The First Muslim: The Story of Muhammad

Those who are comfortably established in life tend to have no need to ask what it means.

To idealize someone is also, in a way, to dehumanize them,

Khadija loved him for himself, not for who he would become, and he would never forget her in those later years, turning pale with grief at the sound of any voice that reminded

Muhammad’s is one of those rare lives that is more dramatic in reality than in legend. In fact the less one invokes the miraculous, the more extraordinary his life becomes.

At last it came. It would be known as the Sura of the Morning, eleven tantalizingly brief verses which read in full: “By the morning light and the dark of night, your Lord has not forsaken you, Muhammad, nor does he abhor you. The end shall be better than the beginning, and you will be satisfied. Did he not find you an orphan and give you shelter? Did he not find you in error and guide you? Did he not find you poor and enrich you? Do not wrong the orphan, then, nor chide the beggar, but proclaim the goodness of your Lord.

A boy who had learned to survive by silencing his voice had suddenly been given one, but was it his own voice he had been given, or the voice of God? Or was the voice of God within him, part of him? Had divine words really been planted inside him, or had his own words been an expression of the divine? Where did man end and God begin? What was this boundary so powerfully and briefly broken?

The scriptures of all three of the great monotheisms show that they began similarly as popular movements in protest against the privilege and arrogance of power, whether that of kings as in the Hebrew bible, or the Roman Empire as in the Gospels, or a tribal elite as in the Quran. All three, that is, were originally driven by ideals of justice and egalitarianism, rejecting the inequities of human power in favor of a higher and more just one.

How did the infant sent away from his family grow up to redefine the whole concept of family and tribe into something far larger: the umma, the people or the community of Islam?

As with early Judaism and early Christianity, early Islam would be rooted in opposition to a corrupt status quo.

Why would a happily married man isolate himself this way, standing in meditation through the night?

This is the basic insight of the Gnostics, the one known to the great mystical thinkers of all traditions: the divine spark is within each human being.

The word, 'cube', comes directly from the Arabic, Kaaba.

With the exception perhaps of a massive earthquake, we are protected from real awe. Few people even know any longer what it’s like to stand alone in a thunderstorm on the open plains, or to feel the shore vibrate beneath you as a gale sends millions of tons of water pounding in across thousands of miles of ocean. We close the doors and hunker down, convinced that we are in control, or at least hoping for control, and lose touch with what it is to be overwhelmed by a force much greater than ourselves.

He did not come floating off the mountain as though walking on air. He did not run down shouting “Hallelujah” and “Bless the Lord.” He did not radiate light and joy. There were no choirs of angels, no music of the heavens. No elation, no ecstasy, no golden aura surrounding him. No sense of his absolute, foreordained, unquestionable role as the messenger of God. Not even the whole of the Quran fully revealed, but only a few brief verses. In short, Muhammad did none of the things that might seem essential to the legend of a man who had just done the impossible and crossed the border between this world and another—none of the things that might make it easy to cry foul, to denigrate the whole story as an invention, a cover for something as mundane as delusion or personal ambition. On the contrary: he was convinced that what he had encountered could not be real. At best it must be a hallucination: a trick of the eye or the ear, or his own mind working against him. At worst, possession, and he had been seized by an evil jinn, a spirit out to deceive him, even to crush the life out of him. In fact he was so sure that he could only be majnun, literally possessed by a jinn, that when he found himself still alive, his first instinct had been to finish the job himself, to leap off the highest cliff and escape the terror of what he had experienced by putting an end to all experience.

Muhammad now translated this concept into political terms. Blending idealism and pragmatism - a master politician's skill if ever there was one - he drew up arbitration agreement that used the tribal principle to reach beyond tribe.

Female infanticide was as high in Mecca as in Constantinople, Athens, and Rome - a practice the Quran was to address directly and condemn repeatedly.

If Muhammad weren't standing lonely vigil on the mountain, you might say that there was no sign of anything unusual about him.

In a sense Muhammad was less the messenger than the translator, struggling to give human form -- words -- to the ineffable.

The great British philosopher and historian R. G. Collingwood maintained in The Idea of History that to write well about a historical figure, you need both empathy and imagination. By this he did not mean spinning tales out of thin air, but taking what is known and examining it in the full context of time and place, following the strands of the story until they begin to intertwine and establish a thick braid of reality.

The parallels between Muhammad and Jesus are striking. Both were impelled by a strong sense of social justice; both emphasized unmediated access to the divine; both challenged the established power structure of their times.

Like all Arabians, the Jews spoke of God as al-Lah, the high one, and often used the honorific that would become familiar in the Quran, ar-Rahman, the merciful, just as the newly completed Babylonian Talmud used Rahmana. It seemed clear to Muhammad that Jews and Muslims were the common descendants of Abraham, the first hanif: two branches of the same monotheistic family. They were cousins, not strangers. And since the Jews were the original upholders of din Ibrahim, the tradition of Abraham, he took it for granted that he would have not merely their assent, but their enthusiastic support.

Machiavelli himself famously put it: “All armed prophets have conquered, and unarmed prophets have come to grief.

What does one dream of when the dream has been achieved?

This was what emigration meant: a young man beaten into submission by his own relatives, the lonely resolve of a young woman and her injured infant riding unaccompanied through the desert, the desperate attempts of family to hang on to them, and the echoing absence they would leave behind them, as though they had died. With each departure, the effect was magnified, all the more in the case of prominent believers like Omar and Uthman, who had been born into the Meccan elite and thus had higher public profiles.

agree that Muhammad took his uncle’s hand as the life began to fade from his eyes and urged him to say the shahada, to accept islam and testify that there was no god but God: “Say it, uncle, and then I shall be able to witness for you on the Day of Judgment.

Since his sister had wisely neglected to inform him of this, he’d had no idea. In a fury, he went storming into her house, ready to lay about him with fists and whip, only to find a small group sitting peaceably on the floor, chanting verses from the Quran. They continued calmly despite Omar’s bursting in, disconcerting him enough to make him stand still. The musicality of the verses began to reach through the fog of rage and alcohol, and he sat down to listen. “How fine and noble are these words,” he said when they had finished, and asked to be taken to Muhammad to make the shahada, the formal pledge of belief. He’d never touch alcohol again.

his eyes narrowed in what seemed to be intense pain or grief, and others when he’d shudder violently. Whichever way it happened, he was left helplessly weak as the words formed inside him, waiting to be recited into the world. The pain was an essential part of it, part of the birthing process, for this is what he was doing: verse by verse, he was giving birth to the Quran.

Treated by his own people as one of them yet not one of them, he couldn’t help but be aware of the contradictions inherent in a society that was supposed to be his, but seemed to have no place for him.

The boy who had survived by blending into the background had to accept that he would now be thrust into the foreground, into the unrelenting eye of the world.