I
In the 1890s Richard Moulton, author
of The Literary Study of the Bible, was able to justify the need for his work by
pointing out that ‘Literature’, as opposed to ‘literatures’ – Greek, Hebrew, and
German – ‘is a separate entity’ which, with its ‘foundation forms … such as
Epic, Lyric, Dramatic,’ deserves to be studied in its own right, and that such a
study would break new ground (iv-v). And in 1987 Robert Alter and Frank Kermode,
editors of The Literary Guide to the Bible, spoke with satisfaction of the
proven effectiveness of the literary approach to the Bible (2), adding that
there is ‘a need, felt by clerical and secular students alike, to achieve a new
accommodation with the Bible as it is, which is to say, as literature of high
importance and power’ (4). The Qur’ān, like the Bible, is an acknowledged
literary masterpiece. But, unfortunately, it has not yet received the kind of
attention Moulton speaks of with reference to the Bible. And it will probably
not be in the near future that one will be able to speak, as on the literary
front regarding the Qur’ān. But, one might ask, does there not exist, at least
in Arabic, a large number of works dealing with the literary qualities of the
Qur’ān? Such works certainly exist. But most of them are, in respect of their
orientation, premises, and structure, works of theology rather than of literary
criticism, a typical example being The Inimitability of the Qur’ān by the
medieval scholar Abū Bakr Bāqillānī (950-1013). This being the case, studying
the Qur’ān as literature – and purely as literature – is not unlike setting foot
on new territory.
A meaningful literary study of a
discourse assumes that the discourse possesses a certain degree of unity and
coherence. The Qur’ān is divided into 114 chapters (Arabic: sūrahs), the obvious
major units of the scripture. The chapters are of varying lengths, from three
verses to 286. That these units possess any unity or coherence is a notion
foreign to most of the traditional Muslim scholars, to whom each sūrah is
composed of so many isolated verses or passages. This atomistic view of the Qur’ān, for which there are historical reasons, has been a great impediment to
a study of the Qur’ān as literature. In traditional works, the Qur’ān is made
out to be somewhat like the epitaph on the tomb of Midas the Phrygian: ‘[I]t
makes no difference,’ as Socrates explains to Phaedrus, ‘what order the lines
come in’ (264c). This is not to disparage those works, for they have much to
offer, and they must always serve as a starting point for the literary study of
the Qur’ān. It is nevertheless true that the assumption of disjointedness has
veiled much of the Qur’ān’s literary excellence from view. An important way in
which twentieth-century Qur’ān exegesis differs from classical exegesis is that
many Muslim scholars today regard the Qur’ān as possessing significant
coherence. This development, which cannot be discussed here, makes a systematic
literary study of the Qur’ān both possible and imperative. Such a study, if
carried out with a properly developed methodology, will for all practical
purposes be new in character.
A systematic literary study of the
Qur’ān should be conducted in accordance with the principles of literary
criticism and independently of theological considerations. The issue of the
relationship between the theological and the literary aspects of a scripture is
a difficult one. The two aspects are linked, but not integrally, which makes it
possible, or even desirable, to study them independently of each other. That
they are linked is obvious from the fact that the Qur’ān makes use of literary
techniques and devices to present its message: it tells stories, cites parables,
uses figures of speech, and draws character sketches, for example. That they are
not linked integrally needs a little explanation.
The Qur’ān claims to be inimitable and
challenges its opponents to produce a work like it (e.g. 2:23; 11:13; 17:88;
52:33-34). The inimitability later came to be constructed essentially in
literary terms, and the theologians made belief in the matchlessness of the
Qur’ān part of a Muslim’s faith. In its historical exposition, the doctrine of
inimitability made the literary study of the Qur’ān a handmaiden to the
theological aspect of the scripture. But the doctrine overlooks a crucial fact.
The Qur’ānic challenge was addressed not to the believers but to the
unbelievers, and was not simply denunciation of the unbelievers, but constituted
an invitation to them to carefully examine the
Qur’ān and see if it
could have been, as they
claimed it was, the product
of the mind of a man
possessed.
Irrespective of what conclusion
one reaches on the question of the
Qur’ān’s origins, one must agree that the
underlying
assumption of the challenge
was that the
merit and beauty of the Qur’ān could be
appreciated even by those outside the fold of the faith. And if that is the
case, then it would be possible to dissociate the
literary study of the
Qur’ān from the theological study of it.
For certain purposes it may even
be necessary
to effect such a
dissociation. Perhaps a basic difference between a literary
and a theological-legal
approach to scripture
is that the former looks for
continuities, the latter for discontinuities, in
the text. Under the
assumption of continuity, one looks for links and
connections between verses and passages, and only upon failing to find any does
one concede that the text is discontinuous. But a
typical Muslim theologian
or lawyer searches for theological or legal content
in the Qur’ān, and, as soon as
he find such content,
focuses on it, often in disregard of the context. But in so doing he runs the
risk of making serious errors of interpretation. Consider
56:77-80:
This is a noble Qur’ān, [which originates] in a hidden [or well-protected]
book, [and which] no one but the pure touch, [and which is] a revelation from
the Lord of the universe.
Taken in context,
these
verses draw a distinction between the revelation
of a prophet and the
inspiration of a soothsayer. The Arabs believed
that the soothsayers had control over
genies (Arabic: jinn) who brought them reports
from the heavens, and one of the charges
against Muhammad (sws) was that he was a soothsayer
pretending to be a
prophet. The Qur’ān here is saying that Muhammad’s
revelation, unlike the soothsayers’ inspiration,
is authentic. It makes two points, not at all unfamiliar to a student of the
Qur’ān: (1) that the
Qur’ān originates in a well-guarded
book (in 43:4 and
elsewhere called ‘The Mother Book’) that is with
God – the implication being that
the Qur’ān has an
unimpeachable
source; (2) that it is angels,
‘the pure ones,’ who bring down the Qur’ān– the
implication being that the medium
through which the revelation
is conveyed to Muhammad is an additional guarantee of the
unadulterated nature of the revelation. The
soothsayers’ inspiration, on the other
hand, is neither pure of origin nor secure against
tampering by the wicked genies. The conclusion
is obvious: Muhammad’s revelation is from God. This is the
internal logic of the verses. But legal scholars
offer a different interpretation. They single out the verse (80),
‘None but the pure touch it,’ disregard the immediate and wider contexts, and
interpret ‘the pure’ to mean ‘those who are
ritually pure,’ thus making the verse mean that
only a person in a state of ritual purity may
touch the Qur’ān. If asked what relationship verse 80
would bear to those preceding and following it, they would have no answer, but
that is the least of their worries: the verse speaks of ‘purity,’ and that is
sufficient warrant to write scores of pages in books of law expounding the need
to he ritually pure before touching the Qur’ān.
This may be an extreme example of the ‘manhandling’ of scripture by
legalistically-minded scholars, but the point is
clear; looking for continuity rather than discontinuity
in the text could prevent some unwarranted interpretations.
Moulton is right
when he says: ‘Historic and literary
study are equal in
importance; but for priority
in order of time the literary treatment
has the first claim’
(viii-ix). For, as he adds, the
text of scripture ‘cannot
be truly interpreted
until it has been
read in the light of its exact
literary structure’ (ix).
What should one expect to find in
the Qur’ān by way of ‘literature’?
A brief comparison with the Bible seems inevitable. Because
the Qur’ān is composed of Muhammad’s revelations only and the period
of the compilation
of the Qur’ān is rather short, the Qur’ān does not possess
the literary variety
of the Bible. There are, for example, no folk songs in the Qur’ān, no elegies
and lamentations, no prophetic rhapsodies, no
idyllic poems, and certainly no acrostic. On the other hand, the Qur’ān
possesses a rich literary repertoire of its own. Besides making a masterful use
of language on the level of words and phrases, it contains figures of speech,
satire, and irony; employs a variety of narrative and dramatic
techniques; and presents characters that, is spite of the sparse personal detail
provided about them, come across as vivid figures. For those who can read the
Qur’ān in Arabic, the all-pervading rhythm which, in conjunction with the
sustained use of what may be called rhymed prose, creates in many sūrahs a
spellbinding effect that is impossible to reproduce. There is the characteristic
terseness of the Qur’ānic language which makes for some complex constructions,
but which is difficult to convey in English without being awkward. The existing
translations of the Qur’ān impose a further limitation, for they fall so far
short of the highly nuanced original that a
detailed study of the Qur’ānic language and style on their basis is well-nigh
impossible.
The Qur’ān dealt with a variety of subjects over a period
of more than two decades. It is natural that it should come to have considerable
stylistic variety. Still, in a certain sense, the Qur’ān is marked by a unity of
content and style that admits of taking a synchronic approach, especially in a
study like the present. First, historically as well as theologically, the
Qur’ānic revelation was mediated through a single individual, Muhammad (sws).
Second, it is generally agreed that the compilation of the Qur’ānic text was
finished, or nearly finished, in a short period of time — within Muhammad’s
lifetime, according to some authorities. On these two counts, the Qur’ān comes
to possess a unity that would justify taking the Qur’ān in its finished form as
the starting point of a literary investigation. To the argument that the
Makkan-Madīnan division of the Qur’ānic sūrahs calls for a diachronic approach
since the Makkan sūrahs (revealed from 610 to 622) arc
more poetical and rhetorical and the Madīnan (622-632)
more discursive and matter-of-fact, one could reply by saying that many literary
devices (such as ellipsis) are as characteristic of the Madīnan urahs as they
are of the Makkan. It is true, however, that, in general, the Meccan sūrahs,
with their greater narrative and dramatic element, are best suited for such a
study.
II
Word Choice
The Qur’ān uses words with precision and subtlety, and
often the text yields its full meaning only after a careful re-reading of it.
For example, an impatient Jonah (sws) shakes the dust of Nineveh off his feet
and, boarding a ship, departs. 37:140 reads:e
When he fled to a laden ship.
The Arabic word used for ‘fled’ is abaqa, which is
specifically used for a runaway slave. Jonah of course is no slave. But then he
is one — a slave of God. This one word imparts a whole new meaning to the
incident. Being in the service of God, Jonah (sws) ought not to have decided on
his own to quit prophesying; he should have waited for Gods command. His
‘running away’ is thus not simply a physical act that may be reported as a
historical event; it is an act fraught with moral implications.
In 622 AD, Muhammad and his
followers emigrated from Makkah to Madīnah. Madīnah (literally, ‘city’—short for
‘city of the Prophet’) was formerly known as Yathrib. In the Qur’ān, the city is
invariably called ‘Madīnah’— except once, in 33:13,
where it is called ‘Yathrib’. The verse reports how, at a time of crisis, a
certain group of people deserted the ranks of Muslims, appealing to their
compatriots (‘O people of Yathrib!’) to give up Islam for lost. The use of
‘Yathrib’ instead of ‘Madīnah’ graphically portrays the- mentality of the
deserters: they were convinced that Islam was about to be wiped out and that the
city would no longer be the ‘city of the Prophet’ but would revert to its pagan
status, becoming once again ‘Yathrib’ (Islahi V:200).
In another example, ‘To strengthen someone’s back or arm’
is an Arabic idiom that means ‘to support someone’. In 20:31,
Moses (sws) prays to God that He appoint Aaron (sws) as his assistant. The
Arabic literally translates: ‘Strengthen my back by means of him’. In
28:35, which is a reply to the prayer, God says: ‘We shall
strengthen your arm by means of him’. The difference between ‘back’ and ‘arm’ in
the two expressions appears to be a slight one, but perhaps it is not. ‘To
strengthen one’s back’ is like providing ‘backing’, while ‘to strengthen one’s
arm’ is like providing ‘muscle’. As such, the former suggests furnishing A with
support through B in a situation where the brunt of the task will be borne by A
but B, who is standing close by—‘in back of him’—may
be called upon to help when necessary. ‘To strengthen one’s arm’, on the other
hand, would suggest providing A with support through B in a situation where B
will be an active partner to A throughout, or will be A’s ‘right arm’. If this
analysis is correct, then the Qur’ānic use of each of the two idioms would be
contextually significant: Moses (sws), conscious that the chief responsibility
for carrying out the mission is his own, humbly prays: ‘Strengthen my back by
means of Aaron’. His prayer is more than answered with: We shall strengthen your
arm by means of him.
The Pictorial Element
The Qur’ānic language is frequently
picturesque, and among the several devices that account for it are the simile
and the similitude. The similes bear reference to the natural phenomena and
existential situation the Arab was most familiar with, but one does not have to
be an Arab to feel their force. God punished a certain rebellious people by
unleashing upon it a windblast that ‘uprooted people as if they were stumps of
hollow palm-trees’ (54:20). On the Last Day, people
will come out of their graves and will spread out in all directions ‘as if they
were locusts scattered all over’ (54:7). Disbelievers
shy away from the divine message ‘as if they are frightened asses that run away
from a lion’ (74:50-51). The crescent moon passes
through many phases and, after becoming a full moon, again ‘becomes like an old
twig’ (36:39). The Arabs thought that the mountains were not subject to change,
and called them ‘the eternal ones’. When Muhammad (sws) warned them of the Last
Day, telling them that the world would be annihilated on that day, they
sarcastically asked him, What about the mountains? Will they be destroyed too?
The Qur’ān replied by saying that the seemingly immovable mountains will on that
day float around ‘like carded wool’ (101:5).
24:35-40 contain a series of similitudes,
contrasting the people of faith with the people of disbelief. The contrast is
drawn in terms of light and darkness. Verse 35 makes
the point that the light of divine guidance is given to one who has kept the
natural goodness of his heart intact. Already possessing an inner light, such a
person is prepared to receive ‘the light of God’. His natural goodness
reinforced by faith, he comes to possess ‘light upon light’. The verse reads:
God is the light of the heavens and the earth. The
similitude of his light is as if there is a niche, in which there is a lamp, the
lamp in a glass; the glass looks as if it is a bright star. It [the lamp] is
kindled from a blessed olive tree that is neither of the east nor of the west,
one whose oil all but lights up, even though no fire has touched it. Light upon
light! God guides to His light whomever He likes. God strikes similitudes for
people, and God has knowledge of all things.
The niche is the heart of the good man, and in that niche
is a lamp that burns with the light of his innate goodness. The high degree of
the purity and brightness of the light is emphasised. First, the lamp is
enclosed in a glass, so that it has a steady and bright flame and is not put out
by the wind. Second, the glass is not dirty but clear and shiny. It is like ‘a
bright star’ so that it reflects the light well. Third, the lamp is fed with
olive oil that has been extracted from a tree that was planted not on the fringe
of the garden—‘neither of the east nor of the
west’-—but right in the middle of it, so that, being secure against the fury of
the elements, it has yielded the purest kind of oil. The oil, in fact, is so
pure that it would catch fire before coming into contact with fire. And when the
oil, or the inner goodness of a man, does come into contact with fire or divine
guidance, the result is ‘light upon light’. Possessing this ‘double light’, one
sees the heavens and the earth lit up, acquiring the master key to all knowledge
and understanding, for, as the opening part of the verse says, ‘God is the light
of the heavens and the earth.’
While verse 35
describes the state of the people of faith, verse
40 speaks of
the condition of the people of disbelief.
Here there is no light, only utter darkness:
or [their situation
is] like layers of darkness
out on a deep sea
[the surface of]
which is covered by a wave, on top of which there
is another wave, on top of which there are clouds;
layers of darkness piled one upon the other; when he [the disbeliever] puts out
his hand he can hardly see it. And one who is not furnished with light by God
has no light.
As in verse 35, so in verse
40 the details progressively heighten the effect. A sharper
contrast between light and darkness could hardly be imagined.
Many other devices besides the simile and the similitude
are used in the Qur’ān. There is, for example, anastrophe, in which the sequence
of events is purposefully changed or inverted; zeugma, in which one verb does
duty for two; anaphora, in which a series of verses begins with the same words,
creating a crescendo effect and leading to a climactic point; epenthesis, in
winch the medial vowel of a word is lengthened; and parallelism, with its
several types. Another is significant use of pairs of adjectives or participles
in which relationships of several types are established between the adjectives
or participles.
68:10 speaks of a person who is Hallāf Mahīn. Hallāf is
‘an inveterate swearer of oaths’ and Mahīn is ‘base or despicable’. The use of
the two words next to each other implies that one who swears oaths right and
left does so because lie lacks self-respect and fears that his word will lack
credence unless he supports it with oaths. In other words, a cause-and-effect
relationship is established between the two words: a person is Hallāf because
he is Mahīn.
Many verses speak of God as being ‘Azīz (powerful) and
Hakīm (wise). A ‘powerful’ being often abuses his power. The word ‘wise’ in this
construction provides assurance that God does not use His power
indiscriminately. Conversely speaking, a wise being may be ineffectual if he
lacks the power to enforce a wise plan. But God does not labour under this
limitation, for, besides being wise, He is also powerful. It can be seen that a
relationship of complementarily exists between ‘Azīz and Hakīm. Variations on
this relationship, yielding further subtleties of meaning, are also found.
8:10, referring to one of the battles Muhammad (sws) fought,
says that victory comes from God alone, the verse ending with the statement that
God is powerful and wise. The meaning is that God grants victory, but, if in the
course of battle the believers suffer a setback, their faith in God’s power
should not be shaken; rather they should understand that some good will
come out of that setback
too, for God is not only powerful but also wise.
29:42
threatens the idolaters,
saying that He is powerful and wise. The verse
means that
God, if He so desired, could punish the
idolaters on the spot, for He is powerful; but
that, if He is giving them respite,
then it is in accordance with the principle which,
being wise, He has established, namely, that men will be given an opportunity to
mend their ways and thus avert punishment.
Humour, Satire, and Irony
Is not humour out of place in a scripture? To be sure,
there are not many instances of humour in the Qur’ān. Still, a touch of it is
found here and there. During a voyage, Moses (sws), tired, asks his young
companion to bring out the food they have brought with them. The food consists
of fish, but, strangely enough, the fish some time ago jumped into the water and
vanished. The youth is hesitant to tell Moses (sws) about it, for Moses (sws) is
not likely to believe this story. Little does he know that the disappearance of
the fish was a sign appointed by God: exactly at the spot where the fish
disappeared, Moses was to meet a certain guide. But explain he must, and so he
utters a long-drawn-out sentence (18:63) in which he spends more time
apologising than explaining how the fish disappeared. The comical effect is
increased when he notice that Moses (sws) completely disregards the apology and
hastens back to the designed spot.
Some of the satire in the Qur’ān is blunt. The affluent
wicked, when they receive punishment in the Hereafter, will be told: ‘Taste it
[boiling water]! It is you who were the noble dignitary [in the world]! (44:49).
On other occasions, the satire is pungent in tone, but no less pungent for that.
Abraham (sws), finding his opportunity, is about to smash the idols in the
temple. But, upon noticing the offering of food laid out before them, he decides
to take his time. ‘Won’t you eat?’ he asks them in mock seriousness (37:91).
Receiving no response, he pretends to be angry: ‘What is the matter with you
that you are not speaking?’ (verse 92). Humour and satire blend when, after
destroying all but one of the idols in the temple, Abraham, questioned by the
temple custodians, denies that he destroyed the idols, saying: ‘O no, it is
their chief god over here [the one Abraham had spared] who did that; ask them
[idols] if they can speak’ (21:63). The point is driven home and the idolaters
are put to shame.
The Qur’ān is quite rich in irony. In tempting Adam (sws)
and Eve is the garden of Eden, Satan suggests to them that the fruit of the
forbidden tree could transform them into angels, but that god would not like
them to become angels, hence the prohibition to eat of the tree (7:20).
Ironically, the angels have already bowed before man and acknowledged his
supremacy, so that man’s attempt to become an angel would constitute a descent,
and not an ascent, for man.
In an incident from Abraham’s life, he uses irony to
confute his idolatrous people. According to the Qur’ān, Abraham’s people
worshipped the heavenly bodies. Worship of the heavenly bodies is predicated,
among other things, on the view that their extraordinary brilliance entitles
them to godhead. In 6:74-79, Abraham (sws) shows the untenability of this view
by arguing that the heavenly bodies not only rise and dazzle but also set,
thereby ‘losing’ their brilliance. But he chooses a novel method to make his
point. The passage reads:
When night enveloped him, he saw a star. He said ‘This is
my Lord’. But when it set, he said ‘I do not like the ones that set.’ When he
saw the moon shining, he said ‘This is my Lord.’ But when it set, he said ‘If my
Lord does not guide me, I shall become one of the misguided.’ When he saw the
sun shining, he said ‘This is my Lord, this is the biggest [of them all].’ But
when it set, he said ‘My people, I have nothing to do with your idolatry’.
Once can see how Abraham (sws) sets his people up, so to
speak, using irony to systematically cut the ground from under the belief-system
of his people.
Wordplay and Ambiguity
Wordplay is involved in the use of the word Misr in 2:61.
As an indefinite noun, Misr means ‘city’; as a diptote, ‘Egypt’. The Israelites,
just out of Egypt, are already tired of the austere existence of the desert and
recall their life in Egypt. The verse says: ‘Go into some city and you shall
have what you have asked for.’ In the verse, Misr is indefinite, but the pun is
obvious: If you want to enjoy a life of ease and comfort, then go back to your
life in Egypt (Islahi, I:61). Also, ‘What you have asked for’ is quite
ambiguous. What have the Israelites really asked for. The good food they used to
eat in Egypt, or the life of slavery? They would not, of course, opt for
slavery, but then they must remember that a life of hardship in a state of
freedom is preferable to a comfortable existence in a state of servitude.
In another instance of ambiguity, the Makkan opponents of
Muhammad (sws) accused him of fabricating the Qur’ān and passing it off as
divine speech. 11:13 challenges them to produce ten chapters like it, and then
adds the word Muftarayāt, which means ‘fabricated’. In the context, the word
gives two different but equally applicable meanings: (a) if you succeed in
producing a discourse like the Qur’ān, you will have proved that Muhammad (sws)
has fabricated the Qur’ān, so go ahead and make your attempt; (b) it is the
discourse produced by you that will be a fabrication, so go ahead and fabricate.
Narrative
To begin with, there is the graphic description. The theme
of the Last Day occasions many passages that would fall in this category.
Cataclysmic changes will take place on that fateful day (82:1-4):
When the heavens explode,
When the stars are scattered,
When the oceans are poured out,
When the graves are ransacked:
On that day one will find out the [value of] actions one
has performed or failed to perform.
Again: ‘The entire earth will be [no more than] His
handful on the Day of Resurrection, and the heavens, all rolled up, will be in
His right hand’ (39:67). And there is the haunting picture of the Zaqqūm
(37:62), the ‘accursed tree’ (17:60) that will grow in hell: ‘It is a tree that
sprouts in the very core of Hell. Its spathes make it out to be like so many
heads of devils; (37:64-65).
A reader of the Qur’ān will notice that the Qur’ān does
not usually tell a complete story in one place but relates different parts of it
different sūrahs. This may cause bewilderment. But if the ideas of the sūrah
unity is accepted, the Qur’ānic narrative might appear in a new
light. The Qur’ān never tells a story for its own
sake, but rather uses it to drive home the point it happens to be making in a
sūrah or in a section of it. As a rule, considerations of the thematic unity
determine which portion of a story will be narrated in which sūrah. In other
words, the story told in a given sūrah is likely to be sūrah specific, the
apparent disjointedness of the Qur’ān in this case concealing a carefully
worked-out technique of storytelling.
Among the sūrahs that narrate the story of Abraham (sws)
are 6, 21, 51, and 60 In
each of these sūrahs, a different portion of the Abraham story is told. Sūrah
6 is mainly addressed to the idolaters of Makkah, and
criticism of idolatry figures prominently in it. The opening verse of the sūrah,
for example, reads: ‘Grateful praise is due to God, Who created the heavens and
the earth and made darkness and light; and yet the disbelievers set up partners
To God’. Now the Makkan idolaters regarded Abraham (sws) as their ancestor.
Sūrah 6, therefore, selects from Abraham’s life (verse
74-83) that incident in which he is shown as refuting his
idolatrous people. The connection between the incident and the sūrah’s theme is
obvious, the sūrah and the incident both making the point that the Makkans, if
they wish to follow Abraham (sws), must abandon their idolatry and worship the
one true God.
The thesis of Sūrah 21 is that
defeat of the Makkans at the hands of the Muslims is imminent. Verse 18,
for example, says: ‘Rather, We launch the truth at falsehood and it [the truth]
crushes it [the falsehood], the latter taking flight’. Verse 44
is more explicit, as it refers to the steady advance of the Muslim faith, from
its base in Madīnah, toward Makkah: ‘Do they not see that We arc approaching the
land [of Makkah], shrinking its borders? Is it they [idolaters] who are going to
be victorious?’. The portion selected from Abraham’s story (verses 51-70) for
this chapter relates how Abraham (sws) breaks the idols worshipped by his
people. The image-breaking signifies the defeat of idolatry, and it should be
remembered that, upon conquering Makkah, Muhammad ordered that all the images in
the sanctuary of the Ka‘bah be destroyed. In other words, Abraham’s action in
the sūrah prefigures Muhammad’s action in later history.
The theme of Sūrah 51 is reward
for the virtuous and punishment for the evil in the hereafter. Verse 6
announces the theme: ‘Recompense is certainly going to take place’. The incident
related from Abraham’s (and Lot’s) life (verses 24-34) illustrates the theme:
Abraham (sws) will be rewarded with a son in old age, and the people of Lot (sws)
will be destroyed for their evil; the reward-and-punishment system in this world
thus serves as a pointer to the reward-and-punishment system that will operate
in the hereafter.
Sūrah 60 stresses the need for the Muslims to make a break
with the Makkans, in whose midst they had lived for so long. This theme is
stated in the opening verse, which enjoins Muslims not to lake ‘My enemies and
your enemies for friends’, and in the concluding verse, which rephrases that
thought. Abraham (sws) is mentioned in verses 4-6,
which present him as a model for Muslims: he broke with his people when the
latter turned hostile to him. The lesson is clear: the Muslims must likewise
dissociate themselves from the Makkans. As in Sūrahs 6, 21,
and 51, the incident related in
Sūrah 60 is found to be sūrah-specific.
Although the Qur’ān usually describes only a portion of a
story at a time, the portion given in any place is usually self-contained. The
story of Adam (sws) told in 2:30-39, for example, is complete in itself, as is
the story of Abraham (sws) and Lot (sws) in 11:69-83.
Just as only that part of a story will be told in a sūrah that contributes to
the sūrah’s overall theme, so if several stories contribute to that end, they
will be combined in a single sūrah. Sūrahs 18,
21, and 25
contain some obvious examples. Despite what has been said about
the narrative technique
of the Qur’ān, one
should not think that there is no sustained
storytelling in file
Qur’ān. Sūrah 12, ‘Joseph’, is the longest
uninterrupted story
in the Qur’ān. In a published study of it, I
have tried to show that it has a unified plot, and that the plot is organised on
(the analogy of the rhetorical device of ‘involution and evolution’: the first
half of the story creates a series of tensions which are resolved in reverse
order in the second half.
Dramatic Dialogue
One of the features of the Qur’ānic style that has
received practically no attention is the dramatic dialogue. A close study of the
Qur’ānic dialogue reveals that its usually simple text contains profound
insights into the workings of the human mind and the motives behind human
conduct. Abraham’s dialogues are eminently suited for such a study. Here we
shall confine ourselves to a few remarks about the dialogue of Moses (sws) and
Pharaoh in 26:16 ff. This is a fast-paced dialogue in
which the character of Moses (sws) is contrasted with that of Pharaoh. The
cunning Pharaoh, initially on the offensive, soon finds himself beating a
retreat before the relentless attack of a self-confident Moses (sws), his
(Pharaoh’s) mood changing from mock gentleness and condescension to that of
satire and ridicule to that of utter frustration and indignation. An interesting
feature of the dialogue is that while Pharaoh continually changes his stance,
Moses (sws) sticks with the position he states in the beginning and only
reinforces it with his subsequent remarks.
The dialogue opens with Moses’ (sws) declaration that he
is a prophet sent by the ‘Lord of the universe’, and with his demand that
Pharaoh allow the Israelites to go with him. Pharaoh condescendingly reminds
Moses (sws) of the upbringing he received in Pharaoh’s palace, and, by reminding
Moses (sws) that he is guilty of killing a Copt, also makes an unambiguous
threat (verse 19). Moses (sws) replies that his
killing of the Copt was an accident. As for his upbringing in Pharaoh’s house,
he acknowledges it as a favour by Pharaoh, but curtly tells him that he cannot
on that count enslave the Israelites (verses 20-21).
Cornered by this trenchant reply, Pharaoh makes another move, asking Moses (sws)
in an obviously satirical tone: ‘Who is this ‘Lord of the universe’ you speak
of?’ (verse 24). Moses’ (sws) reply is brief but to
the point: ‘The Lord of the heavens and the earth.’ Pharaoh, who claims to be
the supreme lord, feels the blow of the answer. At the same time, he senses that
some of his courtiers may have been unduly impressed with the boldness of Moses
(sws), and so, in an attempt to laugh Moses off (sws), he turns to his
courtiers, saying: ‘You hear that, don’t you?’ (verse 25).
Undaunted, Moses (sws) presses the attack: ‘Your Lord, and also the Lord of your
ancestors of former times’. A powerful dent is made in the ancestral religion of
Egypt, and Pharaoh, until now feigning self-control, shows visible signs of
impatience. He suggests to his courtiers that Moses (sws) is insane (verse
27), hoping to put an abrupt end to the discussion. Moses (sws)
refuses to let up: ‘Lord of the East and the West’, he adds. This is the last
straw. Pharaoh threatens to imprison Moses (sws) (verse 30). ‘Even
if I should present a clear sign [miracle]’ asks Moses (sws). Pharaoh has to
consent, for his courtiers must have been intrigued by the offer of Moses (sws),
and it would be imprudent of Pharaoh to disregard the mood of the court. It
might also have occurred to him that if Moses (sws) showed a miracle, then he
(Pharaoh) might be able to explain it away as a cheap trick. At any rate, he
consents, probably grudgingly. When Moses (sws) performs his miracles, Pharaoh
is perplexed, but soon pulls himself together, observing that Moses (sws) is at
best an accomplished sorcerer. But something must be done about this sorcerer if
he is not to steal the show. The courtiers advise that the official magicians be
summoned to compete with Moses (sws). It is not necessary to recount the rest of
the story, for the above analysis should make it sufficiently clear that the
Qur’ānic dialogue can be a rewarding field of study.
Characterisation
Seen from a theological standpoint, the Qur’ānic
characters would appear to be embodiments of abstract traits rather than real
flesh-and-blood figures which I believe they are. Obvious candidates for a study
of Qur’ānic characterisation would be like prophets, particularly figures like
Abraham (sws) and Moses (sws). Here I will confine my
remarks to the Qur’ānic technique of presenting memorable characters in a few
lines – the vignettes. One such vignette is to be
found in 74:18-25. The context presents before us a
typical rich leader of Makkah who is worried by the spread of Muhammad’s message
in the city. He is in danger of losing his following, unless he can convince his
followers that the Qur’ān is Muhammad’s own speech falsely attributed to God.
How does he accomplish his purpose? Finding himself in the company of his
followers, who look up to him for a response to Muhammad’s message, he plays a
game. His mind is of course made up, hut he does not want to give the impression
that he is rejecting that message without giving it a serious thought. So he
reflects on the message, and appears to be making a careful assessment of it
(verse 18). In a parenthetic remark (verses
19-20) the Qur’ān suggests that he is only going through
the motions. But his followers, unable to see through his
game, are impressed by the careful thought lie is
devoting to the whole matter. Then, serious thinker that he is, he looks up, as
if weighing an idea that has just flashed into his mind. But no, he must give it
more thought, and so he knits his brows, not forgetting to contort some of his
facial features (verse 22). He is about to deliver his
verdict and his followers await the moment anxiously. What does he do? Issue a
statement rashly? That would not be prudent. He slowly
turns around, takes a step backward, and gives his judgement: the Qur’ān is not
divine in origin; it is at best an eloquent discourse that, like magic, has a
spellbinding effect on its audience. This is a complete portrait, and it is
presented in only a few short verses.
III
This brief survey has left out many literary features of
the Qur’ān, some of which arc symmetrical structures; ellipsis; implicit
transitional links; parenthetic extension; use of motif words; use of passives
to convey certain shades of meaning; periphrasis; and oaths. But I hope it has
succeeded in suggesting that the Qur’ān is a vast quarry that awaits the
attention of literary scholars.
This study is by no means the very first to be written on
the subject of the Qur’ān as literature. A few, if not many, works dealing with
some literary aspect of the Qur’ān exist in European languages. There is,
however, a great need for developing a theory that is, on the one hand, based on
a recognition of the subject as an independent field, and that will, on the
other hand, take an integrated view of the various literary aspects of the
Qur’ān. Western scholars with their highly developed discipline of literary
criticism can make a significant contribution in this regard. Should they
undertake to do so, the ‘Qur’ān as literature’ might well become an important
meeting-ground for Muslim and Orientalist scholars.
Works Cited
1. Alter, Robert, and Frank Kermode. The Literary Guide to
the Bible. Cambridge, MA: Harvard/Belknap, 1987.
2. Draz, M. A. Initiation au Koran. Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France, 1951.
3. Islāhī, Amīn Ahsan Tadabbur-i-Qur’ān (Urdu; ‘Reflection
on the Qur’ān’), 8 vols.(Lahore, 1967-80).
4. Mir, Mustansir. Coherence in the Qur'an: A Study of
Islāhī's Concept of Nazm in Tadabbur-i-Qur’an. Indianapolis: American Trust
Publications, 1986.
5. ‘The Qur’ānic Story of Joseph: Plot, Themes, and
Characters,’ Muslim World,76 (1986).
6. Moulton, Richard. The Literary Study of the Rible,
2nd ed. Boston: D.C. Heath & Co.,1899;
1909 reprint.
7. Plato. Phaedrus. Trans. R. Hackforth. The Collected
Dialogues of Plato. Ed. Edith Hamilton and Huntington Cairns. Princeton:
Princeton UP, 1961.
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