the preceding case study of the exegesis of Q 4:34 by five Muslim exegetes. Conclusion I have attempted to apply Stanley Fish’s “interpretative communities” concept as a heuristic method for understanding the persistence of patriarchal interpretations of Q 4:34. By focusing on the sociological, historical and, to a lesser extent, textual aspects of interpretative communities, I have demonstrated that the patriarchal orientation of exegesis on Q 4:34 can be explained as a result of the adoption of patriarchy as a reading strategy that traps and compels (neo-)traditional exegetes to articulate patriarchal interpretations of the text in question. As a corollary, Fish’s concept predicts that continuing subscription to patriarchal values and ethics ensures that these patriarchal interpretations will endure, as exemplified in the writings of contemporary neo-traditional Muslim scholars such as Maududi and Ṭabāṭābā’ī.

The Global Islamic Tradition and the Nation State in the Contemporary Muslim Exegesis of the Qur’ān

JOHANNA PINK

The development of Muslim exegetical thought in modern times has been widely studied, with a distinct focus on either Islamist or modernist and postmodern trends.1 Perhaps unsurprisingly, ruptures and innovations have attracted the bulk of attention; scholarship has largely focused on approaches that ostensibly address the question how Islam—and more specifically, the Qur’ān—can be harmonized with the exigencies and values of our time. The structural conditions under which qur’anic exegesis is carried out, however, This chapter is an improved and expanded version of a German-language essay I have written for an as yet unpublished volume with the tentative title, Genese und Exegese der schriftlichen Quellen des Islam, edited by the Institute for the Study of the Culture and Religion of Islam at the University of Frankfurt. 1.  See EQ, s.v. “Exegesis of the Qur’ān: Early Modern and Contemporary” (R. Wielandt). A note on terminology: I use the term “modern” in a purely chronological sense, denoting the period that started, in most countries of the Islamicate world, in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century; the term as I use it does not signify conformity with ideas of liberalism, women’s rights, rule of law, and other notions that frequently are associated with “modernity.” When I discuss the attempts of Muslim exegetes to legitimize such notions, I use the terms “modernist” and “modernism.” I use the term “postmodern” to denote exegetical approaches that deny the possibility of identifying the “true meaning” of the Qur’ān and maintain that the understanding of any text is dependent on the reader and his or her environment, language, and cultural norms. According to this approach, no previous interpretation has absolute authority; and contemporary readers should not raise a claim to uncover an eternal truth that will be relevant for all times. 193

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have rarely been comprehensively studied. Changes in the fields of technology, media, religious institutions, politics, education, language, and society have exerted a profound influence on religious thought in general and qur’anic exegesis in particular. These changes deserve to be discussed systematically, based on a comparative approach. Such a comparative approach is all the more important since the twentieth century has witnessed the emergence of a multitude of nation states in the Islamicate world2 that have contributed to the fragmentation of exegetical discourses. No work of qur’anic exegesis can be understood without paying attention to its language, its author’s educational background, its social function, and its target audience. All these factors are directly related to political and social conditions shaped by nation states. Therefore, this chapter aims at providing a tentative survey of some of the key structural conditions that form the framework in which qur’anic exegesis is conducted in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Language and Language Politics The emergence of nation states invariably led to the institutionalization of national languages in one form or another in a process that was intimately connected with concepts of identity. Decisions about language politics were often embedded in debates about the degree to which a national language should be allowed to be influenced by either colonial languages or by Arabic, and sometimes Persian, transnational Islamic traditions. In some countries, such as Iran, the introduction of a national language was a relatively straightforward process since there was already a well-established literary language that was mastered at least by the literate segment of the population. Attempts to purify this language of Arabic influence did occur, but were not far-reaching. By contrast, the Turkish Republic instigated profound reforms of lexis, grammar, and alphabet that aimed at nationalizing the language, eradicating many Arabic and Persian words and structures. The state also attempted to suppress other languages spoken on its territory. Other nation states tolerated more diversity; Afghanistan, for example, has two official languages. Many multilingual states in Africa, South, and Southeast Asia designated one language as the official language, but accepted a 2.  The term “Islamicate” was introduced by Marshall Hodgson, who defined it as referring “not directly to the religion, Islam, itself, but to the social and cultural complex historically associated with Islam and the Muslims.” See Marshall Hodgson, The Venture of Islam (3 vols.; Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1974), 1:59. The Islamicate world includes societies that have been shaped by centuries of Muslim rule and/or have a Muslim majority population.

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greater number of national languages. Sometimes, rather than giving preference to one of the indigenous languages over others, a colonial language like French was chosen as the official language. In other cases, like those of Swahili and Indonesian/ Malay, a regional lingua franca was chosen that many understood but few spoke as a native language. No matter what choices the emerging nation states made, these choices usually brought about a canonization and standardization of the official language or languages and had a profound impact on their idioms.3 The more profound this impact was and the more far-reaching the changes to the national idiom, the more difficult it became for the literate population of nation states to engage with their literary heritage. For example, religious literature in Ottoman Turkish became obsolete in an extremely short time span since it was linguistically inaccessible to all but a small minority of specialists in Ottoman studies. At the same time, the proportion of the population that was literate in the new official or national languages increased dramatically. As a result, there was a sharp rise in demand for religious literature, in general, and for Qur’ān translations, in particular, in the languages of the new nation states. The existence of vernacular Qur’ān commentaries and translations was not a new phenomenon, although the circulation of such works had been low before the twentieth century. These texts were written by scholars for students and other scholars.4 Presumably, there was also a tradition of vernacular oral exegesis in the context of teaching and preaching but we know little about that. Over the course of the twentieth century, and especially following the advent of mass literacy during its second half, the number of Qur’ān translations into practically all languages read by Muslims rose dramatically, as did the number of extensive exegetical works in these languages.5 The 1920s and 1930s 3.  See Bernard Spolsky, Cambridge Handbook of Language Policy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012); on the relationship between language policy and the nation state, see Sue Wright, “Language Policy, the Nation and Nationalism,” in Bernard Spolsky (ed.), Cambridge Handbook of Language Policy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 59–78. 4.  Scholarship on Qurʾān translations and vernacular exegesis before the twentieth century is rare. On Persian exegesis of the early Middle Period, see Travis Zadeh, The Vernacular Qur’ān: Translation and the Rise of Persian Exegesis (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). 5.  Quantifying this statement is next to impossible. The last attempt at a world bibliography of Qur’an translations, to the exclusion of extensive exegetical works (although the boundary between these two categories is not clear), ends in 1980. See Ismet Binard and Halit Eren, World Bibliography of Translations of the Meanings of the Holy Qurʾan: Printed Translations 1515–1980 (Istanbul, 1986). At present, the sheer number of works available in dozens or hundreds of languages and the rate at which new translations are being published preclude a comprehensive bibliographical approach.

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witnessed intense debates, particularly at Egypt’s Azhar University, about the religious permissibility of this development, but these debates have all but been settled in favor of translating and interpreting the Qur’ān in languages other than Arabic. The only remaining question is whether there are more and less legitimate ways to do so.6 Thus, the majority of non-Arab Muslims today approach the Qur’ān through translations, and therefore through works that invariably represent a contemporary translator’s exegetical perspective. Whether or not translators claim to employ methods that enable them to inform their readers about the “true meaning” of the Qur’ān, they are forced to make exegetical choices for dogmatic, ideological, or linguistic reasons. Two examples from the Indonesian context may serve to elucidate this point. Q 2:7 says about the unbelievers (alladhīna kafarū): “God has sealed their hearts and their hearing” (khatama ’llāhu ʿalā qulūbihim wa-ʿalā samʿihim). For Indonesian Qur’ān translators, the verb khatama (“to seal”) poses problems since the Arabic verb, like its English equivalent, has two overlapping semantic fields: a seal is used in order to securely close something, but also as a stamp or mark. The Indonesian language does not have an equally ambiguous verb that covers both semantic fields. Translators must make a decision between words denoting “closing” or even “locking” the unbelievers’ hearts and words denoting “stamping,” “branding,” or “marking” them. This decision has important dogmatic implications in the context of the debate over free will and predestination. If God closes or even locks the hearts of unbelievers, their unbelief is the result of his preordination, not of their free will. If, however, God stamps or brands their hearts, this may be understood in the sense of an act of God that seals a decision the unbelievers have taken themselves. The latter position is most clearly taken by the Indonesian exegete Hamka (1908–1981), while the majority of Indonesian translators and exegetes lean towards the more orthodox paradigm of divine predestination or at least avoid taking a clear position in favor of free will. In this case, the choices made by the translators are partly determined by the structure and vocabulary of the target language. But dogmatic considerations clearly play a role as well, as they do when translators have to deal with anthropomorphic descriptions of God or qur’anic expressions that suggest that humans may help God or hurt God.7 In other cases, political concerns override dogmatic issues. A qur’anic term that is notoriously difficult to translate is the Arabic noun walī (pl. awliyāʾ), which, depending on context, may mean a close confidant, helper, patron, 6.  M. Brett Wilson, Translating the Qur’an in an Age of Nationalism: Print Culture and Modern Islam in Turkey (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 119–23, 190–96 and 210–16. 7.  On these theological debates, see Johanna Pink, “‘Literal Meaning’ or ‘Correct ʿAqīda’? The Reflection of Theological Controversy in Indonesian Qur’ān Translations,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 17:3 (2015): 100–120.

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ally or, possibly, a friend. When Q 5:51 advises the believers not to take Jews and Christians as their awliyāʾ (yā ayyuhā alladhīna āmanū! Lā tattakhidhū ’l-yahūda wa’l-naṣārā awliyāʾ), translators must decide how to translate this term. Using an Arabic loan word (e.g., velî or wali) is one possible solution, but in many languages not a practical option if the target audience has no command of Arabic. Thus, translators must choose a word that covers only part of the semantic spectrum of the term walī. The most common choices, in many languages, are synonyms of “friend” or “helper.” By contrast, the most widespread Indonesian translation is “leader” (pemimpin), which is at best an extremely marginal opinion in non-Indonesian qur’anic exegesis. Nor is this translation consistent with translations into other languages predominantly spoken by Muslims.8 What appears to be a specifically Indonesian exegetical tradition is probably explicable by the fact that the first translations into Indonesian were produced during the period of Dutch colonial rule when collaboration with the Dutch was a hotly debated issue. The translators thus had good reason to read the verse as a prohibition against taking Jews and, more importantly, Christians as “leaders.” This choice has been adopted by later translators and even by the government translation that dominates the Indonesian field.9 Many of the recent translations, however, including the 2002 edition of the government translation, have turned away from this understanding of the verse. Apparently, the colonial experience is slowly fading into the background. Thus, languages—which are subject to canonization and regulation— may determine exegetical choices. Just as importantly, Muslims who are not capable of understanding the Qur’ān in Arabic gain access to its meaning through translations into their own language. These translations reflect dogmatic positions as well as social and political experiences that may be particular to the country or to the individual translator; but neither these influences nor the constraints of the target language are necessarily apparent in the translation. A reader would have to know Arabic in order to understand that a walī is not necessarily the same thing as a leader. Otherwise, he or she may derive general conclusions from a very specific, locally embedded work of exegesis.

8.  Malaysian translations, for example, often have teman rapat (“close friend”). Turkish translations most commonly have dost (“friend”). Other Qur’ān translators opt for words denoting “ally” or “helper.” The preference for the semantic field of “leader” seems to be a specifically Indonesian phenomenon. 9.  Johanna Pink, “Tradition and Ideology in Contemporary Sunnite Qur’anic Exegesis: Qur’anic Commentaries from the Arab World, Turkey and Indonesia and Their Interpretation of Q 5:51,” Welt des Islams 50:1 (2010): 3–59, at 42–43.

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States as Religious Actors Nation states do not merely shape the framework within which qur’anic exegesis takes place; many of them are also players in the field of religion and active participants in religious discourses. In a few states, ministries and other government institutions have produced or commissioned their own Qur’ān translations and commentaries in an attempt to establish an authoritative interpretation. For example, the early Turkish republican government asked the scholar Elmalı’lı Hamdi Yazır (1878–1942) to write a Qur’ān translation with a short commentary.10 It was a work by an individual scholar that was published under his own name. In the second half of the twentieth century, a different and new format emerged, the “institutional commentary.” These commentaries are written by a group of authors, often religious scholars, according to standards that are usually provided by the government agency that commissioned the translation or by an editorial board. The scholars’ contributions are copy-edited in such a way that the identity of the translator or commentator is not recognizable in the final version. Usually, institutional commentaries are of short to medium length; their style is simple and easily comprehensible, without technical jargon; and they avoid controversial approaches or references to conflicts.11 Arguably the most successful of these endeavors is the Qur’ān translation and eleven-volume Qur’ān commentary published by the Indonesian Ministry of Religion in several editions since the 1960s. While overtly apolitical and noncontroversial, its various editions reflect regime changes and changes in political climate that occurred in the more than five decades since its first publication. A revolutionary language was replaced by one of statehood and good citizenship, promoting values like diligence and incorruptibility.12 10.  Ismail Albayrak, “Turkish Exegeses of the Twentieth Century: Hak Dini, Kur’an Dili,” Islamic Studies 43 (2004): 391–413; Brett Wilson, “The First Translations of the Qur’an in Modern Turkey,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 41 (2009): 419–35. 11.  Pink, “Tradition, Authority and Innovation in Contemporary Sunni tafsīr: Towards a Typology of Qur’anic Commentaries from the Arab World, Indonesia and Turkey,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 12 (2010): 56–82, at 61. 12.  Moch. Nur Ichwan, “Negara, kitab suci dan politik: Terjemah resmi alQur’an di Indonesia,” in Henri Chambert-Loir (ed.) Sadur: Sejarah Terjemahan di Indonesia dan Malaysia (Jakarta: Gramedia, 2009), 417–433; Pink, Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt: Akademische Traditionen, Popularisierung und nationalstaatliche Interessen (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 81–85; Howard M. Federspiel, Popular Indonesian Literature of the Qur’an (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1994), 64–69. Federspiel erroneously dates the publication of the first edition to the beginning of the Suharto regime; in fact, the endeavor began under Sukarno. The most recent edition has, to my knowledge, not yet been studied.

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Certain nation states that have a strong claim to religious legitimacy do not limit their efforts to their own territory, but are also active on an international level. Saudi Arabia and Iran, in particular, produce and distribute Qur’ān translations into many languages. The Saudi Arabian King Fahd Complex for the Printing of the Holy Qur’ān in Medina is the largest such institution in the world. Founded by King Fahd in 1982, it has since then published translations into more than fifty languages. Some of these were new editions of existing works, while others were commissioned or produced by the staff of the King Fahd Complex. The target languages include many that do not have a strong literary tradition and therefore previously had not had their own version of the Qur’ān, such as Tamazight, Chichewa, or the Roma language.13 In Iran, a “Centre for Translation of the Holy Qur’an” was founded in 1994 in Qom by the Awqāf and Charities Organization, with the assistance of the Ministry of Culture and Islamic Guidance.14 The activities of both institutions seem to be far-reaching, but have hardly been studied so far. Nation states have exerted their influence not only through the publication of original exegetical works, but also through modern, accessible print editions of tafsīrs from the madrasah tradition. Neither manuscripts nor early print editions of Qur’ān commentaries or hermeneutical treatises were of much use to a general public due to their low circulation and a layout that required the reader to have memorized the Qur’ān in order to make sense of the text. Only a print edition geared towards a broad audience could assure that an earlier work of exegesis was still perceived as important in the twentieth century. As demonstrated by Walid Saleh, the rivalry between the Egyptian Azhar, which wants to promote a “traditional and moderate” (wasaṭī) Islam, and Saudi Arabia, which wants to promote a “purified and scripturalist” Islam, has had a tremendous impact on the historiography of qur’anic exegesis. Specifically, Saudi Arabia was enormously successful in spreading the hitherto marginal writings of Ibn Taymiyyah (d. 728/1328) on qur’anic hermeneutics, as well as the of tafsīr his disciple Ibn Kathīr (d. 774/1373). Thus, the controversial Taymiyyan branch of Ḥanbalī Islam gained unprecedented fame and influence as representative of a “Salafi” tradition of exegesis. Likewise, the Qur’ān commentary of Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923), by virtue of its having been printed already at the beginning of the twentieth century, gained a preeminent status as a major authoritative ḥadīth-based work of exegesis which, judging from the scarcity of manu13.  Wilson, Translating the Qur’an in an Age of Nationalism, 255–58; Stefan Wild, “Muslim Translators and Translations of the Qurʾān into English,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 17:3 (2015): 158–182. 14.  See www.cthq.ir, www.imamreza.net/eng/imamreza.php?id=1393, and www.imamreza.net/eng/imamreza.php?id=1390, accessed on May 21, 2015.

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scripts of this work, it did not have previously.15 This glimpse into the largely unexplored field of publication politics shows how deep an impact the mediatization of exegetical knowledge by nation states and by private actors has had on contemporary views of intellectual history. That mediatization contributed to the emergence of new authorities and the marginalization of others. In today’s increasingly digitalized media landscape in which printed publications are losing importance, websites play an important part in shaping their users’ ideas of what is relevant in the history of qur’anic exegesis and what is not. Perhaps the most important of these sites is altsafsir.com, run by the Royal Ahl al-Bayt Institute for Islamic Thought, a nominally nongovernmental institution that was, however, founded by King Hussein of Jordan in 1980. The role of nation states is perhaps more noticeable in the field of tafsīr than in other branches of Islamic religious knowledge because Qur’ān commentaries are often large works that could not have been published without financial and institutional support. This type of support is often provided by nation-state institutions. Mass Media, Popular Exegesis, and the State Obviously, media plays an important role in making qur’anic exegesis accessible to its audiences. During the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, the emergence of mass media has created new ways to address the public and has had a profound impact on modes and styles of exegesis. The relationship of such efforts to the agenda of nation-state governments is ambivalent. On the one hand, mass media are often subject to tight control by the state and are used by its institutions to publicize a state-sanctioned religious discourse; on the other hand, they are used by opponents of the state, something that has become even easier since the 1990s due to satellite TV and widespread internet use. An early example of the ways in which changes in the media landscape changed the contents and style of exegetical works is Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā’s (1860–1935) Tafsīr al-Manār, which began as a transcript of Muḥammad ʿAbduh’s (d. 1905) oral tafsīr and was subsequently edited, introduced, and amended by Rashīd Riḍā. It was published in a newspaper and directed at a literate educated public, not necessarily at religious scholars. Consequently, it strove to be educational, digressed to a variety of topics, quoted from novel sources such as scientific books and newspaper articles,

15.  Walid A. Saleh, “Preliminary Remarks on the Historiography of tafsīr in Arabic: A History of the Book Approach,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 12 (2010): 6–40.

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and consistently linked exegesis to contemporary concerns such as colonialism and western dominance. Such forms of serial qur’anic interpretation were comprehensible to a broad public. Far from being detached works of scholarship, they aimed to be entertaining. Especially in the age of radio and television, state media started to make use of them in order to bolster regime legitimacy. This most often occurred during Ramadan, but there were also a number of long-running exegetical programs that were broadcast throughout the year. For example, al-Tafsīr al-wasīṭ by the Syrian Sunni scholar Wahbah al-Zuḥaylī (1932–2015) was broadcast on Syrian national radio between 1992 and 1998 at a time when the regime was striving to downplay the ʿAlawite identity of its leader and to increase its religious legitimacy through alliances with Sunni scholars.16 A better-known example is the Egyptian ʿālim Muḥammad al-Mutawallī al-Shaʿrāwī (1911–1998), whose weekly TV show Khawāṭir al-Shaʿrāwī ḥawl al-Qurʾān al-karīm was broadcast on Egyptian state TV for more than twenty years, until his death. Each of al-Shaʿrāwī’s exegetical sessions resembled a sermon in which a segment of the Qur’ān is taken as a starting point for exhortations, stories or musings that are only loosely related to the qur’anic text. Again, this show served to enhance the Egyptian regime’s religious credibility by promoting a sometimes aggressively conservative, but ultimately quietist religious discourse through the use of the prestigious genre of tafsīr.17 However, mass media exegesis is frequently used for the opposite purpose, that is, in order to express opposition to the state from an Islamist point of view. State censorship is rarely successful, in the long term, in suppressing such views. In such endeavors, the Qur’ān is understood as a political text that calls for the establishment of an Islamic political order. The most famous and widely studied work of this kind is, of course, Fī ẓilāl al-Qurʾān by the Egyptian Muslim Brother Sayyid Quṭb (1906–1966), which began as a series of qur’anic commentaries in a Muslim Brotherhood newspaper. The text has a strong political and ideological agenda that became even more radical during the persecution of the Brotherhood under Nasser’s regime in the 1950s and 1960s. At the same time, it maintains its mass media appeal by expressing a fresh, immediate, and emotional understanding of the Qur’ān that is unhampered by traditions of scholarly exegesis.18 The same is true for Quṭb’s Syrian disciple Saʿīd Ḥawwā (1935–1989), whose main goal was the quest

16.  Wahbah al-Zuḥaylī, Al-Tafsīr al-wasīṭ (Beirut: Dār al-fikr al-muʿāṣir, 2001); Thomas Pierret, Religion and State in Syria: The Sunni Ulama from Coup to Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013). 17.  Pink, Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt, 95–98. 18.  Wielandt, “Exegesis of the Qur’ān: Early Modern and Contemporary,” 137– 138.

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for a coherent structure to the Qur’ān.19 Both Quṭb and Ḥawwā wrote large parts of their works in prison; Quṭb was later executed, Ḥawwā was exiled. The case of the eminent Indonesian exegete Hamka (Haji Abdulmalik ibn Abdulkarim Amrullah, 1908–1981) has some interesting parallels to Quṭb and Ḥawwā, but also remarkable differences. A member of the Islamist party Masyumi, which was banned in 1960, Hamka began to publish his Qur’ān commentaries in an Islamist newspaper in 1962 and, like Quṭb and Ḥawwa, completed it in prison. Like the commentary of Shaykh al-Shaʿrāwī, it is written in an associative style, using qur’anic verses as platforms for launching into excurses on different religious, historical, or contemporary issues. The work more closely resembles a series of sermons than a classical Qur’ān commentary, and daʿwa is clearly its main goal. Opposition to the state is not the main theme, however, a fact that enabled Hamka to rise to prominent positions under Suharto despite his lack of formal training as a Muslim scholar.20 These and many other modern Qur’ān commentaries cannot be understood without taking into account the nation-state setting in which they were produced. Their ideas, their distribution, and their appeal are intimately linked with the political environment in which they emerged. Education One of the core areas in which nation states exert control is the field of education. Through the training and appointment of teachers and the development of curricula, they decide what is being taught and by whom in primary, secondary, and tertiary institutions, including faculties for Islamic Studies, Shari‘ah, and Islamic theology, which, in many nation states, have replaced the madrasah as the main institution of higher religious learning. These faculties produce great numbers of “certified ʿulamāʾ.” At the same time, however, the ʿulamāʾ have lost their monopoly on qur’anic exegesis. Scores of influential works on hermeneutics, thematic Qur’ān interpretation, the “scientific miracle” of the Qur’ān, as well as Qur’ān commentaries in a narrower sense have been produced by authors trained in literature, philosophy, science, medicine, or engineering.21 Although the ʿulamāʾ have been unable to prevent this, many

19.  Pink, Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt, 103–107. 20.  Ibid., 89–95. 21.  On the growing field of lay exegesis on the internet, see Andreas Görke, “Redefining the Borders of tafsīr: Oral Exegesis, Lay Exegesis and Regional Particularities,” in Andreas Görke and Johanna Pink (eds.), Tafsīr and Islamic Intellectual History: Exploring the Boundaries of a Genre (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 363–80.

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of them have vehemently condemned these efforts, sometimes with profound impact on their reception.22 Despite the increasing influence of intellectuals, preachers, and ideologues with a secular education on religious discourse, the majority of Qur’ān commentaries, especially those that are extensive, continue to be written by religious scholars working in academic institutions, that is, modern-style ʿulamāʾ.23 This is true for state-commissioned “institutional commentaries” and for the more conventional type of commentary written by an individual scholar. Even the entertaining Qur’ān commentaries published or broadcast in mass media are often produced by ʿulamāʾ. Thus, the nation-state context that shapes educational institutions also shapes exegetical discourses. Of course, neither institutionalized learning nor the foundation of educational institutions by rulers is the prerogative of the modern nation state. However, the nation state’s claim to define the goals, contents, and certificates of education is unprecedented. Unlike traditional Islamic educational systems, colonial and nation-state systems consistently have striven to produce a certain type of citizen, civil servant, or religious scholar.24 This is evident in private initiatives that were founded in reaction to colonial rule, such as the Indian Aligarh Muslim College and the Dār al-ʿulūm of Deoband, as well as in the establishment of religious faculties and universities by post-independence governments. In Syria, for example, a Shari‘ah faculty was founded at the University of Damascus in 1954, partly due to pressure by the Muslim Brotherhood. Without a nation-state framework, it would not have been necessary to establish an Islamic institution of higher learning on Syrian soil. When Syria was part of the Ottoman Empire, young men who aspired to become religious scholars studied in Istanbul or Cairo, cities that belonged to the same political entity. After independence, the country found itself lacking an institution of higher religious learning within its newly established borders. The example of the Shari‘ah faculty of Damascus illustrates the difference between such modern institutions and the madrasahs as they functioned 22.  Wielandt, “Wurzeln der Schwierigkeit innerislamischen Geprächs über neue hermeneutische Zugänge zum Korantext,” in Stefan Wild (ed.), The Qurʾan as Text (Leiden: Brill, 1996), 259–282. 23.  Besides producing qurʾanic commentaries, institutions of Islamic higher education also foster substantial hermeneutical debates. See, for example, Felix Körner, Revisionist Koran Hermeneutics in Contemporary Turkish University Theology (Würzburg: Ergon, 2005). 24.  Jonathan P. Berkey, “Madrasas Medieval and Modern: Politics, Education and the Problem of Muslim Identity,” in Robert W. Hefner and Muhammad Qasim Zaman (eds.), Schooling Islam: The Culture and Politics of Modern Muslim Education (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007), 40–60.

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up until the nineteenth century: it is a public institution funded by the state, rather than an independent facility based on pious endowments (awqāf  ). Furthermore, it is merely one of many faculties, most of which focus on nonreligious subjects. Instead of studying with individual scholars, its students follow a structured curriculum and obtain a licensed degree. However, while the structures of learning have been modernized, the same is not true for the curriculum, which bears little marks of modernist influence. The Asad regime tried to ensure that Islamist and other oppositional tendencies were not propagated, but it did not demand major overhauls of the curriculum or the required reading.25 The restructuring of the Egyptian Azhar followed a similar pattern, even though al-Azhar, unlike the Damascus Shari‘ah faculty, has a long tradition of Islamic learning. That tradition, however, was of little use to its graduates when, during the first half of the twentieth century, career opportunities dwindled due to the spread of state schools and secular courts that employed teachers and judges trained in public universities. Al-Azhar was in desperate need of reform, a need that converged with the Nasserist regime’s desire to control the religious sphere. In 1961, al-Azhar was transformed into a state university with a wide range of faculties from medicine to agriculture. The structure of the religious faculties was completely overhauled. Through the appointment of the shaykh al-Azhar and other members of the religious and administrative leadership, the government ensured that the institution would focus on a moderate, traditional, but not Islamist discourse that was intended to symbolize Egyptian religious identity. Beyond these measures, the state hardly interfered with al-Azhar’s curricula.26 Thus, in both Egypt and in Syria, the state introduced structural changes to religious scholarship, but did not consistently pursue an agenda that forced religious faculties to pursue new approaches in their curricula. Both states’ main interest is to keep oppositional forces at bay, and a moderately conservative, traditional Islam seemed best-suited to serve that interest. Therefore, innovative trends in qur’anic exegesis in these countries are connected with names from outside the field of religious learning, such as the Egyptian professor of Arabic literature Naṣr Ḥāmid Abū Zayd or the Syrian engineer

25.  Annabelle Böttcher, Syrische Religionspolitik unter Asad (Freiburg: Arnold-Bergsträsser-Institut, 1998), 131–144. 26.  Tamir Moustafa, “Conflict and Cooperation between the State and Religious Institutions in Contemporary Egypt,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 32 (2000): 3–22; Malika Zeghal, “The ‘Recentering’ of Religious Knowledge and Discourse: The Case of Al-Azhar in Twentieth-Century Egypt,” in Robert W. Hefner and Muhammad Qasim Zaman (eds.), Schooling Islam: The Culture and Politics of Modern Muslim Education (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2010), 107–130.

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Muḥammad Shaḥrūr, both of whom faced fierce opposition from religious scholars. Saudi Arabia followed a different approach. The ideological orientation of its universities, which were founded from the 1950s onward, was shaped by the state ideology that is commonly called Wahhabism, a label that is rejected by representatives of the Saudi state. Since the universities needed more qualified teachers than were available in the country, they attracted many religious scholars from abroad, ranging from West African ʿulamāʾ27 to Islamist academics from Syria and Egypt who had no freedom to express their views in their home countries. Thus, most of the ʿulamāʾ based in Saudi universities who have published exegetical works since the 1960s are from outside Saudi Arabia, such as the Algerian Abū Bakr al-Jazāʾirī (1921–2018), who claimed to have produced, with his Aysar al-tafāsīr, a Salafi alternative to the famous Tafsīr al-Jalālayn. Likewise, the Egyptian ʿAbd al-Munʿim Aḥmad Tuʿaylab (1921–2010) specialized in qur’anic exegesis at King ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz University in Jiddah and wrote a medium-length tafsīr work.28 Among the most well-known Saudi-based exegetes were the Mauritanian Muḥammad al-Shinqīṭī (1905–1974), who wrote a Wahhabism-inspired Qur’ān commentary on selected verses,29 and the Syrian Muḥammad ʿAlī al-Ṣābūnī (b. 1930), who has written a number of exegetical works, including a concise selection of the “best of ” Qur’ān commentaries under the title Ṣafwat al-tafāsīr. This book, while widely popular, was criticized in Saudi Arabia for incorporating Ashʿarī  positions instead of the “pure” Islamic teachings based on Ibn Taymiyyah’s approach. It was banned and seized in 1987 by the Ministry for Pilgrimage and Pious Endowments.30 Other states imposed a modernizing agenda on their institutions of religious higher learning. This is true of the Indonesian State Islamic Institutes (IAIN) that were founded beginning in the 1950s and expanded under the New Order regime. Some of them were later turned into universities. Their curricula are shaped by the desire to portray Indonesian Islam as peaceful, pluralistic, tolerant, moderate, and apolitical. They include subjects such as sociology, philosophy, and research methodology, but also Sufism and the scholastic tradition of rationalist Islamic theology.31 27.  Chanfi Ahmed, West African ʿulamāʾ and Salafism in Mecca and Medina: Jawāb Al-Ifrīqī; The Response of the African (Leiden: Brill, 2015). 28.  On al-Jazāʾirī and Tuʿaylab, see Pink, “Tradition and Ideology in Contemporary Sunnite Qur’anic Exegesis,” 18–20. 29.  Muhammad al-Amīn al-Shinqīṭī, Aḍwāʾ al-bayān fī īḍāḥ al-Qurʾān bi’l-Qurʾān. (3rd ed.; Beirut: Dār al-kutub al-ʿilmiyyah, 2006). 30.  https://islamqa.info/en/39771, accessed on September 21, 2018. 31.  Mirjam Künkler, “How Pluralist Democracy Became the Consensual Discourse among Secular and Nonsecular Muslims in Indonesia,” in Mirjam Künkler

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In Turkey, the state’s modernizing agenda has been more far-reaching. In the years after the foundation of the Republic, all institutions of religious learning were abolished. Only in 1949 was a “Faculty of Theology” established at the University of Ankara. The curriculum focused on subjects taught in European universities such as history of religions, sociology and philosophy of science, while classical Islamic disciplines such as ḥadīth scholarship and tafsīr were marginal. This changed somewhat in later decades. The teacher training institutes and theological faculties that started to mushroom in the 1980s never had a modernist curriculum. However, Turkish university theology, especially at the Ankara faculty, has acquired a reputation for engaging in innovative hermeneutical discourses.32 The differing models pursued by nation states with respect to their institutions of Islamic higher learning have contributed to the emergence of distinct nationalized religious discourses, regardless of whether the persons involved in those discourses regarded them as national or global Islamic. These nationalized discourses have a direct impact on the contents and goals of qur’anic exegesis performed by Muslim academics. For example, while exegetes from the Arab world tend to downplay Sufism and shun scholastic theology, this is much less the case in Indonesia and Turkey. Exegetes from Syria, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia are less receptive to the social sciences and humanities than their Turkish and Indonesian colleagues; and modernist concerns such as gender equality or interreligious tolerance are more commonly advocated by Turkish and Indonesian exegetes than by Arabs and—unsurprisingly—vehemently attacked in Qur’ān commentaries from Saudi Arabia.33 Over the past decades, universities in Europe and North America have played an important and growing role in creating space for innovative Muslim exegetical thought. A good example is Fazlur Rahman (1919–1988), whose exegetical ideas have been influential inside and outside the Islamicate world; he wrote much of his scholarship while teaching at the University of Chicago between 1969 and 1988. The German government has recently started to establish departments of Islamic theology at state universities, hoping to encourage the emergence of a modernist, liberal “Euro-Islam.” Judging from the outcomes of educational policies in the Islamicate world, this step may well yield the desired result. and Alfred Stepan (eds.), Democracy & Islam in Indonesia (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013), 57. 32.  Mehmet Paçacı and Yasin Aktay, “75 Years of Higher Religious Education in Modern Turkey,” The Muslim World 89 (1999), 389–413; Körner, Revisionist Koran Hermeneutics in Contemporary Turkish University Theology, 49–56, 195. 33.  Pink, Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt, 306–11; see also idem, “Tradition, Authority and Innovation in Contemporary Sunni Tafsir”; idem, “Tradition and Ideology in Contemporary Sunnite Qur’anic Exegesis.”

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Whether the exegetical writings of academic theologians will have any impact on a broader Muslim populace, however, is a different question. Qur’anic Exegesis Between Nationalization and a Shared Heritage All of the above-mentioned variables—language, politics of religion, mass media, and education—contribute to the emergence of regional and national discourses of qur’anic exegesis. At the same time, Muslim exegetes across the Islamicate world possess, utilize, and develop a shared tradition. They refer to the same exegetical authorities, use the same exegetical ḥadīths and occasions of revelation, and discuss the same arguments in favor of or against abrogation. Tafsīr has properly been described as a “genealogical tradition” in which newer works are based on the sum of older works.34 This holds true for much of what is being written to this day. However, the relationship between this shared heritage, on the one hand, and regional and national discourses, on the other hand, has hardly been analyzed to date. In some nation states, distinct national exegetical traditions have emerged that participate in the social and political discourses specific to that state. In Indonesia, this is true, for example, of the state philosophy of Pancasila. Numerous scholars and intellectuals try to demonstrate its compatibility with the Qur’ān while others reject this line of argument.35 While this discussion is obviously embedded in the Indonesian political discourse, a closer look at the works of famous Indonesian exegetes raises far more complex questions concerning the specifically Indonesian nature of their tafsīrs. For example, to what extent are qur’anic interpretations that express reservations about polygamous marriages specifically Indonesian, given that Indonesian society tends to frown upon such marriages despite their permissibility? Do some Indonesian exegetes articulate restrictive views on interreligious marriage because the substantive law of their country forbids such marriages, despite the fact that all Sunni schools of law allow them? We need comparative, crosscountry studies in order to gain a clearer picture of these issues. 34.  Walid Saleh, The Formation of the Classical Tafsīr Tradition: The Qurʾān Commentary of al-Thaʿlabī (d. 427/1035) (Leiden: Brill, 2004), 14–16. 35.  See, for example, Munirul Ikhwan, “Fī taḥaddī al-dawlah: ‘Al-tarjamah al-tafsīriyyah’ fī muwājahat al-khiṭāb al-dīnī al-rasmī li’l-dawlah al-Indūnīsiyyah,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 17:3 (2015): 121–157. On a well-known Indonesian exegete who promotes Pancasila as a specifically Indonesian concept that is consistent with qurʾanic values, see idem, “An Indonesian Initiative to Make the Qur’an Down-to-Earth: Muhammad Quraish Shihab and His School of Exegesis,” PhD diss., Freie Universität Berlin (2015). On Pancasila, in general, see Künkler, “How Pluralist Democracy Became the Consensual Discourse.”

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Even when exegetes refrain from openly discussing contemporary issues, they nevertheless produce qur’anic interpretations that are shaped by increasingly regionalized exegetical traditions and tied to a world of nation states. This is due to a center-periphery structure relating to language. As mentioned above, the “genealogical tradition” of tafsīr regularly produces new authorities whose works are written in a wider variety of languages than in the past. Even a conventional, traditional Sunni Qur’ān commentator usually will quote from twentieth-century works by exegetes such as Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā, Jamāl al-Dīn al-Qāsimī (1866–1914), al-Ṭāhir b. ʿĀshūr (1879–1973), or Sayyid Quṭb, alongside the typical exegetical authorities from the Middle Period. But whereas Qur’ān commentaries written in Arabic are read and quoted by scholars from all parts of the Islamicate world and sometimes translated into other languages, such as Turkish and Indonesian, the reverse is not true for writings in non-Arabic languages. Although Elmalı’lı Muhammad Hamdi Yazır produced a Qur’ān commentary that is a Turkish classic until this day, it is largely unknown outside Turkey and the Turkish diaspora. The same is true for contemporary Indonesian works on the Qur’ān. They are usually produced with an Indonesian audience in mind, and their authors are fully aware that their international reception will be limited to Malaysia, Brunei, and, possibly, a few western Islamicists.36 But some languages do offer a framework for diachronic and transregional exegetical discourses. Arabic, of course, is the first and most important of them, but English is becoming increasingly important.37 The preeminence of Arabic has the paradoxical effect that even those Arabic works on the Qur’ān that are clearly based in a specific national discourse may become transnational frames of reference by virtue of being written in a “universal Muslim” language. For example, while Sayyid Quṭb claimed that the ideology he expressed in Fī ẓilāl al-qurʾān is based on his diagnosis of the situation of the global Muslim community, it is obviously deeply rooted in his experiences with the Nasserist system in Egypt. Yet, his Qur’ān commentary is read throughout the Muslim world because its immediate and emotional engagement with the Qur’ān is attractive to Muslims far beyond the author’s country of origin. Consequently, his approach is often read as a universal message about the meaning of the Qur’ān. Likewise, Shaykh al-Shaʿrāwī’s musings on the Qur’ān are obviously embedded in an Egyptian context, but they have been translated into several languages spoken and read by Muslims.

36.  Federspiel, “An Introduction to Qurʾanic Commentaries in Contemporary Southeast Asia,” 153–155, notes the extent to which Indonesian qurʾanic commentaries are based in local contexts. 37.  For the emergence of English as a “language of Islam,” see Wild, “Muslim Translators and Translations of the Qurʾān into English.”

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The meaning of these works for readers of these languages, however, has not yet been studied. Center-periphery relations in qur’anic exegesis are also a factor in transnational academic careers. Students and scholars from the periphery move to the Arab world, especially Egypt and Saudi Arabia, to study and teach there, but not vice versa. This pattern has become more complex with the emergence of Muslim academic diasporas in the West. Scholars from all regions of the Islamicate world have moved to Europe and North America, especially to English-speaking countries, thereby facilitating the global exchange of ideas. In order to have any impact on a broader audience in the Islamicate world, however, the results of this exchange must be translated into languages understood by Muslims who have no literacy in English. A general shortcoming in the academic study of tafsīr lies in the low interest in an exegete’s selection of the authorities he38 cites. The citation of earlier authorities, which is a main feature of tafsīr,39 is often disdainfully characterized as repetitive, even “sclerotic.” It therefore has not received much attention. Scholars have focused on searching for the exegete’s own ideas, thereby neglecting influential works that were considered mere glosses or recensions of earlier commentaries. For example, al-Bayḍāwī’s (d. 719/1319) Qur’ān commentary, which dominated the genre for centuries, has hardly received any scholarly attention.40 Due to this bias, we know little at the present time about the mechanisms used by contemporary exegetes––or exegetes in general––to choose their sources, what role the opinions of earlier authorities play for them, and whether the corpora of sources they use differ across regions and nation states. My research points to one important trend, namely, that early modern works of exegesis in Arabic, such as Rashīd Riḍā’s and Muḥammad ʿAbduh’s Tafsīr al-Manār, the Tafsīr al-Marāghī (ca. 1945), Jamāl al-Dīn al-Qāsimī’s Maḥāsin al-taʾwīl, and the Qur’ān commentary by Muḥammad ʿIzzat Darwazah (1888–1984), which treats the sūrahs “in the order of revelation,” are much more commonly cited by Turkish and Indonesian exegetes than by Arab ones, even though there is no language barrier whatsoever; clearly, it is the difference in academic curricula and traditions

38.  Since there are very few female exegetes, I use the male form of the personal pronoun here. 39.  Norman Calder, “Tafsīr from Ṭabarī to Ibn Kathīr: Problems in the Description of a Genre, Illustrated with Reference to the Story of Abraham,” in Abdul-Kader Shareef, and G. R. Hawting (eds.), Approaches to the Qur’ān (London: Taylor & Francis, 1993), 101–140. 40.  Pink, Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt, 3–8; Bauer, “Introduction”; Pink and Görke, “Introduction.”

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that makes Turkish and Indonesian exegetes more inclined to turn to modernist authorities.41 Arguably the biggest gap in our knowledge of modern qur’anic exegesis, as is the norm in text-based scholarship, lies in the question of reception. We have little information about what forms of qur’anic exegesis are being acknowledged or appropriated by whom, where, and for what purpose. Obviously, oral modes of transmission can only be studied with ethnographic methods; but we also lack information on school and university teaching, book and television markets and internet use. In order to shed light on these issues, it is important for Islamicists to seek closer cooperation with scholars in anthropology, media and cultural studies.

41.  Pink, Sunnitischer Tafsīr in der modernen islamischen Welt, 312.

Interpreting the Qur’ān between Shari‘ah and Changing Custom: On Women’s Dress in Indonesia

MUNIRUL IKHWAN

Although modernity has disrupted some central traditions of Muslim scholarship, it also has energized Islamic intellectual activity. One of the most contested issues in modern Muslim society is the question of women’s ḥijāb (lit. veil), which frequently was characterized in western colonial discourse as a symbol of backwardness and subordination. Adopting a western colonial view, some liberal Muslim thinkers have advocated women’s “liberation” by calling for the discarding of all symbols of “backwardness,” including the veil commonly worn by women in the Arab world. It has been argued that there is no religious basis for the veiling of Muslim women. This controversial subject has attracted attention in Indonesia. This chapter examines a response to the question of Muslim women’s dress by an Indonesian Qur’ān exegete, Muḥammad Quraish Shihab (b. 1944), who has devoted his career to tafsīr (qur’anic commentary) and iftāʾ (issuing Islamic legal opinions). For many Muslims in Indonesia, his opinion defines religious orthodoxy. In his writings, Quraish Shihab largely relies on a direct investigation of foundational texts, attempting to free himself from slavish adherence to the views of earlier generations of Muslims. To this end, he investigates the effective cause (ʿillah) behind religious instruction on women’s attire. What is the true purpose of religion with regard to dress? What

This study draws on my PhD thesis, “An Indonesian Initiative to Make the Qurʾān Down-to-Earth: Muḥammad Quraish Shihab and His School of Exegesis” (Freie Universität Berlin, 2015). 211

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should be done if a local custom differs from one endorsed or accommodated by the Qur’ān and Sunnah? Muḥammad Quraish Shihab and Islamic Religious Reform Muḥammad Quraish Shihab is a well-known figure in the field of qur’anic exegesis among Indonesian academics and university students. His importance in Indonesian Islamic religious discourse is based not only on his numerous qur’anic commentaries, but also on his long years of study at al-Azhar in Cairo, where he came into contact with the ideas of Islamic reformism promoted by high-ranking Azhari religious scholars (ʿulamāʾ) in the second half of the twentieth century. Quraish Shihab was born on February 16, 1944 in Rappang, South Sulawesi, into a notable and educated family of ʿAlawi sāda (sing. sayyid), that is, descendants of the Prophet Muḥammad.1 His father, Abdurrahman Shihab (1905–1986), was a merchant, politician, preacher, and professor of qur’anic exegesis at the Muslim University of Indonesia (Universitas Muslim Indonesia, UMI) and then at the State Islamic University (Institut Agama Islam Negeri, IAIN) in Makassar. His mother, Asma, the sister of Sultan Rappang, was Bugis. As a boy, Quraish Shihab and his brothers used to listen to their father’s lectures at their home.2 After finishing elementary school, Quraish Shihab went to Malang, East Java, to acquire religious knowledge at a pesantren or traditional religious boarding school, the Dār al-Ḥadīth al-Faqīhiyyah, under the guidance of a charismatic Tarim-born teacher, al-Ḥabīb ʿAbd al-Qādir b. Aḥmad Bilfaqīh (d. 1962), who impressed him with his charisma and spirituality.3 Quraish Shihab spent only two years (1956–1958) in Malang before travelling to Cairo to study at al-Azhar.

1.  The ʿAlawi sāda trace their lineage to the Prophet Muḥammad through alḤusayn, son of Fāṭima and ʿAlī. They are descendants of al-Imām Aḥmad b. ʿĪsā al-Muhājir (d. 345/956), who, in 952 CE, brought his family from Basra to Hadramawt, where they later occupied the highest social stratum. See A. S. Bujra, “Political Conflict and Stratification in Ḥaḍramaut,” Middle East Studies 3 (1967): 355–375; Natalie Mobini-Kesheh, The Hadrami Awakening (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program Publication, 1999), 25. 2.  Muḥammad Quraish Shihab was the fourth son of Abdurrahman Shihab and Asma. His brothers and sisters are Nur, Ali, Umar, Wardah, Alwi, Nina, Nizar, Abdul Mutalib, Salwa, Ulfa and Latifah. See Mauluddin Anwar, Latief Siregar and Mustofa Djuraid Hadi, Cahaya, Cinta dan Canda M. Quraish Shihab (Jakarta: Lentera Hati & PSQ , 2014), 13. 3.  Ibid., 45–54.

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Although born to a Hadrami family, Quraish Shihab was not sent to Hadramawt or Mecca for his studies.4 Rather, he was sent to Cairo, a city that, in the eyes of Indonesian Muslims in the twentieth century, offered a cosmopolitan milieu and modern experience.5 This choice may be explained by the fact that members of his family showed considerable interest in the ideas of religious reformism that had reverberated in the Muslim world in the second half of the nineteenth century. Quraish Shihab’s grandfather, Ali Shihab (d. 1915), was involved in Jamʿiyyat al-Khayr (The Association of Good Deeds), a reform-oriented Arab social and educational organization based in Batavia (now Jakarta).6 His father, Abdurrahman, was educated at this institution. In his youth, Abdurrahman wanted to study religion in Cairo, but his parents would not allow it because he was the only son of his mother in Makassar.7 Abdurrahman was an open-minded person who was interested in religious renewal and higher education. Despite the family’s Hadrami background, Abdurrahman advised his children to be a part of Indonesia and Indonesian society, an idea consistently propagated by Hadramis affiliated with the Association for Indonesian Arabs (Persatuan Arab Indonesia), formed 4.  Members of the Hadrami diaspora in Indonesia used to send their children to study Islam in Yemen and the Hejaz, two main destinations for the pursuit of authoritative religious knowledge. See Mona Abaza, Indonesian Students in Cairo: Islamic Education, Perceptions and Exchanges (Paris: Association Archipel, 1994), 40; Nico J. G. Kaptein, Islam, Colonialism and the Modern Age in the Netherlands East Indies (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 5. 5.  Michael Laffan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia (London: Routledge Curzon, 2003), 127. 6.  Jamʿiyyat al-Khayr was founded in 1901, but it was officially acknowledged by the Dutch colonial government in 1905. Its founders were those newly emergent reformist Hadrami elites, primarily from the families of Shihāb and al-Mashhūr. Students who studied at this institution were familiar with progressive ideas and Islamic movements due to the institution’s close relationship with proponents of Islamic reform in the Middle East, particularly in Egypt. It used to invite teachers from the Arab world to instruct students about the proper teachings of Islam. A prominent reformist teacher from Sudan, Shaykh Aḥmad al-Surkatī (d. 1943), who was deeply influenced by Muḥammad ʿAbduh and Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā, was also invited. An important figure of Islamic reform in Indonesia, al-Surkatī, founded al-Irshād in 1915, after a dispute with the Arab sāda of Jamʿiyyat al-Khayr regarding the position of sāda among non-sāda Muslims. See Mobini-Kesheh, The Hadrami Awakening, 36; Deliar Noer, The Modernist Muslim Movement in Indonesia 1900–1942 (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1973), 58; Abaza, Indonesian Students in Cairo, 41; M. C. Ricklefs, A History of Modern Indonesia since c. 1200 (3rd ed.; Hampshire: Palgrave, 2001), 215. 7.  Ali Shihab was polygamous. He had wives in Jakarta, Madura, and Makassar. Cf. Anwar, Siregar, and Hadi, Cahaya, Cinta dan Canda, 12. See also Alwi’s testimony at Lebaran Bersama Keluarga Shihab (ʿĪd al-Fiṭr with the Shihab family), which was aired on Metro TV on September 2, 2009 (accessed from YouTube on September 12, 2012).

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in 1934.8 He also taught his children religious subjects, which, as Quraish Shihab subsequently learned, reflected the views of Muslim reformist scholars such as Muḥammad ʿAbduh (d. 1905), Muḥammad Iqbal (d. 1938) and Abul Aʿla Maududi (d. 1979).9 Accompanied by his younger brother, Alwi (b. 1946), Quraish Shihab arrived in Cairo in 1958, two years after Gamal Abdel Nasser (d. 1970) came to power. The Nasser period was marked by the enactment of Reform Law Number 103 of 1961, which aimed to integrate al-Azhar and the ʿulamāʾ into a modernizing Egyptian society. With the inclusion of subjects like medicine, natural sciences, civil law, and English language and civilization in its curriculum, al-Azhar became more integrated with the secular sphere.10 The success of al-Azhar reform in the 1960s marks the victory of reformist ʿulamāʾ who shared Muḥammad ʿAbduh’s vision. These included Maḥmūd Shaltūt (Grand Shaykh of al-Azhar), Muḥammad al-Bāhī (Director of al-Azhar), and Aḥmad Ḥasan al-Zayyāt (editor of al-Azhar Magazine), who participated in drafting the new law.11 Quraish Shihab’s encounter with reformist ideas took place during his studies in Cairo. Quraish Shihab was able to establish personal contacts with some Azhari ʿulamāʾ. He established a close relationship with Shaykh ʿAbd al-Ḥalīm Maḥmūd (d. 1978), who was, at that time, Dean of the Faculty of Theology. As a student at al-Azhar between 1927 and 1930, Maḥmūd was influenced by a number of distinguished reformist scholars who had been influenced by

8.  Prior to Indonesia’s declaration of independence in 1945, the Hadrami diaspora maintained a strong commitment to their homeland, Hadramawt. Their ethnic exclusivism and the privileged status conferred on them by the Dutch colonial government served to separate them from Indonesia’s nationalist movements, which were on the rise in the early twentieth century. This situation evoked a response from some Indies-born Hadramis (muwallads) who decided to shift the idea of homeland from Hadramawt to Indonesia. They showed a commitment to total integration in Indonesian society and began to take part in national struggles for independence. See Ismail Fajrie Alatas, “Becoming Indonesians: The Bā ʿAlawī in the Interstices of the Nation,” Die Welt des Islams 51 (2011): 47–74; Mobini-Kesheh, The Hadrami Awakening, 138. 9.  Anwar, Siregar and Hadi, Cahaya, Cinta dan Canda M. Quraish Shihab, 15–20; M. Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an (2nd ed.; Bandung: Mizan, 2013), 20. 10.  Jakob Skovgaard-Petersen, Defining Islam for the Egyptian State: Muftis and Fatwas of the Dār al-ʾIftāʾ (Leiden: Brill, 1997), 186; Malika Zeghal, Gardiens de l’islam: les oulémas d’al Azhar dans l’Égypte contemporaine (Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques, 1996), 99–100. 11.  Wolf-Dieter Lemke, Maḥmūd Šaltūt (1893–1963) und die Reform der Azhar (Frankfurt: Lang, 1980), 168; Skovgaard-Petersen, Defining Islam for the Egyptian State, 184–85; Michael Feener, “Indonesian Movements for the Creation of a ‘National Madhhab,’” Islamic Law and Society 9 (2002): 83–115.

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Muḥammad ʿAbduh’s ideas.12 Maḥmūd’s main concern was the rapprochement between revelation and reason, phenomena that he perceived as complementary to each other.13 Maḥmūd regarded the Qur’ān not only as a source of belief, but also as a source of Islamic rationalism and philosophy, in the sense that it contains divine injunctions concerning human nature, social relations, and universal values.14 Quraish Shihab acknowledges that he was deeply impressed by Maḥmūd’s ability to reconcile revelation and reason.15 In addition, the availability of books in Cairo stoked Quraish Shihab’s passion for reading. He had a special interest in the writings of ʿAbbās Maḥmūd al-ʿAqqād (d. 1964), who wrote inter alia on Islam and the Qur’ān in the modern context. Quraish Shihab completed his bachelor’s degree in qur’anic exegesis (tafsīr) in 1967. Two years later, he obtained his master’s in the same field with a thesis entitled al-Iʿjāz al-tashrīʿī li’l-qurʾān al-karīm. In the 1970s, he spent most of his time in Indonesia, serving as Vice Rector for Academic and Student Affairs at the State Islamic University (IAIN) of Alauddin in Makassar. In 1980, he returned to Cairo to pursue his doctorate at al-Azhar. In 1982, he successfully defended his thesis, Naẓm al-durar li’l-Biqāʿī: Taḥqīq wa-dirāsah, earning the distinction summa cum laude. Al-Biqāʿī would later become an important source for the foundation of Quraish Shihab’s approach to the Qur’ān, especially concerning the theory of correspondences (ʿilm al-munāsabāt) between qur’anic verses, as evident in his sequential verse-by-verse interpretation of the Qur’ān, Tafsir al-Misbah, which is regarded by many as his magnum opus. A reformist spirit is clearly visible in Quraish Shihab’s writings: he makes the Qur’ān the cornerstone of religion, argues directly with the foundational texts of Islam, and approaches the Islamic intellectual legacy in an eclectic manner.16 Toward a Contextual Approach to the Qur’ān Quraish Shihab holds that the Qurʾān addresses not only the Muslim community in the Prophet’s time, but also subsequent generations. However, he criticizes the notion of universality on the ground that it subjugates everything to the religious interpretations of earlier Muslim generations. In his view, the Qur’ān speaks to all generations by means of continuous interpre12.  Ibrahim M. Abu-Rabi, “Islam and the Search for a Social Order in Modern Egypt: An Intellectual Biography of Shaykh ʿAbd al-Ḥalīm Maḥmūd” (PhD diss., Temple University, 1987), 78. 13.  Ibid., 89. 14.  Ibid., 186. 15.  Anwar, Siregar and Hadi, Cahaya, Cinta dan Canda M. Quraish Shihab, 71. 16.  See Munirul Ikhwan, “An Indonesian Initiative to Make the Qur’ān Downto-Earth.”

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tation by Muslims,17 and its universality is realized through a mechanism of creative hermeneutics that may advance the “meaning” of the Qur’ān in order to cover new situations. The role of the interpreter is central to the construction of meaning, as there is no text without a reader. The text remains silent without the interpretive role played by the reader. But the reader cannot produce meaning outside of the text. The text must say something, and the reader must construct meaning from the text. Interpretation, as Quraish Shihab defines it, is an attempt by an interpreter to decode God’s speech according to his intellectual capacity. Because the Qur’ān is regarded by Muslims as the word of God, Quraish Shihab argues, only God knows the exact meaning of the text, for He is its Owner (Pemilik).18 This conception suggests that the qur’anic text has two levels of meaning. For God, it contains only one exact meaning (dalālah ḥaqīqiyyah) that indicates His purposes. For readers or interpreters, it may have several “relative” meanings (dalālah nisbiyyah), depending on the cultural and intellectual backgrounds of the interpreters.19 According to Quraish Shihab, the correct interpretation of the Qur’ān depends upon knowing its historical circumstances. As with most Muslim exegetes, Quraish Shihab’s knowledge of these circumstances is based on reports about the revelation of a given verse. These reports were identified and compiled by Muslim scholars and became a distinct genre, namely, asbāb al-nuzūl (the causes of revelation). A report is called a sabab (pl. asbāb) if it mentions persons or events that were related in some way to the life of the Prophet Muḥammad. The reports link a specific situation with the revelation of a specific qur’anic text.20 Muslim exegetes regard the asbāb al-nuzūl as an important tool for understanding the qur’anic text.21 But they differ over whether the interpreter 17.  Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an, 132, 141. 18.  Ibid., 112–13. 19.  Ibid., 213. 20.  Ibid. 21.  ʿAlī b. Aḥmad al-Wāḥidī (d. 468/1075) said, “It is not possible to know the interpretation of a given verse without knowing its history and the causes of its revelation.” Ibn Daqīq al-ʿĪd (d. 702/1302) said, “Exploring the cause of revelation is a firm way to understand the meanings of the Qur’ān.” Ibn Taymiyyah (d. 728/1328) contended that “knowing the cause of revelation helps in understanding a given verse; hence, knowing the cause leads to knowing the effect.” See Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī, Lubāb al-nuqūl fī asbāb al-nuzūl (Beirut: Mu’assasat al-kutub al-thaqāfiyyah, 2002), 7. Muslim scholars commonly use asbāb al-nuzūl to identify the reason for the introduction of a divine ruling (ḥukm), to remove confusion over the meaning of the qur’anic text, to specify the general wording of a qur’anic verse, or to generalize a verse that initially addressed a specific context. See Jalāl al-Dīn al- Suyūṭī, al-Itqān fī ʿulūm al-qurʾān (2 vols.; Medina: Majmaʿ al-Malik Fahd, 2005), 1:90–95; Badr al-Dīn al-Zarkashī,

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should take into consideration “the generality of the wording” (al-ʿibrah biʿumūm al-lafẓ) or “the specificity of the cause” (al-ʿibrah bi-khuṣūṣ al-sabab) in order to extend the significance of the qur’anic messages to new problems and situations. Quraish Shihab holds that the majority defends the validity of approaching the qur’anic text through the generality of its wording on the grounds that it corroborates the universal mission of Islam. Proponents of this approach, such as Jalāl al-Dīn al-Suyūṭī (d. 911/1505), argue that there is no fundamental difference between “the consideration of the generality of the wording” and “the consideration of the specificity of the cause.” In his view, the difference exists only on the theoretical level. In practice, both approaches produce similar interpretations.22 Quraish Shihab does not agree with al-Suyūṭī. In his view, the qur’anic revelation corresponded to the realities of the Prophet’s time and to the needs of the Muslim community. Pointing to the dialectical relationship between the qur’anic text and its context, he contends that “those realities must have preceded or at least occurred at the same time as the revealed verses.”23 Accordingly, he argues that the relationship between the text and its context does not receive proper attention if it is approached exclusively from the perspective of the generality of the wording (al-ʿibrah bi-ʿumūm al-lafẓ). If the Qur’ān speaks to all generations, there must be an exegetical mechanism to connect the “original” meaning of the text with new circumstances. Interpreting the Qur’ān by considering the specificity of the cause, Quraish Shihab argues, must be conducted through a mechanism of interest-based analogy (qiyās al-maṣāliḥ al-mursalah) in order to capture the essence of a particular qur’anic verse, which was revealed within a specific cultural and social context, and then to articulate the meaning in the new context. In this way, Quraish Shihab highlights the importance of considering human interest in the operation of analogy.24 In other words, in order for the Qur’ān to be socially relevant, the interpreter must examine its text in its original context and connect it to the collective social condition of Muslim society in any given period. Al-Burhān fī ʿulūm al-qurʾān, ed. Muḥammad Abū al-Faḍl Ibrāhīm (4 vols.; Cairo: Dār al-turāth, 2000), 1:122–129. 22.  Suyūṭī, al-Itqān, 1:196–197. 23.  Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an, 134. 24.  Quraish Shihab affirms that interest-based analogy is different from the analogy that was employed by traditional Muslim jurists, which was derived from Aristotelian formal logic. He argues that this kind of analogy will not produce new interpretive insights, as it merely attaches new realities to the ones that were addressed directly by the Qur’ān, due to the perceived concurrence in the effective cause (ʿillah). In his view, such an analogy revolves around the idea of bringing and attaching new realities to the already fixed premises derived from the ʿillah. See Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an, 135–136.

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It was the Sudanese intellectual and politician Ḥasan al-Turābī (b. 1932) who introduced the term qiyās al-maṣāliḥ al-mursalah in an effort to refashion Islamic jurisprudence (uṣūl al-fiqh). However, nowhere does al-Turābī define the term in a precise manner.25 Quraish Shihab learned about al-Turābī’s idea from a book written by Yūsuf Kamāl, a critic of modernist thought.26 Like al-Turābī, Quraish Shihab does not give a clear explanation of qiyās almaṣāliḥ al-mursalah. Be that as it may, Quraish Shihab attempts to follow the path of “Islamic utilitarianism,” which treats Islam as a rational and dynamic religion in correspondence with human nature and interests. The utilitarian approach to religion is well known among Muslim reformists, who hold that literal interpretation and traditional analogy no longer serve the interests of Muslim society in the modern world. Accordingly, they search in the Islamic tradition for a principle that might help them address changing conditions. Eventually they rediscovered such a principle in the concept of maṣlaḥah,27 which was controversial among traditional jurists due to the fact that it purportedly serves to support human interests. Muslim utilitarians base their legal theory primarily on the theories of maṣlaḥah posited by classical Muslim jurists such as Najm al-Dīn al-Ṭūfī (d. 716/1316) and Abū Isḥāq al-Shāṭibī (d. 790/1388). But they modify these theories according to the exigencies of their era.28 Although Muḥammad ʿAbduh was a leading proponent of religious utilitarianism, it was his pupil, Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā (d. 1935), who transformed his master’s idea into a legal theory. Riḍā not only had to modify the concept of maṣlaḥah “in such a way as to make it unqualifiedly palatable to the orthodox, but also to divest it of the fetters of the medieval theoreti-

25.  Wael B. Hallaq, A History of Islamic Legal Theories (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 228. 26.  Concerning the term qiyās al-maṣāliḥ al-mursalah, Quraish Shihab consults a secondary source, Yūsuf Kamāl’s al-ʿAṣriyyūn muʿtazilat al-yawm. The book was intended by its author as a response to modernist scholars in the twentieth century who, in his view, had gone too far in “destructing” the Islamic religious tradition by calling for independent reasoning (ijtihād). Kamāl highlights what he viewed as modernists’ common approach to Islam, i.e., direct reference to the Qur’ān and sunnah, and great reliance on human reason. Kamāl argues against modernists who contend that the Prophetic tradition is not religiously binding for determining the rule appropriate for a new situation. According to these modernists, the Prophet’s tradition must be examined in light of what they call the general principles and purposes of religion. Kamāl calls Muslim modernists “contemporary Muʿtazila.” See Yūsuf Kamāl, al-ʿAṣriyyūn muʿtazilat al-yawm (Mansoura: Dār al-wafāʾ, 1986), 11, 14. 27.  Muḥammad Khalid Masud, Shāṭibī’s Philosophy of Islamic Law (2nd ed.; New Delhi: Kitab Bhavan, 2009), 162. 28.  Hallaq, A History of Islamic Legal Theories, 214.

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cal discourse of which the concept was an integral part.”29 Riḍā introduced ten principles of his legal theory, which he calls muqaddimāt (premises). First, God has perfected His religion for Muslims with the revelation of the Qur’ān and the prophetic tradition. Second, Islam supports ease, for God has omitted difficulty from it. Third, the Qur’ān is the cornerstone and the basis of religion (aṣl al-dīn wa-asāsuh). Fourth, the Prophet’s statements concerning religious matters are infallible. Fifth, God has entrusted Muslims, individually and collectively, with the conduct of worldly affairs so long as they conform to the guidelines instituted by religion. Sixth, matters of belief and worship do not change across time and space. Seventh, the Prophet avoided responding to detailed questions from his Companions in order to avoid strictness in religion, or because the answer would only fit the interest of the people in his time, not that of subsequent generations. Eighth, the pious predecessors (al-salaf al-ṣāliḥ) denounced innovation and the use of reason to understand matters that the Prophet was reluctant to answer. However, those generations of Muslims who did not witness revelation employ reason to understand them; this is a manifestation of God’s permission (illā annahū yadkhulu fī-mā ʿafā Allāh ʿanhu). Ninth, Islam flourishes when Muslims are able to exercise their independent reasoning. And tenth, the truth of religion must be accompanied by intellectualism, which is a deterrent of fanaticism.30 Quraish Shihab’s approach to the Qur’ān largely echoes the approach of utilitarians who use maṣlaḥah as a principle of religious dynamism.31 As the cornerstone of religion, Quraish Shihab argues, the Qur’ān provides detailed guidance only on matters that are beyond human reason and not subject to development or change, e.g., the foundations of belief, ritual, and metaphysics. As for matters that are subject to development and change, the Qur’ān only draws general principles that serve as guidelines for adaptation.32 In this context, he introduces the distinction between “religious” and “worldly” social affairs. Relying on al-Shāṭibī, Quraish Shihab contends that matters of worship, in which reason plays no role in interpretation, must be subject to the dictates of the revealed text, whereas matters concerning human transactions (muʿāmalāt) can be determined by understanding the substance and purposes of the revealed text.33 29.  Ibid. 30.  Hallaq, A History of Islamic Legal Theories, 215–216; Muḥammad Rashīd Riḍā, Yusr al-islām wa-uṣūl al-tashrīʿ al-ʿāmm (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-manār, 1928), 16–21. 31.  Malcolm H. Kerr, Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muḥammad ʿAbduh and Rashīd Riḍā (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1966), 55; Skovgaard-Petersen, Defining Islam for the Egyptian State, 66. 32.  M. Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an (2nd ed.; Bandung: Mizan, 2014), 620. 33.  Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an, 120. In his al-Muwāfaqāt, al-Shāṭibī says, “The principle in worship for adult Muslims is pure spiritual devotion with-

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Invoking the principle of adaptability, Quraish Shihab proposes a dynamic relationship between the fixed text and changing realities. In his view, the text must be interpreted by carefully examining its semantic meaning, on the one hand, and by taking into consideration a Muslim society’s character, culture, and positive developments, on the other hand.34 In other words, the text must be understood within the framework of the contemporary context; at the same time, the contemporary context must be linked to the general values expressed in the text.35 Quraish Shihab rejects “total” submission to earlier interpretations of the Qur’ān for two reasons: first, because the Qur’ān speaks to all generations of Muslims; second, because certain interpretations must have been influenced by the social, cultural, and intellectual milieux of each generation. Compelling the current generation to adopt the religious understanding of a previous generation will generate hardship. In addition, Quraish Shihab contends, such an action tends to neglect the social dynamics and developments of a Muslim society.36 Muslim Women’s Attire in Modern Times The discussion of women’s “liberation” in the modern Muslim world began when an Egyptian Ottoman judge, Qāsim Amīn (d. 1908) published Taḥrīr al-marʾah in 1899. The book caused a public controversy and was sharply criticized by urban Egyptian Muslims and religious leaders. Amīn sought to reform the conditions of Egyptian women, particularly upper- and middleclass women, whom he perceived as ignorant, backward, and desperately in need of a proper education.37 His main thesis was that family is the foundaout [the need] to investigate the meanings [viz. the purposes], while the principle in human customs is to investigate the meanings [viz. the purposes]” (al-aṣl fī’l-ʿibādāt bi’l-nisbah ilā’l-mukallaf al-taʿabbud dūna’l-iltifāt ilā’l-maʿānī waʾl-aṣl fī’l-ʿādāt al-iltifāt ilā’lmaʿānī). See Shāṭibī, al-Muwāfaqāt, 2:300. 34.  Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an, 134. 35.  Quraish Shihab’s approach to the Qur’ān is similar to that of Fazlur Rahman (d. 1988), who introduced a double-movement method of interpretation, from the present situation to qur’anic times, then back to the present. The first movement is to examine the specifics of the Qur’ān in order to deduce and systematize its general principles, values, and long-range objectives, while the second is to embody these general principles and values in the contemporary social-historical context. Fazlur Rahman, Islam and Modernity: Transformation of an Intellectual Tradition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), 7–8. 36.  Quraish Shihab, Membumikan al-Qur’an, 141. 37.  Malek Abisaab and Rula Jurdi Abisaab, “A Century after Qasim Amin: Fictive Kinship and Historical Uses of ‘Tahrir al-Mar’a,’” al-Jadid 6 (2000); Qāsim Amīn, Taḥrīr al-marʾah (Cairo: Hindawi, 2011), 22.

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tion of the nation and that the intellectual advancement or backwardness of women will influence the condition of the nation.38 According to Amīn, national reform must begin with the reform of the family. One of the most controversial issues addressed by Amīn was the veiling and seclusion of women.39 If women are secluded and have no access to a proper education, it will be impossible to produce competent Egyptian children who will become future leaders of the nation. Amīn came from an aristocratic family and served as a judge. His nationalist agenda was linked to a reform project that targeted the conditions of upper-class patriarchy among whom the veiling and seclusion of women was a common practice.40 This practice had been criticized by European colonialists, and Amīn, who was inspired by European ideas about emancipation, viewed the ḥijāb as a sign of cultural “backwardness.” Print culture, accessible primarily to male literati, helped to disseminate Amīn’s work at a time when female voices were exerting only modest pressure. Amīn discussed the ḥijāb on two levels: as a type of female clothing and in connection with female seclusion. He did not oppose the headscarf, but he did oppose the veil (al-intiqāb wa’l-tabarquʿ) commonly worn by Egyptian upper-class women. In his view, veiling had never been a religious obligation, but he argued that covering a woman’s body, except the face and hands, is a foundation of Islamic ethics.41 Amīn apparently had been inspired by 38.  Amīn, Taḥrīr al-marʾah, 69. 39.  In modern times, Muslim women’s clothing is often called ḥijāb, a term that is never used in the Qur’ān to designate an article of clothing. Rather, it signifies separation between men and the wives of the Prophet (Q 33:53) and distinguishes the deity from mortals (Q 42:51), wrongdoers from the righteous (Q 7:46), believers from unbelievers (Q 17:45), light from darkness, and day from night (Q 38:32). The Qur’ān uses the terms khimār and jilbāb, two kinds of female clothing that were common in Arabian culture, to refer to modest and ethical clothing. The term ḥijāb in the sense of head-covering is a post-qur’anic innovation that gained significance in modern times, particularly in the 1970s as part of a rising Islamic consciousness and movement that spread across the Islamic world. See The Oxford Encyclopaedia of the Modern Islamic World, s.v. “Hijab” (F. El Guindi). 40.  Margot Badran argues that segregation of the sexes was practiced by all classes in nineteenth-century urban Egypt, while seclusion was imposed on women of the upper- and middle-classes as a symbol of prestige and high status. The upper-classes observed the strictest segregation of the sexes and seclusion of women, while lower-class women had to leave their houses to work, but still wore the veil, which provided them with a kind of mobile seclusion. In the countryside, peasant women did not cover their faces, and the sexes interacted, although there was some segregation between them as well. See Margot Badran, “Dual Liberation: Feminism and Nationalism in Egypt, 1870s–1925,” Feminist Issues 8 (1988): 15–34. 41.  Amīn, Taḥrīr al-marʾah, 37, 42, 44.

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Muḥammad ʿAbduh, who, in the name of reform, criticized the tyrannies of men over women committed in the name of religion, thereby opening the door to what Margot Badran calls a “feminist” approach within Islam.42 It is likely that Amīn’s social reform project was approved by ʿAbduh. As for female seclusion, Amīn condemned this practice. He was convinced that the weakness of the nation was due to women’s lack of education and to their exclusion from the public sector.43 His opponents responded that women may receive good private schooling while remaining in seclusion, but Amīn thought that seclusion would impede their progress. Women might also attain knowledge by reading books, but reading, Amīn argued, must be accompanied by experience, i.e., work experience in public sectors, without which women would merely possess theoretical “fantasies” (al-khayālāt).44 Amīn’s views on feminism were severely criticized by religious scholars and upper-class men. Shaykh Muḥammad Aḥmad Ḥasanayn al-Būlāqī, an Azhari scholar, denounced Amīn’s view on education, which would require women to interact with men. Al-Būlāqī argued that the concealment and seclusion of women from men represent a foundation of Islamic ethics.45 Similarly, a leading Egyptian economist and national industrialist, Ṭalʿat Ḥarb (d. 1941), defended female seclusion and said that abolishing the ḥijāb and promoting mixing between two sexes were European aspirations for the Muslim world.46 In his view, religion requires that women cover their faces and bodies, except in an emergency and with the permission of their husbands. He lamented that the softening of the requirement of the ḥijāb would lead to immoral acts (fawāḥish) that could spread like an epidemic.47 The issue of the ḥijāb attracted the attention of modern Muslim scholars who endeavored to articulate a religious perspective on women’s clothing in a modern context. Ḥamūd al-Tuwayjirī, a Saudi scholar, opines that prior to the revelation of the jilbāb verse (Q 33:59), Arab women in the Hijaz used to go outside uncovered, with the result that men could see their faces and hands. Al-Tuwayjirī highlights two reports: one, attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās, states that 42.  Badran, “Dual Liberation,” 18. Muḥammad ʿImārah identifies some of the essays of Muḥammad ʿAbduh that influenced Qāsim Amīn’s Taḥrīr al-marʾah, e.g., essays on the public position of women in the early period of the Muslim community, on female seclusion and on divorce. See Muḥammad ʿAbduh, al-Aʿmāl al-kāmilah li’l-imām Muḥammad ʿAbduh, ed. Muḥammad ʿImārah (Beirut: Dār al-shurūq, 1993), 103, 105, 114. 43.  Amīn, Taḥrīr al-marʾah, 47. 44.  Ibid., 48. 45.  Muḥammad Aḥmad Ḥasanayn al-Būlāqī, al-Jalīs al-anīs fī’l-taḥdhīr ʿammā fī taḥrīr al-marʾah min al-talbīs (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-maʿārif al-ahliyyah, 1999), 43–44. 46.  Ṭalʿat Ḥarb, Tarbiyyat al-marʾah wa’l-ḥijāb (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-taraqqī, 1999), 3. 47.  Ibid., 94, 98.

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a woman may uncover her face and hands, and the other, attributed to Ibn Masʿūd, states that only a woman’s outer dress may be seen. Al-Tuwayjirī contends that Q 33:59 clearly requires that a woman wear the jilbāb, which he defines as loose garment that covers the face and all parts of a woman’s body, except for her eyes. He argues that the report attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās refers to the period before the revelation of the verse, while the report attributed to Ibn Masʿūd refers to the period after it.48 In a response to Tuwayjirī, Nāṣir al-Dīn al-Albānī criticized the Islamist view, according to which the jilbāb is a garment that covers a woman’s body and head, and khimār (headscarf) is a piece of fabric that covers the head and face. In his view, the jilbāb is an outer garment, while khimār is a piece of fabric that covers only a woman’s head. Al-Albānī proposed that Muslim women are required to wear  a jilbāb that covers the body and  a khimār that covers the head.49  He concluded that all Muslim women, both free and slave, must wear the jilbāb outside the house, and that they may uncover only their faces and hands. He based his argument on his understanding of female clothing practices during the Prophet’s lifetime and on the Prophet’s endorsement of those practices.50 The jilbāb  also attracted the attention of a former Egyptian judge and liberal thinker, Muḥammad Saʿīd al-Ashmāwī (d. 2013), who called for a definition of ḥijāb, khimār, and jilbāb in qur’anic usage. In an article initially published in an Arabic weekly magazine, Rose al-Yousef, al-Ashmāwī argues that the ḥijāb in Q 33:53 signifies the seclusion of the wives of the Prophet; the jurisdiction of the verse does not extend to other Muslim women.51 Meanwhile, khimār in Q 24:31 refers to a headscarf. Al-Ashmāwī contends that women used to wear the headscarf in the Prophet’s time by lowering it onto their back and leaving the upper part of their bosom uncovered. For this reason, he argues, the verse instructs women to cover their bosoms, without specifying what clothing should be used for this purpose.52  Al-ʿAshmāwī defines the jilbāb as a loose garment that covers the entirety of a woman’s body. He highlights the context in which Q 33:59 was revealed. Some Arab women wore improper clothing when going out at night to relieve themselves. These women were approached by indecent men who assumed that they were slaves or unchaste. For this reason, the verse was revealed, 48.  See further Ḥamūd al-Tuwayjirī, al-Ṣārim al-mashhūr ʿalā ahl al-tabarruj wa’lsufūr (Beirut: Dār al-salām, 1979). 49.  Nāṣir al-Dīn al-Albānī, Jilbāb al-marʾah al-muslimah fī’l-qurʾān wa’l-sunnah (Beirut: Dār al-salām, 2002), 83–84. 50.  Ibid., 96. 51.  Muḥammad Saʿīd ʿAshmāwī, Ḥaqīqat al-ḥijāb wa-ḥujjiyyat al-ḥadīth (Giza: Madbūlī al-ṣaghīr, 1995), 14–15. 52.  Ibid., 15–16.

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ordering women to wear the  jilbāb  so that people would not treat them as slaves, and so that they would not be exposed to harassment.53  Al-ʿAshmāwī contends that the ratio legis (ʿillah) behind the instruction to wear the jilbāb is to distinguish free women from slaves and unchaste women and to protect free chaste women from male harassment. Applying a legal maxim, al-ḥukmu yadūru maʿa ʿillatihi wujūdan wa-ʿadaman (a legal injunction is conditioned by its cause, both in its stipulation and its nullification), al-ʿAshmāwī argues that currently there is no obligation to wear such clothing, due to the absence of the ʿillah; there are no slaves at the present time and women do not go outside to relieve themselves.54 Muḥammad Sayyid Ṭanṭāwī (d. 2010), who was the Grand Muftī of Egypt between 1986 and 1996, criticized al-ʿAshmāwī in an article published in the same magazine. Ṭanṭāwī rejected al-ʿAshmāwī’s argument that Q 33:53 requires only the Prophet’s wives to seclude themselves. He argued that the instruction applies to all Muslim women.55 He also rejected al-ʿAshmāwī’s argument that Q 24:31 implies that women should cover only their bosoms and that they are not required to wear a headscarf.  Ṭanṭāwī claimed that al-ʿAshmāwī missed the point of the qur’anic text that women should not expose their “adornments” except that which necessarily and commonly appears (illā mā ẓahara minhā), an exception understood by Muslim scholars to be the face and hands only.56  As for the jilbāb verse (Q 33:59), Ṭanṭāwī rejected the argument that the purpose of wearing the  jilbāb  is to distinguish class and social status: between free women and slaves, or between decent and unchaste women. He reiterated the opinion held by most Muslim scholars that the verse commands Muslim women to cover their bodies in all situations.57 Ṭanṭāwī apparently did not consider the context of the text to be important for the derivation of a legal ruling on women’s clothing. An Indonesian Articulation of Islamic Respectable Clothing In Indonesia, the seclusion of women has never been widespread,58 and the headscarf is not commonly used by women in many parts of the archipelago. Pious Javanese Muslim women did wear a loose-fitting headscarf, typically made from a soft, translucent fabric (kerudung or kudung) that leaves parts of 53.  Ibid., 16. 54.  Ibid., 17. 55.  Ibid., 26. 56.  Ibid., 27. 57.  Ibid., 28. 58.  Suzanne April Brenner, The Domestication of Desire: Women, Health, and Modernity in Java (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998), 158, 273.

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the neck and hair visible.59 Wearing a headscarf that covers a woman’s head except for her face only became a common practice in Indonesia at the end of the twentieth century, following the rise of Islamic consciousness and Islamist movements in the Muslim world.60 For Indonesian women affiliated with Islamist movements, wearing a headscarf is a key symbol of piety and political identity. For Muslim women, in general, it is often seen as an attempt to reconcile “Islamic” modernity, individual autonomy, and a heightened commitment to religion.61 The issue of Islamic female clothing became a subject of public debate in the 1980s, particularly with respect to female students in public—and private non-Islamic—schools.62 With the success of “cultural Islamization” in the late twentieth century, wearing a headscarf has become a symbol of religious piety in public spaces and is understood as a manifestation of religious ethics. Popular democracy in the post-Suharto period has played some role in the spread and popularity of the headscarf.63 The headscarf question is probably the most controversial part of Quraish Shihab’s legal thought. His argument against its obligatory nature has been sharply criticized by proponents of the headscarf on the grounds that he challenges the boundary of women’s ʿawrah, the parts of the body that must be covered in public, according to the “consensus” of Muslim scholars. According to his critics, the Qur’ān explicitly commands women to cover their bodies, except those parts that can be visible, that is, the face and hands. For these critics, there are indeed disagreements among Muslim scholars, not about the boundary of ʿawrah, but rather about whether a woman’s face and hands qualify as ʿawrah. Some of Quraish Shihab’s critics assert that a scholar with credentials in religious knowledge should direct lay Muslims to the “correct” teaching of religion rather than confuse them with “unorthodox” opinions. According to his critics, he treats ʿawrah as conditional, local, and temporal, rather than final and universal.64 59.  Nancy J. Smith-Hefner, “Javanese Women and the Veil in Post-Suharto Indonesia,” The Journal of Asian Studies 66 (2007): 389–420. 60.  Fadwa El Guindi, Veil: Modesty, Privacy and Resistance (Oxford and New York: Berg, 1999), 129–130. 61.  See Suzanne Brenner, “Reconstructing Self and Society: Javanese Muslim Women and ‘the Veil,’” American Ethnologist, 23:4 (1996), 673–97; Carla Jones, “Fashion and Faith in Urban Indonesia,” Fashion Theory 11:2–3 (2007): 211–232. 62.  Nuraini Juliastuti, “Politik Pakaian Muslim,” KUNCI (Yogyakarta, December 2003), 4–7. 63.  Kurniawati Hastuti Dewi, “Javanese Women and Islam: Identity Formation since the Twentieth Century,” Southeast Asian Studies 1 (2012): 109–140. 64.  On September 21, 2006, a panel discussion was held at the Centre for Qur’anic Studies (Pusat Studi al-Qur’an, PSQ) to discuss Quraish Shihab’s Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah (Headscarf, Muslim Women’s Attire), first published in 2004. The

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Quraish Shihab briefly discusses Muslim women’s dress in his Wawasan alQur’an (1996) and in his commentary, Tafsir al-Misbah (2000–2003), with special attention to Q 24:31 and Q 33:59. He deals with this subject extensively in his Jilbab, where he discusses interpretations by Muslim scholars from the classical to the modern periods, albeit without expressing a preference for any opinion. He presents the subject as a matter of legal disagreement (ikhtilāf), and he probably wants to give readers greater flexibility with regard to the issue. It is interesting to note, as we shall see, that he highlights custom as a constitutive element for the understanding of religious injunctions. Quraish Shihab argues that the discourse on Islamic female attire in the modern period has been driven by several factors: growing Muslim religious consciousness, contemporary fashion, and political expression.65 He discusses the social and cultural contexts in which the Qur’ān was revealed. His point of departure is that clothing is a product of culture, and its style develops and changes over time. Quraish Shihab contends that the headscarf was popular among women in the Prophet’s time, but the practice of veiling women had appeared long before the coming of Islam, and was common among the Sassanians, the Byzantines, and the Indians.66 Before and shortly after the emergence of Islam, some Arab women dressed in a manner intended to attract the attention of men. Some wore the headscarf, but let it hang down on their back, so that their jewelry and breasts were visible.67 The Qur’ān addresses this situation by giving ethical guidance. Quraish Shihab highlights the context in which “hypocrites” and womanizers used to tempt women when they were going out at night to relieve speakers were Quraish Shihab, Jalaluddin Rakhmat, Adian Husaini, and Elly Maliki. Both Adian Husaini, a Muslim activist and preacher, and Elly Maliki, an Azhari graduate and an expert on Islamic law, strongly opposed Quraish Shihab’s position. Husaini wrote his personal report about the panel in his note, Mendiskusikan Jilbab di Pusat Studi al-Qur’an (Discussing the Headscarf at the Center for Qur’anic Studies). Previously, on March 28, 2006, a similar discussion, which I attended, was held in Cairo. The speakers were three Indonesian post-graduate students of al-Azhar, Muchlis M. Hanafi, Ahmad Zain an-Najah, and Aep Syaifullah. All of the speakers disagreed with Quraish Shihab, who argued that wearing the headscarf—whether it is compulsory or not for Muslim women—is a matter of disagreement (ikhtilāf  ) among Muslim jurists. I am indebted to my colleague, Aang Asy’ari, who showed me his personal note, “Buku Quraish Shihab dikritisi di Mesir” (Quraish Shihab’s Book being Criticized in Egypt). Zain an-Najah wrote a book, entitled Jilbab Menurut Syari’at Islam (Headscarf in Islam), which is available on his personal website: http://www. ahmadzain.com/karyatulis/30. 65.  M. Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah (6th ed.; Jakarta: Lentera Hati, 2012), xi–xii. 66.  Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah, 40–41. 67.  Ibid., 46; Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 228.

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themselves. The dress worn by these women suggested to some that they were slaves. For this reason, a revelation was sent down, ordering the Prophet’s wives, daughters, and Muslim women to cover themselves with their jalābīb (Q 33:59). The purpose of covering was to distinguish these women from female slaves and, thereby, to avoid sexual harassment.68 Most Muslim scholars, Quraish Shihab observes, understood the verse as imposing a religious obligation upon Muslim women not only in the Prophet’s time, but also after that. According to modernist Muslims, by contrast, the verse was binding only on the Prophet’s wives, daughters, and Muslim women at that time. In modern times, when there are no slaves, the obligation ceases.69 The only qurʾanic verse that mentions the parts of a woman’s body that must be covered in public is Q 24:31: “And tell the believing women to lower their vision and guard their private parts and not expose their adornment (zīnah), except that which [necessarily] appears thereof, and to wrap [a portion of] their head-covers (khumur) over their chests.” This verse is frequently cited to support the practice of veiling. Quraish Shihab focuses on two important aspects of the verse: first, the meaning of zīnah (adornment) and the exception (istithnāʾ) that is made; and second, the command that women lower their head-covers over their breasts. Quraish Shihab contends that zīnah means something that makes another thing beautiful,70 for example, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and mascara. By extension, he argues, it also refers to those parts of a woman’s body and clothing that may attract the attention of men.71 In this regard, zīnah may be either natural (khilqiyyah) or acquired (muktasabah); a woman’s body is khilqiyyah, while earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and anklets are muktasabah. The exception in Q 24:31 suggests that some of a woman’s adornments may be exposed in public space, without specifying which ones. This unspecified exception becomes a site of disagreement. Quraish Shihab cites Muslim exegetes who say that the exception is based on “custom.” Which custom? Was it the custom of the Arabs during the period of revelation or the custom of other times and people? The majority of Muslim scholars, especially those living before the modern period (al-mutaqaddimūn), Quraish Shihab observes, specify the custom of the period of revelation. Based on prophetic traditions,

68.  Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah, 86; Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah (5th ed., 15 vols.; Jakarta: Lentera Hati, 2012), 13:533; Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 227. 69.  Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah, 88–89. 70.  Ibid., 97; Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:527. 71.  Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah, 93.

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they conclude that only the face and palms of a woman’s hands may be exposed in public.72 The majority view is not convincing for Quraish Shihab, who reflects on the changing custom of clothing in modern times as well as the tradition of female clothing in Indonesia. He refers several times to the clothing practices of the wives of Indonesian Muslim leaders (kyai), especially in Java before the turn of the twenty-first century. The clothing worn by these women does not meet the standard of female “Islamic” clothing in the Arab world with regard to body covering. Quraish Shihab is convinced that Indonesian Muslim leaders before the turn of the twenty-first century were aware of Islamic rulings and would not have allowed their wives to violate these religious rules.73 In his view, the definition of “custom” as the custom of the society in the Prophet’s time not only contradicts the notion that the Qur’ān “speaks to all generations,” but also is inconsistent with the idea that clothing is a matter of culture. Quraish Shihab reexamines the discourse of female veiling among classical Muslim scholars. Several prophetic traditions, he observes, regardless of their authenticity, suggest that Muslim women should cover their bodies, except for their faces and hands.74 This is why most Muslim scholars argue that a woman’s ʿawrah is the entire body except for the face and hands. Quraish Shihab also examines some early discussions on this issue within the Ḥanafī School. Abū Ḥanīfa Nuʿmān b. Thābit (d. 150/767), the school’s eponymous founder, held that a woman’s feet are not ʿawrah and, thus, may be exposed, on the grounds that coverage may cause difficulties for women who work in rural areas. Similarly, Abū Yūsuf (d. 182/798), one of Abū Ḥanīfa’s pupils, held that the lower part of a woman’s arms may be uncovered.75 By citing the opinions of Abū Ḥanīfa and Abū Yūsuf, Quraish Shihab demonstrates that there have been changes in Muslim classical discourse on the definition of a woman’s ʿawrah and clothing. These changes may occur at any time so long as they do not prevent a woman from carrying out her activities in a proper manner. In support of his argument, Quraish Shihab cites a statement made by the Andalusian exegete and judge, Ibn ʿAṭiyya (d. 541/1146). The basic premise, 72.  Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:533; Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 234–235. 73.  See, for example, Quraish Shihab’s statement on national television in response to a question from an audience regarding the headscarf and its adoption by female members of his family: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tyVRjW7IdA&index=7&list=PL4BF7E495DC370673, accessed on July 16, 2013. 74.  Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah, 157. 75.  Ibid., 198; Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:531; idem, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 233.

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according to Ibn ʿAṭiyyah, is that a woman should not expose her adornment; the exception (istithnāʾ) in Q 24:31 must be seen as a response to the needs of a woman to move about comfortably in her daily life.76 The exception, Quraish Shihab emphasizes, can be understood variously, depending on the degree of necessity encountered by Muslim women at different times and in different places.77 Ibn ʿAṭiyya was inclined to make the face and hands the exception, although even the face should be covered, when needed, as a measure of caution.78 However, Quraish Shihab does not adopt this legal opinion, perhaps because Ibn ʿAṭiyya was reflecting on the tradition and custom of his era, when it was common for women to uncover their face and hands. Quraish Shihab does adopt legal arguments proposed by a Tunisian jurist and exegete, Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir b. ʿĀshūr (d. 1973), especially regarding the relationship between religion and custom. Ibn ʿĀshūr affirmed that religion does not seek to determine the styles of clothing, housing, and transport used by Muslims, because the “customs of a particular people—as conventional practices—should not be imposed on other people in the name of religious legislation (tashrīʿ) or on those with different customs.”79 Religious legislation that, coincidentally, is consistent with the custom of a people should be considered in light of the impetus of the adoption of the custom in question and the purpose of religion behind that legislation. As an example, Ibn ʿĀshūr highlights Q 33:59 concerning the command to wear the jilbāb, which he defines as an outer garment worn exclusively by free Arab women, not by female slaves.80 “This is legislation (sharʿ) in which the custom of the Arabs is taken into consideration. Thus, people who do not wear jalābīb [as their custom] are not subject to this legislation.”81 76.  See Abū Muḥammad b. ʿAṭiyyah, al-Muḥarrar al-wajīz, ed. ʿAbd al-Salām ʿAbd al-Shāfī Muḥammad (6 vols.; Beirut: Dār al-kutub al-ʿilmiyyah, 2001), 4:178; Abū ʿAbd Allāh al-Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ li-aḥkām al-qurʾān, ed. ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbd al-Muḥsin al-Turkī (24 vols.; Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risalah, 2006), 15:213. 77.  Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:532; Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 234. 78.  See Ibn ʿAṭiyya, al-Muḥarrar al-wajīz, 4:178. 79.  Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir b. ʿĀshūr, Maqāṣid al-sharīʿah al-islāmiyyah, ed. Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir al-Mīsawī (Amman: Dār al-Nafāʾis, 2001), 322. 80.  Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir b.ʿĀshūr and Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm Bouzghiba, Fatāwā al-Shaykh al-Imām Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir b. ʿĀshūr (Dubai: Markaz jumʿat al-mājid li’l-thaqāfah wa’l-turāth, 2004), 350. 81.  Ibn ʿĀshūr, Maqāṣid al-Sharīʿah al-Islāmiyyah, 323; Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:533. Quraish Shihab finds the opinion of Ibn ʿĀshūr highly relevant for his formulation of the question of women’s dress. Concerning Ibn ʿĀshūr, he says “a great contemporary scholar and the muftī of Tunisia whose authority is acknowledged in the Islamic world.” See Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 219, 236.

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For Quraish Shihab, Ibn ʿĀshūr’s position on the relationship between religion and custom is relevant to the contemporary question of Muslim women’s dress. The convergence of religion and Arab custom should be considered in light of the purpose of religion, not exclusively in light of the physical manifestation of this convergence. As clothing is a matter of custom, Quraish Shihab argues that the definition of custom, which is the basis of the exception in Q 24:31, should be the custom of any given culture. Accordingly, the religious purpose of women’s dress, that is, modesty and deflecting the male gaze, may be accomplished with any kind of clothing.82 Quraish Shihab probably wants to underline the explicit command in Q 24:31, which instructs Muslim women to cover their breasts, “and to wrap [a portion of] their headcovers over their chests.” Note, however, that the verse does not mention any instruction to cover women’s heads. In this verse, the Qur’ān addresses the clothing practices of Arab women in the Hijaz in the seventh century CE. These women already wore head-coverings. The verse offers moral guidance on the ethics of the appearance of Muslim women in public space by commanding them to cover their breasts with a part of their headscarves. Quraish Shihab also discusses the imperative form (amr) in Q 24:31. It is commonly understood by Muslim jurists that the imperative form in the Qur’ān and prophetic tradition does not always signify a religious obligation. The imperative form is also used to express recommendation, preference, or guidance. Quraish Shihab compares female veiling with debt transactions, where the imperative form in the Qur’ān signifies only a recommendation (anjuran) or guidance, not an obligation.83 Islam, he says, is concerned with modest and respectable clothing (pakaian terhormat) that does not stimulate sexual desire.84 For him, it is good for Muslim women to wear a head-cover, as it corresponds with the literal meaning of the qur’anic text in its original context. He argues, however, that generalizing the command of wearing the head-cover in a different context may have gone beyond what is actually required by religion. He writes: Finally we might say that women who cover all parts of their bodies except for their faces and hands follow the literal meaning of the verse. Perhaps, they have exaggerated in implementing the verse. At the same time, however, we should not claim that those [women] who do not wear headscarves or who expose part of their hands have definitely violated religion. Is it not the case that 82.  Quraish Shihab finds that Ibn ʿĀshūr also mentions the opinion of an anonymous scholar, according to whom the exception may cover feet and hair. Muḥammad al-Ṭāhir b. ʿĀshūr, al-Taḥrīr wa’l-tanwīr (30 vols.; Tunis: al-Dār al-tūnisiyyah li’l-nashr, 1984), 8:207; Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:528. 83.  Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:534; Quraish Shihab, Wawasan al-Qur’an, 237. 84.  Quraish Shihab, Jilbab Pakaian Wanita Muslimah, 429.

Ikhwan: Interpreting the Qur’ān between Shari‘ah and Changing Custom 231 the Qur’ān mentions the limits of ʿawrah? Muslim scholars themselves disagree when discussing it.85

Conclusion If Quraish Shihab had lived in Indonesia in the first half of the twentieth century or before, would his position on the headscarf have become a target of severe criticism? He was already discussing the headscarf in the 1990s, but his views never aroused controversy. He was only criticized after he published Jilbab in 2004. This book opens a discussion on the boundary of Muslim women’s ʿawrah, provides a history of female veiling, questions the Muslim “consensus” on the obligation of wearing the headscarf, and highlights the views of some liberal Muslim thinkers. The book appeared after the headscarf had become a key symbol of growing religious consciousness, modernity, autonomy, and political expression in Indonesia. Following the exegetical methods of modern reformist scholars, Quraish Shihab discusses the headscarf by investigating the qur’anic text, sound prophetic tradition (sunnah), and human custom. He argues that the Qur’ān does not clearly determine the boundaries of “Islamic” clothing, and that the boundaries established by the sunnah refer exclusively to Arab custom at the time of the Prophet. In his view, the idea of “respectable clothing” as taught in the Qur’ān must be determined by a consideration of local custom. The subject of female clothing does not belong to the class of religious rulings (aḥkām) whose details are subject to the dictates of the revealed text. This implies that the imperative form in the Qur’ān with regard to female clothing does not signify a religious obligation. In this manner, Quraish Shihab provides a theological justification for Muslim women who prefer not to wear a headscarf. More importantly, he has elevated the issue of female head-uncovering to the domain of “orthodox” ikhtilāf (approved legal disagreement), calling on those who hold for the obligation of wearing a headscarf to respect the decision of those who do not wear it. In his view, both positions are lawful, so long as women pay attention to what he calls “respectable clothing” that does not stimulate sexual desire.

85.  Quraish Shihab, Tafsir al-Misbah, 8:534.

The Hermeneutics of Legitimate Leadership: Qurṭubī’s Commentary on Q 2:30 (the Adam Verse)

HAN HSIEN LIEW

On June 19, 2014, Abū Muḥammad al-ʿAdnānī al-Shāmī, spokesperson for the Islamic State (IS), published—through its media wing, the Al-Ḥayāt Media Center—a document entitled “This is the Promise of God” (Hādhā waʿd Allāh) announcing the establishment of a new caliphate with IS leader Abū Bakr al-Baghdādī as caliph.1 The declaration is framed as a long sermon with qurʾanic verses and aḥādīth culled together in support of the IS caliphate. Roughly in the middle of the document, one comes across v. 30 of Q. 2, al-Baqarah, commonly known today as “the Adam verse”: “And when your Lord said to the angels, ‘Verily I am creating on earth a khalīfah’ […],” followed by a short excerpt from the Mālikī jurist and exegete Abū ʿAbd Allāh al-Qurṭubī’s (d. 671/1272) commentary (tafsīr) on this verse. ʿAdnānī’s citation of Qurṭubī may perhaps be regarded as yet another spurious attempt by IS to exploit the classical Islamic scholarly tradition for its own benefit, but his efforts were certainly not the result of a haphazard selection of exegetes. If anything, this cherry-picking of proof texts was based on specific features of Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30. It is to these features that this chapter will now direct its attention.

1.  The document can be accessed online: https://ia902505.us.archive.org/28/ items/poa_25984/EN.pdf. 233

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Exegesis and Political Thought: The Case of Q 2:30 Tafsīr is a rich genre with porous boundaries. In a single work of exegesis, readers may encounter the deployment of several different literary approaches and methods from different Islamic scholastic disciplines.2 This should come as no surprise considering that most classical Muslim exegetes wrote not only tafsīr but also works related to theology (kalām), law (fiqh), ḥadīth, and history (taʾrīkh). Thus, an exegete could easily muster ideas and insights from other scholastic genres in order to explain a specific qurʾanic verse. This crossgenre approach can be observed in Sunni commentaries on the term khalīfah in Q 2:30: the changing understanding of the term over time is best understood in relation to the development of ideas about the caliphate among Sunni scholars.3 The singular term khalīfah appears twice in the Qurʾān: in Q 2:30 and Q 38:26 (also called “the David verse”).4 Because its root, kh-l-f, has many meanings, the interpretation and meaning of khalīfah has often eluded classical and modern interpreters of the Qurʾān alike.5 While early exegetes living under the Umayyads generally did not make any deliberate attempts to iden2.  The multidisciplinary nature of tafsīr is addressed in the following volumes devoted to the genre: Karen Bauer (ed.), Aims, Methods and Contexts of Qur’anic Exegesis (2nd/8th-9th/15th c.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press in association with the Institute of Ismaili Studies, 2013); Andreas Görke and Johanna Pink (eds.) Tafsīr and Islamic Intellectual History: Exploring the Boundaries of a Genre (Oxford: Oxford University Press in association with the Institute of Ismaili Studies, 2014). 3.  I discuss the relationship between Sunni discourses on the caliphate and Sunni commentaries on Q 2:30 in a separate article: Han Hsien Liew, “The Caliphate of Adam: Theological Politics of the Qurʾanic Term Ḫalīfa,” Arabica 63:1–2 (2016): 1–29. 4.  Q 2:30 reads: “And when your Lord said to the angels, ‘Verily I am creating on earth a khalīfah,’ they said, ‘Will You create therein one who will work corruption and shed blood on it, while we glorify You with Your praise and hallow You?’ He said, ‘I know that which you do not know.’” Q 38:26 refers to the prophet-king David: “O David, we have made you a khalīfah on earth. So judge between men with truth and do not follow the lusts [of your heart], for they will mislead you from the path of God. Because they forget the Day of Reckoning, those that stray from God’s path shall be sternly punished.” 5.  For recent attempts to develop a more comprehensive understanding of the qurʾanic khalīfah, see, in particular, Rudi Paret, “Signification coranique de ḫalīfa et d’autres dérivés de la racine ḫalafa,” Studia Islamica 31 (1970): 211–217; W. M. Watt, “God’s Caliph: Qur’ānic Interpretation and Umayyad Claims,” in C. E. Bosworth (ed.) Iran and Islam, in Memory of the Late Vladimir Minorsky (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1971), 565–574; Wadād al-Qāḍī, “The Term ‘Khalīfa’ in Early Exegetical Literature,” Die Welt des Islams 28:1 (1988): 392–411; David Johnston, Earth, Empire and Sacred Text: Muslims and Christians as Trustees of Creation (London: Equinox, 2010), 239–403.

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tify the qurʾanic khalīfah with the ruling caliph, later exegetes, beginning with Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923), introduced new clusters of terminology associated with the historical caliphate into their interpretations of the term khalīfah, thereby blurring the boundaries between scriptural hermeneutics and political discourse.6 With regard to Q 2:30, exegetes like Abū Muḥammad al-Baghawī (d. 516/1122), Abū’l-Faraj b. al-Jawzī (d. 597/1201), Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 606/1209), and Qurṭubī (d. 671/1272) emphasized Adam’s role as khalīfat Allāh (deputy of God)7 in implementing God’s rulings (aḥkām), commands (awāmir), and punishments (ḥudūd).8 These duties are similar to the ones used to define a caliph or imam at the beginning of every chapter on the caliphate/imamate found in kalām writings and certain works of fiqh.9 In addition, other verses containing derivatives of kh-l-f such as Q 24:55 (“God has promised those among you who have believed and done righteous deeds that He will surely yastakhlifannahum on earth just as He istakhlafa those who were before them”) and Q 35:39 (“It is He who has made you khalāʾif on earth. And whoever disbelieves, upon him will be the consequence of his disbelief ”), became platforms upon which exegetes sought to establish the legitimacy of the four Rightly Guided Caliphs (al-khulafāʾ al-rāshidūn) in Sunni political theology.10 Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30 offers more than the aforementioned discursive developments relating to khalīfah.11 In his commentary on the term khalīfah in this verse, he incorporates a full juristic discourse on the caliphate 6.  For interpretations of khalīfah from the late Umayyad to early Abbasid period, but before Ṭabarī, see al-Qāḍī, “The Term ‘Khalīfa’”; for exegetes from Ṭabarī to Ibn Kathīr (d. 774/1373), see Liew, “Caliphate of Adam.” 7.  Khalīfat Allāh was commonly used as a caliphal title and in caliphal rhetoric from the late Umayyad period onwards. See Patricia Crone and Martin Hinds, God’s Caliph: Religious Authority in the First Centuries of Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), 4–23. 8.  Liew, “Caliphate of Adam,” 14–24. 9.  The caliphate or imamate often constitutes a chapter at the end of kalām treatises, but is only rarely discussed in fiqh works. The terms imām and imāmah (imamate)—rather than khalīfah (caliph) and khilāfah (caliphate)—are more frequently encountered in works of kalām and fiqh. For a succinct history of how the term imām was used by early Muslim jurists, see Norman Calder, “The Significance of the Term Imām in Early Islamic Jurisprudence” (1984) in Jawid Mojaddedi and Andrew Rippin (eds.), Interpretation and Jurisprudence in Early Islam (Burlington: Ashgate/Variorum, 2006), 253–264. In this chapter I will use the terms “caliph” and “imam,” as well as “caliphate” and “imamate,” interchangeably. 10.  Liew, “Caliphate of Adam,” passim. 11.  For instance, Abū ʿAbd Allāh al-Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ li-ahkām al-Qurʾān, ed. Muḥammad Ibrāhīm al-Ḥifnāwī and Maḥmūd Ḥāmid ʿUthmān (22 vols. in 12; Cairo: Dār al-Ḥadīth, 1996), 1:279; 12:296; 14:342.

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normally encountered in kalām works. In other words, the Sunni discourse on the caliphate—arguments for the necessity of the caliphate, the duties and requirements of a caliphal candidate, arguments against the Shiʿi imamate, and other juridical issues surrounding the caliphate—is used as a hermeneutical device to explain Q 2:30. Elsewhere, I have briefly discussed the significance of Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30 in relation to other commentaries before and after him. Here, I ask the following questions: In what ways does Qurṭubī discuss the caliphate? How does his treatment of the caliphate compare with the treatment of this subject in kalām and fiqh writings? What are the broader implications of Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30 for the genre of tafsīr and the Sunni discourse on the caliphate? This chapter places Qurṭubī’s understanding of Q 2:30 within the larger context of juristic and theological discourses on the caliphate as a lens through which one can examine the interaction between scriptural understanding and political thinking. Qurṭubī and His Tafsīr, al-Jāmiʿ li-aḥkām al-Qurʾān Little is known about Qurṭubī’s life. From biographical dictionaries, one can surmise that he was born in Cordoba, Andalusia, and traveled eastward to Egypt. Qurṭubī eventually settled in Munyat Abī’l-Khuṣayb in Upper Egypt, where he died in 671/1272. During his travels, he studied under several scholars of ḥadīth, tafsīr, and fiqh. The most famous of his teachers was Abū’lʿAbbās Aḥmad b. ʿUmar al-Qurṭubī (d. 656/1259), a prominent Mālikī jurist, also born in Cordoba, well known for his commentary on the ḥadīth collection of Muslim b. al-Ḥajjāj.12 Beginning with Muḥammad al-Dhahabī (d. 748/1348), who lived a century after Qurṭubī’s death, biographers never fail to mention his monumental work of tafsīr entitled al-Jāmiʿ li-aḥkām al-Qurʾān wa’l-mubayyin li-mā taḍammana min al-sunnah wa-āy al-Furqān. In his al-Dībāj al-mudhahhab fī maʿrifat aʿyān ʿulamāʾ al-madhhab, a biographical dictionary of Mālikī scholars, Ibrāhīm b. ʿAlī b. Farḥūn (d. 799/1396) praises Qurṭubī’s tafsīr and writes that “[Qurṭubī] omits 12.  For brief biographical accounts of Qurṭubī’s life, see EI2, s.v. “al-Ḳurṭubī” (R.  Arnaldez); Muḥammad b. Aḥmad al-Dhahabī, Taʾrīkh al-islām wa-wafayāt almashāhīr wa’l-aʿlām, ed. ʿUmar Tadmurī (52 vols.; Beirut: Dār al-Kitāb al-ʿArabī, 1988), 50:74–75; Ibrāhīm b. ʿAlī b. Farḥūn, al-Dībāj al-mudhahhab fī maʿrifat aʿyān ʿulamāʾ al-madhhab, ed. Maʾmūn b. Muḥyī al-Dīn al-Jannān (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyyah, 1996), 406–407; Jalāl al-Dīn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Suyūṭī, Ṭabaqāt al-mufassirīn, ed. ʿAlī Muḥammad ʿUmar (Cairo: Maktabat Wahbah, 1976), 92; Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Aḥmad al-Dāwūdī, Ṭabaqāt al-mufassirīn, ed. ʿAlī Muḥammad ʿUmar, 2 vols. (Cairo: Maktabat Wahbah, 1972), 2:65–66; Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Maqqarī, Nafḥ al-ṭīb min ghuṣn al-andalus al-raṭīb, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās, 8 vols. (Beirut: Dār Ṣādir, 1968), 2:210–212.

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from it tales (al-qiṣaṣ) and histories (al-tawārīkh), and establishes in place of them the rulings of the Qurʾān (aḥkām al-Qurʾān) and the deduction of proofs (istinbāṭ al-adillah). [He also] addresses the methods of recitation of the Qurʾān (al-qirāʾāt), grammatical inflections (al-iʿrāb), and the rules of abrogation (alnāsikh wa’l-mansūkh).”13 Modern scholars regard Qurṭubī’s tafsīr as one of the high points of the classical Islamic exegetical tradition. The Jāmiʿ is primarily a legal tafsīr. It is also encyclopedic, like Ṭabarī’s Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl āy al-Qurʾān.14 Notably, Norman Calder commends Qurṭubī’s versatility in “playing across the disciplines” and “embracing of polyvalent readings,” going so far as to point out that “within the tradition of scholastic exegesis, Qurṭubī’s tafsīr has some claim to being the most complete fulfillment of its possibilities.”15 One gets a sense of the richness of Qurṭubī’s tafsīr from his introduction to the work, which includes sections dedicated to the merits (faḍāʾil) of the Qurʾān, its proper recitation, its seven famous readings (qirāʾāt), and its inimitability (iʿjāz).16 In the introduction, Qurṭubī briefly states his intentions for writing this tafsīr: I thought that I should devote myself to [the Qurʾān] for my entire life and exert my strength in that cause by writing a brief commentary (taʿlīqan wajīzan) on it, which will contain points of exegesis (tafsīr), linguistics (al-lughāt), grammatical inflections (al-iʿrāb), recitations (al-qirāʾāt), the refutation of deviants and misguided people (al-radd ʿalā ahl al-zaygh wa’l-ḍalālāt), and many aḥādīth attesting to what we will mention regarding judgments (al-aḥkām) and the revelation of the verses, thereby combining their meanings and explaining what is abstruse in them, using statements from the pious ancestors (al-salaf  ) and those who followed them.17

This short statement of purpose captures the multilayered nature of Qurṭubī’s exegesis. In a single work of tafsīr, one finds not only discussions related to grammar and correct recitation, but also assessments of different aḥādīth as well as polemics against the Shiʿis and the Muʿtazilis. These different exegetical techniques are clearly deployed in Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30.

13.  Ibn Farḥūn, al-Dībāj, 406. 14.  EQ, s.v. “Exegesis of the Qurʾān: Classical and Medieval” (C. Gilliot). 15.  Norman Calder, “Tafsīr from Ṭabarī to Ibn Kathīr: Problems in the Description of a Genre, Illustrated with Reference to the Story of Abraham,” in G. R. Hawting and Abdul-Kader A. Shareef (eds.), Approaches to the Qur’an (London: Routledge, 1993), 108–110. 16.  EI 2, s.v. “al-Ḳurṭubī” (Arnaldez). 17.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:14–15.

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Qurṭubī’s Commentary on Q 2:30 Qurṭubī divides his commentary on the term khalīfah in Q 2:30 into seventeen issues (masāʾil) dealing with various points of theology and grammar, of which fourteen concern the caliphate. This focus on the caliphate attests to the significance of the caliphate in Qurṭubī’s understanding of the verse. Before addressing the subject of the caliphate, Qurṭubī offers a brief definition of the term khalīfah: “The meaning of khalīfah—according to Ibn Masʿūd (d. 34/654), Ibn ʿAbbās (d. 68/687–688), and all of the people of interpretation (ahl al-taʾwīl)—is that Adam is khalīfat Allāh [i.e., ‘deputy of God’] in the execution of His commands and judgments because he was the first messenger [sent] to earth.”18 The discussion of the caliphate/imamate begins in the fourth issue (masʾalah), with the statement, “This verse is the basis for the appointment of an imam and a caliph who shall be heard and obeyed, so that opinions will be made unanimous through him and [his] rulings will be implemented.”19 This is an unprecedented interpretation of the verse: Although the use of Q 2:30 to justify the caliphate/imamate is encountered in other genres, no exegete before Qurṭubī ever made such an explicit statement connecting Q 2:30 to the historical caliphate/imamate.20 Returning to the IS declaration of their caliphate, if ʿAdnānī needed an authority in the classical Islamic tradition to lend support to his use of Q 2:30 to legitimize the IS caliphate, it is not difficult to see why Qurṭubī became the exegete of choice. Indeed, what better rhetorical strategy than to select the exegete who was the first to claim—in a widely respected work of tafsīr—that Q 2:30 serves as a basis for the appointment of a caliph? Following this statement, Qurṭubī makes an argument for the necessity of the imamate. There is, he maintains, no disagreement in the ummah on this point, except the Muʿtazili Abū Bakr al-Aṣamm (d. 200 or 201/816 or 817) and his followers, who hold that the need for an imam may be dispensed with as long as people in the ummah are able to manage their own affairs, that is, to organize their own ḥajj and jihād, distribute spoils of war and charities among each other, and implement their own punishments.21 However, Qurṭubī offers 18.  Ibid., 279. 19.  Text: Hādhihi al-āya aṣlun fī naṣb imām wa-khalīfah yusmaʿ lahu wa-yuṭāʿ li-tujtamaʿ bihi al-kalimah wa-tunfadh bihi aḥkām al-khalīfah. Ibid., 280. Emphasis mine. 20.  For the linking of Q 2:30 with the caliphate in other genres of writing, see the testament by the Umayyad caliph al-Walīd II (d. 126/744), in which he designates his two sons as successors, in Crone and Hinds, God’s Caliph, 118–126; see also the chapter on the imamate in ʿAlī b. ʿUbayd Allāh b. al-Zāghūnī, al-Īḍāḥ fī uṣūl al-dīn, ed. ʿIṣām al-Sayyid Maḥmūd (Riyadh: Markaz al-Malik Fayṣal li’l-Buḥūth wa’l-Dirāsāt al-Islāmiyyah, 2003), 602. 21.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:280.

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two proofs as refutations of Aṣamm’s claim: the first is found in three qur’anic verses, Q 2:30, 38:26, and 24:55; the second is the Saqīfah meeting during which the Muhājirūn and Anṣār gathered to debate and discuss the issue of succession after the Prophet’s death. Had the imamate not been necessary, this event and debate would not have taken place. By Qurṭubī’s time, the Saqīfah episode was commonly cited by Sunni jurists and theologians to demonstrate that the imamate is obligatory,22 albeit with minor variations.23 On the basis of qurʾanic verses and Companion consensus, Qurṭubī claims that the imamate is one of the pillars of religion (rukn min arkān al-dīn), on which Muslims are set aright.24 This is a far cry from the claim made by Abū Bakr al-Bāqillānī (one of the first jurists to produce a comprehensive theory of the Sunni imamate; d. 403/1013), namely, that the imam acts on behalf of the community as its gerent (wakīl).25 Qurṭubī proceeds to argue that the necessity of the imamate is based on revelation, not on reason alone, a standard position adopted by Sunni jurists such as Abū Yaʿlā b. al-Farrāʾ (d. 458/1066), Abū’l-Maʿālī al-Juwaynī (d. 478/1085), Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 505/1111), and Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī (d. 606/1209). Qurṭubī then refutes the Shiʿi doctrine of ʿAlī’s designation (naṣṣ) by the Prophet, on two grounds. First is the invalidation of the naṣṣ itself: if the Prophet had made it incumbent (faraḍa) on the ummah to obey a specified imam after his death, one surely would have known about it and this designation would have been announced.26 It is also important to note that some groups claim naṣṣ for Abū Bakr and others do the same for the Prophet’s uncle al-ʿAbbās (d. ca. 32/653).27 Anyone who proclaims that the naṣṣ for ʿAlī is based on authoritative transmission (tawātur) must make the same claim for 22.  Abū Yaʿlā b. al-Farrāʾ, al-Muʿtamad fī uṣūl al-dīn, ed. W. Z. Ḥaddād (Beirut: Dār al-Mashriq, 1974), 222; idem, al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyyah, ed. Maḥmūd Ḥasan (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1994), 23; Abū’l-Muʿīn al-Nasafī, Tabṣirat al-adillah, ed. Claude Salamé, 2 vols. (Damascus: Institut Français de Damas, 1993), 2:823. 23.  For instance, Abū’l-Maʿālī al-Juwaynī (d. 478/1085) claims that the failure of the Companions (ṣaḥābah) to bury the Prophet immediately after his death because they were preoccupied with electing a successor proves that the appointment of an imam is obligatory. See Wael Hallaq, “Caliphs, Jurists and the Saljūqs in the Political Thought of Juwaynī,” The Muslim World 74:1 (1984): 32. 24.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:280. 25.  Yusuf Ibish, The Political Doctrine of al-Baqillani (Beirut: American University of Beirut, 1966), 99; Ann K.S. Lambton, State and Government in Medieval Islam: An Introduction to the Study of Islamic Political Theory: The Jurists (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), 76. 26.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:281. 27.  The Prophet’s designation of al-ʿAbbās as successor was the main tenet of the Rāwandiyyah, a proto-Shiʿi group based in Khurasan that formed a part of the Abbasid movement against the Umayyads. It became the official doctrine of the early

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Abū Bakr, since many traditions make the case for the latter’s naṣṣ.28 Qurṭubī directs his second attack towards two ḥadīths commonly cited by Shiʿis as validation of ʿAlī’s naṣṣ: “Whose master I am, ʿAlī is his master” (man kuntu mawlāhu fa-ʿAlī mawlāhu) and “Your relationship to me is like that of Aaron to Moses” (anta minnī bi-manzilat Hārūn min Mūsā). The first ḥadīth, Qurṭubī argues, is not reliable and authoritative; even if it were, it does not establish the claim for ʿAlī’s imamate because the word mawlā in this context means walī (supporter/ helper), not khalīfah.29 As for the Aaron-Moses ḥadīth, Qurṭubī claims that the Prophet was not referring to the succession after him, especially since Aaron died before Moses and it was Joshua who succeeded Moses as leader of the Israelite tribes. Instead, one should regard the Prophet as saying, “I appoint you over my people during my lifetime and in my absence” (it was customary for the Prophet to appoint someone to take his place when he went on military expeditions). The fact that such appointees included Abū Bakr and ʿUmar nullifies the Shiʿi claim that ʿAlī was the sole successor to the Prophet.30 Next, Qurṭubī discusses the three methods of obtaining the imamate. The first is the designation (naṣṣ) of a specific person, just as the Prophet designated Abū Bakr as successor by hinting (bi’l-ishārah), and just as Abū Bakr appointed ʿUmar as successor.31 This argument comes close to the argument for an implicit naṣṣ (al-naṣṣ al-khafī) or a naṣṣ by indication (al-naṣṣ bi’l-ishārah), which was adopted by Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, al-Haṣan al-Baṣrī, and a group of ḥadīth folk (aṣḥāb al-ḥadīth). Most Sunni theologians argue against this position, realizing the danger of veering too close to the Shiʿis. Even later Ḥanbalīs such as Abū Yaʿlā and Ibn al-Zāghūnī argue against the notion of an implicit naṣṣ and naṣṣ by indication.32 In addition to a specific designation (naṣṣ), an incumbent imam could also designate a group to choose the most suitable Abbasid court under al-Manṣūr (d. 158/775) and his son al-Mahdī (d. 169/785). See EI2, s.v. “al-Rāwandiyya” (E. Kohlberg). 28.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:282. A similar argument can be found in Sayf al-Dīn al-Āmidī, Ghāyat al-marām fī ʿilm al-kalām, ed. Aḥmad Farīd Mazyadī (Beirut: Dār alKutub al-ʿIlmiyyah, 2004), 322. 29.  Most Sunni theologians gloss mawlā as nāṣir, i.e., “helper” or “supporter.” See Muḥammad al-Bazdawī, Kitāb Uṣūl al-dīn, ed. Hans Peter Linss (Cairo: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Kutub al-ʿArabiyyah, 1963), 184; Nasafī, Tabṣirat al-adillah, 2:855; Ibn al-Zāghūnī, al-Īḍāḥ, 615; Āmidī, Ghāyat al-marām, 321. 30.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:282–283. 31.  Ibid., 284. 32.  See R.J. McCarthy, The Theology of al-Ashʿarī (Beirut: Imprimerie Catholique, 1953), 116; Abū Yaʿlā, al-Muʿtamad, 223; Ibn al-Zāghūnī, al-Īḍāḥ, 610–612. As for Abū Bakr’s appointment of ʿUmar, most Sunni theologians frame it as undertaken with the support of ijmāʿ from the Muslims or the Companions. See Abū Yaʿlā, al-Muʿtamad, 228; Nasafī, Tabṣirat al-adillah, 2:848; Ibn al-Zāghūnī, al-Īḍāḥ, 625.

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candidate among themselves for the imamate, just as the Companions did in selecting ʿUthmān. The third method, Qurṭubī argues, is through a consensus (ijmāʿ) of the people who loosen and bind (ahl al-ḥall wa’l-ʿaqd) or electors. As for the number of electors required to elect an imam, Qurṭubī—citing the opinion of the Shāfiʿī-Ashʿarī jurist-theologian, Abū’l-Maʿālī al-Juwaynī (d. 478/1085)—allows for only one elector to be present, a standard Ashʿarī position, in contrast to that of the Ḥanbalīs, who require all electors to take part in the selection.33 During periods of Abbasid weakness and Seljuq dominance in the early sixth/twelfth century, Shāfiʿī-Ashʿarī jurist-theologians such as al-Juwaynī and al-Ghazālī extended this idea by requiring that the elector be a wielder of power (shawkah), thereby tacitly acknowledging the role of the Seljuq sultan as a kingmaker with the authority to depose and install caliphs.34 We arrive next at the qualifications (sharāʾiṭ) required of an imam, of which Qurṭubī lists eleven:



(1) Quraysh lineage, based on the Prophetic ḥadīth, “The imams are from Quraysh.” However, it is not required that the candidate be from the Banū Hāshim, since neither Abū Bakr, ʿUmar, nor ʿUthmān were from the clan. (2) Qualified to be a judge (qāḍī) and a mujtahid, so that he would not need to consult others for legal opinions (al-istiftāʾ). (3) Experience (khibrah) and sound judgment (raʾī ḥaṣīf) in war, military administration, guarding of borders, protection of territories, and preventing injustice. (4) Not be mild in implementing laws and punishments. (5) Free (ḥurr). (6) Muslim. (7) Male. There is no dispute that a woman cannot be an imam, although scholars differ over whether a woman can be a judge. (8) Physical fitness and freedom from disabilities. (9) Mature age (bāligh). (10) Rational (ʿāqil).

33.  Abū Yaʿlā, al-Muʿtamad, 237; idem, Aḥkām, 28; Ibn al-Zāghūnī, al-Īḍāḥ, 610– 612. 34.  Hallaq, “Caliphs, Jurists and the Saljūqs,” 33; Crone, Medieval Islamic Political Thought (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2004), 243–246. Two caliphs were murdered during the height of Seljuq power, supposedly at the instigation of the Seljuq sultan, as elucidated in Deborah G. Tor, “A Tale of Two Murders: Power Relations between Caliph and Sultan in the Saljuq Era,” Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft 159 (2009): 279–297.

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(11) Justice/probity (ʿadl), since there is no dispute that it is not permitted to contract the imamate to a sinner (fāsiq).35 These conditions parallel those listed by other Sunni jurists. For instance, we see an emphasis on the imam’s rational faculties in order to ensure that he uses ijtihād when developing legal opinions of his own without relying too much on other scholars.36 Some jurists even claim that the imam should have the same qualities required of a judge (qāḍī).37 Most Sunni jurists never fail to mention military and administrative qualifications relating to the public functions of government.38 Unlike the Shiʿi imam, the Sunni imam does not have to be infallible (maʿṣūm) or well-versed in esoteric knowledge (al-ghayb).39 What follows is an account of the most excellent (al-fāḍil) vs. less excellent (al-mafḍūl) debate. Qurṭubī writes that the imam must be the most excellent man (afḍal) of the ummah in knowledge (ʿilm), based on the Prophet’s words, “Your imams are your mediators, so observe whomever they seek intercession for” and the qurʾanic verse, “Indeed God has chosen him [i.e., the Israelite king, Saul] over you and has increased knowledge and stature in him abundantly” (Q 2:247). However, like most Sunni jurists beginning from the fifth/eleventh century, Qurṭubī concedes that it is permitted to appoint a less excellent candidate if disorder (fitnah) and the mismanagement of communal affairs would ensue with the appointment of the most excellent. He cites the example of ʿUmar, who commissioned a council of six men to decide who among them should be his successor. Although it was clear that some candidates were more meritorious than others, ʿUmar allowed for any one of them to be elected as imam as long as welfare (maṣlaḥah) is ensured and opinions are united.40 This common historical anecdote, frequently cited by Ḥanafī35.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:285–286. 36.  Abū’l-Ḥasan al-Māwardī, al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyyah, trans. Wafaa Wahba as The Ordinances of Government (Reading, UK: Garnet, 1996), 4; ʿAlī b. Muḥammad alSimnānī, Rawḍat al-quḍāt wa-ṭarīq al-najāt, ed. ʿAbd al-Laṭīf Nāhī, 4 vols. (Baghdad: Maṭbaʿat Asʿad, 1970), 1:61; Āmidī, Ghāyat al-marām, 324. For Juwaynī and Ghazālī, the requirement that the imam should possess ijtihād does not preclude the imam from consulting with religious scholars (ʿulamāʾ). See Hallaq, “Caliphs, Jurists and the Saljūqs,” 34, 41; Crone, Medieval Islamic Political Thought, 238. 37.  Abū Yaʿlā, Aḥkām, 24; Simnānī, Rawḍat al-quḍāt, 1:61; Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī, al-Iqtiṣād fī’l-iʿtiqād, trans. Aladdin M. Yaqub as Moderation in Belief (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 232; Ibish, Political Doctrine of al-Baqillani, 7–8. 38.  According to Ghazālī, who lived during the height of Seljuq dominance in the Middle East, military power (shawkah) can be delegated to a strongman or sultan. Crone, Medieval Islamic Political Thought, 244. 39.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:286. Nasafī adds that the imam is like the rest of the community (ka-sāʾir al-ummah) in carrying out what the Prophet had established. See Nasafī, Tabṣirat al-adillah, 2:837. 40.  Ibid., 286.

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Māturīdī jurists in support of a mafḍūl imam, speaks to the importance of consensus (ijmāʿ) and communal unity.41 The thorny but perennial question of deposing a sinful imam has preoccupied Muslim jurists since early Islam, beginning with the murder of ʿUthmān in 35/656.42 Without explicitly stating his own opinion, Qurṭubī cites two contrasting opinions. The majority (jumhūr) of the ʿulamāʾ are of the opinion that if an imam is found guilty of outright sin (fisq) after obtaining office, his imamate is rescinded and he should be removed from power. This is because it is not permitted to contract the imamate to a sinner, as mentioned above, since the corruption of all public functions of government begins with a sinful imam.43 The contrary opinion, supported with a string of aḥādīth, contends that a sinful imam should not be removed unless he descends into manifest unbelief or if he forsakes prayer.44 While this is a common argument in Sunni theological and juridical writings, it is more accentuated among the Ḥanbalīs, who also enshrine it in creed.45 Qurṭubī, who does not appear to support either view, argues that the imam should self-depose or abdicate if he finds any shortcomings in himself.46 Also related is the issue of rebellion. Qurṭubī asserts that if a rebel (khārijī) revolts against an imam who is known to be just, it is incumbent upon the people to fight the rebel. But if a rebel who is manifestly just revolts against a sinful imam, the people should not rush to his aid until one is able to scrutinize his intentions/affairs regarding justice or if there is sufficient agreement 41.  For instance, Simnānī, Rawḍat al-quḍāt, 1:67; Nasafī, Tabṣirat al-adillah, 2:834; Saʿd al-Dīn al-Taftāzānī, A Commentary on the Creed of Islam, trans. Earl Edgar Elder (New York: Columbia University Press, 1950), 149. 42.  See Bazdawī, Kitāb Uṣūl al-dīn, 190–191, for a range of views across different madhāhib. 43.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:286. 44.  Ibid., 286–287. These two arguments are similarly presented in Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:124 (“When his Lord tested Abraham with certain words, and he fulfilled them, He said, ‘Surely I am going to make you a leader for the people.’ [Abraham] said, ‘And of my descendants?’ [The Lord] said, ‘My covenant does not extend to the evildoers.’”). See Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 2:115. 45.  Ibn al-Jawzī, Manāqib Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, trans. Michael Cooperson as Virtues of Imām Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (2 vols.; New York: New York University Press, 2013), 1:305– 327; Saud al-Sarhan, “The Creeds of Aḥmad Ibn Ḥanbal,” in Robert Gleave (ed.), Books and Bibliophiles: Studies in Honor of Paul Auchterlonie on the Bio-Bibliography of the Muslim World (Cambridge: Gibb Memorial Trust, 2014), 29–44. 46.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:287. Qurṭubī’s view that the imam should abdicate if he finds shortcomings in himself is close to that of Māwardī, who says that sinfulness “excludes from candidacy in the first place, and disqualifies from continuation in office. An incumbent so disqualified must step down (kharaja minhā), and may not be reinstated upon regaining probity without a new appointment.” Māwardī, Ordinances, 17.

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from a group of people to depose the imam.47 The overall tone of Qurṭubī’s discussion is one that stresses the preservation of communal order and unity. Qurṭubī’s closing remarks in his discussion of the imamate concerns the permissibility of appointing two or more imams. According to him, the contracting of the imamate to two persons in a single area is not permitted by consensus, since this inevitably will lead to disorder and division within a community. Citing Juwaynī again, Qurṭubī argues that such a scenario would be analogous to the situation of two guardians contracting a marriage for the same woman to two different suitors without either being aware of the other’s contract.48 In response to the Karrāmī49 view that ʿAlī and Muʿāwiyah were equally legitimate imams in their own domains, Qurṭubī stresses that the latter never claimed the imamate for himself during ʿAlī’s reign as imam, and that there is consensus in the ummah that ʿAlī was the sole legitimate imam.50 If two imams are appointed, the one who was appointed first is the legitimate imam and the second should be killed.51 Nonetheless, Qurṭubī seems to concede that there might be two imams if the distance between them is great, as in the case of al-Andalus and Khurasan.52 Conclusion In the present chapter, I have outlined Qurṭubī’s juristic discourse on the Sunni caliphate/imamate, which occupies most of his commentary on Q 2:30, and placed it in conversation with Sunni treatments of the caliphate/imamate before him. In light of this discussion, what then was Qurṭubī doing with 47.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:288. 48.  Ibid. 49.  The Karrāmis (or Karrāmiyyah) were a theological group that flourished in Khurasan between the ninth and twelfth centuries CE. They accepted ʿAlī and Muʿāwiyah as equally legitimate imams in their respective domains, with ʿAlī being an imam in accordance with the sunnah and Muʿāwiyah the imam in violation of it (ʿalā khilāf al-sunnah). For a brief discussion of their political ideas, see Crone, Medieval Islamic Political Thought, 274. 50.  Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ, 1:288–289. 51.  Qurṭubī cites several aḥādīth in support of the argument that one of the imams should be killed if two are appointed, the most common being, “If allegiance is sworn to two caliphs, kill [the one who was appointed second].” Ibid., 287. 52.  Although Juwaynī also permitted the appointment of two imams in his kalām treatise, al-Irshād ilā qawāṭiʿ al-adillah fī uṣūl al-iʿtiqād, he rejected it in Ghiyāth al-umam fi’l-tiyāth al-ẓulam. Abū’l-Maʿālī al-Juwaynī, al-Irshād ilā qawāṭiʿ al-adillah fī uṣūl al-iʿtiqād, trans. Paul E. Walker as A Guide to Conclusive Proofs for the Principles of Belief (Reading: Garnet Publishing, 2000), 234; Hallaq, “Caliphs, Jurists and the Saljūqs,” 35.

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his commentary on Q 2:30? There is no denying that his inclusion of the juridical discourse on the caliphate usually encountered in kalām and fiqh writings attests to the significance of the caliphate for the realm of Islamic law.53 Clearly, Qurṭubī could not simply ignore this subject while writing a legal tafsīr. The inclusion of the word aḥkām in the title of his tafsīr hints at an emphasis on the juristic and legal aspects of exegesis, but this does not give us the full picture with regard to Q 2:30. For one, the Sunni discourse on the imamate is not in itself a theory of the state or government.54 It is rather a systematized aggregate of aḥādīth, qurʾanic verses, the statements of significant authorities from different schools of law (madhāhib), reconstructions of the historical memory pertaining to the four Rightly Guided Caliphs (al-khulafāʾ al-rāshidūn), and polemical statements against rival Muslim sects such as the Shiʿis and the Muʿtazilis. One encounters these various discourses in Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30. Several scholars have drawn attention to the polemical aspects of Qurṭubī’s tafsīr, arguing that he strove to defend Sunni orthodoxy by attacking and refuting other sects considered deviant, in particular the Shiʿis, Muʿtazilis, and certain Sufi sects.55 For this reason, the multivalent and rich discourse on the Sunni caliphate must have constituted fertile ground from which Qurṭubī could draw polemical ammunition to direct against the Shiʿis and Muʿtazilis. Q 2:30 may be regarded as a platform upon which Qurṭubī upheld and affirmed Sunni orthodoxy against rival claims. The Sunni discourse on the caliphate is characterized by diversity and complexity. Most Sunni scholars did not regard the imamate as a theological issue, but they nevertheless included a chapter on it in kalām writings because of its centrality in Sunni-Shiʿi polemics.56 However, aside from arguing against Shiʿi and Muʿtazili claims, scholars from different madhhabs eventually developed madhhab-specific arguments regarding such topics as deposition and the fāḍil-mafḍūl debate; it is thus possible to speak about intra-Sunni differences regarding the imamate. Qurṭubī was well aware of these differences

53.  Indeed, discussions of public law, such as the treatment of rebels, jihād, and punishments, in furūʿ legal works assume the overarching authority of an imam-caliph. See Bernard Weiss, The Spirit of Islamic Law (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1998), 174. 54.  Aziz al-Azmeh, Muslim Kingship: Power and Sacred in Muslim, Christian and Pagan Polities (London: Tauris, 1997), 113–214, 169–170. 55.  Al-Qaṣabī Maḥmūd Zalaṭ, al-Qurṭubī wa-manhajuhu fī’l-tafsīr (Cairo: Dār alAnṣār, 1979), 56–63; Yūsuf ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Firt, al-Qurṭubī al-mufassir: sīrah wamanhaj (Kuwait: Dār al-Qalam, 1982), 100–103, 120. 56.  Ghazālī, Moderation in Belief, 229; Āmidī, Ghāyat al-marām, 309.

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and he masterfully synthesized them into a coherent exposition on the imamate without adhering strictly to any particular madhhab.57 Although Qurṭubī’s frequent citation of Juwaynī might suggest a ShāfiʿīAshʿarī leaning, he does not follow through completely with Juwaynī’s radical argument that Muslims should designate a non-Qurashī imam to manage the affairs of the community in the absence of qualified Qurashī candidates.58 Nevertheless, one should not neglect the influence of Juwaynī, which reflects wider intellectual and political concerns regarding the caliphate after the Mongols killed the last Abbasid caliph in Baghdad, al-Mustaʿṣim (d. 656/1258). While the Abbasid caliphate was reestablished in Cairo in 659/1261, the Abbasid caliphs thereafter acted as figureheads and puppets in the hands of the Mamluk sultans.59 But even if the Abbasid caliph’s role was largely ceremonial, he remained an important religio-political figure in the eyes of the religious scholars: the call for a restoration of a Qurashī caliph as de facto religious and political ruler in the Muslim world signifies adherence to the fundamental tenets of the Muslim tradition, in which the caliphate is the prerogative of Quraysh according to majority Sunni opinion.60 These postMongol political developments shed light on the appeal of Juwaynī’s politi57.  On Qurṭubī’s flexibility in utilizing arguments from different madhāhib to support his own opinions, despite leaning more towards Mālikī doctrines, see Zalaṭ, alQurṭubī, 344–357; al-Firt, al-Qurṭubī al-mufassir, 203–204. 58.  As with his views on the permissibility of two or more imams, one senses a change over time in Juwaynī’s argument for the dispensability of the Quraysh requirement, which is more explicitly stated in his Ghiyāth. He wavers more with regard to this issue in his earlier book al-Irshād: “One of its [i.e., the imamate’s] conditions, in the view of our associates, is that the imam be a member of the Quraysh […]. There is, however, some disagreement among the people over this and I personally believe there is room to construe the matter in different ways. Only God knows the truth for sure.” His view that a non-Qurashī imam should take the reins of power in the absence of a qualified Qurashī candidate is more forcefully expressed in the Ghiyāth. See Juwaynī, Guide to Conclusive Proofs, 235–236; Hallaq, “Caliphs, Jurists and the Saljūqs,” 38–41. 59.  P. M. Holt, “Some Observations on the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate of Cairo,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 47:3 (1984): 501–507. Considering that Qurṭubī moved eastward from Cordoba to Egypt in 633–634/1236 and stayed on thereafter, he must have been aware of political developments that were taking place in Cairo. 60.  Lutz Wiederhold, “Legal-Religious Elite, Temporal Authority, and the Caliphate in Mamluk Society: Conclusions Drawn from the Examination of a ‘Zahiri Revolt’ in Damascus in 1386,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 31:2 (1999): 202–235. On the Cairene Abbasid caliph’s religious authority and significance to the Mamluk establishment, see Mustafa Banister, “’Naught Remains to the Caliph but his Title’: Revisiting Abbasid Authority in Mamluk Cairo,” Mamluk Studies Review 18 (2014–2015): 219–245.

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cal thought to post-656/1258 jurists and theologians. By adopting Juwaynī’s political framework, the jurist or theologian “maintains the image of the caliphate, although the caliph may in fact be inept, while ensuring that another competent individual, whether he be the Seljuq vizier or the Mamluk sultan, executes the necessary duties of an imam.”61 The hierarchy of power in Juwaynī’s political theory also explains why Qurṭubī cites Juwaynī in his commentary on Q 2:30 instead of the fifth/eleventh-century Shāfiʿī jurist Abū’l-Ḥasan al-Māwardī (d. 458/1058), who wrote a well-known legal treatise on government, al-Aḥkām al-sulṭāniyyah and whose tafsīr was a key source for Qurṭubī’s commentaries.62 Post-Mongol treatments of the caliphate deserve more extensive research. But based on the above arguments about Qurṭubī’s ideas on the caliphate, it suffices to say, pace H. A. R. Gibb and Ann K.S. Lambton,63 that the Sunni discourse on the caliphate from Māwardī onwards acquired a resilience of its own. This resilience continued even after the historical caliphate was abolished in 656/1258. The inclusion of the discourse on the caliphate as a major part of Qurṭubī’s commentary on Q 2:30 and in Ibn Kathīr’s (d. 774/1373) commentary on the same verse a century later suggests that post-Mongol Sunni intellectual circles continued to engage in rigorous discussions about the caliphate.64

61.  Mona Hassan, Longing for the Lost Caliphate: A Transregional History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016), 110. 62.  For Māwardī’s tafsīr as a source for Qurṭubī’s tafsīr, see Zalaṭ, al-Qurṭubī, 130– 134. 63.  H. A. R. Gibb, “Al-Mawardi’s Theory of the Khilafah” (1937) in Stanford Shaw and William Polk (eds.), Studies on the Civilization of Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1962), 164; Lambton, State and Government, 145. 64.  ʿImād al-Dīn Ismāʿīl b. Kathīr, Tafsīr al-Qurʾān al-ʿaẓīm, ed. Muḥammad Anas Muṣṭafā al-Khinn (Beirut: Muʾassasat al-Risālah, 2000), 54.

“Deviant” Qur’anic Interpretation in Indonesia: Reading Lia Eden’s Defense of the Claim to Prophethood

AL MAKIN

This chapter explores commentaries on the Qur’ān by Lia Aminuddin, (b. 1947), known as Lia Eden. In 2000 Eden founded a religious group called the Salamullah, known as the Eden community. She declared herself a mahdī (Islam’s awaited messiah) who can save Indonesia, and a prophet who warns the people.1 Her claim to prophethood and the announcement of the new religion has led to public debates and controversy. The MUI (Council of Indonesian Ulama) issued a fatwā condemning her and branding her teachings as “deviant” (sesat). She responded that the MUI was attempting to dominate the truth and to promote its own political interest. In this chapter I focus on Lia Eden’s use of qur’anic verses to reinforce the legitimacy of her claim to prophethood. After presenting a short biography of Lia and her spiritual journey, I will turn to her Qur’ān commentary. Lia Eden Every epoch in Indonesia has produced new religious movements and leaders. Rebellions against the Dutch colonial government from the sixteenth to 1.  On Lia Eden, see further Al Makin, Challenging Islamic Orthodoxy: Accounts of Lia Eden and Other Prophets in Indonesia (Cinnaminson, NJ: Springer, 2016); trans. Al Makin, Nabi-Nabi Nusantara: Kisah Lia Eden dan Lainnya (Yogyakarta: Suka Press, 2017). 249

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twentieth centuries were mostly motivated by religious sentiments, from Sisingamangaraja (1849–1907) to Diponegoro (1785–1855). After the declaration of Indonesian independence in 1945, political and economic crises triggered new religious movements. The economic and political turmoil that led to the fall of the Suharto authoritarian regime continued that trend. In the aftermath of the 1998 reform movement,2 along with a new wave of democratization, and when, ironically, Islamic radicalism was on the rise, new religious movements found fertile ground. To save the nation from crisis, many people on different islands claimed to have received revelations from God. They established religious groups and attracted a number of followers. Lia Eden is an Indonesian housewife whose father was a preacher of the Muhammadiyah, the largest modernist Muslim organization, in Surabaya, East Java.3 She claims that the Archangel Gabriel has been whispering to her since 1997. The divine revelations take several forms, for example, books and hundreds of individual pages that she has posted online since 2003. In 2012 she ordered her followers to take these writings down.4 At first, the Salamullah delivered Islamic sermons that were open to anyone who wanted to join, while also providing therapy for the many clients who came and went in her house. Eventually, the group became more closed, limiting membership and asserting its own identity and rules based on the divine revelations that Lia claims to have received from Gabriel. In 2000 the community chose a site in Bogor for its rituals. However, due to a stricter rule, such as wearing only white robes and shaving hair, the number of her followers decreased. During the early stage of Eden group, some members observed shari‘ah and daily prayers, but eventually, based on Gabriel’s command to Lia, they abandoned Islamic teachings, and she was ordered by God to establish the Salamullah, which was to take its place alongside the six religions officially acknowledged by the government of Indonesia, namely, Islam, Protestantism, Catholicism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Confucianism.5 In 1997, the Archangel Gabriel identified himself to Lia as “Ḥabīb al-Hudā,” and Lia suspect-

2.  Indonesians call the period after the fall of Suharto in 1998 the “reform period” (era reformasi). 3.  Al Makin, “Pluralism versus Islamic Orthodoxy, the Indonesian Public Debate over the Case of Lia Aminuddin, the Founder of Salamullah Religious Cult,” in Thomas J. Conners (ed.), Social Justice and Rule of Law: Addressing the Growth of a Pluralist Indonesian Democracy (Tembalang, Semarang, Central Java, Indonesia; New Haven: Faculty of Social and Political Sciences, Diponegoro University; Yale Indonesia Forum, 2010), 187–206. 4.  Ibid., 20. 5.  Ibid., 65–84.

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ed he was a jinn.6 After a few years, however, she realized that her guide and teacher, whom she later married, was in fact the Archangel Gabriel. Gabriel came on special occasions, particularly when Lia needed advice on problems in her life. She memorized the divine words uttered by the Archangel and often recorded them in books. She then delivered them to her followers. When Gabriel began to visit here more frequently, she produced a large number of works based on Gabriel’s guidance. She regarded her works as a Holy Scripture. Lia’s goal is to write her own Scripture based on Gabriel’s revelation. Lia is a talented flower-arranger who appeared on national TV programs during the Suharto period and gained recognition for her artistic works.7 She is well-connected within the circles of Suharto, Megawati, and Abdurrahman Wahid, and she knows many high-ranking Indonesian politicians and national celebrities, including Akbar Tanjung, Jimly Ash-Shiddiqy, and W. S. Rendra. Her flower exhibitions inside and outside the country brought her into contact with individuals in the Islamic missionary domain, including famous Muslim preachers such as Zainuddin MZ, Nur Iskandar SQ , and Anton Medan. In cooperation with those three preachers, Lia established the Yayasan atTaibin (Foundation for Those Who Repent), which educates prisoners with the goal of giving them skills to prepare for life after jail. Eventually, however, Lia came into conflict with her three co-founders, and she was expelled from the Yayasan. Disappointed with the preachers, she spent several nights asking God for guidance. Although born in Makasar, Sulawesi, she grew up in Surabaya and went to high school in the city, but never graduated. She is familiar with, and knowledgeable about, qur’anic terms, and her allegiance to the Muhammadiyah is firm, as reflected in her books. For example, she often expresses her belief in tawḥīd, echoing Muḥammad Abduh’s influence on the second largest Muslim group in Indonesia, Muhammadiyah. She also talks about the great sins of the mushrikūn (those who associate God’s power with others). In many early messages to the Muslim community, she condemns the belief in many gods, myths, and sorcery. Her Knowledge of the Qur’ān I have interviewed Lia periodically since 2011. In these interviews, she has acknowledged that she does not read the Qur’ān in Arabic. Although all of her sisters learned Arabic as children, she did not. After she became well-known as a flower-arranger, she turned to spirituality. She became friends with an activist in the Muslim Student Association, Muḥammad Abdul Rachman, who 6.  Lia Aminuddin, Perkenankan Aku Menjelaskan Sebuah Taqdir (Jakarta: Yayasan Salamullah, 1998). 7.  Lia Aminuddin, Membuat dan Merangkai Bunga Kering (Jakarta: Gramedia, 1991).

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taught her Arabic so that she might read the Qur’ān. She also knows learned Muslims like Komaruddin Hidayat, Bambang Pranowo, Hidayat, Yeni, Nadir, and some MUI leaders, such as Ibrahim Hosen and Hasan. Abdul Rachman, a student at the department of philosophy and theology at the State Institute for Islamic Studies (IAIN) in Jakarta, was involved in many demonstrations against Suharto’s regime. He was well-connected with NGO activists. After 1998, he, like other IAIN students, often visited Lia in Jalan Mahoni in Senen, Jakarta. Rachman is familiar with the Qur’ān, kalām (theology), and Islamic and western philosophy. Many of his friends explained to me that he is a bright student with a critical mind. When Rachman met Lia, his life took a new turn. At first, he taught Lia to read Arabic, but soon their roles were reversed. Rachman was stunned by Lia’s ability to explain complex theological and philosophical concepts, despite her limited education. When Rachman tried to explain some Islamic concepts to Lia, the student gave more sophisticated answers. This convinced Rachman that Lia is not merely a housewife with a promising career in flower arrangement. She is indeed guided by Gabriel, who whispers to her. For Rachman, it is impossible that Lia, with her limited education, should understand philosophy and theology without the assistance of Gabriel. Rachman was one of the first to believe in Lia’s prophethood, and he played a critical role in the development of the Eden community. Rachman earned the title Imam Besar (Great Imām), and is recognized as a mahdī (messiah), and the reincarnation of the Prophet Muḥammad, whose task is to awaken and lead the Indonesian Islamic community to a new enlightenment. Lia’s knowledge of the Qur’ān and her interpretation of the Scripture is distinguished by the claim that Gabriel plays a critical role in the act of interpretation. From the beginning of her spiritual development she has given new interpretations to verses of the Qur’ān under Gabriel’s guidance. Her interpretation is of course different from conventional exegesis (tafsīr). The Qur’ān contains God’s words received by the Prophet Muḥammad from the Archangel Gabriel in the seventh century, whereas exegesis is an attempt by Muslims to grasp the meaning of the text. Exegetes attempt to contextualize the divine revelation in accordance with different times and spaces. Whereas the Qur’ān was revealed in a specific time and place, namely, the Arabian peninsula in the seventh century CE, exegesis has been produced in numerous cultures and contexts across Islamic history. It is hard to fathom the meaning of the Qur’ān in classical Arabic, even for contemporary Arab speakers, without the help of interpretation and translation. This applies even more to Muslims who live in Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, and America. Indonesian Muslims also need exegesis that explains the meaning of the qur’anic verses in the Indonesian context and culture. Lia’s tafsīr, like other Indonesian commentaries, is a product of the current Indonesian political, social, and economic crisis.

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Lia’s claim to prophethood and to be the mouthpiece of Gabriel means that her tafsīr is not generally accepted by Muslim ʿulamāʾ, and in 1998 the Council of Indonesian Ulama issued a fatwā branding her movement and teachings as a deviation from Islam. That act raised the question whether she should be allowed to continue to engage in tafsīr. Her supporters defend her right to pursue that activity by making a comparison with the Qur’ān’s relationship to the earlier Scriptures. Since the Qur’ān itself serves as an interpretation of earlier Scriptures and traditions (Jewish, Christian, Persian, Mesopotamian, and pre-Islamic Arab), it naturally must refer to those earlier Scriptures (the Zabūr, Tawrāh, and Injīl). Abdul Rachman, the Great Imām, argues that Jesus was persecuted for his bold claim to be a Messiah in accordance with the Jewish tradition; similarly, Muḥammad based his claim to prophethood on the Israelite tradition. The story of Lia Eden, Rachman asserts, is similar to that of Jesus, who was condemned by Jewish rabbis, and to that of Muḥammad, who was branded as a heretic by Jewish and Christian religious leaders. Thus, the Indonesian Muslim ʿulamāʾ who condemn Lia Eden’s prophethood are no better than those who opposed Jesus and Muḥammad.8 Deviant Status After the 1998 reform, several new religious movements that offered teachings different from those of Sunni Nahdlatul Ulama (NU) and the Muhammadiyah emerged in Indonesia.9 The MUI (Council of Indonesian Ulama), founded in 1975 during the New Order period to accommodate Muslim aspirations and the government’s political interest, often monitored Islamic teachings and the activities of Muslim groups, including that of Lia Eden. After 1998, the Sunni MUI gained momentum and branded many groups and their teachings as deviant. At first, they targeted the Ahmadiyah, whose mosques were destroyed by mobs in several provinces and whose followers were expelled from villages. Recently, the Shiʿis have faced a similar fate. In 2014, in Yogyakarta, Rausan Fikr, a foundation that focuses on Shiʿi philosophical and intellectual discussion, came under attack.10 In Sampang Madura, some Shiʿi families were expelled and their houses burnt. They still live in

8.  Muḥammad Abdul Rachman, Pembelaan, Pledoi dan Duplik (Jakarta: Komunitas Eden, 2006). 9.  See, for instance, Al Makin, Plurality, Religiosity, Patriotism: Critical Insights into Indonesia and Islam (Yogyakarta: Suka Press, 2017). 10.  Al Makin, “Homogenizing Indonesian Islam: Persecution of the Shia Group in Yogyakarta,” Studia Islamika: Indonesian Journal for Islamic Studies 24:1 (2017): 1–32.

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camps in Sidoarjo. Muslim minority groups in Indonesia face serious threats in an era when radicalism and conservatism are on the rise.11 Eden community sermons call on people to adhere to the truth of Islam. What distinguishes the Eden community from other groups is Lia’s healing therapy. Lia realizes that her spiritual experience with Gabriel goes against Islamic teachings, and for this reason, she has consulted with the MUI and asked for guidance. The MUI did not at first take the issue seriously. Subsequently, however, a son of one of Eden’s members wrote to the MUI reporting that Lia regularly claims to receive divine revelations from Gabriel during healing therapy and sermons. As the “heirs” of the Prophet and guardians of Islam, the MUI felt threatened. After a heated dialogue between Lia and other members of Salamullah, the MUI concluded that Gabriel never visited any human being after Muḥammad, the last Prophet and seal of all prophets. A fatwā issued in 1997 says: The belief or faith in angels, including Gabriel, must be based on [God’s] revelation [viz., the Qur’ān and the ḥadīth]. There is no single verse in the Qur’ān or ḥadīth that states that the Archangel Gabriel still performs God’s task to deliver teachings to mankind, or to deliver new or additional explanations to religious teaching that are already at our disposal. This is because God’s teachings have been completed. The claim of someone that she/he is guided by and receives spiritual teachings from the Archangel Gabriel contradicts the Qur’ān. Therefore, the claim should be seen as deviant and causing the deviation [of others].12

The MUI fatwā brands Lia and her claim to prophethood as heretical and deviant. The struggle between Lia and the MUI ended with the victory of the MUI and the arrest of Lia, who was brought to court and jailed twice, each time for two and a half years. According to the Indonesian criminal code (KUHP), Lia violated the 1965 blasphemy law, according to which anyone who insults a religion acknowledged by the government can be sentenced to five years in prison. Let us now turn to Lia’s interpretation of the Qur’ān.

11.  Makin, Challenging Islamic Orthodoxy, Accounts of Lia Eden and Other Prophets in Indonesia, 16–17. 12.  Majelis Ulama Indonesia (MUI), Himpunan Fatwa MUI Sejak 1975 (Jakarta: Erlangga, 2011), 59–70; MUI (Majelis Ulama Indonesia), “Fatwa Dewan Pimpinan MUI Tentang Malaikat Jibril Mendampingi Manusia,” Pub. L. No. 768/MUI/ XII/1997 (1997).

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Lia’s Qur’anic Interpretation In her refutation of the MUI fatwā, Lia Eden cited Q 50:41, “And listen on the day when the caller calls out from a place that is near.” This verse, she explains, refers to her and to her followers who entered the MUI office on July 9, 1999, seeking an explanation for the fatwā branding her as a heretic and deviant. Lia demanded that the MUI review the fatwā, arguing that it is not she who is deviant and opposed to God’s truth, but rather the MUI. Lia wrote: “The accusation against Lia Aminuddin and Salamullah has no basis or reasonable argument. The fatwā was issued and it has become a tool to oppose the mission of Salamullah and Lia Aminuddin, [who is] under the Archangel Gabriel’s guidance. The fatwā should be reviewed and reconsidered since it could be misused by other people.”13 Lia states that MUI never wanted to reconsider their fatwā against her and her group, and that they acted as if they were the only authority on Islam in Indonesia. Additionally, the MUI never fulfilled its promise to guide the Eden group. In Lia’s eyes, the MUI has “monopolized” the truth as if it were the only institution that determines who has the right faith. Lia asserts that “the fatwā is deemed as qaṭʿī (absolute) and perfect and the MUI have acted like police who scrutinize people’s beliefs and thoughts.”14 In addition to the MUI’s condemnation of Lia’s claim to be the Messiah, the messenger and prophet of God, and the disciple of Gabriel, the Council also rejected the claim that her son, Mukti Day, is a reincarnation of Jesus. For the MUI, all of Lia’s claims are irrational and deviant, and they warned Indonesians against following her mission. In response, the Eden community condemned the MUI as a closed institution. Lia stated that the MUI should be more open and should listen to the people whom it condemns, like herself. Lia believes in the coming of Jesus in the person of her son, Mukti, and she advocates the unity of Islam and Christianity. Her syncretic tone resonates with, and is a response to, the situation of several minorities in Indonesia. She writes, “The merger of Islam and Christianity is God’s command, which I am delivering now. Today it is not easy to encourage the two religious communities of God to unite, as the majority of the Indonesian population is Muslim. Persecution and the burning of churches would not have occurred if the majority [Muslims] had spread peace and compassion to all (raḥmatan li’l-ʿālamīn), particularly to minorities.”15 She believes that the resurrection of Jesus will take place in Indonesia and among Muslims.

13.  Lia Aminuddin, Lembaran Al-Hira, Fatwa Jibril Alaihissalam Versus Fatwa MUI (Jakarta: Yayasan Salamullah, 1999), 3. 14.  Ibid. 15.  Ibid., 7.

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In response to the MUI’s fatwā, Lia claimed that her words are divine revelation that contain only truth, like the Qur’ān and earlier Scriptures. Like the Prophet Muḥammad, she has received Gabriel’s guidance. Lia and her followers believe that she delivers divine revelation. Gabriel, through Lia, says: O MUI, look at Lia Aminuddin’s situation and her experience and Salamullah. All of these revelations are similar to those contained in the Injīl, and their meaning is contained in the Qur’ān. Are these messages in accordance with the Injīl and the Qur’ān? Why do you not look at them more deeply instead of insulting them. Indeed, my task is similar to what I did when I delivered the revelation of the Injīl to the prophet ʿĪsā long ago, when all monks, priests, and rabbis believed that truth belonged only to them.16

In her response to the fatwā, Lia claimed that she is under the guidance of Gabriel, to whom she attributes her understanding of the Qurʾān. This makes her qur’anic commentary different from conventional commentaries. Acting through Lia, Gabriel says: I, the Archangel Gabriel, the deliverer of divine revelation, say that I am the one who judges the MUI and its fatwās, all fatwās about Salamullah, and about political legitimacy…. I, the Archangel Gabriel, give my response to the decision made in the MUI’s fatwā number 768/MUI/XII/1997, which contains an opinion about Lia Aminduddin’s and Salamullah’s deviant status, decided in the council of the MUI’s leaders about Gabriel guiding human beings. According to the MUI’s conclusion, following an investigation and examination, Gabriel will never descend [to earth] again. However, according to Lia’s divine revelation, after the completion of the prophethood of Muḥammad, peace and blessing upon him, it is only God [not the MUI] who sends Gabriel whenever He wants to.17

It is clear that, for Lia, the MUI’s fatwā has no divine status, whereas her words and Gabriel’s are sacred, for they come directly from God. Lia urges Indonesians, and particularly the MUI, to consider this fact: “I am God’s messenger, who scrutinizes [people’s] sins and shirk. I am God’s messenger, who scrutinizes [people’s] mistakes and sins. I am God’s messenger who judges sins.” According to Lia, the MUI committed many mistakes in many of their fatwās: First was their declaration that a female cannot be president of Indonesia. Second, they branded many Muslim minority groups as deviants and apostates. These fatwās, according to Lia, are incorrect. Lia also reports Gabriel’s statement, “I am the Archangel Gabriel, who sees that the fatwās are not based on sound considerations, and are unfair and closed, immune from

16.  Ibid. 17.  Ibid., 8.

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review and criticism.” Lia concludes that there is gap between the fatwās and the truth brought by the Archangel Gabriel.”18 She cites Q 59:2: It is He who expelled the ones who disbelieved among the People of the Scripture from their homes at the first gathering. You did not think they would leave, and they thought that their fortresses would protect them from God; but [the decree of] God came upon them from where they had not expected, and He cast terror into their hearts [so] they destroyed their houses by their [own] hands and the hands of the Believers. So take warning, O people of vision.

According to Lia, it is the MUI that has gone astray. Lia and Gabriel serve as warners sent by God to the MUI because of the latter’s many mistakes and sins. Lia claims that members of the MUI hide in an ivory tower, ignoring the real issues faced by Indonesian society. Instead, the Council pursues its own interest in its fatwās, particularly by barring women from becoming leaders in politics and religion. Lia asks, “Why do you [MUI] not allow women to become leaders, when God shows you that women can become leaders? Does not God show you that He makes women victorious? Can you stop this when God wants women [to win]?”19 In 2004, some MUI ʿulamāʾ in East Java issued a fatwā against the presidency of Megawati Sukarnoputri, who, however, won the election. According to Lia, the MUI fatwā was against God’s will, since He eventually appointed Megawati as President of Indonesia in succession to Abdurrahman Wahid. With regard to the fatwā issued by the MUI on the heretical status of many groups, including Lia Eden’s, Gabriel says: O MUI, they [viz., the many minority groups] do not truly become apostates, as your fatwās say; neither do they become dissidents against God, as your fatwās say. Are they truly apostates and dissidents in the eyes of God, whereas God himself proclaims their victory [instead of being defeated by your fatwās]? Do not you see that God makes them victorious; why do not you see them [victorious]?20

The role of Lia as a prophetess and messenger of God is to warn about the destruction of the nation of Indonesia, just as Muḥammad warned the tribe of Quraysh. She cites Q 26:208: “And We did not destroy any city but that it had warners.” Lia’s claim that God may send an angel in the form of woman is supported by Q 17:40: “Then, has your Lord chosen you for [having] sons and taken from among the angel’s daughters? Indeed, you say a grave saying.” The gender issue is addressed again by Lia when she cites another verse that stresses the equality of sons and daughters, men and women, males 18.  Ibid., 9. 19.  Ibid., 11. 20.  Ibid.

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and females (Q 52:38–39). “Or have they a stairway [into the heaven] upon which they listen? Then let their listener produce a clear authority. Or has He daughters while you have sons?” For Lia, with or without the MUI fatwā, the Salamullah community is God’s promise for human salvation. Lia came to earth to deliver God’s messages and to judge what is wrong, particularly wrongs committed by the MUI. She is outspoken about the mixing of politics and religion by the MUI and other Muslim leaders. For Lia, this combination will lead to the destruction of the nation. By contrast, Lia promises paradise, not in the hereafter but on earth. She cites Q 50:31–32: “And Paradise will be brought near to the righteous, not far. [It will be said:] This is what you were promised—for every returner [to Allah] and keeper [of His covenant].” Lia and her followers have decorated her house in Jalan Mahoni with wall paintings, gardens with water fountains, ponds, fishes, bonsais, flowers, and other exotic plants—like paradise. They sing songs praising Gabriel and Lia and they promote good deeds. They fast regularly and frequently, and practice seclusion (iʿtikāf  ) and other rites. As an artist, Lia is skillful in making her house beautiful, comfortable, and artistic—like paradise on earth. The Archangel on Earth According to Lia, the MUI fatwā violates common sense because it condemns minority groups whose members are, in fact, innocent. On the one hand, both the government and majority Muslim society have persecuted these groups; on the other hand, the MUI is silent with regard to violations of human rights, oppression, and corruption. Lia writes: Is there any MUI fatwā dealing with all the violations of law during the reform era? Is there any fatwā dealing with discrimination [in the form of killing] related to race, ethnicity, and religion, or murder resulting from sorcery, ninja [a criminal gang with ninja dress] and other chaos in Banyuwangi, Ciamis Pangandaran, or ethnic conflicts in Pontianak, Sambas which involved cruelty and metaphysical belief ? Is there any fatwā dealing with the schisms in Islam due to political parties?21

Her interpretation of the Qur’ān is strengthened by her claim to be guided by Gabriel. She refers to Q 40:15: “[He is] the Exalted above [all] degrees, Owner of the Throne; He casts the spirit [of inspiration] by His command upon whom He wills of His servants to warn of the Day of Meeting.” According to Lia, God can send Gabriel to earth whenever He wants. At the 21.  Ibid., 18.

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present time, God has sent Lia Eden to warn Indonesians about the imminent Day of Judgment. Her arguments are also supported by Q 16:2: “He sends down the angels, with the spirit [of inspiration] of His command, upon whom He wills of His servants, [telling them], “Warn that there is no deity except Me; so fear Me.” Lia stresses the unity of God (tawḥīd), which she mentions in many places and on many occasions. She also cites Q 17:95 “Say, if there were upon the earth angels walking securely, We would have sent down to them from the heaven an angel [as a] messenger.” This verse supports Lia’s claim that an angel can be sent down to earth whenever God wants, without any limit of time and space. She also adduces Q 19:64: “[Gabriel said], ‘And we [angels] descend not except by the order of your Lord. To Him belongs that before us and that behind us and what is in between. And never is your Lord forgetful.’” On the basis of these verses, Lia concludes: It is clear that the Archangel Gabriel, peace be upon him, may possibly meet someone [on earth]. The Archangel, peace be upon him, often comes to human beings during the night of laylat al-qadr [literally, “night of power”] bringing a miracle, encircling the earth and finding those who are chosen by God to receive the divine power with which this night is infused.22 Laylat al-qadr was granted to many human beings, and to all of these the Archangel Gabriel comes to earth to bring revelation.23

In Lia’s eyes, Gabriel comes to earth frequently to communicate with chosen people, to whom he gives divine revelation. All forms of communications based on God’s generosity to human beings are waḥy (revelation), including shafāʿāt (intercession), and muʿjizāt (miracles). She also identifies some holy men and saints who received guidance from God through Gabriel, such as Shaykh ʿAbd al-Qādir Jaylānī, Jalāl al-Dīn al-Rūmī, Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, Shāfiʿī, Ibn Taymiyya, and nine saints in Java. Lia asks rhetorically: Who is the angel who is responsible for delivering [God’s] revelation? Is there any other angel who delivers revelation? All of these holy men and saints lived after the Prophet Muḥammad, peace be upon him. There is no angel who delivers revelation but Gabriel. There is no saint of God who receives God’s guidance from an angel other than from Gabriel himself, peace be upon him.24

22.  Muslims believe that the Qur’ān was first revealed on laylat al-qadar and they regard it as the holiest night of the year. 23.  Ibid., 21. 24.  Ibid., 22.

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The MUI argument that Gabriel never brings messages to women was rejected by Lia, who argues that Gabriel frequently comes to earth to meet women, such as the mystic Rabīʿa al-ʿAdawiyya, and Maryam, the mother of Jesus.25 Concluding Remarks Lia Eden is a Muslim woman who has been denounced as a heretic because of her innovative readings and interpretations of the Qur’ān. Her case teaches us that the Qur’ān can generate unpredictable meanings. Whereas Indonesian ʿulamāʾ use the Qur’ān to argue for the finality of the prophethood of Muḥammad, Lia Eden uses the Qur’ān to defend her claim that Gabriel whispers divine revelations to her and that Gabriel has never retired from his duty to deliver messages to humankind. Just as the Qur’ān legitimizes the prophethood of Muḥammad with reference to earlier Scriptures, Lia uses the Qur’ān to justify yet another prophethood. However, to read Lia Eden’s qur’anic commentary, one needs to consider the Indonesian context in which she interacts with the MUI, the symbol of Indonesian Islamic orthodoxy, but which she accuses of persecuting and prosecuting minority groups. Her messages not only offer a new interpretation of the Qur’ān, but also reflect what has happened in Indonesia during the economic and political crisis of the reform period. Lia’s qur’anic interpretation must be understood in this context. Lia uses the Qur’ān not merely to defend her position vis-à-vis the MUI fatwā but also to address the situation in Indonesia, where the rise of Islamic orthodoxy threatens minority rights and democratization. The Qur’ān remains open to anyone who wants to read and assign new meanings to it. Indeed, Scripture belongs to humankind regardless of religious affiliation and faith, not only to those who believe in the prophethood of the man through whom it was revealed in seventh-century Arabia.

25.  Ibid., 48.

Sufi Commentaries on the Qur’ān in Indonesia: The Poetry of Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī and Haji Hasan Mustapa

JAJANG A. ROHMANA

The history of Islam in Southeast Asia is closely connected to the transmission of Islamic intellectual networks in the Indonesian archipelago or Nusantara.1 These networks include both ʿulamāʾ or religious scholars and their writings.2 These writings and religious debates have played an important role in shaping Islamic transformations in the archipelago. Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī (fl. ca. 1600) and Haji Hasan Mustapa (d. 1930) are two writers who triggered important debates in the Malay and Sundanese traditions, respectively. In the seventeenth century, Ḥamzah was criticized as heterodox by Nūr al-Dīn al-Ranīrī (d. 1658).3 At the beginning of the twentieth century, Mustapa was 1.  Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ʿUlamāʾ in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 2004). 2.  Alexander Knysh, “Ibrāhīm al-Kūrānī (d. 1101/1690), an Apologist for ʿWaḥdat al-Wujūd,’” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society 5:1 (1995): 40. 3.  Syed Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas, The Mysticism of Hamzah Fansuri (Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya Press, 1970), 31–65; Syed Muhammad Naguib Al-Attas, “Raniri and the Wujudiyyah of 17th Century Acheh” (MA thesis, McGill University, 1962), 37–40; Syed Muhammad Al-Naquib Al-Attas, Comments on the Re-Examination of al-Raniri’s Hujjatu’l Siddiq: A Refutation (Kuala Lumpur: Muzium Negara Kuala Lumpur Malaysia, 1975), 9; Azyumardi Azra, The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia, 53–4; Abdollah Vakily, “Sufism, Power Politics, and Reform: Al-Ran261

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criticized as an eccentric religious scholar by Sayyid ʿUthman (d. 1914).4 Both Ḥamzah and Mustapa were accused of practicing deviant Sufism. Ḥamzah and Mustapa quote qur’anic verses in their writings. Ḥamzah, a pioneer of Malay syair (Arabic: shiʿr), rendered many quotes from the Qur’ān into Malay in his poetry and prose. Fifteen of his surviving poems contain poeticized forms of qur’anic verses. His three surviving prose works also give us a taste of his approach to translating the qur’anic text.5 Mustapa used the Qur’ān in his Sundanese poetry, which takes the form of metrical verse known as dangding or guguritan.6 Neither Hamzah nor Mustapa regarded these qur’anic verses as simple metaphors or symbols; both used Sufi commentaries to find the esoteric meaning of these verses.7 According to Keeler, Sufi commentaries were not intended to contradict or stand in place of literal readings of the Scripture; rather, they were a way of drawing out the inner meaning (bāṭin) of the text that springs from, and is informed by, the states, stations, and spiritual realities (ḥaqāʾiq) experienced by mystics.8 In this chapter I compare the commentaries of these two important figures in Indonesian Islam. Although they lived more than three centuries apart, both Ḥamzah and Mustapa contributed to developing the doctrine of unity of being (waḥdat al-wujūd), which emerged from heated debate; and both were regarded as the greatest poets in their respective regions. In their poetic compositions, both demonstrated interest in esotericism. Their writings are thus related to those of other Sufi commentators, such as al-Tustarī (d. 283/896), alSulamī (d. 283/896), al-Qushayrī (d. 465/1074), and al-Alūsī (d. 1270/1854).

iri’s Opposition to Hamzah Al-Fansuri’s Teaching Reconsidered,” Studia Islamika 4:1 (1997): 113–135. 4.  Ajip Rosidi, Haji Hasan Mustapa jeung Karya-karyana (Bandung: Pustaka, 1989), 88, 434; J.G. Nico Kaptein, Islam, Colonialism and the Modern Age in the Netherlands East Indies: A Biography of Sayyid ʿUthman (1822–1914) (Leiden: Brill, 2014), 191–192; idem, “Sayyid ʿUthman on the Legal Validity of Documentary Evidence,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 153:1 (1997): 85–102. 5.  Peter G. Riddell, “Variations on an Exegetical Theme: Tafsīr Foundations in the Malay World,” Studia Islamika 21:2 (2014): 264–265. 6.  Dangding is Sundanese verse that contains, inter alia, stories and descriptions of religious teachings. See Ma’mur Danasasmita, Wacana Bahasa dan Sastra Sunda Lama (Bandung: STSI Press, 2001), 171–172. 7.  Abdul Hadi W.M., Tasawuf Yang Tertindas: Kajian Hermeneutik Atas Karya-Karya Sastra Hamzah Fansuri (Jakarta: Paramadina, 2001), 219. 8.  Annabel Keeler, “Preface,” in Sahl b. ʿAbd Allāh al-Tustarī, Tafsīr al-Tustarī: Great Commentaries on the Holy Qur’ān, trans. Annabel Keeler and Ali Keeler (Amman: Royal Ahl al-Bayt Institute for Islamic Thought, 2011), xi.

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These Sufis used spiritual experience as a medium to open the meaning of the Qur’ān.9 Both Ḥamzah and Mustapa occupy a significant position in the Indonesian literary tradition. Ḥamzah is considered the greatest Sufi poet to write in Malay and his poems contributed to the development of the Malay literary tradition.10 Mustapa is regarded as one of the greatest poets to write in the Sundanese language, especially his metrical verses.11 For three years Mustapa served as Chief Penghulu (Hoofd Penghulu) of Kotaraja in Aceh, an area where Ḥamzah was once active. Mustapa was active in Dutch colonial policy on Aceh, as seen in his Malay-language work, Kashf al-sarāʾir fī ḥaqīqat Atjeh waFidr (Revealing the Secrets of the Essence of Aceh and Pidie), which includes fatwās (legal opinions) supporting Dutch colonial authority.12 After his return from Aceh, Mustapa wrote more than ten thousand mystical poems over the next three years after 1900,13 and he occupies an important position in the history of Islamic intellectual networking in the archipelago. Atmakusumah asserts that Mustapa was influenced by the mystical thought of al-Ranīrī.14 Rosidi disagrees, arguing that Mustapa’s views are similar to Ḥamzah’s, even though Mustapa mentioned Ḥamzah’s name less frequently than those of Ibn ʿArabī (d. 638/1240) and al-Ghazālī (d. 505/1111).15 I shall attempt to confirm Rosidi’s position regarding Mustapa by analyzing meeting points between Ḥamzah and Mustapa’s commentaries in the context of mainstream neo-Sufism in Indonesia. Several qur’anic quotations in their writings will be subjected to intertextual and semantic analysis. I also 9.  On the pioneers of Sufi tafsīr, see Gerhard Bowering, “A Textual and Analytic Study of the Tafsīr of Sahl Al-Tustarī” (PhD diss., McGill University, 1974), 24–59; Kristin Zahra Sands, Sufi Commentaries on The Qur’an in Classical Islam (London: Routledge, 2006), 67–79. 10.  A Hasjmy, “Hamzah Fansuri Sastrawan Sufi Terbesar Nusantara,” in L. K. Ara, Taufiq Ismail and K. S. Hasyim (eds.), Seulawah, Antologi Sastra Aceh Sekilas Sepintas (Jakarta: Nusantara Foundation, 1995), 487; W. M. Abdul Hadi, Hamzah Fansuri: Risalah Tasawuf dan Puisi-puisinya (Bandung: Mizan, 1995), 14; idem, Tasawuf Yang Tertindas, 15–16. 11.  Jajang Jahroni, “The Life and Mystical Thought of Haji Hasan Mustafa (1852–1930)” (MA thesis, Leiden University, 1999), 79. 12.  Mufti Ali, “A Study of Hasan Mustafa’s Fatwā: It Is Incumbent upon the Indonesian Muslims to be Loyal to the Dutch East Indies Government,” Journal of the Pakistan Historical Society 27:2 (2004): 91–122. 13.  Ajip Rosidi (ed.), Ensiklopedi Sunda, Alam, Budaya, dan Manusia (Jakarta: Pustaka Jaya, 2003), 263. 14.  Hasan Wahyu Atmakusumah, “Saliwat Ngeunaan Nuruddin Arraniri jeung Haji Hasan Mustapa,” Mangle 18 (1979): 704. 15.  Ajip Rosidi, Manusia Sunda (Bandung: Kiblat, 2009), 153.

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attempt to show how these authors use gnostic symbols drawn from mystical literature.16 The differences between Ḥamzah and Mustapa will be identified, particularly with regard to their Malay and Sundanese (respectively) language and cultural backgrounds. Sufi Commentaries in Indonesia Sufi tafsīr or commentary is often considered controversial because it involves “spiritual unveiling” (kashf  ).17 In the Ismāʻīlī tradition, this kind of tafsīr is called taʾwīl, although there are differences between taʾwīl and Sufi tafsīr.18 Sufi commentators attempt to draw out the inner meaning of the qur’anic text. Based on their spiritual experiences, Sufis explore the metaphysical dimensions of consciousness and existence.19 Sufi commentaries on verses of the Qur’ān are related to Sufi practices and ontological and psychological aspects of Sufism. These interpretations do not diverge from the literal meaning of the text. Rather, when interpreting the qur’anic text, Sufi commentators express their spiritual experiences.20 According to their critics, Sufi interpretations may be classified as theoretical (naẓarī) or allegorical (ishārī, fayḍī). By calling Sufi Qur’ān commentaries “naẓarī” or “ishārī,” orthodox scholars rule out any interpretations that may deviate from orthodoxy. Some orthodox scholars consider theoretical Sufi interpretations to be deviant because they attempt to manipulate the meaning of qur’anic verses on the basis of Sufi doctrines, theories, and philosophical arguments. Sufis believe, however, that their doctrines reflect the only true meaning of the Qur’ān.21 Both al-Dhahabī (d. 1978) and al-Qaṭṭān (d. 1999), for instance, mention Ibn ʿArabī as a theoretically oriented Sufi interpreter who used the doctrine of waḥdat al-wujūd (unity of existence) or wujūdiyyah in his Sufi commentary. This is different from ishārī or allegorical Sufi interpretations, which are characterized by spiritual exercises (riyāḍah rūḥāniyyah) 16.  Lutfi Abas, “Prolegomena to Haji Hasan Mustapa’s Mystical Cantos,” paper presented at a seminar in the Department of Malay Studies on October 6, 1996. 17.  Jamal J. Elias, “Sufi Tafsīr Reconsidered: Exploring the Development of a Genre,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 12 (2010): 44–45. 18.  Alan Godlas, “Sufism,” in Andrew Rippin (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to the Qur’ān (Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 350–351. 19.  Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Dhahabī, al-Tafsīr wa’l-mufassirūn (2 vols.; Cairo: Maktabat Wahbah, 2000), 2:250–306. 20.  Musharraf Maryam, “A Study on the Sufi Interpretation of Qur’ān and the Theory of Hermeneutic,” Al-Bayan 11:1 (2013): 43–45. 21.  Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr wa’l-mufassirūn, 2:251–252; Mannā’ Khalīl al-Qaṭṭān, Mabāḥith fī ʿulūm al-Qurʾān (Beirut: Muʾassasat al-risālah, 1976), 356–357.

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designed to reveal the meaning hidden within the Qur’ān. According to orthodox scholars, an allegorical Sufi interpretation must conform to the standard rules of tafsīr so that it will not deviate from the verses’ literal meaning.22 The idea that Sufi commentaries may be classified as theoretical or allegorical is not entirely correct. All Sufi commentators are unique. As commentaries emerge from the spiritual experiences of each mystic, it is difficult to define them rigidly.23 In interpreting the qur’anic text, Sufis dive to a deeper level to find esoteric meanings based on the mirror of mystical experience.24 Mirror meets mirror, and there is an exchange between an outer commentary (tafsīr) and an inner interpretation (taʾwīl). Orthodox scholars have their own exegetical methods to determine how inner interpretation corresponds with outer commentary. Ibn Qayyim (d. 751/1350), for instance, gives four requirements, which al-Dhahabī reduces to two: First, the validity of Sufi commentary is determined by its correspondence with both the oral and literal Arabic meanings; secondly, other qur’anic verses must support and strengthen the validity of the commentary.25 Sufi tafsīr in Indonesia has not attracted much scholarly attention. This is understandable because there has been little Sufi tafsīr in the country. Of the tafsīrs written before the twentieth century, only a few manifest Sufi tendencies. Sufi tafsīr tends to use qur’anic phrases found in the writings of mystics such as Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī, Shams al-Dīn al-Sumatrāʾī, Nūr al-Dīn alRanīrī, ʿAbd al-Raʾūf b. ʿAlī al-Jāwī al-Fanṣūrī al-Sinkīlī, Yūsuf al-Maqassarī, ʿAbd al-Ṣamad al-Palimbānī, and Muḥammad Arshad al-Banjārī. For example, Ḥamzah includes several qur’anic verses that can be found in Ibn ʿArabī’s writings and he integrates those verses into his prose and Malay syair. Although his writings are not qur’anic commentaries, as commonly understood, they evidence the presence of contemporary Sufi tafsīrs, as shown in the manuscript of an undated mystical interpretation, the Taṣdīq al-maʿārif of al-Daylamī (d. 589/1193), which is now held at the National Library in Jakarta.26 The tafsīr tradition in Indonesia before the twentieth century was dominated by Arabic linguistic and fiqh analysis. Some of these tafsīrs include quotations from classical Arabic tafsīrs, such as the works of al-Khāzin, 22.  Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr wa’l-mufassirūn, 2:261. 23.  Annemarie Schimmel, Mystical Dimensions of Islam (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1975), 4–5. 24.  Annabel Keeler, “Sufi Tafsīr as a Mirror: al-Qushayrī the Murshid in His Laṭāʾif al-ishārāt,” Journal of Qur’anic Studies 8:1 (2006): 1. 25.  Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr wa’l-mufassirūn, 2:265. 26.  A. H. Johns, “Qur’anic Exegesis in the Malay World: In Search of a Profile,” in Andrew Rippin (ed.), Approaches to the History of the Interpretation of the Qur’ān (Oxford: Clarendon, 1988), 260–265.

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al-Bayḍāwī, al-Baghawī, and others. The seventeenth-century Cambridge Manuscript (MS. Or. Ii.6.45) of Tafsīr sūrat al-kahf, for example, includes many quotations from the aforementioned tafsīrs, though Riddell has found signs of Sufi tafsīr in the manuscript. In his Tarjumān al-mustafīd, ʿAbd al-Raʾūf b. ʿAlī al-Jāwī al-Fanṣūrī al-Sinkilī (d. 1693) attempts to avoid any Sufi flavor and provides a word-for-word translation of the Qur’ān.27 Scholars contend that the Tarjumān relies extensively on the Tafsīr al-Jalālayn and, at the same, draws on al-Khāzin and al-Bayḍāwī.28 Another Indonesian scholar, Muḥammad alNawawī al-Bantanī (d. 1897), wrote a tafsīr entitled Marāḥ labīd li-kashf maʿnā’lQur’ān al-majīd or al-Tafsīr al-munīr. Like the Tarjumān, this tafsīr manifests a broader elaboration of the al-Jalālayn tradition. There is no evidence that al-Nawawī’s tafsīr follows the mystical traditions of Ibn ʿArabī or other Sufis.29 Recent studies on tafsīr in Indonesia have demonstrated that it is more difficult to find Sufi tafsīr than other kinds of tafsīr. Federspiel does not mention Sufi tafsīr in his survey.30 Thus, the mystical orientation of the commentaries by Ḥamzah and Mustapa is unique. In this chapter, I compare these two Sufi tafsīrs, one written in Malay, the other in Sundanese, to show how the Qur’ān has been adopted and adapted to meet the regional cultures of Indonesia. On Ḥamzah and Mustapa We do not know exactly when Ḥamzah was born or died.31 Apparently, he was born in Fansur, also known as Barus, a center of Islamic teaching on the west coast of Sumatra; and he lived in the early years of the reign of Sultan ʿAlāʾ al-Dīn Riʿāyat Shah (r. 997–1011/1589–1602). Ḥamzah probably died 27.  Riddell, “Variations on an Exegetical Theme,” 271, 275. 28.  R. Michael Feener, “Notes Towards the History of Qur’anic Exegesis in Southeast Asia,” Studia Islamika, 5:3 (1998), 55. 29.  Johns, “Qur’anic Exegesis in the Malay World,” 272. See also Mamat S. Burhanuddin, Hermeneutika al-Qur’an ala Pesantren: Analisis Terhadap Tafsīr Marah Labid Karya K.H. Nawawi Banten (Yogyakarta: UII Press, 2006); Didin Hafiduddin, “Tafsir al-Munir Karya Imam Muḥammad Nawawi Tanara,” in Ahmad Rifa’i Hasan (ed.), Warisan Intelektual Islam Indonesia (Bandung: Mizan, 1992). 30.  Howard M. Federspiel, Kajian al-Qur’an di Indonesia: Dari Mahmud Yunus hingga Quraish Shihab, trans. Tajul Arifin (Bandung: Mizan, 1996), 102–103. 31.  V. I. Braginsky, “Towards the Biography of Hamzah Fansuri: When Did Hamzah Live? Data from His Poems and Early European Accounts,” Archipel, 57 (1999), 135–75; Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, “La stéle funéraire de Hamzah Fansuri,” Archipel, 60 (2000), 3–24; V. I. Braginsky, “On the Copy of Hamzah Fansuri’s Epitaph Published by C. Guillot and L. Kalus,” Archipel 62 (2001): 21–33; Claude Guillot and Ludvik Kalus, “En résponse a Vladimir I. Braginsky,” Archipel 62 (2001): 34–38.

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before 1016/1607.32 He is known as a great religious scholar. He reportedly travelled to the Middle East to visit Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem, and Baghdad, where he joined the Qadiriyya Sufi order. He also travelled to Pahang, Kedah, and Java to spread his teachings. He mastered Arabic, Persian, and Urdu. His numerous religious treatises and works of prose and poetry contain many Sufi teachings. He was one of the most important mystics in the early years of Malay Islamisation, and a pioneer of Malay literature who influenced subsequent literary styles and themes in Indonesia. His writings have become extremely important in the Malay literary tradition.33 Ḥamzah produced three famous books: Asrār al-ʿārifīn (The Secrets of Gnostics), Sharāb al-ʿāshiqīn (The Drink of Lovers), also known as Zīnat al-muwaḥḥidīn (The Jewelry of Monotheists) and al-Muntahī (The Adept). In addition, he wrote thirty-two mystical poems using the Malay syair, the most important form of classical Malay poem. Ḥamzah’s poetry is marked by six characteristics: (1) the use of markers of authorship; (2) the inclusion of qur’anic and other quotations; (3) the inclusion of his name or nickname; (4) the inclusion of symbolic Sufi images; (5) a balance of diction, rhyme, and other poetic elements; and (6) the proportional combination of metaphysics, logic, and aesthetics.34 Mustapa spent three years (1892–1895) in Aceh, Ḥamzah’s birthplace. It is hardly surprising that his mystical teaching echoes that of Ḥamzah.35 Mustapa was raised in a family whose members studied in pesantrens or traditional Islamic boarding schools and he was familiar with Sundanese tradition and culture.36 He may have been inspired by Javanese mystical literature after studying in a pesantren.37 Like other Sufis, Mustapa emphasizes the mystery of God and His hiddenness, which can only be known through His creation. Mustapa lived with the Jawi community in Mecca, where he studied the 32.  Peter G. Riddell, Islam and the Malay-Indonesian World: Transmission and Responses (London: University of Hawaii Press, 2001), 104. 33.  Liaw Yock Fang, Sejarah Kesusasteraan Melayu Klasik (Jakarta: Obor Foundation, 1991), 380. 34.  Abdul Hadi W.M., “Jejak Sang Sufi: Hamzah Fansuri dan Syair-syair Tasawufnya,” paper presented at a public lecture series on “Islam dan Mistisisme Nusantara,” Salihara Theatre, July 21, 2012. 35.  Karel Steenbrink, “Qur’an Interpretations of Hamzah Fansuri (ca. 1600) and Hamka (1908–1982): A Comparison,” Studia Islamika 2:2 (1995), 84. 36.  Tini Kartini, Djulaeha and Wahyu Wibisana, Biografi dan Karya Pujangga Haji Hasan Mustapa (Jakarta: Pusat Pembinaan dan Pengembangan Bahasa Depdikbud Jakarta, 1985), 13. 37.  Ajip Rosidi, Ngalanglang Kasusastran Sunda (Jakarta: Pustaka Jaya, 1983), 56–57; Julian Millie, “Arriving at the Point of Departing: Recent Additions to the Hasan Mustapa Legacy,” Bijdragen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 170 (2014), 110–111.

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Islamic sciences with several ʿulamāʾ before travelling to Java with C. Snouck Hurgronje, an adviser to the Dutch colonial government. His departure for Mecca was almost prevented by K.F. Holle (d. 1896), a Dutch colonial adviser who held a negative view of pilgrims and pioneered the publication of many printed Sundanese books.38 Mustapa was appointed the chief government official responsible for Islamic affairs (Hoofd Penghulu) in Kotaraja Aceh, serving there for three years before moving to Bandung. Mustapa was close to Snouck and he was appointed as one of Snouck’s local informants who helped him to gain information on Islam and Muslims in the Dutch East Indies.39 As noted, he supported Dutch colonial policy.40 Mustapa’s position as one of the local elites in Priangan helped him to gain influence with the royal elite (menak) and, in turn, with colonial circles.41 In addition to his writings on Sundanese literature, Mustapa produced more than ten thousand verses of dangding under seventy titles, as well as dozens of prose books in which he discusses mystical teachings.42 His prose and mystical poetry cannot be separated from his career as a government official responsible for Islamic affairs, which gave him the opportunity to collect many Sufi manuscripts in Indonesia. Malay Syair and Sundanese Dangding Malay syair and the Sundanese dangding are both poetic forms used to express the Sufi experience. Both are marked by what Braginsky calls a literary sys-

38.  Mikihiro Moriyama, Semangat Baru: Kolonialisme, Budaya Cetak dan Kesastraan Sunda Abad ke-19, trans. Suryadi (Jakarta: KPG, 2005), 140; Haji Hasan Mustapa, Gendingan Dangding Sunda Birahi Katut Wirahmana Djilid A. (Bandung: Jajasan Kudjang, 1976), 61. 39.  Michael Francis Laffan, Islamic Nationhood and Colonial Indonesia: The Umma below the Winds (London: Routledge, 2003), 82–4; Jajat Burhanudin, Islamic Knowledge, Authority and Political Power, 104. 40.  Ali, “A Study of Hasan Mustafa’s Fatwā,” 91–122. 41.  Nina H. Lubis, Kehidupan Menak Priangan 1800–1942 (Bandung: Pusat Informasi Kebudayaan Sunda, 1998), 289. 42.  These include Balé Bandung (1925), Buku Pangapungan (Hadis Mi’raj) (1925, 1927, 1928), Buku Pusaka Kanaga Warna (undated), Buku Kasauran Panungtungan (1927?), Pamalatén (1925), Wawarian (undated), Aji Saka (2 volumes), Syéh Nurjaman (144 Patakonan jeung Jawabna) (undated), Sidrah Al-Muntaha (1928), Petikan Qur’ān Katut Adab Padikana (1937?), Gelaran Sasaka di Kaislaman (1937?), Istilah (1937?), Martabat Tujuh, Basa Kolot, Carita Rajaban Nepi Ka Puasa, Basa Lancaran, Verslag I–III, Gurinda Alam Karang Kembang, Injāz al-waʿd fī itfāʾ al-raʿd (7205). See Rosidi, Haji Hasan Mustapa jeung Karya-karyana, 493–499; Jahroni, “The Life and Mystical Thought of Haji Hasan Mustafa,” 79.

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tem of spiritual perfection (kamāl ).43 Ḥamzah’s syair and Mustapa’s dangding are high-quality poetry with powerful metaphors and beautiful sounds. Their poems include layers of associations and seem to flow naturally. These are not only works of literature but also meeting points between Sufi literary expression and inner feeling. The poetic effects of syair and dangding are best experienced when the poems are sung. However, the popularity of Malay syair and Sundanese dangding are threatened by modern poetry, short stories and novels. Ḥamzah and Mustapa use terms commonly found in Nusantara language and literature in their Sufi writings. Both express a spiritual experience similar to that found in the poetry of Arab and Persian Sufis such as al-Ḥallāj, Ibn ʿArabī, al-Saʿdī, Ibn Farīd, al-ʿAṭṭār, and Rūmī.44 Regrettably, few scholars have examined the creativity of Indonesian Sufi poets such as Ḥamzah and Mustapa. Schimmel, for example, ends her study on vernacular mystical poetry with Indian Sufi literature,45 classifying Southeast Asian mysticism as a simple epigone of Arab Sufi traditions.46 The structure of Ḥamzah’s syair and Mustapa’s dangding is remarkable. Ḥamzah arranges his syair in the form of a quatrain (rubāʿī or rubāʿiyāt) filled with precise symbolic images. The repetition of words creates an ecstatic atmosphere similar to that encountered in the short texts used in dhikr ceremonies. The influence of Persian Sufi literature is palpable in his poetry.47 Mustapa’s dangding has its own structural characteristics, including an unpredictable diction, a language game of similar sounds and rhymes, and a stanza structure that often uses a sampiran (similar to the first two lines of Malay pantun or epigrammatic quatrain with the rhyme scheme a-b-a-b).48 Ḥamzah declares that man must remember the first knowledge and the first time light was received. Whereas knowledge is primordial (see Q 7:172), light is related to the light of Muḥammad (Nūr Muḥammad). Ḥamzah cautions 43.  V. I. Braginsky, Yang Indah, Berfaedah dan Kamal: Sejarah Sastra Melayu dalam Abad 7–19, trans. Hersri Setiawan (Jakarta: INIS, 1998), 435. 44.  Annemarie Schimmel, As Through a Veil: Mystical Poetry in Islam (New York: Columbia University Press, 1982); P. J. Zoetmulder, Manunggaling Kawula Gusti, Pantheisme dan Monisme dalam Sastra Suluk Jawa, trans. Dick Hartoko (Jakarta: Gramedia Pustaka Utama, 1991); Moh. Ardani, Al-Qur’an dan Sufisme Mangkunegara IV (Yogyakarta: Dana Bhakti Wakaf, 1995). 45.  Schimmel, As Through a Veil, 135–169. 46.  Alfathri Adlin, “Haji Hasan Mustapa: Antara Tasawuf, Filsafat dan Teologi Simulakra,” paper presented at the Sawala Mesek Karya Haji Hasan Mustapa, Sunan Gunung Djati State Islamic University, Bandung (2009). 47.  Abdul Hadi W.M., “Hamzah Fansuri: Bapak Sastra dan Bahasa Melayu,” 28. 48.  Hawe Setiawan, “Dangding Mistis Haji Hasan Mustapa,” paper presented at a public lecture series on “Islam and Mysticism in Indonesia,” Salihara Theater, August 4, 2012.

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the reader about lust and champions the importance of fasting and prayer, both of which reflect the desire for authenticity in the depths of the existential ocean. Like Ḥamzah, Mustapa experiences spiritual realities. In his most famous poetry, Mustapa expresses his unity with God. He uses symbolic language to express his spiritual achievements, for example, “from existence to me, from whom to me, from the south to the north, from the east to the west, and from being to emptiness.”49 Additional similarities between Ḥamzah and Mustapa are found in their references to the Qur’ān. The Sufi Commentaries of Ḥamzah and Mustapa Ḥamzah and Mustapa use verses of the Qur’ān that have an esoteric and inner meaning. Both writers include qur’anic texts in their prose writings. Three of Ḥamzah’s works—al-Muntahī, Asrār al-ʿārifīn and Sharāb al-ʿāshiqīn— demonstrate his mystical interpretation of some qur’anic verses. As for Mustapa, he comments on the Qur’ān in his Sundanese prose work, entitled Qur’anul Adhimi Adji Wiwitan Qur’an Sutji. The following example shows how Ḥamzah and Mustapa explain the inner meaning of the Qur’ān:

)٤٥ :‫ش ٍء ُم ِحي ٌط (فصلت‬ ْ َ ‫أَ َل إِنَّ ُه ِبك ُِّل‬ A-lā innahū bi-kulli shayʾin muḥīṭ (Q 41:54) Indeed, He embraced all things.

‫ش ٌء‬ َّ ‫اس اتَّقُوا َربَّ ُك ْم إِ َّن َزلْ َزلَ َة‬ ُ ‫يَا أَيُّ َها ال َّن‬ ْ َ ‫السا َع ِة‬ )١:‫َع ِظي ٌم (الحج‬

Yā ayyuhā’l-nāsu ʿttaqū rabbakum inna zalzalata’l-sāʿati shayʿun ʿaẓīm (Q 22:1)

O mankind! Be wary of your Lord! Indeed, the quake of the hour is a terrible thing. Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī

Haji Hasan Mustapa

But if [the relationship is] compared with the sea and its waves, it is permissible—as the verse says…“The sea is the sea, as it was before, the new things are waves and rivers; Let not forms that resemble them veil you, for the shapes they form are but veils.” But [the waves] exist together with the eternal sea. As the hemistich

God Most Exalted says: “All mankind should be bashful, must understand, be obedient to God. The earthquake on the earth happens, does not hide. The earth quakes inward, into your inner heart; the shaking of the earth is in your body, and inward in your soul. The Qur’ān is derived from the

49.  Abdul Hadi W.M., “Jejak Persia dalam Sastra Melayu,” Media Syariah 15:1 (2013): 95–96.

Rohmana: Sufi Commentaries on the Qur’ān in Indonesia [says], “The sea is eternal: when it heaves, it is called “waves”—but in reality they are the sea, for sea and waves are one.” As God Most Exalted says: Waallāhu bi-kulli shayʾin muḥīṭ. That is: God embraces everything.50

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soul. It is said: The qur’anic verse on the shaking of the external body is the guidance of the inward tremors. The shaking of doomsday is an awesome event…”51

Ḥamzah uses Q 41:54 to express the unity of being between God and man. He does not put forward theoretical Sufi interpretations, but rather uses symbols to describe the theme of unity of being. His references to the sea and to waves bring to mind al-Sulamī (d. 412/1021), an Arab Sufi who used the sea as a symbol of enchantment and unity with the Divine, the mystery of being and man’s attempts to find God in His manifestation.52 By contrast, Mustapa emphasizes the inner meaning (bāṭin) of Q 22:1. He explains that the tremors of doomsday (al-zalzalah) are not merely literal, but also refer to the inner tremors of the heart. He regards the Qur’ān as guidance for the soul, and thus the verse on the shaking of the external body is a sign of internal turmoil.53 Both Ḥamzah and Mustapa probe the inner meaning of the Qur’ān. Like other Sufi commentators, they understand that the inner meaning of the Qur’ān (as opposed to its literal meaning) is unlimited. The exegetes recognize both an inner meaning (bāṭin) and literal meaning (ẓāhir) in the Qur’ān, as suggested by Q 4:78 and 47:24 and by the ḥadīth: “Every qur’anic verse has [both] a literal and an inner meaning.”54 The distinction between the literal and inner meaning in the Qur’ān resembles the distinction in the Christian patristic tradition between sensus literalis and sensus spiritualis or the allegorical, tropological-moral, and anagogical senses.55 According to Goldziher, the distinction in the Islamic tradition is influenced by Hellenist philosophy. Plato mentioned that the visible aspects of the universe are an extension of universal ideas. In addition to material-exoteric senses, there are also the esotericspiritual senses.56

50.  See Al-Attas, The Mysticism of Hamzah Fansuri, 330–331. 51.  Haji Hasan Mustapa, Qur’anul Adhimi Adji Wiwitan Qur’an Sutji (Bandung: n.p., 1920), 21. 52.  Musharraf, “A Study on the Sufi Interpretation of Qur’ān,” 42. 53.  See Mustapa, Qur’anul Adhimi Adji Wiwitan Qur’an Sutji, 36. 54.  Al-Dhahabī, Al-Tafsīr wa’l-Mufassirūn, 2:262. 55.  Bowering, “A Textual and Analytic Study of the Tafsīr of Sahl al-Tustarī,” 232. 56.  Ignaz Goldziher, Madhāhib al-tafsīr al-Islāmī, trans. ʿAbd al-Ḥalīm Najjār (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khanjī, 1955), 203–204.

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The distinction between literal and inner meaning is demonstrated by Ḥamzah and Mustapa in their commentaries on Q 2:156. Ḥamzah gives his comment in prose, while Mustapa gives his in poetry.

)٦٥١ :٢ ‫ال َِّذي َن إِذَا أَ َصابَتْ ُه ْم ُم ِصي َب ٌة قَالُوا إِنَّا لِلَّ ِه َوإِنَّا إِلَ ْي ِه َرا ِج ُعو َن (البقرة‬

Alladhīna idhā aṣābathum muṣībatun qālū innā li’llāhi wa-innā ilayhi rāji’ūn (Q 2:156)

Those who say, when afflicted with calamity: “To Allah we belong, and to Him we return.” Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī

Haji Hasan Mustapa

Since seeking gnosis, passionate love and attachment all pertain to the creaturely nature, when all these are absent in him, he is annihilated. Since his essence and his qualities are attributes of God, Glorious and Exalted, when he is annihilated, slavehood, like the wave, returns to the Sea. This is the meaning of “Return to his source!” (irjiʿ ilā aṣlihī); [and also the meaning of “Verily we are from God and surely to Him we will return”].57

Live alone in the realm of glory, Feeling rich, no praises, Fairly remember and long, For those who have died perfectly, “It is to Allah we belong, to Him is our return,” Return to the origin of self, The truth absolute, To sing a song at the Sipatahunan River. The glory of Sipatahunan, See water everywhere, No need to hear, it is sharp-sighted, With the same origin and return No need to see it nowadays, Be obedient, happy together, Without any problems, Like young women, beautiful teenagers, The princesses of the middle age, Unity of soul, annihilation in perfect existence.58

Ḥamzah believes that man will achieve knowledge of God when he has three qualities: gnosis (maʿrifah), yearning (ʿishq), and love (maḥabbah). If man does not have these qualities, he will never know God. Ḥamzah relates these three qualities to the Essence and Attributes of God, the source. The qualities that man needs to know God are like waves returning to the sea. This is the inner meaning of “to Allah we belong, to Him is our return.” Man must return to these qualities to know his own origin—God. Ḥamzah attempts to interpret

57.  See Al-Attas, The Mysticism of Hamzah Fansuri, 352, 470. 58.  Haji Hasan Mustapa, Sinom Wawarian (Bandung: Kiblat, 2009), 39.

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this qur’anic verse through his Sufi experience, emphasizing the unity of existence between God and man. Mustapa understands Q 2:156 as signifying the achievement of self-authenticity in the place of origin and the point of departing: “to Allah we belong, to Him is our return.” It is a long-awaited realm where Mustapa can sing the song he calls “Leuwi Sipatahunan,” a place near the river where the Sundanese people cultivate rice.59 Mustapa describes the realm of authenticity as a glorious place where water flows everywhere and man sees his own source. It is a place of happiness and peace, without disturbance. This state reflects a perfect man (insān kāmil ), like the perfection of a beautiful young woman. Man disappears into perfection. Both Ḥamzah and Mustapa were influenced by the culture and natural environment in which they lived. Ḥamzah links the nature of man to the original source with images of waves returning to the sea—perhaps invoking the coastal environment in Aceh. Mustapa uses the mountains as a symbol of a place where he returns to self-authenticity, invoking the flora and fauna in Priangan.60 The term leuwi (a big river) also signifies a birthplace, as in the Sundanese proverb: “A turtle returns to the river” (mangpengkeun kuya ka leuwi), that is, he returns to his birthplace.61 Symbols are an integral part of mystical spiritual expression.62 Sufis must reduce intense personal experience to the level of abstract thought.63 Symbols are an important literary tool for representing secrets in the path of God. Like Arab, Persian, and Indian Sufis, Ḥamzah and Mustapa use symbolic images drawn from their local culture. Ḥamzah uses symbolic images from both Arab and Persian Sufis and local Malay culture. He describes his spiritual experience by invoking grapes and wine, birds, fish, the sea, waves, boats, hills, mountain peaks, and torches. He uses images found in coastal Malay life, such as wood, camphor, and boats. Like Ḥamzah, Mustapa refers to mountains, tadpoles and frogs, musical

59.  Leuwi, which signifies a deep spot in a river where the current is weak (cf. Malay kedung), often forms part of a proper place name, such as Leuwi Liang, an estate in Buitenzorg (Bogor). Patahunan (from tahun, a year) signifies a yearly occupation, as in the yearly cultivation of rice. Jonathan Rigg, A Dictionary of the Sunda Language of Java (Batavia: Lange & Co., 1862), 252, 364. 60.  Rohmana, “Sundanese Sufi Literature and Local Islamic Identity,” 318. 61.  Dictionary Committee for the Sundanese Language and Literature Center, Kamus Umum Basa Sunda (Bandung: Tarate, 1985), 284. 62.  Omaima Abou al-Bakr, “The Symbolic Function of Metaphor in Medieval Sufi Poetry: The Case of Shushtari,” Alif: Journal of Comparative Poetics 12 (1992): 40. 63.  J. Spencer Trimingham, The Sufi Orders in Islam (Oxford: Clarendon, 1977), 138–139.

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instruments made of bamboo (angklung), palm sugar trees, fruit, eggs, chickens, seeds, and rice cleaned from the husk and bran.64 Ḥamzah highlights the continuous creation of the universe, which appears as a manifestation of the Essence of Absolute Being, from spiritual to physical. Like a seed that contains an entire tree, Absolute Being accommodates the entire universe. In His transcendent aspect (tanzīh), the unlimited sea of Absolute Being is plural in its manifestations of waves. The immanent aspect (tashbīh), the Essence of Absolute Being, cannot be separated from its manifestations; the sea and its waves are one in essence.65 Here Ḥamzah compares his spiritual experience to the sailing life of Malay culture. By contrast, Mustapa expresses his spiritual quest in terms of a mountain range. The spiritual quest is not easy, and much practice and patience are necessary. It is like the fate of a tadpole, only a few of which are successfully transformed into frogs. Similarly, only a determined “wayfarer” (sālik) can successfully transcend the realm of the ẓāhir into the stages of spirituality (maqāmāt) and reach the goal of union with Reality. The spiritual quest is described as a tadpole, maintaining waḥdat al-wujūd in a Sufi context.66 Neither Ḥamzah nor Mustapa offers a philosophical defense of waḥdat al-wujūd,67 although both were influenced by the doctrine. They consider the world or the universe as inseparable and absolutely dependent on God. However, they also take the world as existent, as absolutely co-eternal and coexisting with God. Ḥamzah and Mustapa also recognize Islamic Shari‘ah, as can be seen in their interpretation of Q 15:99.

)٩٩ :٥١ ‫َوا ْع ُب ْد َربَّ َك َحتَّى يَأْتِ َي َك الْ َي ِق ُني (الحجر‬

Waʿbud rabbaka ḥattā yaʾtiyaka’l-yaqīn (Q 15:99)

And serve your Lord until there comes unto you the hour that is certain Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī God ḥattā your you

the Exalted says: Waʿbud rabbaka yaʾtiyaka’l-yaqīn. That is: Serve Lord until there comes to certainty [viz., that which is

Haji Hasan Mustapa God the Exalted says: downhearted because the people. Hurry Purify your heart,

“I knew you were of the words of up, Muḥammad! praise God the

64.  Jajang A. Rohmana, “Makhṭūṭāṭ Kinantī [Tutur teu Kacatur Batur]: Taṣawwuf al-ʿālam al-Sundāwī ʿind al-Ḥajj Ḥasan Muṣṭafā (1852–1930),” Studia Islamika 20:2 (2013): 361. 65.  Braginsky, Yang Indah, Berfaedah dan Kamal, 452–453. 66.  Rohmana, “Sundanese Sufi Literature and Local Islamic Identity,” 317. 67.  Steenbrink, “Qur’ān Interpretations of Hamzah Fansuri,” 84.

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devoid of doubt]. This is the meaning Most Holy. Your God is served until you of “…worship the Name.”68 convince your heart.”69

Ḥamzah explains that serving God means reaching certainty. He glosses alyaqīn as the loss of doubt. Mustapa stresses the importance of conviction. Both emphasize the verse’s inner meaning, namely, the conviction of the heart. By contrast, other exegetes gloss al-yaqīn as death (al-mawt), while other Sufis gloss the term as gnosis (maʿrifah). Most traditional exegetes, like Ibn Kathīr (d. 774/1373), reject the gloss of al-yaqin as gnosis, arguing that such a view is foolish and heretical. Ibn Kathīr accused Sufis of believing that when they reach gnosis, they can invalidate all of their Shari‘ah obligations.70 However, Ḥamzah and Mustapa follow reconciliatory Sufi teachings, as taught by al-Ghazālī. The following commentaries support al-Ghazālī’s teaching:

Al-Raḥmān ʿalā’l-ʿarsh istawā (Q 20:5)

)٥ :‫ال َّر ْح َم ُن َع َل الْ َع ْر ِش ْاستَ َوى (طه‬

The most Gracious one is firmly established on the throne Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī

Haji Hasan Mustapa

Al-Raḥmān ʿalā’l-ʿarsh istawā. That is: The Compassionate One is established on the throne [of power]. Whosoever does not ponder this qur’anic verse is [immersed in] infidelity, for therein are many hidden indications. According to the people of the path, [the verse refers] to the Reality of all creatures—that is, [the Reality of all creatures] is established on the throne, although in fact the particularization of location is not applicable to God Most Exalted, even if such a particularization is made. Hence, majesty is attributed to Him because the sum of all existence is derived from His eternal mercy.71

Al-Raḥmān ʿalā’l-ʿarsh istawā. The exegetes have differing opinions on this. Some say that “God is established” refers to His mercy, others say His omnipotence, others His essence. Al-Ghazālī offers a view that differs from that of other exegetes, like al-Zamakhsharī. No one can come to a decision. In the end, al-Ghazālī says that al-Zamakhsharī is a Muʿtazilī who explained the phrase “God is established” as referring to His essence. In my opinion, of course, if we begin with a certain assumption, then our understanding will be shaped by that assumption. No one realizes that all people living in this world have different traditions and schools of thought.72

68.  Hamzah Fansuri, Asrār l-ʿārifīn, 239–259. 69.  Rosidi, Haji Hasan Mustapa jeung Karya-karyana, 405. 70.  Ibn Kathīr, Tafsīr al-Qurʾān al-ʿaẓīm (10 vols.; Riyaḍ: Dār ṭayyibah li’l-nashr wa’l-tawzīʿ, 1999), 4:554. 71.  Hamzah Fansuri, Asrār al-ʿārifīn, 263, 383. 72.  Rosidi, Haji Hasan Mustapa jeung Karya-karyana, 408.

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Ḥamzah understands the verse as allegorical, for which reason it must be given a clear explanation. Otherwise, the result would be deviation. Ḥamzah is well aware of some interpretations that deviate from orthodox Islamic teachings. He suggests that Q 20:5 refers to the predetermination of the universe on the throne. As for Mustapa, he places his commentary in the context of the polemic between al-Ghazālī and al-Zamakhsharī. He argues that a scholar’s theological and legal orientations often shape his understanding of the Qur’ān. Mustapa favors al-Ghazālī over al-Zamakhsharī because of the latter’s Muʿtazilī orientation. Sufi Commentaries in the Form of Poetry Ḥamzah and Mustapa integrate qur’anic verses into their poetry. They often quote the Qur’ān and Arabic words cleverly. Some verses were popular as metaphors or conceptual images.73 At least 1,200 Arabic words can be found in twenty-two of Ḥamzah’s Malay syair, where they are used to strengthen the poetry’s symbolic meaning.74 Unfortunately, we do not know how many Arabic quotations are found in Mustapa’s dangding. Mustapa closely follows more complex metrical rules— the sum of lines and syllables, the end vowel of each line, the nature of each meter, pedotan (inter-syllabic space)—whereas Malay syairs are usually characterized only by the sum of lines and the end vowel. However, in both syair and dangding, some qur’anic verses are cited to make a point. For instance, Ḥamzah quotes Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ to describe the existence of God as One in His first form. Like Ibn ʿArabī, Ḥamzah explains that God has no name or attribute in this first grade of emptiness, other than as God (tajrīd, mujarrad).75 He is the One and only (taqayyud). Therefore, “He begetteth not, nor is He begotten” (lam yalid wa-lam yūlad). He does not yet recognize form or reality. He does not undergo entification (giving existence to something), individualisation or self-determination. Ḥamzah writes that to achieve authenticity one does not unquestioningly accept the entification or empirical reality, which is the manifestation of God. Instead, one must follow God, not His manifestations, because those manifestations are a result of His emanations (tajallī) in reality. Authenticity must be sought in the Absolute Being of God, who has 73.  A. Teeuw, Indonesia Antara Kelisanan dan Keberaksaraan (Jakarta: Pustaka Jaya, 1994), 16. 74.  Abdul Hadi W.M., Tasawuf Yang Tertindas, 219–27; cf. Braginsky, Yang Indah, Berfaedah dan Kamal, 454. 75.  Ahmad Daudy, Allah and Human Being in the Conception of Syeikh Nuruddin Ar-Raniry (Jakarta: Puslitbang Lektur, Khazanah Keagamaan Badan Litbang, 2012), 81.

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no name and no attributes. Ḥamzah invokes the sea to describe the Absolute Being of God. The Absolute Being is one in essence, but His attributes and names are many and plural. This plurality of God’s external being refers to His manifestations or His self-disclosures in the reality of the universe. That is to say, the plurality of God’s external being is caused by the distinction between relations (nisbah) and visions of the universe in proportion to its preparedness.76 God is Eternal and never changing, though the forms and images derived from Him do change. Ḥamzah suggests that God is one (aḥad) and the kernel because He encompasses everything that depends on Him. The sea, waves, and other external manifestations of God are the husk or the empirical form that is constantly changing and readily apparent on the surface.77 God is He who begetteth not, nor is He begotten, and there is none like unto Him. The kernel of the One is God, while the reality derived from Him is the universe.78 To describe God’s immanence and transcendence (tashbīh and tanzīh) Ḥamzah uses the sea as a symbol of the kernel. Mustapa offers similar interpretation of tawḥīd in his poetry. He quotes Sūrat al-Ikhlāṣ to emphasize the doctrine of tawḥīd. In this poem, Mustapa probes the inner meaning of the sūrah. He dares to “count” the number of the One God’s essences in his heart, from his experiences. Mustapa fought against his own desires (hāwa) until the Prophet Muḥammad introduced him to the following teaching: “He is Allah, the one and only (tawḥīd). Tawḥīd is the culmination of glory. There is no dualism.” Mustapa experienced unity with God, arguing that God has no mother or father. He is the origin, the source of self. All of mankind’s problems arise when the plurality of God’s external being as well as His manifestations emerge in the reality of the universe, as in the plurality of humanity, which makes it difficult to reconcile the differences and conflicts relating to race and religion. Conclusion Ḥamzah and Mustapa are considered the greatest Sufi poets in Indonesia, and both express mystical experiences in their interpretations of the Qur’ān. Both creatively attempt to integrate qur’anic verses into their poems. Although they lived in different periods and spoke different languages, Ḥamzah 76.  Media Zainul Bahri, “Ibn ʿArabi and the Transcendental Unity of Religions,” Al-Jamiʿah 50:2 (2012): 461–483 at 464. 77.  William C. Chittick, “The Pluralistic Vision of Persian Sufi Poetry,” Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations 14:4 (2003): 423–428 at 425. 78.  Al-Attas, The Mysticism of Hamzah Fansuri, 31; Daudy, Allah and Human Being, 215.

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and Mustapa shared many things in common, including their controversial thoughts on waḥdat al-wujūd, their contributions to the development of Sufi literature in their respective areas, their Sufi expressions, which were influenced by local backgrounds, and their integration of qur’anic verses into Sufi poetry. Both Hamzah and Mustapa were clearly influenced by their cultural and literary backgrounds. Ḥamzah integrates verses of the Qur’ān into his syair by invoking images of the sea and coastal area in Aceh, whereas Mustapa, who was Sundanese, refers to the mountains of the Priangan. In their Sufi interpretations of the Qur’ān, Ḥamzah and Mustapa demonstrate that the development of Sufism and Sufi tafsīr in the Indonesian archipelago is related to local creativity, including the rich literary and cultural features. Both contributed to the development of literature and to the formation of an Islamic identity in the archipelago. Both were great men of letters, and their poetry affirmed the relation between Islam and Malay-Sundanese culture. Ḥamzah and Mustapa demonstrated a harmonious understanding of Islam and indigenous culture. I have also highlighted the distinctiveness of Sufi commentary in Indonesia, especially in Malay or Sundanese cultures. Often regarded as peripheral, Indonesian Islam is, in fact, rich in terms of Sufi commentaries of the Qur’ān. The Sufi tafsīr tradition in Indonesia should be seen as having the same position as the Arabic, Persian, or Indian traditions in the formation of a world narrative of Sufism and qur’anic commentaries.

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Subject Index Abbasids, 241, 246 Abraham (Ibrāhīm), 3, 90, 111, 243n44 Abū Bakr caliphate of, 16, 58, 109, 121, 158, 172, 239–241 opposition to, 122–123 role in compiling Qurʾān, 112, 114–116, 118, 124 Acts of the Apostles, 84, 87–93 aesthetics, 38, 41 Afghanistan, 194 Algeria, 205 ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib leadership of, 172, 239–240, 244 role in compiling Qur’ān, 16, 109–110, 113, 115–124 statement about women, 178 tafsīr of, 166 Allah. See God Amal, Taufik Adnan, 51–53 Amīn, Qāsim, 220–221 Aminuddin, Lia, 17, 249–260 Ankara, 206 anthropological approaches, 58 anti-Islam, 23 Antioch, 89–91 apologetic scholarship, 60 Arabia, 7, 27, 33–34, 36, 160, 252, 260 Arabic language classical, 265 in poetry, 276

in transnational Islam, 194, 208–209, 251–52 statistical analysis of, 128, 130, 142 translations of, 196 Arif, Syamsuddin, 54–55, 57 Armas, Adnin, 53–55, 57 asbāb al-nuzūl (occasions of revelation), 26–27, 157, 186–188, 207, 216 al-Ashʿarī, Abū Mūsā, 116 authority divine, 105 scriptural, 83–84, 92, 146, 157, clerical, 254–255 religious, 179, 238, 258 political, 247, 256 al-Aʿẓamī, Muḥammad Musṭafā, 53–55 Baghdad, 246, 267 al-Baghdādī, Abū Bakr, 233 Bahasa Indonesia, 51–52, 58 al-Bajalī, ʿAbd Allāh b. Muḥammad b. Ayyūb b. al-Ḍurays, 121 Bannister, Andrew, 16, 40, 126, 138–148 Barlas, Asma, 15, 166, 179 basmalah, 63 biblical scholarship, 12, 56–57, 81, 174 biblical traditions mentioned in the Qurʾān, 66, 72, 86, 240

305

306 biblical traditions, continued qurʾanic relationship to, 1–4, 11, 13, 28–29, 33–34, 37, 98–99, 253. See also Torah, Hebrew Bible, Gospel Bint al-Shāṭiʾ, 167, 171 Brunei, 208 Bukhārī, 100 Byzantine Empire, 180, 226 Cairo, 99, 203, 212–115, 246 caliphate. See khalīfah canonical variants, 29, 43. See also variant readings canonization, 4–6, 59 center-periphery relationship, 208–209 Chalcedonian Christians, 88 Christ, 87 Christianity eastern forms of, 33, 36, 88 influence upon Qurʾān, 3, 98, 110–111, 253 in relation to early Islamic community, 31, 33, 84, 86–88, 112, 154 leadership of, 16, 83–84, 92 mentioned in Qurʾān, 55, 66, 68–69, 72–74, 80, 86–88, 197 patristic tradition, 271 polemics, 3, 55 unity with Islam, 255 clerical authority, 83–84, 92 cognate stories, 105 Companions of the Prophet, 115–116, 118, 156, 166, 219, 239, 241 comparative analysis, 131, 133, 143–144, 194 concentric construction, 69, 71. See also ring composition contextualist approach, 151–159 Cordoba, 236 Corpus Coranicum, 5, 35, 36. See also critical edition critical edition, 29–30 Cuypers, Michel, 16, 39, 61–62, 81

N ew Trends in Qur’ānic Studies Damascus, 203–204 diachronic approach, 11–13 double movement theory, 6–7, 53 Eden, Lia. See Aminuddin, Lia education, 202–207 of women, 220–222, 225, 252 Egypt education in, 203–206, 209 Muslim women in, 220–222, 224 politics of, 208 qurʾanic studies in, 196, 199, 201, 236 Elijah, 98–99 eschatology, 40, 70, 73, 145–146 ethico-legal texts, 17, 152–153, 158, 161 ethics in hermeneutics, 182, 186 in Qurʾān, 15, 70, 155, 226 Islamic, 221–222 al-Farāhī, Ḥamīd al-Dīn, 165, 167, 170, 171 fatwā (legal opinion), 17, 249, 253–258, 260, 263 feminism, 222 fiqh (law), 157, 234–236, 245, 265 Fish, Stanley, 174–176, 185, 189, 191 folktales, 103 form criticism, 50 formulaic language, 139–143 Gabriel, 111–112, 250–258 gender, 176–180, 183–185, 189, 206, 257 gender oppositionality, 178–179, 184, 186, 190 genre, 38, 135–138, 144–148 genre analysis, 136, 145–146, 148 Gentiles, 88, 91 God (Allah) absolute being of, 276–277 as revealer or author of Qurʾān, 8, 102, 105, 158, 167, 216

Subject Index mystery of, 106, 267 oneness of, 56, 259, 277 unity between God and humans, 270–271, 273 Gospel comparison with Qurʾān, 84–85, 87, 92–93, 253, 256 in tafsīr, 172 mentioned in Qurʾān, 66, 72, 75–76, 90 ḥadīth authority of, 165, 254 collection of, 111, 120 criticism of, 240 in legal traditions, 182–183 in tafsīr, 9, 169, 199, 207, 271 intertextuality of, 11 study of, 50, 61n2, 206, 234, 236 Ḥafṣa, 115–116 Hamka (Haji Abdulmalik ibn Abdulkarim Amrullah), 49, 196, 202 Ḥamzah al-Fanṣūrī, 17, 261–278 Ḥawwā, Saʿīd, 201–202 headscarf/head-covering, 224–226, 230, 231. See also jilbāb, khimār heaven, 95 Hebrew Bible, 24–25, 28, 66, 72, 85–86, 90, 106, 108. See also biblical traditions hermeneutics, 15, 56–57, 58, 216 ḥijāb (veil), 211, 221–222 Hijaz, 153–154, 222, 230 Hijra, the (migration), 100 al-Hilālī, Sulaym b. Qays, 117–118 historical-critical method, 1, 15, 25–29, 58 holy person, 83, 92, 105, 259 Husaini, Adian, 56–57 Ibn ʿAbbās, 14, 166, 186, 188–189, 222, 238 Ibn Kathīr, 199, 247, 275

307 Ibn Masʿūd, ʿAbd Allāh, 113, 116, 223, 238 Ibn Shahrāshūb, 119, 122 Ibn Taymiyyah, 199, 205 iftāʾ, 211 imamate, 236, 238, 239–246 immortality, 98 India, 203, 226 Indonesia comparison with other Islamic nations, 206 Islam in, 16, 45–60, 205, 211, 213, 249 language of, 51–52, 58, 195–197, 208 literature of, 48, 261–267 minority groups in, 255–257 politics of, 257–258 qurʾanic scholarship in, 17, 49–60, 202, 207, 209–210 religious leadership in, 198, 228, 253–258 women in, 211, 224, 228, 231 Indonesian Institute of Islamic Studies (Institut Agama Islam Negeri [IAIN]), 47–48, 50, 53, 205, 212, 215, 252 International Qurʾanic Studies Association (IQSA), 1–2, 15–16, 18, 43 interpretive communities, 17, 156, 174–176, 185, 189–191 interreligious issues, 1, 4, 206 intertextuality, 11–12, 263, 276 intratextuality, 11–12, 164, 167, 170–172 inverted parallelism, 62, 64–65, 70. See also mirror construction Iran, 194, 199 Iraq, 32, 36 al-Iṣhfahānī, Abū Nuʿaym Aḥmad b. ʿAbd Allāh, 120 Iṣlāḥī, 171 islām (submission to tradition), 84 Islamicate world, 194, 206–207 Islamic expansion, 59

308 Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS), 151, 153, 161, 233, 238 isnād (chain of transmission), 14, 115 isnād-cum-matn method, 113, 124 Istanbul, 203 Jakarta, 47–50, 213, 252, 265 al-Jalālayn, 186, 189–190, 266 Java, 228, 257, 259, 267–268 Jerusalem, 89–91, 92–93, 267 Jesus Christian views of, 33, 85, 91, 93 Muslim views of, 253, 255–256, 260 qurʾanic references to, 3, 13, 16, 90 jihād, 238 jilbāb (headscarf/body garment), 17, 221n39, 222–231 Jordan, 200 Joseph (Yūsuf), 78–79 Joshua, 99–100, 240 journey/quest, 96, 103 Judaea, 89 Judaism communities, 33, 36 influence upon Qurʾān, 3, 98, 110, 253 in relation to early Islamic community, 84, 86–89, 154 law, 88, 90–93 leadership of, 16, 92 mentioned in Qurʾān, 55, 66–68, 69, 72–74, 80, 86, 197 parabiblical Jewish sources, 1, 98–99 polemics, 3 Kaʿba, 112 kalām (theology), 234–236, 245, 252 Keddie, Nikkie, 179–180 Khadīja, 111–112 khalīfah (caliph), 17, 27, 172, 233–247 khimār (head-covering), 221n39, 223–224 al-Khūʾī, Sayyid Abūʾl-Qāsim alMūsāwī, 110, 114

N ew Trends in Qur’ānic Studies law Jewish, 88, 90–93 Arabic, 92 Islamic, 152, 177, 180–184, 186, 245 see also Shariʿah lex talionis, 80 linguistic analysis, 125–127, 131–134, 148, 155, 158, 164 literary criticism, 1, 6–7, 38–41, 43, 51, 57, 136–137, 173 Lund, Nils Wilhelm, 74–80 madrasah, 199, 202–203. See also education mahdī (messiah), 249, 252–253, 255 Makin, Al, 58 Malay language, 261–267, 269, 273, 278 Malaysia, 208 Mamluks, 246–247 Maʾrifat, Muḥammad Hādī, 16, 110–113, 115, 117, 123 Mary, 13, 87, 90, 260 maṣlaḥah, 218–219, 242 mass media, 203, 207 matn (text) analysis, 115 Maududi, Abul Aʿla, 186, 189–191, 214 Mecca, 7, 31, 46, 154, 160, 180, 213, 267–268 Meccan phase, 13, 26, 27, 39, 137, 139–140, 142–145 Medina, 46, 68, 122, 154, 160, 180, 199, 267 Medinan phase, 13, 26, 27, 137, 139–140, 142–145 men, 187–190, 222, 227, 230, 241 micro-analysis, 38 Midrash, 85, 93 minority groups, 255–256, 258, 260 miracle, 97, 99, 146, 259 mirror construction, 69–70. See also inverted parallelism Mishna, 74 modernism, 193, 214, 218

Subject Index monotheism, 56, 79, 87, 89 morphemes, 126, 128–136, 139 Moses (Mūsā), 3, 16, 92, 95–108, 111–112, 240 Mosque of the Prophet, 118–119 mufassirūn (commentators), 9 Muḥammad biography (sīrah) of, 26–28, 31, 59, 183 community of, 69, 84, 86, 88, 217 cultural context of 3, 7, 153 death of, 27, 109, 116, 118–121, 123, 239 early exegetes on, 15 in Islamic poetry, 274, 277 judicial authority of, 68 life of, 36–37, 160, 216, 223, 253, 257, 259 preaching of, 142, 154, 166 prophethood of, 67–68, 80, 112, 254, 256, 260 reincarnation of, 252 revelation of, 23, 89, 111, 113–115, 146, 153, 158, 166, 183, 269 tracing lineage to, 212 wives of, 223–224, 227 muṣḥaf (codex), 16 Muslim Brotherhood, 201, 203 Mustapa, Haji Hasan, 17, 261–278 mysticism, 18, 262–273, 277 al-Nadīm, Muḥammad b., 119–120 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 201, 204, 214 Nasution, Harun, 46, 47, 50 nation states, 194, 198–203, 206–208 new religious movements, 250, 253 New Testament, 16, 24–25, 28, 66, 72, 78, 89. See also Gospel Noah, 90 oral transmission, 40, 138, 142, 210 Orientalism, 50–54 origins, Islamic, 27, 36, 42, 59 orthography, 42

309 Ottoman Empire, 195, 203 parabiblical literature, 1, 98–99 parallelism, 62, 69 patriarchy, 175–181, 184–186, 189–191, 221 Paul (early Christian), 89–90 People of the Book (ahl al-kitāb), 66–68, 72–73, 75–76, 80, 84 Peter (early Christian), 89 philology, 25, 50 pilgrimage (ḥajj), 77–78, 159, 238, 268 pillars of Islam, 159, 239 poetry, 143, 261–263, 268–269, 278 polemics anti-Jewish or Christian, 3–4, 85, 87 anti-Islamic, 16, 22–24, 28, 37 in the Qurʾān, 146 in response to scholarship, 46 monotheistic, 32 Sunni-Shiʿi, 245 polytheists (mushrikūn), 2, 4, 154 postmodernism, 156, 193 prayer (salāt), 159, 250, 270 pre-Islamic poetry, 143 priests, Christian, 83–84 psalms, 78 quantitative analysis, 16–17, 125–148 al-Qummī, ʿAlī b. Ibrāhīm, 120 Qurʾān as fixed and stable text, 182 as multigenred text, 135–139, 144–146 authorship of, 132–133, 138 chronology of, 127–128, 131–136 coherence of, 7–9, 12, 38, 43, 51, 132–133, 166 collection of, 5, 58, 110, 115, 118–21 historical context of, 2–4, 28–29, 31–32, 36–37, 40, 92, 152–154, 156 literary features of, 6–7, 38–39, 126–127, 146

310 Qurʾān, continued manuscripts of, 30, 34–35, 37, 42, 59 recitation of, 41, 237 origins of, 4–6, 25, 53, 59, 125, 157 revelation of, 25, 53, 113, 126, 137, 153, 156–158, 182, 227 transmission of, 26, 30, 40, 43, 123–124 used to justify an action, 254–258 Qurʾanism, 163–172 Quraysh, 241, 246, 257 al-Qurṭubī, Abū ʿAbd Allāh, 17, 233–247 Quṭb, Sayyid, 48, 201–202, 208 rabbinic literature, 98 rabbis, 83–87, 92, 253 Rahman, Fazlur, 6–7, 45, 48, 50, 53, 155, 168, 206 Ramadan, 201 rationality, 24–25, 215, 219, 239 reader response, 6–7, 173–174, 216 reading strategies, 175 reception theory, 173–174, 185, 210 reform movements in Islamic scholarship, 46–47, 60, 156 political, 221–222, 250–251, 253, 258, 260 religious, 212–215, 218 religious experience, 41 revelation and reason, 156–157, 215, 219, 239 of Muslims, 250–251, 256, 259–260 of Qurʾān, 25, 53, 113, 126, 137, 153, 156–158, 182, 227 revisionism, 51, 59 rhetoric, 62 Riḍā, Muḥammad Rashīd, 200, 208–209, 218–219 ring composition, 39, 62, 71 Sabians, 66, 69, 72–74, 80

N ew Trends in Qur’ānic Studies Sadeghi, Behnam, 126–138, 144, 147–148 al-Ṣādiq, Jaʿfar, 117, 122 Salafi Islam, 199, 205 Ṣanʿāʾ manuscripts, 5, 34, 42–43 Sasanian Empire, 180, 226 Satan, 96, 105–106 Saudi Arabia, 199, 205–206, 209 scriptural authority, 83–84, 92 secularism, 57, 214 self-referentiality, 11 Seljuqs, 241, 247 Semitic rhetorical analysis (SRA), 16, 61–62, 81 sexuality, 178–179 al-Shanqīṭī, 171, 172 Shariʿah, 156, 159, 183, 202–204, 250, 274–275 Shayba, ʿAbd Allāh b. Muḥammad b. Ibrāhīm b. Abī, 121 Shiʿi Islam, 16, 109–124, 166, 186, 236, 239–242, 245, 253 Shihab, Muḥammad Quraish, 17, 211–220, 225–231 sīrah (biography of Muḥammad), 26–28, 31, 59, 183 Sīrīn, Muḥammad b., 117, 121–122 Sirry, Mun’im, 53–54, 59 slavery, 101–102, 151, 153, 160–161, 224, 227, 229 sociological approach, 58 statistical analysis, 125–148 stylometry, 39, 127–130, 137–138, 144 succession crisis, 119, 123, 239 Sufism, 17, 205–206, 245, 261–278 suffering, 107–108 Sumatra, 266 Sundanese language, 261–267, 269–270, 273, 278 sunnah, 156, 169, 181, 183–184, 212, 231 Sunni Islam law, 181, 184, 207

Subject Index leadership, 119, 242–244, 246 political theology, 235–236 tafsīr, 186, 188, 208–209, 234 view of qurʾanic history, 109, 111, 114–117, 122–124 sūrahs (chapters) as coherent units, 8 linguistic features of, 128 literary features of, 38, 69, 146–147 order of, 16, 116–117, 209 read intratextually, 167, 170 read thematically, 9, 170 symmetry, 62, 69 synchronic approaches, 11–13, 62 syntagma, 71, 73 Syria, 36, 201, 203–206 Syriac literature, 93 al-Ṭabarī, Abū Ja ʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr, 104, 199, 235 Ṭabāṭabāʾī, Muḥammad Ḥusayn, 165, 167–171, 186, 189–191 tafsīr (exegesis) and asbāb al-nuzūl, 186 and hermeneutics, 56 and sīrah, 26 definition of, 6, 234 early, 13, 158, 233 influence of nation states upon, 199, 205–209 in Indonesia, 252, 265 legal, 245 modern methods of, 81 scholarship on, 13–15, 41, 45–46, 52, 211, 215 sociohistorical contexts of, 177 Sufi, 17–18, 264–266, 278 Sunni, 186, 188, 208–209, 234 tafsīr al-Qur’ān biʾl- Qur’ān (TQbQ), 10, 17, 32, 163–172 tafsīr mawḍūʿī (thematic interpretation), 9–10, 50 Talmud, 85, 93

311 text criticism, 51, 139, 157 textualist approach, 152–153 theodicy, 105–108 Torah, 66, 72, 75–76, 86, 172, 253. See also Hebrew Bible Turkey, 194, 198, 206, 208–210 Ubayy b. Kaʿb, 101, 113, 116 ʿulamāʾ, 202–205, 212–214, 243, 253, 257, 260, 268 ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, 109, 114–116, 119, 122, 158, 240–242 Umayyads, 5, 234 ʿUthmanic text, 5, 43, 120 Uthmān b. ʿAffān, 16, 58, 109, 114–116, 122–124, 241, 243 variant readings, 30, 42, 113, 170. See also canonical variants veil, 226, 228, 230–231. See also ḥijāb. vernacular translations, 195–97 Wahabism, 205 al-Wāḥidī, 186–187 Waraqa b. Nawfal, 111–112 water, 96, 100–101, 104–105 westernization, 48, 57 western philosophy, 252 western scholarship history of, 21–43 on Qurʾān, 137, 146, reception among Muslims, 16, 109, 209 relationship with Indonesian scholarship, 45–60 wisdom, 104–105, 107, 108 women dress of, 211, 220–231 education of, 220–222, 225, 252 leadership of, 241, 256–258 mentioned in Qurʾān, 160, 187–190 slavery of, 151, 153

312 women, continued traditional Muslim ideas about, 177–181, 244

N ew Trends in Qur’ānic Studies al-Zamakhsharī, 186, 188, 190, 276 Zarkasyi, Hamid Fahmy, 55, 57 Zayd b.Thābit, 114–116