ʿIlmu ʾl-Uṣūl (علم الاصول‎), or the Exegesis of the Qurʾān, is a very important science, and is used by the Muslim divine to explain away many apparent or real contradictions. The most authoritative works on the ʿIlmu ʾl-Uṣūl of the Qurʾān, are Manāru ʾl-Uṣūl and its commentary, the Nūru ʾl-Anwār, and as-Suyūt̤ī’s Itqān (ed. by Sprenger). The various laws of interpretation laid down in these books are very complicated, requiring the most careful study. We have only space for a mere outline of the system.

The words (alfāz̤) of the Qurʾān are of four classes: K͟hāṣṣ, ʿĀmm, Mushtarak, and Muʾawwal.

(1) K͟hāṣṣ, Words used in a special sense. This speciality of sense is of three kinds: K͟huṣūṣu ʾl-jins, Speciality of genus, e.g. mankind; K͟huṣūṣu ʾn-nauʿ, Speciality of species, e.g. a man; K͟huṣūṣu ʾl-ʿain, Speciality of an individual, e.g. Muḥammad.

(2) ʿĀmm, Collective or common, which embrace many individuals or things, e.g. people.

(3) Mushtarak, Complex words which have several significations; e.g. ʿain, a word which signifies an Eye, a Fountain, the Knee, or the Sun.

(4) Muʾawwal, words which have several significations, all of which are possible, and so a special explanation is required. For example, Sūrah cviii. 2, reads thus in Sale’s translation: “Wherefore pray unto the Lord and slay (the victims).” The word translated “slay” is in Arabic inḥar, from the root naḥr, which has several meanings. The followers of the great Legist, Abū Ḥanīfah, render it “sacrifice,” and add the words (the “victims”). The followers of Ibn Ash-Shāfiʿī say it means “placing the hands on the breast in prayer.”

II. The Sentences (ʿIbārah) of the Qurʾān are either Z̤āhir or K͟hafī, i.e. either Obvious or Hidden.

Obvious sentences are of four classes:—Z̤āhir, Naṣṣ, Mufassar, Muḥkam.

(1.) Z̤āhir.—Those sentences, the meaning of which is Obvious or clear, without any assistance from the context (qarīnah).

(2.) Naṣṣ, a word commonly used for a text of the Qurʾān, but in its technical meaning here expressing what is meant by a sentence, the meaning of which is made clear by some word which occurs in it. The following sentence illustrates both Z̤āhir and Naṣṣ: “Take in marriage of such other women as please you, two, three, four.” This sentence is Z̤āhir, because marriage is here declared lawful; it is Naṣṣ, because the words “one, two, three, four,” which occur in the sentence, show the unlawfulness of having more than four wives.

(3.) Mufassar, or explained. A sentence which needs some word in it to explain it and make it clear. Thus: “And the angels prostrated themselves, all of them with one accord, save Iblīs (Satan).” Here the words “save Iblīs” show that he did not prostrate himself. This kind of sentence may be abrogated.

(4.) Muḥkam, or perspicuous. A sentence as to the meaning of which there can be no doubt, and which cannot be controverted, thus: “God knoweth all things.” This kind of sentence cannot be abrogated. To act on such sentences without departing from the literal sense is the highest degree of obedience to God’s command.

The difference between these sentences is seen when there is a real or apparent contradiction between them. If such should occur, the first must give place to the second, and so on. Thus Muḥkam cannot be abrogated or changed by any of the preceding, or Mufassar by Naṣṣ, &c.

Hidden sentences are either K͟hafī, Mushkil, Mujmal, or Mutashābih.

(1.) K͟hafī.—Sentences in which other persons or things are hidden beneath the plain meaning of a word or expression contained therein: e.g. Sūratu ʾl-Māʾidah (v.), 42, “As for a thief whether male or female cut ye off their hands in recompense for their doings.” In this sentence the word sāriq, “thief,” is understood to have hidden beneath its literal meaning, both pickpockets and highway robbers.

(2.) Mushkil.—Sentences which are ambiguous; e.g. Sūratu ʾd-Dahr (lxxvi.), 15, “And (their attendants) shall go round about them with vessels of silver and goblets. The bottles shall be bottles of silver.” The difficulty here is that bottles are not made of silver, but of glass. The commentators say, however, that glass is dull in colour, though it has some lustre, whilst silver is white, and not so bright as glass. Now it may be, that the bottles of Paradise will be like glass bottles as regards their lustre, and like silver as regards their colour. But anyhow, it is very difficult to ascertain the meaning.

(3.) Mujmal.—Sentences which may have a variety of interpretations, owing to the words in them being capable of several meanings; in that case the meaning which is given to the sentence in the Traditions relating to it should be acted on and accepted; or which may contain some very rare word, and thus its meaning may be doubtful, as: “Man truly is by creation hasty” (Sūrah lxx. 19). In this verse the word halūʿ, “hasty,” occurs. It is very rarely used, and had it not been for the following words, “when evil toucheth him, he is full of complaint; but when good befalleth him, he becometh niggardly,” its meaning would not have been at all easy to understand.

The following is an illustration of the first kind of Mujmal sentences: “Stand for prayer (ṣalāt) and give alms (zakāt).” Both ṣalāt and zakāt are “Mushtarak” words. The people, therefore, did not understand this verse, so they applied to Muḥammad for an explanation. He explained to them that ṣalāt might mean the ritual of public prayer, standing to say the words “God is great,” or standing to repeat a few verses of the Qurʾān; or it might mean private prayer. The primitive meaning of zakāt is “growing.” The Prophet, however, fixed the meaning here to that of “almsgiving,” and said, “Give of your substance one-fortieth part.”

(4.) Mutashābih.—Intricate sentences, or expressions, the exact meaning of which it is impossible for man to ascertain until the day of resurrection, but which was known to the Prophet: e.g. the letters Alif, Lām, Mīm (A. L. M.); Alif, Lām, Rāʾ (A. L. R.); Alif, Lām, Mīm, Rāʾ (A. L. M. R.), &c., at the commencement of different Sūrahs or chapters. Also Sūratu ʾl-Mulk (lxvii.) 1, “In whose hand is the Kingdom,” i.e. God’s hand (Arabic, yad); and Sūratu T̤H (xx.), “He is most merciful and sitteth on His throne,” i.e. God sitteth (Arabic, istawā); and Sūratu ʾl-Baqarah (ii.), 115, “The face of God” (Arabic, wajhu ʾllāh).

III. The use (istiʿmāl) of words in the Qurʾān is divided into four classes. They are either Ḥaqīqah, Majāz, Ṣarīḥ, or Kināyah.

(1.) Ḥaqīqah.—Words which are used in their literal meaning: e.g. rukūʿ, “a prostration”; zināʿ, “adultery.”

(2.) Majāz.—Words which are figurative; as ṣalāt in the sense of namāz, or the liturgical prayers.

(3.) Ṣarīḥ.—Words the meaning of which is clear and palpable: e.g. “Thou art free,” “Thou art divorced.”

(4.) Kināyah.—Words which are metaphorical in their meaning: e.g. “Thou art separated”; by which may be meant, “thou art divorced.”

IV. The deduction of arguments, or istidlāl, as expressed in the Qurʾān, is divided into four sections: ʿIbārah, Ishārah, Dalālah, and Iqtiẓāʾ.

(1.) ʿIbārah, or the plain sentence. “Mothers, after they are divorced, shall give suck unto their children two full years, and the father shall be obliged to maintain them and clothe them according to that which is reasonable.” (Sūrah ii. 233.) From this verse two deductions are made. First, from the fact that the word “them” is in the feminine plural, it must refer to the mothers and not to the children; secondly, as the duty of supporting the mother is incumbent on the father, it shows that the relationship of the child is closer with the father than with the mother. Penal laws may be based on a deduction of this kind.

(2.) Ishārah, that is, a sign or hint which may be given from the order in which the words are placed; e.g. “Born of him,” meaning, of course, the father.

(3.) Dalālah, or the argument which may be deducted from the use of some special word in the verse, as: “say not to your parents, ‘Fie!’ (Arabic, uff).” (Sūrah xvii. 23.) From the use of the word uff, it is argued that children may not beat or abuse their parents. Penal laws may be based on dalālah, thus: “And they strive after violence on the earth; but God loveth not the abettors of violence.” (Sūrah v. 69.) The word translated “strive” is in Arabic literally yasʿauna, “they run.” From this the argument is deduced that as highway-men wander about, they are included amongst those whom “God loveth not,” and that, therefore, the severest punishment may be given to them, for any deduction that comes under the head of dalālah is a sufficient basis for the formation of the severest penal laws.

(4.) Iqtiẓāʾ. This is a deduction which demands certain conditions: “whosoever killeth a believer by mischance, shall be bound to free a believer from slavery.” (Sūrah iv. 94.) As a man has no authority to free his neighbour’s slave, the condition here required, though not expressed, is that the slave should be his own property.

VIII.—The Abrogation of Passages in the Qurʾān.

Some passages of the Qurʾān are contradictory, and are often made the subject of attack; but it is part of the theological belief of the Muslim doctors that certain passages of the Qurʾān are mansūk͟h (منسوخ‎), or abrogated by verses revealed afterwards, entitled nāsik͟h (ناسخ‎). This was the doctrine taught by Muḥammad in the Sūratu ʾl-Baqarah (ii.) 105: “Whatever verses we (i.e. God) cancel or cause thee to forget, we bring a better or its like.” This convenient doctrine fell in with that law of expediency which appears to be the salient feature in Muḥammad’s prophetical career.

In the Tafsīr-i-ʿAzīzī, it is written, that abrogated (mansūk͟h) verses of the Qurʾān are of three kinds: (1) Where the verse has been removed from the Qurʾān and another given in its place; (2) Where the injunction is abrogated and the letters of the verse remain; (3) Where both the verse and its injunction are removed from the text. This is also the view of Jalālu ʾd-Dīn, who says that the number of abrogated verses has been variously estimated from five to five hundred.

The Greek verb καταλύω, in St. Matthew v. 17, has been translated in some of the versions of the New Testament by mansūk͟h; but it conveys a wrong impression to the Muḥammadan mind as to the Christian view regarding this question. According to most Greek lexicons, the Greek word means to throw down, or to destroy (as of a building), which is the meaning given to the word in our authorised English translation. Christ did not come to destroy, or to pull down, the Law and the Prophets; but we all admit that certain precepts of the Old Testament were abrogated by those of the New Testament. Indeed, we further admit that the old covenant was abrogated by the new covenant of grace. “He taketh away the first that he may establish the second,” Heb. x. 9.

In the Arabic translation of the New Testament, printed at Beyrut A.D. 1869, καταλύω is translated by naqẓ, “to demolish”; in Mr. Loewenthal’s Pushto translation, A.D. 1863, by bāt̤ilawal, “to destroy,” or “render void”; and in Henry Martyn’s Persian Testament, A.D. 1837, it is also translated by the Arabic ibt̤āl, i.e. “making void.” In both the Arabic-Urdū and Roman-Urdū it is unfortunately rendered mansūk͟h, a word which has a technical meaning in Muḥammadan theology contrary to that implied in the word used by our Lord in Matthew v. 17.

Jalālu ʾd-Dīn in his Itqān, gives the following list of twenty verses which are acknowledged by all commentators to be abrogated. The verses are given as numbered in the Itqān.

Copies of the Qurʾān are held in the greatest esteem and reverence amongst Muḥammadans. They dare not to touch it without being first washed and purified, and they read it with the greatest care and respect, never holding it below their girdles. They swear by it, consult it on all occasions, carry it with them to war, write sentences of it on their banners, suspend it from their necks as a charm, and always place it on the highest shelf or in some place of honour in their houses. Muḥammadans, as we have already remarked, believe the Qurʾān to be uncreated and eternal, subsisting in the very essence of God. There have, however, been great differences of opinion on this subject. It was a point controverted with so much heat that it occasioned many calamities under the Abbaside K͟halīfahs. Al-Maʾmūn (A.H. 218) made a public edict declaring the Qurʾān to be created, which was confirmed by his successors al-Muʿtaṣim and al-Wās̤iq, who whipped and imprisoned and put to death those of the contrary opinion. But at length al-Mutawakkil, who succeeded al-Wās̤iq, put an end to these persecutions by revoking the former edicts, releasing those that were imprisoned on that account, and leaving every man at liberty as to his belief on this point. (Abū ʾl-Faraj, p. 262.) The Qurʾān is, however, generally held to be a standing miracle, indeed, the one miracle which bears witness to the truth of Muḥammad’s mission, an assumption which is based upon the Prophet’s own statements in the Qurʾān (Sūrah x. 39, xi. 16, lii. 34), where he calls upon the people who charge him with having invented it to procure a single chapter like it. But the Muʿtazilites have asserted that there is nothing miraculous in its style and composition (vide Sharḥu ʾl-Muwāqif). The excellences of the Qurʾān, as explained by the Prophet himself, claim a very important place in the traditions (see Faẓāʾilu ʾl-Qurʾān, in the Traditions of al-Buk͟hārī and Muslim), from which the following are a few extracts:—

“The best person amongst you is he who has learnt the Qurʾān, and teaches it.”

“Read the Qurʾān as long as you feel a pleasure in it, and when tired leave off.”

“If the Qurʾān were wrapped in a skin and thrown into a fire, it would not burn.”

“He who is an expert in the Qurʾān shall rank with the ‘Honoured Righteous Scribes,’ and he who reads the Qurʾān with difficulty and gets tired over it shall receive double rewards.”

“The state of a Musulman who reads the Qurʾān is like the orange fruit whose smell and taste are pleasant.”

“The person who repeats three verses from the beginning of the chapter of the Cave (Sūrah xviii.) shall be guarded from the strife of ad-Dajjāl.”

“Everything has a heart, and the heart of the Qurʾān is the chapter Yā-sīn (Sūrah xxxvi.); and he who reads it, God will write for him rewards equal to those for reading the whole Qurʾān ten times.”

“There is a Sūrah in the Qurʾān of thirty verses which intercedes for a man until he is pardoned, and it is that commencing with the words, ‘Blessed is he in whose hands is the kingdom.’ ” (Sūrah lxvii.)

“God wrote a book two thousand years before creating the heavens and the earth, and sent two verses down from it, which are the two last verses of the chapter of the Cow (Sūrah ii.); and if they are not repeated in a house for three nights, the devil will be near that house.”

“Verily the devil runs away from the house in which the chapter entitled the Cow is read.”

“The chapter commencing with these words, ‘Say God is one God’ (Sūrah cxii.), is equal to a third of the Qurʾān.”

“The person that repeats the chapter of the Cave (Sūrah xviii.) on Friday, the light of faith brightens him between two Fridays.”

In the Qurʾān there are many assertions of its excellence; the following are a few selected verses:—

Sūrah iv. 94: “Can they not consider the Qurʾān? Were it from any other than God, they would assuredly have found in it many contradictions.”

Sūrah ix. 16: “If they shall say, ‘The Qurʾān is his own device.’ Then bring ten Sūrahs like it of your devising.”

Sūrah xlvi. 7: “Will they say, ‘He hath devised it’? Say, If I have devised it, then not one single thing can ye ever obtain for me from God.”

Sūrah liii. 4: “Verily the Qurʾān is none other than a revelation. One terrible in power taught it him.”

Maracci, von Hammer, and other Orientalists, have selected the XCIst chapter of the Qurʾān, entitled the Sūratu ʾsh-Shams, or the Chapter of the Sun, as a favourable specimen of the best style of the Qurʾān. It begins in Arabic thus:—

Which Mr. Rodwell translates as follows:—

Baron von Hammer rendered it in German thus:—

The renowned Orientalist, Sir William Jones, praised the following account of the drowning of Noah’s sons as truly magnificent, and inferior in sublimity only to the simple declaration of the creation of light in Genesis. D’Herbelot also considers it one of the finest passages in the Qurʾān (Sūrah xi. 44–46):—

وَهِىَ تَجْرِى بِهِمْ فىِ مَوْجٍ كَٱلْجِبَالِ وَنَادَى نُوحٌ ٱبْنَهُ وَكَانَ فىِ مَعْزِلٍ يَا بُنَىَّ ٱرْكَبْ مَعَنَا وَلَا تَكُنْ مَعَ ٱلْكَافرينَ قَالَ سَآوى إلَى جَبَلٍ يَعْصِمُنِى مِنَ ٱلْمَآءِ قَالَ لَا عَاصِم ٱلْيَوْم مِنْ أَمْرِ ٱلَّهِ إِلَّا مَن رَحِمَ وَحَالَ بَيْنَهُمَا ٱلْمَوْجُ فَكَانَ مِنَ ٱلْمُغْرَقِينَ وَقِيلَ يَا أَرْضُ ٱبْلَعِى مَٱءَكِ وَيَا سَمَٱءُ أَقْلِعِى وَغِيض ٱلْمَٱءُ وَقُضِىَ ٱلْأَمْرُ وَٱسْتَوَتْ عَلَى ٱلْجُودِىِّ وَقِيلَ بُعْدًا للْقَوْمِ ٱلظّالِمِينَ‎

It may be rendered as follows:—

“And the ark moved on with them amid waves like mountains:

“And Noah called to his son—for he was apart—

“ ‘Embark with us, O my child! and stay not with the unbelievers.’

“He said, ‘I will betake myself to a mountain that shall save me from the water.’

“He said, ‘None shall be saved this day from God’s decree, save him on whom He shall have mercy.’

“And a wave passed between them and he was drowned.

“And it was said, ‘O earth! swallow up thy water! and O heaven! withhold thy rain!’ And the water abated, and God’s decree was fulfilled, and the ark rested on al-Jūdī.

“And it was said, ‘Avaunt, ye tribe of the wicked!’ ”

In the earliest ages of Islām the expositions of the Qurʾān were handed down in the traditional sayings of the companions and their successors, but we have it on the authority of the Kashfu ʾz̤-Z̤unūn that one Qutaibah ibn Aḥmad, who died A.H. 316, compiled a systematic commentary on the whole of the Qurʾān. The work is not now extent.

Muslim commentaries are very numerous. Dr. M. Arnold (Islam and Christianity, p. 81) says there are no less than 20,000 in the Library at Tripolis.

The best known commentaries amongst the Sunnīs are those of:—

Al-Bag͟hawī, A.H. 515.

Az-Zamak͟hsharī, A.H. 604.

At-Tafsīru ʾl-Kabīr, A.H. 606.

Ibnu ʾl-ʿArabi, A.H. 628.

Al-Baiẓāwī, A.H. 685.

Al-Mudārik, A.H. 701.

Ḥusain, A.H. 900.

Al-Jalālān, A.H. 864, A.H. 911.

Al-Mazharī, A.H. 1225.

ʿAzīzī, A.H. 1239.

Amongst the Shīʿahs the following are works of reputation:—

Shaik͟h Ṣadūq, A.H. 381.

At-Tafsīru ʾl-Kabīr, by Saiyid Muḥammad ar-Rāzī, 30 volumes, A.H. 606.

Aṣ-Ṣāfī, A.H. 668.

As-Sirru ʾl-Wajīz, A.H. 715.

Sidratu ʾl-Muntahā, by Mīr Bakir, A.H. 1041.

Al-Burhān, by Saiyid Hasham, A.H. 1160.

The Qurʾān was first printed in Arabic at Rome by Pagninus Brixiensis, Romæ, 1530, but it was either burned or remained unpublished. Since then the following editions of the Arabic text have appeared in Europe:—

Al-Coranus, seu lex Islamitica, &c., the Arabic text of the Qurʾān, published by A. Hinkelmann, Hamburg, 1649, 4to.

Alcorani textus universus, &c., the Arabic text with a Latin translation and numerous extracts from the principal commentaries, and preceded by a Prodromus, containing a “refutation” of the Qurʾān, by Maracci, Padua, 1698, folio.

القران‎, an annotated text of the Qurʾān, published by order and at the cost of the Empress Catherine II. of Russia, at St. Petersburgh in 1787, 1 vol. in folio. This edition was reprinted at St. Petersburgh in 1790, 1793, 1796, and 1798, and without any change at Kasan in 1803, 1809, and 1839. Another edition, in two vols. 4to, without notes, was published at Kasan, 1817, reprinted 1821 and 1843, and a third edition, in 6 vols. 8vo, at the same place, 1819.

Corani textus arabicus, &c., the first critical edition of the text, by G. Flügel, Leipzig, 1834, 4to. Second edition, 1842; third edition, 1869.

Coranus arabice, &c., revised republication of Flügel’s text, by G. M. Redslob, Leipzig, 1837, 8vo.

Beidhawii commentarius in Coranum, &c., the text of the Qurʾān with al-Baiẓāwī’s Commentary, by H. O. Fleisher, two vols. 4to, Leipzig, 1846.

The Muḥammadans, so far from thinking the Qurʾān profaned by a translation, as some authors have written (Marracci de Alcoran, p. 33), have taken care to have it translated into various languages, although these translations are always interlineary with the original text. Translations exist in Persian, Urdū, Pushto, Turkish, Javan, Malayan, and other languages, which have been made by Muḥammadans themselves.

The first translation attempted by Europeans was a Latin version translated by an Englishman, Robert of Retina, and a German, Hermann of Dalmatia. This translation, which was done at the request of Peter, Abbot of the Monastery of Clugny, A.D. 1143, remained hidden nearly 400 years till it was published at Basle, 1543, by Theodore Bibliander, and was afterwards rendered into Italian, German, and Dutch. The next translation in German was by Schweigger, at Nürnberg, in 1616. This was followed by the above-mentioned work of Maracci, consisting of the Qurʾān, in Arabic, with a Latin version with notes and refutations, A.D. 1698.

The oldest French translation was done by M. Du Ryer (Paris, 1647). A Russian version appeared at St. Petersburg in 1776. M. Savary translated the Qurʾān into French in 1783. There have also been more recent French translations by Kasimirski (Paris, 1st ed. 1840, 2nd ed. 1841, 3rd ed. 1857).

The first English Qurʾān was Alexander Ross’s translation of Du Ryer’s French version (1649–1688). Sale’s well-known work first appeared in 1734, and has since passed through numerous editions. A translation by the Rev. J. M. Rodwell, with the Sūrahs arranged in chronological order, was printed in 1861 (2nd ed. 1876). Professor Palmer, of Cambridge, translated the Qurʾān in 1880 (Oxford Press). A Roman-Urdū edition of the Qurʾān was published at Allahabad in 1844, and a second and revised edition at Ludianah in 1876 (both these being a transliteration of ʿAbdu ʾl-Qādir’s well-known Urdū translation).

The best known translations in German are those by Boysen, published in 1773, with an Introduction and notes, and again revised and corrected from the Arabic by G. Wahl in 1828, and another by Dr. L. Ullmann, which has passed through two editions (1840, 1853).

Mr. Sale, in his Preliminary Discourse, remarks:—

“The style of the Korân is generally beautiful and fluent, especially where it imitates the prophetic manner, and scripture phrases. It is concise, and often obscure, adorned with bold figures after the Eastern taste, enlivened with florid and sententious expressions, and in many places, especially where the majesty and attributes of God are described, sublime and magnificent; of which the reader cannot but observe several instances, though he must not imagine the translation comes up to the original, notwithstanding my endeavours to do it justice.

“Though it be written in prose, yet the sentences generally conclude in a long continued rhyme, for the sake of which the sense is often interrupted, and unnecessary repetitions too frequently made, which appear still more ridiculous in a translation, where the ornament, such as it is, for whose sake they were made, cannot be perceived. However, the Arabians are so mightily delighted with this jingling that they employ it in their most elaborate compositions, which they also embellish with frequent passages of and allusions to the Korân, so that it is next to impossible to understand them without being well versed in this book.

“It is probable the harmony of expression which the Arabians find in the Korân might contribute not a little to make them relish the doctrine therein taught, and give an efficacy to arguments, which, had they been nakedly proposed without this rhetorical dress, might not have so easily prevailed. Very extraordinary effects are related of the power of words well chosen and artfully placed, which are no less powerful either to ravish or amaze than music itself; wherefore as much as has been ascribed by the best orators to this part of rhetoric as to any other. He must have a very bad ear, who is not uncommonly moved with the very cadence of a well-turned sentence; and Mohammed seems not to have been ignorant of the enthusiastic operation of rhetoric on the minds of men; for which reason he has not only employed his utmost skill in these his pretended revelations, to preserve that dignity and sublimity of style, which might seem not unworthy of the majesty of that Being, whom he gave out to be the author of them, and to imitate the prophetic manner of the Old Testament; but he has not neglected even the other arts of oratory; wherein he succeeded so well, and so strangely captivated the minds of his audience, that several of his opponents thought it the effect of witchcraft and enchantment, as he sometimes complains (Sūrah xv. 21, &c.).”

---

The late Professor Palmer, in his Introduction to the Qurʾān, remarks:—

“The Arabs made use of a rhymed and rhythmical prose, the origin of which it is not difficult to imagine. The Arabic language consists for the most part of triliteral roots, i.e. the single words expressing individual ideas consist generally of three consonants each, and the derivative forms expressing modifications of the original idea are not made by affixes and terminations alone, but also by the insertion of letters in the root. Thus ẓaraba means ‘he struck,’ and qatala, ‘he killed,’ while maẓrûb and maqtûl signify ‘one struck’ and ‘one killed.’ A sentence, therefore, consists of a series of words which would each require to be expressed in clauses of several words in other languages, and it is easy to see how a next following sentence, explanatory of or completing the first, would be much more clear and forcible if it consisted of words of a similar shape and implying similar modifications of other ideas. It follows then that the two sentences would be necessarily symmetrical, and the presence of rhythm would not only please the ear but contribute to the better understanding of the sense, while the rhyme would mark the pause in the sense and emphasize the proposition.

“The Qurʾān is written in this rhetorical style, in which the clauses are rhythmical though not symmetrically so, and for the most part end in the same rhyme throughout the chapter.

“The Arabic language lends itself very readily to this species of composition, and the Arabs of the desert in the present day employ it to a great extent in their more formal orations, while the literary men of the towns adopt it as the recognised correct style, deliberately imitating the Qurʾān.

“That the best of Arab writers has never succeeded in producing anything equal in merit to the Qurʾān itself is not surprising.

“In the first place, they have agreed beforehand that it is unapproachable, and they have adopted its style as the perfect standard; any deviation from it therefore must of necessity be a defect. Again, with them this style is not spontaneous as with Mohammed and his contemporaries, but is as artificial as though Englishmen should still continue to follow Chaucer as their model, in spite of the changes which their language has undergone. With the prophet the style was natural, and the words were those used in every-day ordinary life, while with the later Arabic authors the style is imitative and the ancient words are introduced as a literary embellishment. The natural consequence is that their attempts look laboured and unreal by the side of his impromptu and forcible eloquence.

“That Mohammed, though, should have been able to challenge even his contemporaries to produce anything like the Qurʾān, ‘And if ye are in doubt of what we have revealed unto our servant, then bring a chapter like it.… But if ye do it not, and ye surely shall do it not, &c.,’ is at first sight surprising, but, as Nöldeke has pointed out, this challenge really refers much more to the subject than to the mere style,—to the originality of the conception of the unity of God and of a revelation supposed to be couched in God’s own words. Any attempt at such a work must of necessity have had all the weakness and want of prestige which attaches to an imitation. This idea is by no means foreign to the genius of the old Arabs.

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“Amongst a people who believed firmly in witchcraft and soothsaying, and who, though passionately fond of poetry, believed that every poet had his familiar spirit who inspired his utterances, it was no wonder that the prophet should be taken for ‘a soothsayer,’ for ‘one possessed with an evil spirit,’ or for ‘an infatuated poet.’ ”

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Mr. Stanley Lane Poole, in his Introduction to Lane’s Selections from the Ḳur-án, remarks:—

“It is confused in its progression and strangely mixed in its contents; but the development of Moḥammad’s faith can be traced in it, and we can see dimly into the workings of his mind, as it struggles with the deep things of God, wrestles with the doubts which echoed the cavils of the unbelievers, soars upwards on the wings of ecstatic faith, till at last it gains the repose of fruition. Studied thus, the Ḳur-án is no longer dull reading to one who cares to look upon the working of a passionate troubled human soul, and who can enter into its trials and share in the joy of its triumphs.

“In the soorahs revealed at Mekka, Moḥammad has but one theme—God; and one object—to draw his people away from their idols and bring them to the feet of that God. He tells them of Him in glowing language, that comes from the heart’s white heat. He points to the glories of nature, and tells them these are God’s works. With all the brilliant imagery of the Arab, he tries to show them what God is, to convince them of His power and His wisdom and His justice. The soorahs of this period are short, for they are pitched in too high a key to be long sustained. The language has the ring of poetry, though no part of the Ḳur-án complies with the demands of Arab metre. The sentences are short and full of half-restrained energy, yet with a musical cadence. The thought is often only half expressed; one feels the speaker has essayed a thing beyond words, and has suddenly discovered the impotence of language, and broken off with the sentence unfinished. There is the fascination of true poetry about these earliest soorahs; as we read them we understand the enthusiasm of the Prophet’s followers, though we cannot fully realise the beauty and the power, inasmuch as we cannot hear them hurled forth with Moḥammad’s fiery eloquence. From first to last the Ḳur-án is essentially a book to be heard, not read, but this is especially the case with the earliest chapters.

“In the soorahs of the second period of Mekka, we begin to trace the decline of the Prophet’s eloquence. There are still the same earnest appeals to the people, the same gorgeous pictures of the Last Day and the world to come; but the language begins to approach the quiet of prose, the sentences become longer, the same words and phrases are frequently repeated, and the wearisome stories of the Jewish prophets and patriarchs, which fill so large a space in the later portion of the Ḳur-án, now make their appearance. The fierce passion of the earliest soorahs, that could not out save in short burning verses, gives place to a calmer more argumentative style. Moḥammad appeals less to the works of God as proofs of his teaching, and more to the history of former teachers, and the punishments of the people who would not hear them. And the characteristic oaths of the first period, when Moḥammad swears by all the varied sights of nature as they mirrored themselves in his imagination, have gone, and in their place we find only the weaker oath ‘by the Ḳur-án.’ And this declension is carried still further in the last group of the soorahs revealed at Mekka. The style becomes more involved and the sentences longer, and though the old enthusiasm bursts forth ever and anon, it is rather an echo of former things than a new and present intoxication of faith. The fables and repetitions become more and more dreary, and but for the rich eloquence of the old Arabic tongue, which gives some charm even to inextricable sentences and dull stories, the Ḳur-án at this period would be unreadable. As it is, we feel we have fallen the whole depth from poetry to prose, and the matter of the prose is not so superlative as to give us amends for the loss of the poetic thought of the earlier time and the musical fall of the sentences.

“In the soorahs of the Medina period these faults reach their climax. We read a singularly varied collection of criminal laws, social regulations, orders for battle, harangues to the Jews, first conciliatory, then denunciatory, and exhortations to spread the faith, and such-like heterogeneous matters. Happily the Jewish stories disappear in the latest soorahs, but their place is filled by scarcely more palatable materials. The chapters of this period are interesting chiefly as containing the laws which have guided every Muslim state, regulated every Muslim society, and directed in their smallest acts every Moḥammadan man and woman in all parts of the world from the Prophet’s time till now. The Medina part of the Ḳur-án is the most important part for Islám, considered as a scheme of ritual and a system of manners; the earliest Mekka revelations are those which contain what is highest in a great religion and what was purest in a great man.”

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Mr. Rodwell, in his Introduction to his Qurʾān, says:—

“The contrast between the earlier, middle, and later Suras is very striking and interesting, and will be at once apparent from the arrangement here adopted. In the Suras as far as the 54th, we cannot but notice the entire predominance of the poetical element, a deep appreciation (as in Sura xci.) of the beauty of natural objects, brief fragmentary and impassioned utterances, denunciations of woe and punishment, expressed for the most part in lines of extreme brevity. With a change, however, in the position of Muhammad when he openly assumes the office of ‘public warner,’ the Suras begin to assume a more prosaic and didactic tone, though the poetical ornament of rhyme is preserved throughout. We gradually lose the Poet in the missionary aiming to convert, the warm asserter of dogmatic truths; the descriptions of natural objects, of the judgment, of heaven and hell, make way for gradually increasing historical statements, first from Jewish, and subsequently from Christian histories; while, in the 29 Suras revealed at Medina, we no longer listen to vague words, often as it would seem without positive aim, but to the earnest disputant with the enemies of his faith, the Apostle pleading the cause of what he believes to be the Truth of God. He who at Mecca is the admonisher and persuader, at Medina is the legislator and warrior, who dictates obedience, and uses other weapons than the pen of the Poet and the Scribe. When business pressed, as at Medina, Poetry makes way for prose, and although touches of the Poetical element occasionally break forth, and he has to defend himself up to a very late period against the charge of being merely a Poet, yet this is rarely the case in the Medina Suras; and we are startled by finding obedience to God and the Apostle, God’s gifts and the Apostle’s, God’s pleasure and the Apostle’s, spoken of in the same breath, and epithets and attributes elsewhere applied to Allah openly applied to himself, as in Sura ix. 118, 129.

“The Suras, viewed as a whole, strike me as being the work of one who began his career as a thoughtful enquirer after truth, and an earnest asserter of it in such rhetorical and poetical forms as he deemed most likely to win and attract his countrymen, and who gradually proceeded from the dogmatic teacher to the politic founder of a system for which laws and regulations had to be provided as occasions arose. And of all the Suras it must be remarked that they were intended not for readers but for hearers—that they were all promulgated by public recital—and that much was left, as the imperfect sentences shew, to the manner and suggestive action of the reciter. It would be impossible, and indeed it is unnecessary, to attempt a detailed life of Muhammad within the narrow limits of a Preface. The main events thereof with which the Suras of the Koran stand in connection, are—The visions of Gabriel, seen, or said to have been seen, at the outset of his career in his 40th year, during one of his seasons of annual monthly retirement, for devotion and meditation to Mount Hirâ, near Mecca,—the period of mental depression and re-assurance previous to the assumption of the office of public teacher—the Fatrah or pause during which he probably waited for a repetition of the angelic vision—his labours in comparative privacy for three years, issuing in about 40 converts, of whom his wife Chadijah was the first, and Abu Bekr the most important; (for it is to him and to Abu Jahl the Sura xcii. refers)—struggles with Meccan unbelief and idolatry followed by a period during which probably he had the second vision, Sura liii. and was listened to and respected as a person ‘possessed’ (Sura lxix. 42, lii. 29)—the first emigration to Abyssinia in A.D. 616, in consequence of the Meccan persecutions brought on by his now open attacks upon idolatry (Taghout)—increasing reference to Jewish and Christian histories, shewing that much time had been devoted to their study—the conversion of Omar in 617—the journey to the Thaquifites at Taief in A.D. 620—the intercourse with pilgrims from Medina, who believed in Islam, and spread the knowledge thereof in their native town, in the same year—the vision of the midnight journey to Jerusalem and the Heavens—the meetings by night at Acaba, a mountain near Mecca, in the 11th year of his mission, and the pledges of fealty there given to him—the command given to the believers to emigrate to Yathrib, henceforth Medinat-en-nabi (the city of the Prophet), or El-Medina (the city), in April of A.D. 622—the escape of Muhammad and Abu Bekr from Mecca to the cave of Thaur—the FLIGHT to Medina in June 20, A.D. 622—treaties made with Christian tribes—increasing, but still very imperfect acquaintance with Christian doctrines—the Battle of Bedr in Hej. 2, and of Ohod—the coalition formed against Muhammad by the Jews and idolatrous Arabians, issuing in the siege of Medina, Hej. 5 (A.D. 627)—the convention, with reference to the liberty of making the pilgrimage, of Hudaibiya, Hej. 6—the embassy to Chosroes King of Persia in the same year, to the Governor of Egypt and to the King of Abyssinia, desiring them to embrace Islam—the conquest of several Jewish tribes, the most important of which was that of Chaibar in Hej. 7, a year marked by the embassy sent to Heraclius, then in Syria, on his return from the Persian campaign, and by a solemn and peaceful pilgrimage to Mecca—the triumphant entry into Mecca in Hej. 8 (A.D. 630), and the demolition of the idols of the Caaba—the submission of the Christians of Nedjran, of Aila on the Red Sea, and of Taief, etc., in Hej. 9, called ‘the year of embassies or deputations,’ from the numerous deputations which flocked to Mecca proffering submission—and lastly in Hej. 10, the submission of Hadhramaut, Yemen, the greater part of the southern and eastern provinces of Arabia—and the final solemn pilgrimage to Mecca.

“While, however, there is no great difficulty in ascertaining the Suras which stand in connection with the more salient features of Muhammad’s life, it is a much more arduous, and often impracticable, task, to point out the precise events to which individual verses refer, and out of which they sprung. It is quite possible that Muhammad himself, in a later period of his career, designedly mixed up later with earlier revelations in the same Suras—not for the sake of producing that mysterious style which seems so pleasing to the mind of those who value truth least when it is most clear and obvious—but for the purpose of softening down some of the earlier statements which represent the last hour and awful judgment as imminent; and thus leading his followers to continue still in the attitude of expectation, and to see in his later successes the truth of his earlier predictions. If after-thoughts of this kind are to be traced, and they will often strike the attentive reader, it then follows that the perplexed state of the text in individual Suras is to be considered as due to Muhammad himself, and we are furnished with a series of constant hints for attaining to chronological accuracy. And it may be remarked in passing, that a belief that the end of all things was at hand, may have tended to promote the earlier successes of Islam at Mecca, as it unquestionably was an argument with the Apostles, to flee from ‘the wrath to come.’ It must be borne in mind that the allusions to contemporary minor events, and to the local efforts made by the new religion to gain the ascendant are very few, and often couched in terms so vague and general, that we are forced to interpret the Koran solely by the Koran itself. And for this, the frequent repetitions of the same histories and the same sentiments, afford much facility: and the peculiar manner in which the details of each history are increased by fresh traits at each recurrence, enables us to trace their growth in the author’s mind, and to ascertain the manner in which a part of the Koran was composed. The absence of the historical element from the Koran as regards the details of Muhammad’s daily life, may be judged of by the fact, that only two of his contemporaries are mentioned in the entire volume, and that Muhammad’s name occurs but five times, although he is all the way through addressed by the Angel Gabriel as the recipient of the divine revelations, with the word Say. Perhaps such passages as Sura ii. 15 and v. 246, and the constant mention of guidance, direction, wandering, may have been suggested by reminiscences of his mercantile journeys in his earlier years.”

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Dr. Steingass, the learned compiler of the English-Arabic and Arabic-English Dictionaries (W. H. Allen & Co.), has obligingly recorded his opinion as follows:—

Invited to subjoin a few further remarks on the composition and style of the Qurʾān, in addition to the valuable and competent opinions contained in the above extracts, I can scarcely introduce them better than by quoting the striking words of Göthe, which Mr. Rodwell places by way of motto on the reverse of the title page of his Translation. These words seem to me so much the more weighty and worthy of attention, as they are uttered by one who, whatever his merits or demerits in other respects may be deemed to be, indisputably belongs to the greatest masters of language of all times, and stands foremost as a leader of modern thought and the intellectual culture of modern times. Speaking of the Qurʾān in his West-Oestlicher Divan, he says: “However often we turn to it, at first disgusting us each time afresh, it soon attracts, astounds, and in the end enforces our reverence.… Its style, in accordance with its contents and aim, is stern, grand, terrible—ever and anon truly sublime.… Thus this book will go on exercising through all ages a most potent influence.”

A work, then, which calls forth so powerful and seemingly incompatible emotions, even in the distant reader—distant as to time, and still more so as to mental development—a work which not only conquers the repugnance with which he may begin its perusal, but changes this adverse feeling into astonishment and admiration, such a work must be a wonderful production of the human mind indeed, and a problem of the highest interest to every thoughtful observer of the destinies of mankind. Much has been said in the preceding pages, to acknowledge, to appreciate, and to explain the literary excellencies of the Qurʾān, and a more or less distinct admission that Buffon’s much-quoted saying: “Le style c’est l’homme,” is here more justified than ever, underlies all these various verdicts. We may well say the Qurʾān is one of the grandest books ever written, because it faithfully reflects the character and life of one of the greatest men that ever breathed. “Sincerity,” writes Carlyle, “sincerity, in all senses, seems to me the merit of the Koran.” This same sincerity, this ardour and earnestness in the search for truth, this never-flagging perseverance in trying to impress it, when partly found, again and again upon his unwilling hearers, appears to me as the real and undeniable “seal of prophecy” in Muḥammad.

Truth, and above all religious truth, can only be one. Christianity may duly rejoice in the thought that, at the very moment when the representative of the greatest Empire of the ancient world mockingly or despairingly put forth the question, “What is truth?” this one eternal truth was about to be written down with the blood of the Divine Redeemer in the salvation deed of our race, Christ’s glorious and holy Gospel. But the approaches to truth are many, and he who devoted all his powers and energies, with untiring patience and self-denial, to the task of leading a whole nation by one of these approaches, from a coarse and effete idolatry, to the worship of the living God, has certainly a strong claim to our warmest sympathies as a faithful servant and noble champion of truth.

It is, however, not my intention to dwell here any longer upon this side of the question. Praise has been bestowed in this work on the Qurʾān and its author without stint or grudge, and the unanimity of so many distinguished voices in this respect will no doubt impress the general reader in favour of the sacred book of the Muḥammadans, which until now he may have known only by name. At the same time, it will be noticed that no less unanimity prevails in pointing out the inferiority of the later portions of the Qurʾān in comparison with the earlier Sūrahs; a falling off, as it were, from the original poetical grandeur and loftiness of its composition into prose and common-place. Göthe, we have seen, uses such a strong word as disgust, again and again experienced by him at the very outset of its repeated reading.

Not being an Arabic scholar himself, he knew the Qurʾān only through the translations existing at the time, which follow throughout the order of the received text. Thus he was made to pass, roughly speaking, from the later to the earlier Madīnah Sūrahs, and from these again to the Sūrahs given at Makkah at the various stages which mark Muḥammad’s ministry, while he was yet staying in his irresponsive parent town. In other words, he would have proceeded from the utterances of the worldly ruler and lawgiver to those of the inspired Divine, who had just succeeded in laying the foundation-stones of a new religion, under fierce struggles and sufferings, but in obedience to a call which, in his innermost heart, he felt had gone out to him, and which he had accepted with awe, humility, and resignation. While, therefore, in the beginning of his studies, Göthe may have met with a number of details in the vast structure raised by Muḥammad which appeared distasteful to the refined scion of the nineteenth century, his interest must have been awakened, his admiration kindled and kept increasing, the more he became acquainted, through the work itself, with the nature and personality of its creator, and with the purity and exalted character of the main-spring of his motives.

Those critics, on the other hand, who view the Qurʾān with regard to the chronological order of its constituents, follow the descending scale in their estimate. Speaking at first highly—nay, frequently with enthusiasm—of the earlier parts, they complain more and more of the growing tediousness and wearisomeness of the Sūrahs of later origin.

Nöldeke, for instance, the learned and ingenious author of Geschichte des Qorâns, speaking of the deficiencies in style, language, and treatment of the subject matter, which, in his opinion, characterise the second and third period of the Makkan revelations, and in general the Madīnah Sūrahs, pointedly terminates his indictment by the sentence, “if it were not for the exquisite flexibility and vigour (die ungemeine Feinheit und Kraft) of the Arabic language itself, which, however, is to be attributed more to the age in which the author lived than to his individuality, it would scarcely be bearable to read the later portions of the Qurʾān a second time.”

But if we consider the variety and heterogeneousness of the topics on which the Qurʾān touches, uniformity of style and diction can scarcely be expected; on the contrary, it would appear to be strangely out of place. Let us not forget that in the book, as Muḥammad’s newest biographer, Ludolf Krehl (Das Leben des Muhammed, Leipzig, 1884), expresses it, “there is given a complete code of creed and morals, as well as of the law based thereupon. There are also the foundations laid for every institution of an extensive commonwealth, for instruction, for the administration of justice, for military organization, for the finances, for a most careful legislation for the poor: all built up on the belief in the one God, who holds man’s destinies in His hand.” Where so many important objects are concerned, the standard of excellence by which we have to gauge the composition of the Qurʾān as a whole must needs vary with the matter treated upon in each particular case. Sublime and chaste, where the supreme truth of God’s unity is to be proclaimed; appealing in high-pitched strains to the imagination of a poetically-gifted people, where the eternal consequences of man’s submission to God’s holy will, or of rebellion against it, are pictured; touching in its simple, almost crude, earnestness, when it seeks again and again encouragement or consolation for God’s messenger, and a solemn warning for those to whom he has been sent, in the histories of the prophets of old: the language of the Qurʾān adapts itself to the exigencies of every-day life, when this every-day life, in its private and public bearings, is to be brought in harmony with the fundamental principles of the new dispensation.

Here, therefore, its merits as a literary production should, perhaps, not be measured by some preconceived maxims of subjective and æsthetic taste, but by the effects which it produced in Muḥammad’s contemporaries and fellow-countrymen. If it spoke so powerfully and convincingly to the hearts of his hearers as to weld hitherto centrifugal and antagonistic elements into one compact and well-organised body, animated by ideas far beyond those which had until now ruled the Arabian mind, then its eloquence was perfect, simply because it created a civilized nation out of savage tribes, and shot a fresh woof into the old warp of history.

Nöldeke’s above-quoted remark, it seems to me, raises, however, a very important question. It must, of course, be admitted that the Arabic language, which is now so greatly and deservedly admired, cannot be attributed to Muḥammad individually, but originated in and was at his time the common property of the Arabic-speaking section of the human race, or, more accurately, of its Semitic branch, who were then living within the Peninsula and in some of the neighbouring countries. But we may well ask ourselves, what would in all probability have become of this language without Muḥammad and his Qurʾān? This is not at all an idle and desultory speculation. It is true the Arabic language had already produced numerous fine specimens of genuine and high-flown poetry, but such poetry was chiefly, if not exclusively, preserved in the memory of the people, for the art of writing was certainly very little known, and still less practised.

Moreover, poetry is not tantamount to literature; it may lead to it, and will always form a most essential part of it; but it will live on, and perhaps die, in solitary isolation, unless it becomes, as it were, as Brahmans say, “twice-born,” by participating in a literary development of vaster dimensions and a more general character. Divided among themselves into numerous tribes, who were engaged in a perpetual warfare against each other, the Arabs, and with them their various dialects, would more and more have drifted asunder, poetry would have followed in the wake, and the population of Arabia would have broken up into a multitude of clans, with their particular bards, whose love- and war-songs enterprising travellers of our days might now collect, like the popular songs of the Kosaks of the steppe, or the Kalmuks and similar nationalities, vegetating for centuries in a more or less primitive state of existence.

It seems, then, that it is only a work of the nature of the Qurʾān which could develop ancient Arabic into a literary language, notwithstanding the fact that it had already been admirably handled by local poets. As this book places the national life of the Arabs upon an entirely new basis, giving it at the same time a much-needed centre and a wonderful power of expansion, it became a matter of the utmost importance, nay, of urgent necessity, that the contents of the volume should be preserved with scrupulous accuracy and undisputable conformity. This again was only possible by fixing upon one dialect, which by its recognized excellence commended itself to general acceptance, and also by establishing a written text.

But not only by raising a dialect, through its generalization, to the power of a language, and by rendering the adoption of writing indispensable, has the Qurʾān initiated the development of an Arabic literature; its composition itself has contributed two factors absolutely needful to this development: it has added to the existing poetry the origins of rhetoric and prose.

Although the decidedly poetical character of the earlier Sūrahs is obvious, they differ in two important points from the hitherto acknowledged form of poetry, which is that of the Qaṣīdah. This form consists of baits, or distichs, measured by some variation of one of the fifteen (or sixteen) principal metres, and each containing two half-lines, the same rhyme running through both hemistichs of the first bait, and through every second one of the following. For instance:

which would scan:

⏑ – Qifā – nab- | ⏑ ki – min – – ẕikrā | ⏑ – – ḥabībin | ⏑ – ⏑ – wamanzilī   &c.

and belongs to the first variation of the metre T̤awīl.

Emancipating himself from the fetters of metre, and gradually also of the uniform rhyme, Muḥammad created what is now called sajʿ, that is to say, a rhythmical prose, in which the component parts of a period are balanced and cadenced by a varying rhyme, and of which e.g. the Sūratu ʾl-Qiyāmah (lxxv.) offers some fair examples; as (5–10):—

And again (22–30):

This kind of rhetorical style, the peculiarity of which Professor Palmer, in the passage quoted, p. 523, aptly explains from the etymological structure of Arabic, has become the favourite model of oratorical and ornate language with the later Arabs. It is frequently employed in ordinary narratives, such as the tales of the Arabian Nights, whenever the occasion requires a more elevated form of speech; it is the usual garb of that class of compositions, which is known by the name of Maqāmāt, and even extensive historical works, as the Life of Timur, by ʿArab Shāh, are written in it throughout.

But Muḥammad made a still greater and more decisive step towards creating a literature for his people. In those Sūrahs, in which he regulated the private and public life of the Muslim, he originated a prose, which has remained the standard of classical purity ever since.

With regard to this point, however, it has been stated, seemingly in disparagement of the later Arabic authors, that their accepting Muḥammad’s language as a perfect standard, from which no deviation is admissible, has led them to adopt an artificial style, as unnatural “as though Englishmen should still continue to follow Chaucer as their model, in spite of the changes which their language has undergone.” But is such a parallel justified in facts? In English, as amongst modern nations in general, the written language has always kept in close contact with the spoken language; the changes which the former has undergone are simply the registration and legalisation of the changes which in course of time had taken place in the latter. Not so in Arabic. From the moment when, at the epoch of its fullest and richest growth, it was, through the composition of the Qurʾān, invested with the dignity of a literary language, it was, by its very nature, for many centuries to come, precluded from any essential change, whether this be considered as an advantage or not.

The reason for this lies in the first instance in the triliteral character of the Semitic roots, referred to by Professor Palmer, which allows such a root to form one, two, or three syllables, according to the pronunciation of each letter, with or without a vowel. Let us take as an example once more the root ẓ-r-b (ضرب‎), which conveys the idea of “beating,” and serves in Arabic grammars, like the Greek τυπτω, to form paradigms, by way of a wholesome admonition, I suppose, to the youthful student. The first of these three consonants can only remain quiescent, i.e. vowel-less, if it is preceded by a vowel, as in the Imperative i-ẓrib (اِضْرِبْ‎), “beat thou,” where the root appears as a monosyllable, or in the aorist ya-ẓribu (يَضْرِبُ‎), “he beats or will beat,” where it takes together with the final u a disyllabic form. If we leave the second consonant quiescent and pronounce the first with a, we have ẓarb, with the nominative termination ẓarbun (ضَرْبٌ‎), the verbal noun “beating” or infinitive “to beat.” Vocalising both the first letters, we may obtain ẓārib, the active participle “beating,” or ẓurūb, plural of the last mentioned ẓarb, with the nominative termination ẓāribun (ضَارِبٌ‎) and ẓurūbun (ضُرُوبٌ‎). If we read all three consonants with vowels, it may be ẓaraba (ضَرَبَ‎), “he did beat,” or ẓarabū (ضَرَبُوا‎), “they did beat.” Taking, again, the two forms ẓaraba, “he did beat,” and yaẓribu, “he beats or will beat,” a simple change of vowels suffices to transform the active into the passive: ẓuriba (ضُرِبَ‎), “he was beaten,” and yuẓrabu (يُضْرَبُ‎), “he is beaten or will be beaten.” Lastly, it must be noticed, that the distinction between the two fundamental tenses of the Arabic verb rests on the principle that the affixes, representing the personal pronouns, are in the preterite placed at the end, in the aorist at the beginning of the root: ẓarab-nā, “we did beat,” but na-ẓribu, “we beat or will beat.”

From all this it will be easily understood that any essential change in the written language must deeply affect the whole system of Arabic accidence, and that this language will, therefore, naturally be averse to such changes. But, moreover, this system stands in closest connection with and dependence on the syntactical structure of the language, which is equally “conservative,” if I may use this expression, in its fundamental principles. The Arabic syntax knows only two kinds of sentences (jumlah), one called nominal (ismīyah), because it begins with a noun, the other verbal (fiʿlīyah), because it begins with a verb. Reduced to their shortest expression, an example of the first would be: Zaidun ẓāribun (زَيْدٌ ضَارِبٌ‎), “Zaid (is) beating”; of the second: ẓaraba zaidun (ضَرَبَ زَيْدٌ‎), “(there) did beat Zaid.” The constituent parts of the nominal sentence, which we would call subject and predicate, are termed mubtadaʾ, “incipient,” and k͟habar, “report,” meaning that which is enounced or stated of the subject. The k͟habar need not be an attributive, as in the sentence given above, but it may be another clause, either nominal or verbal, and if it is the former, its own mubtadaʾ admits even of a third clause as a second k͟habar for its complement. The subject of the verbal sentence is called agent, or fāʿil, and, as mentioned before, follows the verb, fiʿl, in the nominative.

The verb with its agent (fiʿl and fāʿil), or the subject with its predicate (mubtadaʾ and k͟habar), form the essential elements of the Arabic sentence. But there are a great many accidental elements, called faẓlah, “what is superabundant or in excess,” which may enter into the composition of a clause, and expand it to considerable length. Such are additional parts of speech expressing the various objective relations (mafʿūl) in which a noun may stand to an active verb, or the condition (ḥāl) of the agent at the moment when the action occurred, or circumstances of time and place (z̤arf) accompanying the action, or specificative distinctions (tamyīz) in explanation of what may be vague in a noun, or the dependence of one noun upon another (iẓāfah) or upon a preposition (k͟hafẓ), or the different kinds of apposition (tawābiʿ) in which a noun may be joined to another, either in the subject or the predicate, and so on.

All these numerous component parts of a fully-developed sentence are influenced by certain ruling principles (ʿawāmil, or “regents”), some merely logical, but most of them expressed in words and particles, which determine the iʿrāb, that is, the grammatical inflection of nouns and verbs, and bring into play those various vowel-changes, of which we have above given examples with regard to the interior of roots, and which, we must now add, apply equally to the terminations employed in declension and conjugation.

The subject and predicate, for instance, of the nominal sentence stand originally, as it is natural, both in the nominative. There are, however, certain regents called nawāsik͟h, “effacing ones,” which, like the particle inna, “behold,” change the nominative of the subject into the accusative, while others, like the verb kāna, “he was,” leave the subject unaltered, but place the predicate in the objective case: zaid-un ẓārib-un becomes thus either inna zaid-an ẓārib-un, or kāna zaid-un ẓārib-an.

Again, we have seen that the aorist proper of the third person singular terminates in u (yaẓrib-u). But under the influence of one class of regents this vowel changes into a (yaẓrib-a); under that of others it is dropped altogether, and in both cases the meaning and grammatical status of the verb is thereby considerably modified. If we consider the large number of these governing parts of speech—a well-known book treats of the “hundred regents,” but other grammarians count a hundred and fifteen and more—it will be seen what delicate and careful handling the Arabic syntax requires, and how little scope there is left for the experiments of wilful innovators.

At the time of Muḥammad this then was, apart from some slight dialectical differences, the spoken language of his people. He took it, so to say, from the mouth of his interlocutors, but, wielding it with the power of a master-mind, he made in the Qurʾān such a complete and perfect use of all its resources as to create a work that, in the estimation of his hearers, appeared worthy to be thought the word of God Himself.

When a long period of conquests scattered the Arabs to the farthest East and to the farthest West, their spoken language might deviate from its pristine purity, slurring over unaccented syllables and dropping terminations. But the fine idiom of their fore-fathers, as deposited in the Qurʾān, remained the language of their prayer and their pious meditation, and thus lived on with them, as a bond of unity, an object of national love and admiration, and a source of literary development for all times.