Muhammad: Prophet for Our Time. Karen Armstrong

in the jahim—a strange word, usually translated “raging fire.” But the Qur’an was not preaching a crudely apocalyptic vision of hell. The passages describing the jahim are sad rather than angry. Later Muslim tradition would elaborate on the themes of Heaven, Hell, and Judgment, but the Qur’an remains reticent, its language characteristically elusive and mysterious. More crucially, it compels the listener to face up to the judgment in the immediate present. The day of reckoning was not merely a distant event; it was also a “moment of truth” here and now. The probing, intimate questioning and the use of the present tense obliged listeners to face up to the implications of their behavior on a daily basis. What would it be like to know that you had wasted your time on earth when it was too late to do anything about it? The Qur’an asks insistently: “Where are you going with your life?”¹⁸ Human beings were not inherently evil, but they were forgetful, all too eager to push these uncomfortable ideas to the back of their minds. So they needed a constant reminder (dhikr).¹⁹ “Remind them,” God urged Muhammad, “All you can do is be a reminder.”²⁰

      People must, therefore, become self-aware, conscious of what they are doing. They must cultivate the virtue of taqwa’ a word that is sometimes translated “fear” but is better rendered “mindfulness.” They must be continually on their guard against selfishness, greed, and arrogance. Instead of frightening themselves with the fear of hell, they should meditate on the signs (ayat) of God’s generosity in the natural world and imitate his benevolence:

      Look at the camel and how it is created

      Look at the sky and how it is raised

      Look at the mountains and how they are set

      Look at the earth and how it is spread.²⁰

      The entire cosmos was a veil, which hid the presence of its Creator. The succession of day and night, sun and moon, the life-giving rains, and the marvellous construction of the human being were all signs of God’s presence. By contemplating these signs in a sustained and disciplined manner, they would become aware of the inexpressible reality behind them and be filled with gratitude.

      At present the Quraysh despised the weak; they believed that failure and poverty revealed an inherent lack of nobility, so they felt no obligation towards the poor, the orphan, or the widow. But if they understood their dependence upon Allah at every moment of their lives, they would appreciate their own frailty, and their arrogance would be tempered by awe and wonder. They would lay aside their haughty self-reliance and their proudly cultivated refusal to bow to any creature, human or divine. Muhammad wanted every man, woman, and child in Mecca to develop within themselves the humble thankfulness that should characterize the human condition.

      Muhammad was not content simply to work for social reform; he believed that without an interior transformation, a purely political program would be superficial. To effect this, he taught his little group the ritual actions that would enable them to cultivate this new attitude. First, they would meet for prayer (salat): their devout prostration would be a daily reminder of their true condition. Salat interrupted their ordinary business and helped them to remember that Allah was their first priority. It was very difficult for men and women schooled in the muruwah ethos to grovel like slaves, and many of the Quraysh were offended by this abject posture. But the physical routine of salat symbolized the surrender (islam) of their entire being to Allah. It taught their bodies at a level deeper than the rational to lay aside the self-regarding impulse to prance and preen arrogantly. A muslim was a man or a woman who had made this act of submission and was proud to be God’s slave.

      Second, members of the Muslim community (ummah) were required to give a proportion of their income in alms to the poor. This “pure offering” (zakat) took the egotism out of the traditional Bedouin generosity; instead of exhibiting their reckless, excessive liberality, they made a regular, undramatic contribution to the weaker members of the tribe. The new karim was no longer a person who gave away his entire fortune in a single night, but one who tirelessly practiced the “works of justice.” At this stage, the new faith was called tazakka (“purification”).²¹ By looking after the poor and needy, freeing slaves, performing small acts of kindness on a daily, hourly basis, the Muslims learned to cloak themselves in the virtue of compassion and would gradually acquire a responsible, caring spirit, which imitated the generosity of Allah himself. If they persevered, they would purge their hearts of pride and selfishness and achieve a spiritual refinement.

      For three years, Muhammad kept a low profile, preaching only to carefully selected people, but somewhat to his dismay, in 615 Allah instructed him to deliver his message to the whole clan of Hashim.²² “The task is beyond my strength,” he told ’Ali, but he went ahead and invited forty elders to a frugal meal. The meagre fare was a message in itself; there was to be no more excessive hospitality.²³ Luxury was not simply a waste of money but ingratitude, a thankless squandering of Allah’s precious bounty. When the elders arrived, they were nonplussed when ’Ali served them a simple leg of mutton and a cup of milk. When he told the story later, ’Ali made it sound like Jesus’ miracle of the loaves and fishes: even though there was scarcely enough for one person, everybody ate his fill. After the meal, Muhammad rose to address the gathering, told them about his revelations, and started to expound the principles of his religion of islam, but Abu Lahab, Abu Talib’s half-brother, rudely interrupted him: “He’s put a spell on you!” he cried, and the meeting broke up in disorder. Muhammad had to invite them back the following day and this time he managed to finish his presentation: “O sons of ‘Abd al-Muttalib, I know of no Arab who has come to his people with a nobler message than mine.” He concluded, “God has ordered me to call you to Him. So which of you will cooperate with me in this venture, as my brother, my executor, and my successor?”

      There was an awkward silence, and the elders looked at one another in embarrassment. They could all remember Muhammad as a little boy, living on the charity of his relatives. How dared he claim to be the prophet of Allah? Even Muhammad’s cousin Ja’far and his adopted son Zayd were reluctant to speak, but finally ‘Ali, a gawky thirteen year old, could bear it no longer: “O prophet of God,” he cried, “I will be your helper in this matter!” Muhammad laid his hand tenderly on the boy’s neck: “This is my brother, my executor, and my successor among you,” he said. “Hearken to him and obey him.” This was too much. The spell was broken and the elders burst out laughing. “He’s ordered you to listen to your son and obey him!” they cried derisively to Abu Talib as they stormed out of the house.²⁴

      Undeterred by this humiliating failure, Muhammad continued to preach more widely in the city, but with very little success. Nobody criticized his social message. They knew that muruwah required them to share their wealth with the poorer members of the tribe; it was one thing to be selfish and greedy, but quite another to defend these attitudes. Most people objected to the day of reckoning. This, they argued, was simply an old wives’ tale. How could bodies that had rotted away in the earth come to life again? Was Muhammad seriously suggesting that their venerable ancestors would rise from their graves to “stand before the lord of all beings”?²⁵ The Qur’an replied that nobody could prove that there was no life after death, and that if Allah could create a human being out of a tiny drop of semen, he could easily resurrect a dead body.²⁶