Creation and Contemplation. The Cosmology of the Qur'ān and Its Late Antique Background 9783110794014, 9783110794083, 9783110794168, 2023931699

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Julien Decharneux Creation and Contemplation

Studies in the History and Culture of the Middle East

Edited by Stefan Heidemann, Gottfried Hagen, Andreas Kaplony, Rudi Matthee, and Kristina L. Richardson

Volume 47

Julien Decharneux

Creation and Contemplation The Cosmology of the Qur’ān and Its Late Antique Background

ISBN 978-3-11-079401-4 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-079408-3 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-079416-8 ISSN 2198-0853 Library of Congress Control Number: 2023931699 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2023 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgments I would like to express my gratitude to those who made this book possible. My first thoughts go to Prof. Guillaume Dye. I am sincerely grateful to him for having trained, followed, and encouraged me, not only during my PhD, but since the beginning of my studies at the Free University of Brussels. I hope that the rigour of his scholarship transpires through these pages. I also want to warmly thank Prof. Philip Booth who accompanied me during my masters at the University of Oxford and throughout the few years of research that led to the present book. His numerous recommendations and encouragements gave me the confidence to develop some of my most original arguments. My thank also goes to Prof. Jan M. F. Van Reeth, Prof. Jean-Charles Ducène, Prof. Christian Brouwer, and Prof. Anne-Sylvie Boisliveau for their precious comments and their positive feedback on my work. I owe special gratitude to the Free University of Brussels (ULB) and the numerous colleagues with whom I had the opportunity to work there. The Faculty of Philosophy and Social Sciences and the Faculty of Letters, Translation, and Communication recently awarded the Marie-Antoinette Van Huele Prize to my PhD dissertation. It goes without saying that this honour was only made possible thanks to the thorough training in Oriental philology I have received from my numerous professors throughout the years at the Free University of Brussels. I think in the first place of Prof. Xavier Luffin who nourished my appetite for the Arabic language and literature throughout my studies. I am much obliged to him for the comments and advice he gave me at various points of the writing process. I would like to take the opportunity to thank Prof. Lambros Couloubaritsis for his numerous insights on the Greek philosophical tradition over the past few years. His encyclopaedic knowledge and his incomparable analytical power have been a real source of emulation for me. I have a special thought also for Prof. Michèle Broze and Prof. Philippe Talon. The memory of their teachings never ceases to stir up my passion for ancient semitic philology. I would like to thank the Wiener-Anspach Foundation for their continuous support over the years, which not only gave me the opportunity to carry on my research at the University of Oxford, but also made possible the encounter with so many academics and friends overseas. I cannot mention here all the people who have contributed to feed my thoughts during my many visits to Oxford, but I take here the opportunity to particularly thank Prof. David Taylor, Prof. Sergey Minov, Bogdan Draghici, and Vladimir Olivero. This work would not have been possible without the support of my family of course. My thank goes to my father, Baudouin Decharneux, for having passed down to me the taste of religious studies and the love for ancient thought and philosophy. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-001

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I am grateful to my grandfather, François Vogeleer, who commented on my work at various points of the redaction. I would like to thank my mother, Anne Vogeleer, and my brother, Alexandre Decharneux, for their encouragements. The meticulosity and perseverance that characterize them never seizes to inspire me. I am also grateful to my grandmothers Emiliana Garcia Garcia and Danielle Bonaventure for their continuous love and support throughout these years. I would like to extend my thanks to the many friends in Belgium and elsewhere who supported me over the years: Henri Delautre-Drouillon for stimulating my intellect for more than a decade, Sarkis Geerts for his support in good times as much as in bad ones, and Thomas Meurisse for the time spent sharing our passion for philology and religions. Finally, I would like to warmly thank Ombeline Eugène. Without doubt, her love, kindness, and encouragements gave me the necessary impulse to complete this work at the most hectic moment. Julien Decharneux

Contents General Introduction

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Chapter 1 Natural Theology 16 16  Introduction  Creation as a web of meaning 17  Biblical and late antique natural theology 21  The notion of sign 27 28 . Biblical background . Patristic developments 29 . The Qur’ānic ’āyāt: the end of a linguistic puzzle? 33 36  Qur’ānic teleology . Negative teleology: Creation is not purposeless! 36 . Affirmative teleology: Creation as a training ground 40 43  The Classroom of Creation  A scholastic version of Adam naming the animals 50  Conclusion 54 Chapter 2 Contemplation: Between Theory and Practice 55  Introduction 55 56  The necessity of divine grace  The condition of purity 59 . The role of the heart 62 . The heart and the sense of sight 64 . Healing the heart 70  Remembering God 71 . Remembering God in the Qur’ān 73 . Late antique roots of the notion 75 . Shared wordings in the illustration of the remembrance of God . Reading as an ascetic practice 81  Divine knowledge 84 . Esoteric knowledge 84 . Limited investigation 86 . Knowledge of the limit 90  Seeking the face of God 93  Conclusion 96

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Chapter 3 99 Doctrine of Creation  Introduction 99  Creatorship and createdness 100 . Polemics on created creators 100 106 . On being ʿibād of God . Disarray in heaven and earth 108 109  Creation out of matter vs. Creation out of nothing . The antique backdrop 110 . The vocabulary of “creation” in the Qur’ān 113 118 . Kun fa-yakūn . “I created you before, when you were nothing” 122 . “Where they created from no thing?” 125 126 . A universe out of “formless matter”? . A sky made of smoke 128  Creation and Providence 130 131 . A purposeful creation . Creating in truth 133 . Polemics on the vain creation 138  Conclusion 140 Chapter 4 Divine Economy and Continuous Creation 143 143  Introduction  A sky without columns 144  Divine powers 148 . Divine permission 150 . Divine command and the divine economy 151  Focus on Q 16:77 – 79 155 . The blink of an eye and childbirth 155 . The bird suspended in the air of the sky 158  Age of the world and sabbatical rest 162  Conclusion 170 Chapter 5 172 On the Creation of the Heavens  Introduction 172  A world created in six days 172 . Creation of heaven and earth 174 . Heaven or earth first? 177

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 . . . .  . . 

Skies, heavens, firmament 180 180 Expanse vs. boundary Sky vs. Firmament 181 Seven heavens 185 Mirroring heavens and earth: the seven earths of the Qur’ān 196 Cosmological imagery Architectural metaphors 197 205 A scale balancing in the middle of nowhere Conclusion 210

Chapter 6 On the Creation of Angels and Men 212  Introduction 212 212  Creation of angels . Time of angelic creation 212 . Angels and elements 218 220 . Hierarchy of angels . Angels and the cosmos 223 . God’s sons 228 . God’s Daughters 231 234  Creation of mankind . Man made from clay 234 . Creation of man: a multistep process 238 . Creating man with speech . Man and divine spirit 242 . Assembling body and soul 244  Conclusion 245 General Conclusion Bibliography Indexes

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General Introduction It is traditional in a study dedicated to the question of cosmology in ancient cultures to begin by stating that the interest in the cosmos, its functioning, its origins, and its appointed end, have constituted a driving force for men since the dawn of humanity. Picturing the world can probably be regarded as a universal among human cultures. Yet, the singularity of this anthropological observation is certainly weakened by the redundancy with which it is conveyed in most monographs dealing with ancient cosmologies, not to mention the pompous semi-poetic style in which they are usually framed. At the moment of writing this introduction, in a painful attempt at distinguishing myself from my glorious (and sometimes less glorious) predecessors, I feel suddenly caught up by the inevitable. The distinctive artificial sound of a new incoming email in my mailbox just rang out; probably another spam. Title: “The Universe Has an Urgent Message for You”, followed by a short text inviting me to click on a link to discover the pressing matter the Universe wants to discuss with me. Most importantly, the post-scriptum adds that this cosmic message has an “expiration date”; contemporary eschatology undoubtedly. Brave new world … I am not fooled by the seeming improbability of the situation of course. The arrival of this message in my mailbox – though being the first of the kind – is probably explained less by divine providence than by four years of repetitive queries concerning the cosmos in my favourite browser and its impenetrable algorithm. The grotesqueness of the situation however inexorably gives rise to a reflection: since prehistorical times up until modern days, human beings have deployed a wealth of imagination to decipher, picture, and contemplate the complexity of the world surrounding them. The Qur’ān obviously does not escape the rule and even makes the cosmos and its functioning one of its favourite themes of discussion. In its own rhetorical fashion, repetitive and allusive, the Qur’ān spends a considerable number of verses talking about Creation, its divine authorship and guidance, its appointed end and its eschatological re-creation.¹ A study that seeks to grasp such a fundamental thing as the cosmological thought of the Qur’ān is bound to take into consideration the Qur’ān as a whole. Its authors indeed never provide a theory on the cosmos, nor do they try to express their view on the mechanism of the universe in a single passage. Cosmological arguments and motifs are rather scattered throughout the text in an allusive and  Here and in what follows, I make the distinction between “creation”, as the act of creating something, and “Creation”, designating the universe as a created entity. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-002

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non-systematic fashion. Our research thus begins with the confession of its paradoxical goal: making some systematicity emerge from a text that does not do systems. Given that the study of “cosmology” can technically embrace everything extant in the cosmos from the constitution of the throne of God in the highest heaven to the coming into existence of ants – and the Qur’ān does speak of ants –, we had to narrow down our research to the more specific themes of “creation” and “contemplation”. Both notions lie at the heart of the Qur’ānic religious program and largely determine the cosmological images that come out of it. The Qur’ān barely ever adopts a cosmological motif for the sole purpose of describing the universe. In fact, the common thread of our research will be to show that the Qur’ānic cosmology is entirely subsumed to the Qur’ān’s overarching theological claim. For its authors, the cosmos points towards the existence of a single God, who created and guides the universe on his own. This fairly simple theological message is conveyed by means of two intertwined strategies in the text, an ethical one and a doctrinal one. On the one hand, the Qur’ān constantly invites its audience to engage in the contemplation of Creation and to find in it the traces of the existence of its unique creator. On the other hand, the Qur’ān deploys a range of doctrinal arguments – mainly in the form of polemics – aiming at supporting the idea that the world is divinely originated and guided. Both theory (doctrine of creation) and practice (contemplation) thus point towards the same reality: the divine authorship and guidance of the universe. Our research concentrates on these two aspects of the Qur’ānic cosmological discourse. We could have added to the themes of contemplation and creation, another theme tightly related to cosmology in the Qur’ān, namely eschatology. However, the question of Qur’ānic eschatology has been much studied over the past few years and we thus chose to orientate the research towards less investigated areas.² Our study addresses the question of natural contemplation and creation and shows how in such matters the Qur’ān echoes late antique cosmological debates, especially Christian ones. Although the study frequently highlights Qur’ānic innovations in this regard, we argue that this “cosmological model” builds on previous Christian and Jewish cosmologies to produce an original cosmological discourse. Our research thus is characterized as an attempt to study the cosmology of the Qur’ān and unearth its late antique foundations.

 On the topic of cosmology and eschatology, see Tesei 2015a. Publications on Apocalypticism and eschatology in Early Islam and the Qur’ān are numerous. Most recent research includes Shoemaker 2012; Shoemaker 2014; Shoemaker 2018; Cook 1996; Cook 2002; Cook 2005.

Current state of the research in the field of Qur’ānic studies

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Current state of the research in the field of Qur’ānic studies As theorists of “the act of reading” rightly point out, texts are filled with “extratextual reality”, which can take “the form of references to earlier works, or to social and historical norms, or to the whole culture from which the text has emerged”.³ It is fair to say that when it concerns modern cultures, a philologist’s task – namely, reconstructing this “extratextual reality” –, already constitutes a tortuous journey. When it comes to ancient texts however, the journey often turns into a long and demanding penance walk. On the one hand, the “places of indeterminacy” (Unbestimmtheitsstellen) within ancient texts are much more numerous given the temporal, spatial, and cultural shortages between modern readers and the text they read. On the other hand, though the degree varies from one text to the other, a significant amount of the material that could help reconstruct this “extratextual reality” is lost for good. In light of the current state of the research on the Qur’ān and Early Islam, the problem appears even trickier.⁴ The traditional and majority paradigm among scholars since Theodor Nöldeke’s pioneering Geschichte des Qorâns, was that the Qur’ān reflects the predication of Muḥammad in Mecca and Medina and the experience of the community around him.⁵ Yet, this so-called “Nöldekian paradigm”⁶ has been increasingly challenged in recent years.⁷ Numerous studies have pointed out that the traditional narrative of the emergence of Islam and the Qur’ān was mostly based on texts whose historical reliability was questionable for a number of reasons (time-lapse, location, motivation, apologetics, identity, etc.).⁸ In parallel to this, the strict application of historical-critical methods on the Qur’ān has allowed scholars to challenge numerous aspects of this traditional paradigm: identity of the authors, identity of the Qur’ānic audience, geographical origin, date of composition, etc.⁹ Contemporary scholarship has also highlighted substantial problems concerning the so-called “chronology of the Qur’ān”, i. e. the idea that the Qur’ān should be read according to the quadripartite division of the life of Muḥam Iser 1978, 69.  For synthesis on the field of Qur’ānic studies and scientific debates, see Dye 2019b; Dye/Nobilio 2011; Amir-Moezzi 2007; Amir-Moezzi/Kohlberg 2007; Donner 2008; Reynolds 2010, 3 – 22; Segovia 2012; Sinai 2018. There exist numerous general introductions to the field. See in priority the first volume of Dye/Amir-Moezzi 2019, which collects studies on the state of the art in pretty much everything related to the Qur’ān and Early Islam. See also references in Dye 2019b, 735 – 737.  Nöldeke et al. 2013.  The expression is from Dye 2011, 247.  On the problems surrounding the traditional paradigm, see Dye 2019b, 743 – 748.  On the constitution of the Muslim traditional sources, see de Prémare 2004.  On these different aspects, see Donner 1998, 75 – 85.

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mad (Early Meccan, Middle Meccan, Late Meccan, and Medinan).¹⁰ Although this still constitutes a matter of lively debates among specialists, a reading of the Qur’ān primarily based on these traditional sources poses incommensurable methodological issues. We did not use this literary corpus within the framework of our study. Most recent research in the field of Qur’ānic studies has probably laid the basis of a paradigm shift from a methodological point of view. We distinguish two different axes, an intratextual one and an extratextual one. The intratextual approach consists in reading the Qur’ān for what it has to say about its own context of emergence. This approach relies of course on philological tools such as lexicography, textual criticism, etc. A number of elements about the origins of the text can be inferred from such a reading, but the Qur’ān often remains mysterious on its historical context of production. Not only has it been described as “ahistorical”,¹¹ but the attempt to understand specific aspects of its argumentation are often hampered by its lack of systematism. Recent use of the methods of redaction criticism (Redaktionsgeschichte) in the field started offering a somewhat distinct narrative for the emergence of the Qur’ān than what the “traditional chronology” had suggested before. Indeed, whereas scholars had so far mostly understood the Qur’ān as the repository of Muḥammad’s ipsissima verba transmitted, collected, and compiled more or less faithfully by his companions, recent historical-critical studies on the Qur’ān have started to draw the contours of a redactional history that is simply incompatible with this view. Among other things, these studies suggest that the text went through a process involving manifold revisions, that its different layers are the doing of multiple authors, scribes, and compilers with varying theological aspirations, and that their redactional and editorial work spanned over a longer period than traditionally admitted.¹² The extratextual approach can be characterized as a historical reading of the Qur’ān. It aims at reading the Qur’ānic text in light of the pre-Qur’ānic religious background of Late Antiquity: Judaism, Christianity, Manichaeism, Zoroastrianism, etc. Among the different cultural spheres considered, recent years of research have increasingly drawn attention to the Christian background of the Qur’ān. Several

 On the problem of the chronology of the Qur’ān, see Reynolds 2011; Stefanidis 2008.  Dye 2019b, 738; Donner 1998, 75 – 85.  It is true that the traditional accounts of the emergence of the Qur’ān do not depict the codification of the Qur’ān as a totally unhurried process. The whole point however is to choose whether the narrative provided by these sources needs to be taken as a framework wherein to understand Qur’ānic textual variants, interpolations, etc. On the application of textual critical methods to the Qur’ānic text, see Dye 2019b. On the different approaches to the understanding of the emergence of the Qur’ān as a text, see Shoemaker 2022, 537– 539.

Goals and method

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passages in the text indeed show that some of its authors were undoubtedly acquainted with the Christian tradition, especially with its Syriac branches.¹³ Though heuristically divided here, these latter two approaches are of course most of the time intertwined. The present study draws on both of them. References to Muslim exegesis and traditional texts are avoided and the traditional “chronology of the Qur’ān” as a heuristic tool is not resorted to.

Goals and method This book studies the late antique background of the cosmology of the Qur’ān. It pursues two different yet intertwined goals: 1) Put the Qur’ān into dialogue with the biblical cosmological traditions, especially the Christian one, so as to throw light on the Qur’ānic cosmology and its formation. 2) Show the continuities and discontinuities between the Qur’ān and the late antique Christian sources on cosmology. The comparison of the Qur’ānic cosmology to other cosmological traditions is particularly necessary considering the unsystematicity and the allusiveness of the text on the matter. We therefore suggest contrasting the Qur’ānic cosmology with the very rich, long, and more systematic, biblical cosmological tradition in order to throw new light on it.¹⁴ The choice of the biblical tradition and more specifically of the Christian sources as a comparandum is not innocent. A quick glance at the Qur’ānic discourse on the world shows clear genetic links with the biblical cosmology and its Christian developments. This is not to say that the Qur’ān is simply the echo chamber of these previous sources of course. Not only do we highlight at various points in the demonstration that the Qur’ān draws from other traditions, but we also show how the Qur’ān departs from previous sources so as to produce new meanings. Our goal is rather to study the historical and literary “depth” of the Qur’ānic

 It is fair to say that this Christian corpus is disproportionately huge with regards to other religious corpuses available to us (Jewish, Zoroastrian, etc.). This may well distort the way we see the Qur’ān’s debts to previous religious traditions of Late Antiquity. Yet, it is likely that the connections of the Qur’ān with the Syriac world are much thicker than with any other religious traditions of the time.  As Bruce Lincoln reminds us, “meaning is constructed through contrast. All knowledge, indeed all intelligibility thus derives from consideration of data whose differences become instructive and revealing when set against the similarities that render them comparable.” Cf. Lincoln 2012, 99.

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cosmological discourse. We indeed claim that a close examination of the Qur’ān in light of the Bible and Christian hermeneutics allows us to pinpoint when the Arabic text reproduces previous cosmological features (arguments, motifs, narratives, etc.), when it reframes them, and when it parts ways with them. Apart from a few case studies dedicated to isolated cosmological motifs in the Qur’ān,¹⁵ scholarship has often understood the study of Qur’ānic cosmology as a reconstruction of the Qur’ānic image of the universe in the form of catalogue of motifs,¹⁶ frequently resulting in diagrams.¹⁷ Though we need to pay tribute to these previous approaches, they present several pitfalls. We enumerate them to circumscribe better the nature of our undertaking. Firstly, it is important not to presuppose that the authors of the text sought to convey a systematic representation of the universe. The textual evidence suggests they were in fact little concerned with such an enterprise. The Qur’ānic allusiveness on the matter and its dissemination of cosmological motifs throughout the entire corpus rather than in a single surah attest to the fact that cosmographical systematicity simply falls out of the Qur’ānic literary endeavour. Though the reconstruction of the Qur’ānic picture of the world is tantalizing, it necessarily needs to be preceded by a thorough reflection on the intentions of the Qur’ānic authors in bringing up cosmological features. In other words, our analysis needs to stay focus on the Sitz im Leben of the cosmological material in the Qur’ān rather than give in to our modern appetite for systematicity. Secondly, the approach that consists in cataloguing the different cosmological passages of the text and collating them to reconstruct the Qur’ānic universe also presupposes that the text is united and that every motif displayed in it belongs to a harmonized overarching model. Recent scholarship however shows that the Qur’ān should be treated as a corpus rather than a text per se. In other words, it should be considered as a document being the fruit of a process of selections, rejections, emendations, transformations, of previous pieces – not mention its final compilation and canonization – by different authors, scribes, and compilers, who worked in various times and locations, and whose respective motivations most probably fluctuated. The affirmation that the text possesses from one end to the other an inner logic and harmony in terms of cosmological representations should therefore be taken as a hypothesis rather than an axiom. Although there exists a form of consistency in the cosmological themes conveyed, our study also

 Tesei 2015a; van Bladel 2007.  For a useful catalogue of Qur’ānic cosmological motifs, see Neuwirth 2001.  See especially Jachimovicz 1975; Janos 2012; Tabataba’i et al. 2016.

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shows the presence of heterogenous and even competing cosmological views within the text. Finally, many of the previous studies on the cosmology of the Qur’ān have understood the notion of “cosmology” in a very restrictive sense, namely in the sense of cosmography. To be sure, the notion of cosmology extends well-beyond the mere interest in the description of the structure of the universe. The term cosmology, as a heuristic tool, encompasses topics such as the coming into being of the universe (cosmogony), its causal principle, its teleology, its theodicy, and many other aspects of religious discourse (eschatology, ethics, etc.). A study on cosmology that fails to address these issues certainly misses a major point about ancient cosmologies, namely that they are almost always underlain by theological preoccupations. In this study, we offer to read the cosmology of the Qur’ān in light of its larger theological thought and program. Our six chapters show that the Qur’ānic discourse on the cosmos is articulated with – and even determined by – the theological agenda of its authors. The first chapter analyses what I call the Qur’ānic natural theology. In multiple places, the Qur’ān suggests that an active contemplation of the signs (’āyāt) left by God in the cosmos allow the believer to acquire knowledge about the Creator and his plan for Creation. More than a simple exhortation to wonderment, I show that the multiple calls to observe the regularity of the cosmos and acknowledge its benefaction for human beings, should be read within the larger context of the Qur’ān’s spiritual program.¹⁸ Moreover, I suggest that the text here echoes a tradition of natural contemplation rooted in Hellenistic Judaism already and which flourished throughout the late antique period in the Christian world. This theme is particularly analysed in light of the sixth-century East-Syrian school movement and the texts emanating from this cultural sphere. In the second chapter, I analyse the role of man within the contemplative framework studied in the first chapter. The text here deploys technical terminology and imagery to describe how one should behave in order to reach the necessary state of purification to contemplate God’s signs in the world. The Qur’ān develops in this context a range of motifs and technical terms that come at times extremely close to the East-Syrian ascetic tradition, particularly lively at the time of the emergence of the Arabic text.

 When applied to the Qur’ān, the term “asceticism” is used throughout this study in the etymological sense of the word ἄσκησις, “exercise”, and not in the modern sense, which reduces the notion of asceticism to the idea of “renunciation”. On this, see Sloterdijk 2009; and Hadot 1993, 77– 78. On the application of the Sloterdijkian paradigm to the Qur’ān, see the articles recently published in Numen: Dye 2019a; Bonner 2019; Mortensen 2019b; Christiansen 2019.

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The third chapter tackles the notion of creation in light of some of the most important cosmological themes developed in the late antique Christian tradition. We show that although the Qur’ān recurrently insists on the fact that God is the only creator of the universe and that it draws from a repertoire of well-known late antique rhetorical arguments to counter heterodox views on the matter, it also strangely displays no knowledge of some of the greatest cosmological themes developed throughout that period. The fourth chapter addresses the Qur’ānic doctrine of the maintenance of the universe (creatio continua). In seeking to support the claim of God’s supremacy over Creation, the Qur’ān stresses that God continuously sustains the world and steers it towards an appointed end. The motifs deployed to illustrate this doctrine find particularly striking counterparts in the homilies of Jacob of Sarugh. Chapters five and six are dedicated to the Qur’ānic descriptions of three cosmic entities about which the Qur’ān is most talkative: heavens, angels, and men. The fifth chapter studies the Qur’ānic account of the creation of the heaven and the eclectic Qur’ānic repertoire used to talk about its structure. The sixth chapter finally studies the Qur’ānic creation of angels and men. It shows how the Qur’ān is indebted to biblical exegesis in this respect, but also proceeds to a number of small, yet significant, theological shifts from previous traditions. The cosmological motifs and arguments considered are studied both in the light of the Qur’ānic text itself (intratextuality) and in the light of their potential late antique background (extratextuality). Our intratextual analyses are synchronic and rarely diachronic.¹⁹ With regard to the extratextual approach, we privilege an approach of the Qur’ān in the long duration of the biblical tradition. It appeared that limiting ourselves to comparing the Qur’ān to a handful of Syriac authors was not sufficient to do justice to the “literary depth” of the text. Surely, the Late Antiquity in light of which so many scholars today affirm the Qur’ān should be read extends well beyond the Syriac homiletical corpus. A reading of the Qur’ān in light of this limited corpus only misses a major point, namely that the text often remasters biblical formulas and arguments that were heavily debated among commentators since the beginning of biblical exegesis. Replacing the Qur’ān in the broad spectrum of the biblical tradition and being able to show that the text echoes certain exegetical traditions rather than others, are the main concerns of the

 The study of the cosmology of the Qur’ān would certainly benefit from a systematic diachronic analysis, especially in light of the methods of redaction criticism. We nevertheless consider that identifying the sources of the foundation of the Qur’ānic cosmology and providing the different cosmological themes addressed in the Qur’ān with a historical and literary background constitute a preliminary and conditional step to a study in the diachrony.

Sources

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present study. This need cannot be met without having in mind the “big picture” and without engaging in a “long duration” reading of the text. Whenever it is feasible, we start off by comparing the Qur’ānic cosmological features studied (e. g. motifs, turns of phrase, themes) to their biblical equivalents. We then go to exegetical literature and discuss what Christian commentators made of them. Particular attention is paid to how these motifs and arguments evolved throughout the late antique period. We usually narrow down the discussion to exegetical branches deemed of particular interest for the understanding of the text. Most of the time, we end up comparing the Qur’ānic cosmological positions to comparable cosmological doctrines in the Syriac world. The primary goal of this research is not to find “parallels” or “subtexts” as such between the Qur’ān and previous traditions, but to read both corpora synoptically in order to enlighten the understanding of the Qur’ānic cosmological discourse and show its continuities and discontinuities with late antique Christian cosmological conceptions.

Sources How did we circumscribe our corpus of comparison? In line with recent scholarship on the Qur’ān, we decided to give priority to Christian sources, and especially Syriac ones. Although rabbinic sources provide at times an important insight to understand late antique cosmological developments, they most of the time do not come as close to the Qur’ān as the Christian sources, with one or two significant exceptions.²⁰ Over the past few decades, scholars of the Qur’ān have increasingly pointed out by means of solid philological and linguistic studies that the Qur’ān was very much indebted to the Syriac-speaking Christian world. More specifically, an increasing number of studies highlight the importance of the Syriac homiletic corpus of Ephrem of Nisibis (4th c.), Narsai (d. 502), and Jacob of Sarugh (d. 521).²¹ The pertinence of comparing the phraseology and themes developed by these authors with the Qur’ān is now fully accepted in the field. Our study goes along these lines

 Cf. for instance the seven-heaven motif studied in chapter 5.  As Sydney Griffith affirmed in a ground-breaking article, “the more deeply one is familiar with the works of the major writers of the classical period, especially the composers of liturgically significant homiletic texts such as those written by Ephraem the Syrian (c. 306 – 373), Narsai of Edessa and Nisibis (c. 309 – 502), or Jacob of Serugh (c. 451– 521), the more one hears echoes of many of their standard themes and characteristic turns of phrase at various points in the discourse of the Arabic Qur’ān.” Cf. Griffith 2008, 109.

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and shows that the cosmological thoughts of these famous writers enlighten the Qur’ānic cosmological imagery. Nevertheless, we propose a slightly different approach. In recent years, several studies have tackled the question of the Christian lore of the Qur’ān. The most compelling explanation to make sense of this massive Christian substratum in the text is to assume that its authors somehow came into contact with the Christian sphere. There can be numerous socio-historical contexts considered for this “encounter”,²² but given the form of the Christian lore in the Qur’ān (i. e. always periphrastic, never detailed, and often approximative), it seems that the most likely hypothesis is that the authors of the Qur’ān somehow entered into contact with Christian preachers or missionaries. If this hypothesis is correct, then it is somewhat pointless to limit our analysis to the Syriac homilies of Ephrem or Jacob of Sarugh. The question we ought to ask is: What is the repertoire of texts that would have contributed to shape the cosmological thought of the “standard Christian preacher” at the turn of the 7th century? This repertoire varies depending on church affiliation, but it involves among other things the Bible, apocryphal texts, exegetical commentaries, and ascetic literature. These different types of texts were not occasionally read. The sources attest that they were omnipresent in the Christian scholastic and monastic life from where a “standard preacher” would have come. The Psalms (and Scriptures on the whole) were taught in every village school at a young age already, they were learned by heart, and recited on a daily basis in monasteries. There, exegetical commentaries were read not only individually, but also collectively (during dinner or before the service for instance), not to mention that they were even sometimes memorized.²³ In this context, it is often forgotten that both Syriac and Greek exegetes were extremely popular.²⁴ If we take the example of the Church of the East, whose sources have received particular attention in this book, the importance of biblical commentaries of authors such as Theodore of Mopsuestia,²⁵ John Chrysostom,²⁶ the

 I use here the word “encounter” in the singular to speak about a general phenomenon. It goes without saying that there can have been manifold encounters, with various Christian communities, at different times, and in different locations.  Debié 2010, 137– 139.  Watt 2007.  Theodore was certainly the most influential theologian in the East-Syrian tradition. He was translated into Syriac early on, and though few of his works are still extant, his influence can be gauged by the number of citations and references to him in the Syriac sources. Cf. Ter Haar Romeny 2007, 65.  His writings were also early on translated and read in the Syriac world. Cf. Brock 2007, 18.

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Cappadocian Fathers (Basil of Caesarea,²⁷ Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory Nazianzus²⁸), was central.²⁹ As for the spiritual literature, we know that among other things (Lives of saints, etc.), the writings of important ascetic authors such as Evagrius of Pontus and³⁰ Pseudo-Macarius, were extremely popular. In this regard, the writings of East-Syrian sixth and seventh-century authors such Isaac of Nineveh or Dadishoʿ Qatraya, which are usually overlooked in modern Qur’ānic studies, constitute valuable witnesses to both the reception of previous Christian authors, as well as to the to the developments of Christian spirituality at the time the Qur’ān was being composed.³¹ To put it somewhat provocatively, if we agree that the authors of the Qur’ān met with Christian missionaries, then it is likely that they were actually facing actual “walking libraries”. It was thus necessary to refer to a wide variety of texts in order to give maximum background to the cosmological themes studied and to do justice to the depth of the Christian lore in the Qur’ān.³²

 On the influence of Basil and the other Cappadocians on later Syriac hexaemeral literature, see Ten Napel 1987.  On the popularity of Gregory Nazianzen and Gregory of Nyssa, see Taylor 2007, 51– 56.  By the testimony of the fifth-century author Sozomene, we learn that Basil and Gregory Nazianzen were admired in the region of Edessa in their lifetime already. Basil’s works were more translated into Syriac than in any other languages. Within a decade of his death (d. 378), some of his major pieces had already been translated, among which his nine Homilies on the Hexaemeron. Cf. Taylor 2007, 45 – 46.  As an example, Evagrius is the author that Isaac of Nineveh (7th c.) quotes the most by name in the first collection of his Discourses. His works had been translated according to two versions and commented on abundantly throughout Late Antiquity despite the turmoil that he caused in the Greek world and its eventual condemnation as Origenist in 553. Cf. Brock 2007, 20; Guillaumont 1962.  Shortly after the emergence of Islam, we see appearing anthologies gathering their writings, which were read well beyond the frontiers of the Church of the East. Cf. Debié 2010, 142. The genre of the anthology and florilegium played a great role in those days. This genre flourished in the Syriac world around the 7th century, but it is likely that anthologies collecting quotes and exegeses of the most important authors existed before. For instance, it is believed that very early on the writings of Theodore of Mopsuestia, the most important figure for the tradition of the Church of the East, were considered too arduous to read and were rather accessed by means of collections of quotations or even commentaries on his own exegetical writings. Cf. Ter Haar Romeny 2007; see also Brock 2004a.  It is important to note the limits of this endeavour. The scarcity of the sources that came down to us from the Syriac world of this period call for the greatest caution and humility with regard to the conclusions one can draw from the alleged influence of the Syriac material in the Qur’ān. We know for instance that most Syriac manuscripts dating back from between 500 and 1000 C.E. in fact come from the libraries of only two Egyptian monasteries: the Syrian orthodox monastery of Deir al-Surian and the Chalcedonian monastery of Saint-Catherine. This means, as Sebastian

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General Introduction

So as to provide the reader with the “big picture” and show where the Qur’ān is located on the broad spectrum of the biblical tradition, each cosmological feature analysed is usually traced back to its biblical archetypal form if possible. We then usually briefly turn to the earliest biblical commentators, Philo of Alexandria and the earliest Church Fathers of the 2nd and 3rd centuries (Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Irenaeus, Tertullian, and many others). Finally, we compare the cosmological motif under scrutiny to the relevant Greek and Syriac repertoire of texts mentioned above (e. g. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Basil of Caesarea, Ephrem, Narsai, Isaac of Nineveh). It goes without saying that the goal of our research is not to show that all these texts and authors directly influenced the Qur’ān. On the contrary, we approach these authors and their writings as witnesses of a tradition to which the Qur’ān seems at times indebted, but from which it also very often departs.

Tools and resources The modern resources for the study of the Qur’ān are countless. Our analysis is made primarily from the Arabic text of the Qur’ān. For simplicity, we decided to quote Arthur J. Droge’s translation. In a few instances, we took the liberty to emend the translation for the purpose of the demonstration. In such cases, it is always signalled in a footnote. Occasional references are also made to other translations such as Jones’, Masson’s, and Blachère’s. In terms of studies, we particularly benefited from the recent Coran des historiens edited by Guillaume Dye and Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi. The latter also edited the Dictionnaire du Coran which proved extremely useful. The Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān edited by Jane Dammen McAuliffe was frequently consulted. The Quranic Arabic Corpus and the Qur’an Gateway also came in handy for systematic searches.³³ Most of our linguistic analyses build on Martin R. Zammit’s Comparative Lexical Study of Qur’ānic Arabic as well as a range of dictionaries including Kazimirski’s Dictionnaire arabe, Lane’s Arabic-English Lexicon, Jessy Payne-Smith’s Compendious Syriac Dictionary, and Wolf Leslau’s Comparative Dictionary of Ge’ez. We used the New Standard Revised Version (NRSV) for the biblical quotations. Late antique sources are cited in the footnotes under their common abbreviated Brock highlights, that most of the ancient manuscripts of the literary tradition of the Church of the East are lost. Our understanding of this cultural environment and the means through which the authors of the Qur’ān encountered it is thus inevitably limited. Cf. Brock 2004b; Brock 2007, 15 – 20.  For the Quranic Arabic Corpus’ website: https://corpus.quran.com/; for the Qur’an Gateway’s website: https://info.qurangateway.org/.

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titles (e. g. Origen, Contra Celsum). The main editions (Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium, Patrologia Orientalis, Sources Chrétiennes) and translations mentioned are referenced in the bibliography. The translations of texts quoted in extenso are referenced in the footnotes. Although our study deals less with Jewish material than Christian, the website Sefaria was often consulted for the rabbinic literature mentioned.³⁴ We frequently consulted the Dictionnaire de spiritualité ascétique et mystique (ed. Marcel Viller) for thorough studies on topics related to Christian spirituality. Concerning the Syriac world, the Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage (ed. Sebastian P. Brock) was valuable for short introductions to some of the authors studied here.³⁵ Finally, I made regular use of the online Comprehensive Bibliography on Syriac Christianity, as well as the database Simtho developed by the Beth Mardutha.³⁶

The Qur’ānic cosmos Before embarking on our journey through Qur’ānic cosmology, it is necessary that we give a few caveats about the words used in the Qur’ān to designate the world. Although we use by commodity the terms “universe”, “cosmos”, and “world” interchangeably throughout this study, it is important to keep in mind that these English words all convey specific meanings due to both their etymology and their history in Western thought. While “universe” sends back to the idea of “unity”, the word “world” is usually understood to convey an anthropological meaning along with the physical one. As for the word “cosmos”, derived from the Greek κόσμος, it normally relates to the idea of being “in order”, “harmonious” and thus designates “the beauty resulting from the order” of the world.³⁷ None of these meanings transpires in the etymology of the Qur’ānic words used to designate the “cosmos”. Although it can certainly be affirmed that the authors of the Qur’ān envisioned the world as having a form of unity (universe) and certainly considered it harmonious (cosmos), such characteristics were not the ones chosen by the authors of the Qur’ān to name the world. In fact, the term we use to designate the outer reality around us (“world”, “universe”, “cosmos”)

 See https://www.sefaria.org/?home.  Available online: https://gedsh.bethmardutho.org/index.html.  The Comprehensive Bibliography on Syriac Christianity is no more accessible at the moment. For the database Simtho, see: https://simtho.bethmardutho.org/bonito/run.cgi/first_form.  Brague 1999, 35.

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are not intuitive terms used across cultures. They are intimately linked to the trajectory of Western thought.³⁸ Broadly speaking, the Qur’ān echoes the biblical tradition in the range of words it uses to talk about the “world”. God is often ascribed in the Qur’ān the title of rabb al-ʿālamīn, “Lord of the worlds”. The word ʿālamūn (sg. ʿālam), always in the plural in the text, is probably a loanword from Hebrew or, more likely, Aramaic.³⁹ In Hebrew, the term has a temporal meaning (“century”). The Syriac and the Aramaic added a spatial sense (“generation, world”) and the plural form (ʿālmē) came to acquire an anthropological connotation as well (“men, people”). The Qur’ānic expression rabb al-ʿālamīn thus probably has a temporal or an anthropological meaning (“Lord of centuries” or “Lord of the men”) rather than a spatial one.⁴⁰ Two expressions are used in the Qur’ān to refer to the physical realm and what populates it. The first one offers a glance at the historical depth of the Qur’ānic representation of the world; the second one hints at the text’s own preoccupations. The most common expression in the Qur’ān to designate the world is the formula al-samāwāt wa-l-’ard (“heaven and earth”), sometimes found in the singular al-samā’ wa-l-’arḍ (“the sky and the earth”), or in a tripartite al-samāwāt wal-’arḍ wa-mā fī-hinna/wa-mā bayna-humā (“heavens, earth, and what is between them”).⁴¹ This in turn echoes the characteristic biblical designation of the universe (ha-šāmayim wa-ha-’ereṣ), which is found in the Bible with several tripartite and

 In the Qur’ān, God is said to be the “Lord of everything”, rabb kull shay’ (Q 6:114) and in a few instances it also emphasizes that God created or is the creator of “every thing” (kull shay’; Q 6:102, 13:16, 25:2, 39:62, 40:62). It is noteworthy however that the root KLL (conveying the notion of “totality”) is never used as a substantive aiming at describing the entire universe per se. As Brague argued, many archaic civilizations used to refer to the idea of totality. The Qur’ān itself never refers to the world as al-kull. Cf. Brague 1999, 26 – 27. Similarly, the Qur’ān at times alludes to the idea of a harmonious creation, especially of men (e. g. Q 50:6 – 7, 64:3, 67:3, 75:36 – 39, 82:6 – 8, 87:2-3), but none of the terms used for “world” go back to the idea of “harmony” or “beauty”. As Brague compellingly showed, the designation of the universe as a κόσμος implies the conscious decision to conceptualize it as “an ordered and harmonious whole”, a conceptualization that most antique Mediterranean cultures and civilizations fell short of taking, including archaic Greece. Cf. Brague 1999, 33 – 45.  Jeffery 1938, 208 – 209.  The Hebrew term ʿolam originally had a temporal meaning but the Aramaic and Syriac cognates came to endorse a spatial overtone as well. Cf. de Prémare 2002, 437– 438 (n. 156). The formula rabb al-ʿālamīn is likely to be a calque of parallel turns borrowed from a Christian and Jewish liturgical context in which the expression “Lord of the worlds” often occurs (Heb.: mêlêk ha-ʿolām or rabūn ha-ʿolāmīm; Aram.: mārā ʿalmā; Gr.: βασιλεύς τῶν αἰώνων). For references in Jewish and Christian sources, see Nöldeke et al. 2013, 91 (n. 163, 2); de Prémare 2002, 437– 438 (n. 156); Neuenkirchen 2019a, 36 – 37. Cf. also Paret 1980, 12; Brague 1999, 87.  Cf. Q 20:6 for the single occurrence of an odd quadripartite variant.

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quadripartite variations.⁴² The method consisting in listing cosmic items in order to designate “the whole” in which these items are lying is characteristic of an archaic mode of thought, and more particularly of civilizations belonging to the “axial age”. This designation process is called a “merism” or more specifically in the present case, a “polar expression”, that is, a phrase composed of a binary opposition between two cosmic elements meant to encompass everything that lies in between them. The second word employed to name the world is the term khalq (“Creation”). Although it usually refers to “the act of creating” (verbal noun) in the text, the expression “the Creation of God” (e. g. Q 4:119, 30:30, 31:11) or the “Creation of the Merciful” (Q 67:3) to refer to the created world is used in a few occurrences. The fact that the Qur’ān designates the world by a term that conveys the idea of “creation” is remarkable. The notion of creation indeed constitutes one of the Qur’ān’s key categorical principles as numerous verses insist on the unity of God in referring to the opposition between God’s “creatorship” and the rest of the world’s “createdness” (cf. chapter 3). The fact that the Qur’ān uses both expressions to designate the world is noteworthy. In a sense, the frequency of the expression “heavens and earth” crystallizes the Qur’ānic idea that the heavenly realm and the earthly realm, though separated, are inextricably connected and in constant interaction with one another. In many respects, the Qur’ānic cosmological discourse constitutes the recipe towards the merging of both realms. As for the designation of “Creation”, it hints at the programmatic status of the world. Indissociable from the one who created it, the universe was not always there and will not always be. It did not emerge incidentally. It was made so that humans could find the divine that permeates it. Beyond cosmogony and through cosmography, our study of the Qur’ānic cosmology is thus indubitably bound for a journey in anthropology.

 Wright 2000, 53.

Chapter 1 Natural Theology 1 Introduction In the Qur’ān, cosmology is everywhere and nowhere at the same time. While a quick glance at the text reveals that pretty much every surah deals with cosmological matters in one way or another, one is also forced to admit that none of these cosmological passages really provide us with a detailed picture of the universe, its coming into being, or its functioning. Most cosmological pericopes merely constitute allusions to cosmic phenomena without ever extensively describing them. Simply put, the Qur’ān thematizes cosmology without really theorizing it. Any attempt at studying the “cosmology” of the Qur’ān thus needs to start off by solving this paradox: why is the Qur’ān so prone to talk about the cosmos without ever really describing it? What are its motivations in talking about the universe? Throughout our study, it will become increasingly clear that the Qur’ān’s interest in the cosmos is eminently theological. Although the Qur’ān repeatedly alludes to the cosmos and its natural phenomena, a close scrutiny of the text indicates that, in most of its layers, the universe is regarded as nothing but a web of signs pointing towards the higher and deeper realities of divine nature. The cosmos is depicted as a drama in which God’s bounty, sovereignty, justice, and power unfold, and thus, as an object worthy of contemplation. In short, the Qur’ān offers a cosmological experience of God. This chapter shows how in understanding the cosmos as a semantic tool through which the believer can find the divine, the Qur’ān is in line with a natural theological tradition that was particularly developed in Christian Late Antiquity. Firstly, we will analyse the Qur’ānic understanding of Creation and show how it structurally echoes the Christian natural theological tradition that developed forcefully from the 4th century onwards. Then, we tackle the notion of “sign” and show how its reading in light of the authors considered reveals the late antique roots of the contemplative system of the Qur’ān. We then show that some specificities of the Qur’ānic natural contemplation particularly echo the ascetic tradition that developed in the East-Syrian school movement on the eve of Islam.⁴³

 Some elements presented in this chapter can already be found in Decharneux 2021. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-003

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2 Creation as a web of meaning As Toshihiko Izutsu highlighted, the natural phenomena that compose the universe are presented in the Qur’ān as means of non-verbal communication between God and humans.⁴⁴ Accordingly, the various wonders that compose the universe are not merely understood as natural objects but rather as signs (’āyāt) hinting at higher metaphysical realities: God, his bounty, his sovereignty, and his plan for Creation.⁴⁵ The Qur’ān regards the universe as providentially ordered to the benefit of human beings, whose main purpose in life is to acknowledge the immanent presence of God in Nature,⁴⁶ or in other words, to recognize these phenomena as divine signs (’āyāt).⁴⁷ These ’āyāt constitute points of divine self-revelation disposed by God in the cosmos for the sake of human beings. Humans are thus constantly invited to meditate upon these natural phenomena, these signs, so as to gain knowledge of the divine. This natural theological thought is mainly expressed by means of the so-called “sign passages”, pericopes typically presenting themselves as lists of cosmological phenomena. They are quite numerous, vary in length (see for instance Q 16:3 – 16 for one of the longest examples of the genre), and enumerate any kind of natural object, from the most glorious and elevated cosmic item to the most insignificant one: the sky, the earth, the sun, the moon, stars, the night and the day, rains, seas and water in general, mountains, trees, livestock, camels, fruits, date-palms, grains, herbs, husk, fish, etc.⁴⁸

 Izutsu 2009, 142– 143.  Several studies have been published on God’s ’āyāt in the Qur’ān. I particularly follow here Graham 2010 and Izutsu 2009, 142– 162; see also Neuwirth 2010, 739.  The notion of “Nature” is intimately linked to the history of Western thought. The term ṭabīʿa, which translates in modern Arabic our concept of “Nature” is absent from the Qur’ān. The term “Nature” is used here and throughout the study in the sense of “physical world” (φύσις) and not in opposition to the notion of “culture”. I write “Nature” with a capital letter when the term refers to Nature in its quality of tool to reach the divine together with “Scriptures” or “Revelation”. On the question of nature in anthropology, see Descola 2005.  A natural phenomenon acting as a sign is mostly called an ’āya (pl. ’āyāt). It can also be named bayyina (“something clear, evidence”) or a ʿibra (“lesson”) in a few occasions (Q 3:13, 12:111, 16:66, 23:21, 24:44, 79:26). Cf. Abrahamov 2006, 2– 11.  Determining what belongs to the ’āyāt or not is not always easy. Here is a non-exhaustive list of all the passages that can be regarded as “’āyāt-passages” in the Qur’ān. I kept very broad criteria in my selection: Q 3:189 – 191, 6:96 – 99, 7:54– 58, 7:185, 10:3 – 6, 10:67, 10:101, 11:7, 13:2– 3, 14:19, 14:32– 34, 16:3 – 18, 16:65 – 69, 16:77– 81, 17:12, 17:66, 20:53 – 56, 21:30 – 33, 21:79 – 80, 22:18, 22:33 – 44, 22:36 – 37, 22:61, 22:63 – 66, 23:12– 22, 23:78 – 80, 24:43 – 46, 25:45 – 50, 25:53 – 54, 25:59, 25:61– 62, 26:7– 8, 27:60 – 64, 28:57, 29:19, 30:17– 28, 30:46 – 50, 31:10, 31:20, 31:29 – 32, 33:9, 35:11– 13, 35:27– 28,

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It is important, as William A. Graham notes, to understand that in the Qur’ān “nature not only reflects the handiwork of God”, but “exists to do so; its raison d’être from the qur’ānic viewpoint is to remind humankind of God’s sovereignty, bounty, and mercy, and to serve as constant admonition to humans to recognize the power of God that will bring ultimately the world to its end”.⁴⁹ It is indeed God himself who shows the signs to humans “on the horizons and in themselves” (Q 41:53; cf. 51:20 – 21). The presence of divine signs in Creation is therefore not a mere side-effect of the divinely created universe. It is the very function of Creation to point towards God; the universe was conceived in order that humankind finds the divine in it. In multiple places, the text polemicizes against heterodox views on the origin of the world. God did not create the universe “in vain” (bāṭilan; Q 3:190 – 191, 38:27) or “in jest” (lāʿibīna; Q 21:16, 44:38), “but in truth” (’illā bi-l-ḥaqq; Q 15:85, 30:8). If it were only for him, God would certainly not have created the universe, for he is “wealthy beyond the worlds” (ghanī ʿani l-ʿālamīn; Q 29:6). The Qur’ān thus rejects the idea of an unprovidential Creation. This world has only been created for “an appointed time” (Q 30:8) and has been conceived as a test for human beings (e. g. Q 11:7, 18:7, 67:2). Although the test mainly consists in training the human ability to grasp the divine in, or rather beyond, natural phenomena, passing the test also leads humans to the awareness that the unfolding of Creation is part of God’s salvific plan: Surely in the creation of the heavens and earth, and (in) the alternation of the night and the day, (there are) signs indeed for those with understanding, who remember God, whether standing or sitting or (lying) on their sides, and reflect on the creation of the heavens and the earth: ‘Our Lord, You have not created this in vain. Glory to You! Guard us against the punishment of the Fire. […]’ (Q 3:190 – 191)

The ’āyāt send the believers back to fundamental attributes of God. On the one hand, they attest of God’s sovereignty (mulk) over the universe (e. g. Q 3:189 – 191, 10:5 – 6, 13:2– 4, 34:9, 45:1– 6). The signs show God’s rule over the cosmos since he did not only create the cosmic phenomena mentioned but also keeps sustaining them,⁵⁰ and will destroy them in due time before their final re-creation. On the other hand, the divine ’āyāt in the universe also prove God’s grace and mercy (niʿma, faḍl, raḥma) towards humans, for God created Nature in such a perfect 36:33 – 46, 36:71– 73, 39:5 – 6, 40:61– 64, 40:67– 69, 40:79 – 81, 41:37– 39, 42:32– 35, 43:11– 12, 45:3 – 13, 46:33, 50:6 – 11, 51:20 – 21, 55:1– 30, 71:13 – 20, 77:20 – 23, 78:6 – 7, 78:8 – 16, 80:24– 32, 86:5 – 7, 88:17– 20.  Graham 2010, 124; see also Neuwirth 2001, 441.  E. g. Q 3:189 – 191, 6:95 – 99, 10:6, 16:77– 83, 30:46 – 53, 31:31, 36:33 – 47, 42:29 – 35, 45:1– 6, 47:37– 39, 57:2– 6.

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fashion that it constantly provides mankind with its necessary sustenance: rain makes crops, fruits, and grains grow, darkness allows humans to rest, shade provides natural shelters from the sun rays, etc.⁵¹ Although the Qur’ān does not reject the idea that through contemplation one can get to know God better, the amount of knowledge about the Creator one can hope to acquire from contemplating the divinely created world is apparently quite limited. Among these teachings, the consideration of the “kingdom of the heaven and the earth” (malakūt al-samāwāt wa-l-’arḍ) should lead human beings to realize that “their time has already drawn near” (qad iqtaraba ’ajlu-hum) (Q 7:185). Contemplating the cosmos thus gives confidence in the imminent eschaton. In several cases, natural patterns simply signify salvation in a typological manner. Vegetation grows well on good land but not on bad (Q 7:58, 13:3). Similarly, water and rains, vivifying barren lands, are sometimes taken as signs of the promised resurrection (e. g. Q 22:63 – 66, 31:34, 32:27– 30, 35:9 – 10, 39:21– 22).⁵² On the whole however, the text does not correlate contemplation of God’s signs with the acquisition of esoteric knowledge. In the following chapter, we show that the expected outcome of meditation upon the universe is in fact to trigger a specific pietistic ethos among believers. The Qur’ān indeed suggests that the contemplation of divine signs ultimately leads to an attitude of shukr (“gratefulness”) and taqwā (“fear”), which translates into a range of practices (among which the ṣalāt), conditional components of the Qur’ānic understanding of “faith” (’īmān). The recognition (or lack thereof ) of God’s signs in the cosmos clearly has soteriological implications and therefore is not an optional path. Those who recognize the underlying presence of God in the natural phenomena, and hence adopt the appropriate pietistic stance with regard to him, will enjoy eternal rewards in the afterlife, whereas those who deny them are simply considered kāfirūn (“unbelievers”) and regularly scolded and promised hellfire (e. g. Q 3:70, 17:89, 21:1– 10, 21:30 – 33, or the integral Q 45). As said above, God’s manifest role of Creator points towards his ability to recreate and thus to his dominion not only of the present world but also of the next one: protology points towards eschatology (e. g. Q 22:5 – 7, 23:12-22, 23:78 – 90, 67:14– 26, 71:15 – 20). In other words, the recognition of God’s cosmic ’āyāt is not only a recognition of the fact that the universe is divinely originated but most importantly a recognition of God’s steering of the cosmos from the moment he created it until the moment he will destroy it. That the Qur’ān is much more interested in God’s steering of Creation than in its origin is particularly noticeable when one considers how little the text cares about provid-

 Graham 2010, 114– 115. On God’s grace more generally, see Reynolds 2020, 91– 113.  Neuwirth 2010, 739.

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ing details on cosmogony. In short, the divine signs point towards the providential governance of the universe, God’s economy, which thus allow one to find in them comfort of the promised resurrection and salvation.⁵³ A final note should be added on the notion of ’āyāt. It would be wrong to regard the existence of ’āyāt as a mere consequence or side-effect of the divinely originated Nature or Revelation. Although the visibility of cosmic objects as ’āyāt require on behalf of men a certain spiritual attitude lending them a “spiritual eye” (cf. next chapter), God also takes an active part in this communication process. As Izutsu pointed out, there would be no possibility for humans to see the ’āyāt if God was not actively willing to reveal them by the act of tanzīl or “sending down”. “Without this initial act on the part of God, Izutsu says, there could be no religion in the Islamic sense of the word”.⁵⁴ The grasping of God’s ’āyāt therefore constitutes less a bottom-up search for meaning on the part of human beings than an encounter halfway between them and God. Moreover, it is important to highlight that this “sending down” of the “signs” is the result (as well as the testimony) of God’s grace: Evil is what they have sold themselves for: they disbelieve in what God has sent down, (because of ) envy that God should send down some of His favor [’an yunazzila llāhu min faḍli-hi] on whomever He pleases of His servants. So they have incurred anger upon anger, and for the disbelievers (there is) a humiliating punishment. (Q 2:90) If (it were) not (for the) favor of God on you, and His mercy [law-lā faḍlu llāhi ʿalay-ka waraḥmatu-hu], a contingent of them was indeed determined to lead you astray. But they only lead themselves astray; they will not harm you at all. God has sent down [‘anzala] on you the Book and the wisdom, and He has taught you what you did not know. The favor of God on you is great [wa-kāna faḍlu llāhi ʿalay-ka ʿaẓīman]. (Q 4:113)

Thus, as Izutsu notes, the continuous divine act of tanzīl is conditional upon the grasping of divine ’āyāt. This is essential in order to understand the system under scrutiny, for what humans can hope to reach in contemplating the ’āyāt is not merely the evidence of the divine origination of the cosmos – as a modern reading of the text might have it – but more importantly, the evidence of God’s continuous government of Creation according to a precise plan and towards an appointed end. Trinitarian references aside, this approach to Creation maps well onto what Norman Wirzba observes about the Christian notion of Creation and what “contemplation of Nature” means in the Christian late antique tradition:

 Graham 2010, 114– 115.  Izutsu 2009, 146.

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Focusing exclusively on origins ignores the fact that in scripture creation is as much about the salvation and the final consummation of things as it is about their beginning: protology, in other words, is inseparable from eschatology. More fundamentally, however, is the fact that a deist characterization of the world has no room for creation understood as the action of the Triune God. Creation, rather than being a single event that happened a long time ago, signifies God’s ongoing involvement in an economy and ecology that joins creaturely life with the life of God. […] Though it clearly matters that God is understood to be the One who creates “in the beginning,” what is of utmost importance is the realization that the world is the place where God is daily at work inspiring and nurturing all life into the fullness of its being.⁵⁵

In the following sections, we shall dig deeper into the Christian natural contemplative tradition and highlight shared structures, motifs, and themes between the latter and the Qur’ān.

3 Biblical and late antique natural theology In trying to synthesize the Qur’ānic view of the universe in the last section, I was compelled to use the term “contemplation” (or “meditation”). The text hardly deploys such a technical terminology. It often speaks about the human ability and necessity “to reflect”, “to ponder”, or “think” (tafakkara, ʿaqila, faqiha, etc.) about the signs, but it does not give an actual name to this global endeavour. This should not compel us to think that talking about “contemplation” in the Qur’ān comes down to impose on the text categories that are foreign to it. The absence of such terminology in the Qur’ān is in fact already indicative of the status of the text and of what it seeks to achieve. Its goal is not to provide the audience or the readership with a theoretical treatise on contemplation, but rather to exhort it to undertake a contemplative behaviour. The Qur’ān, insofar as it reflects the experience of a community that is probably already (though perhaps only partially) keen on looking for the signs of God in the cosmos, does not talk about the theory but rather the concrete experience of contemplation. Neither the genre of the text, nor its context of redaction seem to lend themselves to theoretical developments. Despite this, we will show that the natural contemplative system that it promotes shares many structural and technical details with wellknown ascetic practices of Christian Late Antiquity. One important thing to highlight straightaway is that in suggesting over and again that the cosmos is replete with traces or signs of God and that in contemplating them, one is adopting a pious stance enabling salvation, the Qur’ānic cosmology

 Wirzba 2016, 218.

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is de facto already – but perhaps unintentionally – in opposition to a whole range of other antique cosmological traditions. This highly positive understanding of Creation was hardly taken for granted in the world of Late Antiquity in which so many traditions, especially Gnostic groups, had come to regard matter and thus Creation in a highly negative fashion and promoted the withdrawal from material and corporeal realities as salvific. Though not bidding its folks to develop a high attachment to mundane things, the text of the Qur’ān endows the material world with a positive aura, depicting Creation as part of the divine salvific plan for mankind. Contemporary scholarship has drawn attention to the fact that these lists of natural phenomena echo at times biblical and parabiblical literature. Tor Andrae for instance pointed out that the sign passages in the text, but Q 16:3 – 18 in particular, reflect to a certain extent Ps 104, which invites the audience to the contemplation of divine good deeds in Creation.⁵⁶ It is indeed likely that this type of Psalmic sign passage stands as an archetype for several other texts of the same trend in Christian and Jewish literatures. Examples of the types in patristic corpus are extremely numerous.⁵⁷ Nevertheless, we are less interested in the genre of these texts than in the message they convey, namely that the recognition of the divine imprint in natural phenomena has soteriological implications.⁵⁸ The belief that God manifests himself through Creation has biblical roots of course. The Book of Job for instance emphasizes the view that Nature is replete with mysteries that exceed human abilities as well as comprehension (Job 38:4– 11). One also finds in the Bible the idea that the maintenance of Creation by God is to the advantage of Israel, whose covenant with God would cease if ever God broke his own covenant with Nature (Jer 31:35 – 36, 33:25 – 36; Hos 2:18). Hence, God, humans, and Nature are tightly interconnected in the Hebrew Bible. Nevertheless, the idea of natural contemplation seems only to arise in later literature. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans is foundational in this regard: For the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all ungodliness and wickedness of men who by their wickedness suppress the truth. For what can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. Ever since the creation of the world his invisible

 Andrae 1955, 172– 180.  For instance, Letter of Clements to the Corinthians 19 – 26. On this, see Andrae 1955, 172– 180; Pregill 2017, 193; Decharneux 2019a. Angelika Neuwirth affirms that “as a rule, in Qur’anic contexts, blessings of nature are viewed as gifts necessitating human gratefulness, an idea that is less frequent in the Psalms”. This may be true. However, the study of the biblical lore in the Qur’ān probably needs to draw less attention to frequency in the respective corpuses than to the question of impact and reception of biblical texts in the exegetical traditions. Cf. Neuwirth 2010, 737.  For a precise comparison between Psalm 104 and Q 78:1– 16, see Neuwirth 2010, 740 – 745.

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nature, namely, his eternal power and deity, has been clearly perceived in the things that have been made. So they are without excuse; for although they knew God, they did not honour him as God or give thanks to him, but they became futile in their thinking and their senseless minds were darkened. (Rom 1:18 – 21)

Contemplation as a tool to acquire knowledge is deeply rooted in the Greek philosophical tradition.⁵⁹ Hellenistic Judaism attests to the importance of contemplation in Jewish circles, but we do not find in it a model of natural contemplation as unified, as theorized, and most importantly, as close to the Qur’ānic one, as the one that developed in the Christian world of Late Antiquity. In rabbinic circles, Nature was understood to be “patterned after the Torah”, which allegedly entailed the lesser importance of natural contemplation in favour of a scriptural contemplative endeavour. As Philip Alexander argued, “put in terms of thought of the Hellenistic world in which the rabbis lived, this implies that the Jews in observing the miṣvot in all their specificity and concreteness, are fulfilling the philosophical ideal of living in accordance with Nature (ὁμολογουνένως τῇ φύσει ζῆν).”⁶⁰ Although we show below that Nature and Revelation are tightly connected in the Qur’ān, one is not subsumed in the other, but rather they reflect one another. In this regard, the Qur’ān is much closer to the Christian contemplative model.⁶¹ At the turn of the 3rd century, philosophically educated Christians such as Clement of Alexandria and Origen instrumentalized natural contemplation (θεωρία φυσική) for their own theological purpose.⁶² Whereas θεωρία was limited in the Greek philosophical tradition to physical (and metaphysical) objects, Christians, in the wake of Hellenized Judaism, considered early on that a second type of contemplation was indissociable from the first one. This second contemplation was the contemplation of Scriptures (θεωρία γραφική), in which God had revealed himself all the same.⁶³ In many different forms, later Christian authors, even those formally opposed to the Alexandrian school of exegesis, always understood both Nature and Scripture as unavoidable and indivisible means to reach knowledge of the triune Creator.

 See Arnou 1953, 1716 – 1742, for a summary of the notion of contemplation in Greek Philosophy from ancient Platonism to Neoplatonism. Plato and Aristotle, to mention the two greatest figures of the Greek philosophical tradition only, both developed the notion of θεωρία of Nature, though in quite distinct ways. Cf. also Nef 1998.  Alexander 1992, 237– 238.  The rabbinic sketching of the relation between man and Nature is likely to have influenced some early Syriac Christian authors. Ephrem of Nisibis’ contemplative system for instance shows acquaintances with the rabbinic epistemology of the divine. Cf. Hansbury 1993, 206 – 207.  On the origins of the notion of θεωρία, see Arnou 1953, 1717– 1718 and Lemaître 1953, 1762– 1765.  Blowers 2012, 315 – 318.

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To be sure, the degree to which natural and scriptural contemplations related varied a great deal depending on periods and authors. Although he considered the contemplation of the cosmos itself as a helpful tool to grasp the divine, Clement of Alexandria for instance thought that a good knowledge of Scripture was a prerequisite in order to rightly read God’s presence in the universe. Moreover, the status granted to natural and scriptural contemplations also differed depending on the authors. Origen and Clement thought that the interpretation of both Scripture and Nature in quest of knowledge (ἐπιστήμη) was only a preliminary stage on the “heuristic journey”, a prerequisite towards a different kind of “spiritual insight”, namely γνῶσις.⁶⁴ If this view was particularly emphasized later, especially among ascetic and monastic writers, other thinkers had a less optimistic view, as we will see, of the accessibility of God’s knowledge. As Blowers affirms however, “though pre-Nicene Christian theologians certainly recognized the value of Christians perusing the book of creation as a basis for extolling the virtues of the Creator, the formal discipline of natural contemplation (θεωρία φυσική) did not truly come into its own in ecclesial and monastic contexts until the fourth century”.⁶⁵ At that time, thinkers such as Ambrose of Milan and the Cappadocian Fathers started considering the cosmos as an object of contemplation in its own right, parallel to the revealed Scripture, and constituting an “alternative witness to the history of salvation”.⁶⁶ In his Homilies on the Hexaemeron for instance, Basil of Caesarea famously described the cosmos as an “amphitheatre” (θέατρον) in which his congregants should not only be spectators, but where they should also side by him “as fellow combatants”, so as to know themselves and know God.⁶⁷ Elsewhere, he characterizes the cosmos as a training ground, a school, in which reasonable souls should exercise themselves to know God.⁶⁸ Basil and some of his contemporaries indeed regarded the universe as well as human nature itself as the place where one could contemplate God’s creative and redemptive activity.⁶⁹ We therefore see that for these authors the universe is not merely an object of simple wonderment (θαῦμα), but rather an object of ascetic practice leading to knowledge of God and his plan for Creation.⁷⁰

 Blowers 2008b, 149.  Blowers 2012, 322.  Blowers 2008a, 920.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 6:1.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 1:6.  Blowers 2008a, 918.  In fact, the θεωρία φυσική cultivated by the Greek philosophers never was mere wonderment about the beauty of Creation as Lemaître affirms: “C’est la contemplation de la nature, natura rerum. Non pas esthétique, – noétique seulement. Les grecs, malgré les innombrables traités

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Natural and Scriptural contemplations were not only advocated in the liturgical and homiletical contexts in which the Cappadocian Fathers were writing. On the contrary, contemplating Nature made even more sense in the context of the monastic desert retreat that gained in popularity in the 4th and 5th centuries.⁷¹ In fact, the idea of natural contemplation was particularly developed by two fourth-century spiritual writers who had a tremendous influence in Christian Late Antiquity, up to the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān. The first of these writers is Evagrius of Pontus, disciple of the Cappadocian Fathers and true Origenist, who developed a particularly complex system of natural contemplation that he regarded as a prerequisite to the contemplation of Scripture and more especially Psalms, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes.⁷² The intricacies of Evagrius’ complex natural contemplative model do not need to be expounded here,⁷³ but it is worth noting that in his eyes the purpose of natural contemplation was to grasp the underlying “spiritual principles” (λόγοι) present in Nature and in Scripture. He regarded these λόγοι as imprints of the immanent Logos in the universe. In reaching them, thanks to divine grace and through intensive ascetic practice, the gnostic was able to gain knowledge of the Logos himself. Evagrius however thought that the contemplation of corporeal and incorporeal objects was only a first step in the spiritual life, before reaching a stage where the contemplative could enjoy a more direct kind of contemplation of the divine, and eventually reach a stage of union with the Godhead (θέωσις).⁷⁴ In the Syriac world, a no less important writer independently developed an influential theology of Nature. Perhaps writing a bit earlier than Evagrius, Ephrem of Nisibis too understood Nature, as well as Scriptures, as media through which one could grasp the divine. In the following passage, Ephrem describes how the universe is filled with God’s symbols:

περὶ φύσεως qu’ils ont composés depuis les physiologues ioniens, et malgré leur admiration pour l’ordre cosmique, condensée dans le mot même de κόσμος, ont peu cultivé le sentiment de la nature ; ils étaient trop curieux et trop cérébraux pour cela, autrement dit, trop philosophes. Ni les présocratiques, avec leur recherche de l’élément premier ; ni le socratisme tourné vers la connaissance de soi ; ni le platonisme avec son dogme des deux cosmos, sensible et intelligible ; ni l’aristotélisme, avec son estime souveraine de la science spéculative ; ni le stoïcisme, avec sa prédication de l’apatheia ; ni le néoplatonisme, avec son élan vers Dieu dans l’extase, ne favorisaient un abandon romantique aux beaux spectacles de la nature.” Cf. Lemaître 1953, 1806.  Blowers 2008a, 920.  Blowers 2008a, 920.  For a summary of Evagrius’ thought, see Guillaumont 1962, 37– 40.  Blowers 2008b, 154– 166.

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In every place, if you look, His symbol [rāzeh] is there, and when you read, you will find his types [ṭupsawhy]. For by Him were created all creatures, and He engraved His symbols [rāzawhy] upon His possessions. When He created the world, He gazed at it and adorned it with His images. Streams of His symbols [rāzawhy] opened, flowed and poured forth His symbols [rāzawhy] on His members.⁷⁵

In many other passages, Ephrem speaks of Nature and Scripture as the “two witnesses” of the Creator. Building on Jn 8:17, he declares: In his book Moses described the creation of the natural world, so that both Nature and Scripture might bear witness to the Creator: Nature through man’s use of it, Scripture through his reading of it. These are the witnesses which reach everywhere, they are to be found at all times, present at every hour, confuting the unbeliever who defames the Creator.⁷⁶

Although Ephrem also integrated in his system of thought the possibility of a form of divinisation of humanity through the process of divine contemplation, he however emphasized, as many other writers of the time, that God remains a fundamentally hidden being, who occasionally allows himself to be accessed through “points of revelation” or “revealed things” (galyātā) extant in Nature and Scripture.⁷⁷ For Ephrem, the points of revelation are materialized by the existence of “symbols” (rāzē) and “types” (ṭupsē) in the scriptural and natural realms.⁷⁸ I develop aspects of both Ephrem’s and Evagrius’ thoughts in subsequent sections. What seems important to emphasize here is that the impact of both authors on later Syriac spirituality was unprecedented. In the Syriac world, they were read and equally influential, irrespective of theological affinities.⁷⁹ Due to a formidable chain of circumstances, both models came to be integrated and accommodated along with other sources in the course of the 6th century. Our comparison between the reception of this model in the Church of the East in the 6th and 7th centuries and the Qur’ān reveals particularly striking correspondences and suggests that the authors of the Qur’ān furthered this spiritual tradition. Two important and indissociable settings of the Church of the East need to be considered here. The 6th century saw the emergence of an unprecedented scholas-

 Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Virginity 20:12; trans. McVey 1989, 348 – 349.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Paradise 5:2; trans. Brock 1990, 102– 103.  Brock 1992, 27– 29.  On natural contemplation in Ephrem, see Brock 1992; Brock 1990, 131– 142; Koonammakkal 2009, 97– 102; Vattanky 2008, 77– 83. Holger Zellentin recently noted that the twofold revelation was common to Ephrem and the Qur’ān. Cf. Zellentin 2019, 138 – 139.  Evagrius’ Kephalaia Gnostica were even translated in Syriac according to two different translations in the course of the 5th and 6th centuries.

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tic tradition in the Church of the East in which the reception of Evagrius, Ephrem, Neoplatonism, and other prominent sources gave rise to original models of divine contemplation with which the Qur’ān shares similarities. While in the scholastic context of the School of Nisibis, the promotion of Nature and Scripture as two inseparable ways to reach divine knowledge found another level of interpretation, a similar yet different model carried on among the mystic branch of the Church of the East as well. At the time the Qur’ān was being composed, East-Syrian mystic writers (e. g. Sahdona [early 7th c.], Simon the Graceful [late 7th c.], Isaac of Nineveh [late 7th c.], and others),⁸⁰ building on sources already mentioned as well as others such as Pseudo-Macarius and John the Solitary, were also promoting an ascetic system which shares a number of features with the Arabic text.⁸¹ To sum up this broad overview of natural contemplation in late antique Christianity, one could argue that in calling believers to observe God’s signs in both Creation and Revelation, the Qur’ān appears in line with the late antique tradition of divine θεωρία that developed both in liturgical/homiletical and (proto‐)monastic circles. For authors such as Basil of Caesarea, Gregory Nazianzen, Ephrem, Evagrius of Pontus, and others coming in their wake (Narsai, Maximus the Confessor, etc.), Nature and Scripture were considered the two feet on which Christian theology relied. Through a path that is yet to be determined, the authors of the Qur’ān inherited this specific worldview to the extent that it transpires in the Qur’ānic text as a fully integrated model. In the next sections, we move beyond broad structural comparisons and highlight shared motifs between Qur’ānic natural theology and the late antique natural theological tradition.

4 The notion of sign We highlighted above that the Qur’ān’s urgent call to observe natural phenomena and sacred history structurally echoes the Christian tradition of divine θεωρία that developed throughout Late Antiquity and that increasingly regarded both Nature and Scripture as (the) two inseparable means through which one gets to know the divine. In the Qur’ānic divine contemplative model, the key notion is that of “sign”, ’āya. The term ’āya is certainly not the only word that designates something like a divine sign in the Qur’ān (cf. also bayyina, for instance), but its overflowing presence in the text (87 times in the singular and 291 times in the plural) and its

 Beulay 1987, 16 – 34.  On the influence of these authors on later Syriac writers, see Beulay 1987.

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occurrence within quite stereotypical formulas suggest that it was endowed by the Qur’ānic authors with a technical sense. We saw above that ’āya refers to both stories of the prophets and cosmic phenomena. Besides, the Qur’ān often uses the notion to designate a “piece of revelation”, which has led scholars to the understanding that the word ’āya had a twofold meaning in the Qur’ān: “sign” (cosmic or stories of the prophets) and “verse/piece of revelation”. However, these two meanings are contextual rather than etymological. It is only because the word ’āya is frequently used in correlation with kitāb and in contact with verbs such as talā (“to recite”),⁸² or qara’a (“to read or recite”), that one endows the word ’āya with a scriptural/textual/revelatory meaning. As Anne-Sylvie Boisliveau mentions: “Lorsque ’āya sert effectivement à désigner des sections du texte, ce n’est pas dans le sens commun de “ verset ” que le mot a pris par la suite dans la culture islamique – sauf peut-être dans un ou deux cas dont le sens n’est pas certain.”⁸³ The translation of ’āya by “verse” is undoubtedly teleological. In our context, it is best understood in the more neutral sense of “token of divine [scriptural or natural] revelation”. In this section, we show that the notion of ’āya possesses parallels and is probably rooted ultimately in the biblical and late antique Jewish and Christian tradition. The first two subsections are devoted to the notion of “sign” in cosmological contexts in the Bible and the Patristic literature. In the last subsection, we analyse the use of the word ātwātā in the text of the sixth-century Syriac Cause of Foundation of the Schools and suggest that it constitutes a missing link for our understanding of the notion of ’āya in the Qur’ān.

4.1 Biblical background Scholars agree that the term ’āya probably derives from the Aramaic ātā and entered Arabic at an unknown stage. As Jeffery indicated, the semantic range of the word ’āya in the Qur’ān reflects quite closely the use of the word ātā in the Peshitta, where it translates both in the Septuagint the Hebrew ōt (“sign”) and in the New Testament the Greek σημεῖον (“sign”). In Gen 1:14 and 9:12– 17 for instance, the word ātā (pl. ātwātā) designates cosmic phenomena. In other passages, the term also denotes miraculous signs hinting at God’s activity (Ex 8:19, Deut 4:34, Ps 48:43), as well as tokens of prophetic activities (Ex 3:12, 1 Sam 10:7– 9).⁸⁴ A key  The expression “to recite the ’āyāt of God” occurs 31 times in the Qur’ān in various forms. Cf. Madigan 2001, 96.  Boisliveau 2014, 68.  Jeffery 1938, 72– 73.

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Syriac text using the term ātā is the Gospel of John and more precisely the part following the prologue, commonly known under the name “Book of Signs” (Jn 1:19 – 12:50) in reference to seven miracles performed by Jesus. This part of the book tells us about the signs that “are written [in the book] so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name” (Jn 20:31).⁸⁵ Thus, the word ’āya in the Qur’ān maps fairly well onto the use of the word ātā in the Peshitta except for one particular meaning, which is the scriptural one. To my knowledge, ātā is not used in the Peshitta to designate a “token of the Scripture”, unlike in the Qur’ānic context. Why is it therefore that the Qur’ān seems so ready to use the term ’āyāt in contact with the semantic field of scripture?

4.2 Patristic developments The development of this notion of “sign” in patristic literature offers a valuable background for the Qur’ānic word ’āya. The characterisation of cosmic phenomena as “signs” is very common in the Judeo-Christian tradition. It is already the case in the biblical creation narrative where the sun, the moon, and the stars are said to be “signs” (MT: ōt; LXX: σημεία; Pesh.: ātwātā) made to divide time into seasons, days, and years (Gen 1:14). For Origen, God deliberately makes himself known to the superior beings and the holy souls freed from worldly ties through these signs.⁸⁶ Comparable notions seem to have developed in later Church Fathers. Gregory of Nyssa says in one of his speeches that throughout creation, God left behind him “signs” or “traces” (γνώρισματα) in the cosmos and that these traces point towards him.⁸⁷ If we turn to Ephrem and Evagrius of Pontus, our two champions of natural theology, we find in the model of θεωρία quite thorough developments of concepts that, though not fully mapping onto the notion of ’āyāt, give background to it and constitute solid comparanda. Under Origen’s influence, Evagrius of Pontus developed the notion of λόγοι in his ascetic writings. This key-concept, taken over later by Maximus the Confessor (d. 662), is at the heart of Evagrius’ contemplative model. The λόγοι as he understood them are the “principles” embedded in Nature and Scripture through which God, and more precisely the Logos, makes himself accessible. The λόγοι are the im-

 For a similar demonstration, see Dmitriev 2010, 355 – 356.  Origen, Philocalia 23:1– 21.  Blowers 2012, 315 – 318; Blowers 2016, 12.

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prints left by the Logos-Christ in Nature and Scripture, through which he is therefore immanent.⁸⁸ Evagrius distinguishes between two different kinds of λόγοι: those of rational beings, and those of providence and judgement, both of which are sought through θεωρία φυσική. Just as the universe is filled with these λόγοι, so the Scripture – and especially the Psalms, the Proverbs, and the Ecclesiastes – contains λόγοι that reveal God’s purpose in Creation and redemption.⁸⁹ Beyond the Syriac world, Evagrius’ theory of λόγοι found a particularly important development in Maximus the Confessor for whom everything in Nature contains a hidden λόγος, “stretching out” towards God, a θεοτελὴς λόγος.⁹⁰ Though not exactly matching the Qur’ānic concept, it is certainly useful to think of the notion of ’āyāt in light of the Evagrian and Maximian λόγοι. Just as the word ’āya is used to refer to two different sorts of objects (“signs” and “pieces of revelation”), the Evagrian λόγοι enjoys in Greek a twofold meaning. On the one hand, it refers to the “constitutive principles” of things, which ascetics seek through contemplation. On the other hand, it simply means “words” in Greek. Beyond a shared polysemy, both notions ultimately designate the deeper realities embedded in physical and scriptural objects that allow the believer to know God to a certain extent by means of his attributes or his plan for Creation. One important difference however is that whereas the λόγοι are the consequence of the Creation of the world through the Logos-Christ to which they point, the Qur’ān does not suggest that the presence of the ’āyāt in Nature and Scripture constitutes a consequence of a creation through, say, an archetypal ’āya comparable to the Christian Logos. Coming from a different angle, Ephrem also develops strong notions revolving around God’s revelatory means in the cosmos. In his writings, he often resorts to the term galyātā, literally “revealed things” to which he systematically opposes the notion of kasyātā (“hidden things”). For him, the hidden God reveals himself through these galyātā. These points of divine self-manifestation are the objects of the contemplative’s enquiry on his way to reach a knowledge of the Creator. This term galyātā is used several times in Ephrem’s Hymns on Faith (2:9, 8:9, 9:42, 9:7, 23:8, 31:3, 35:10, 43:3, 47:4, 47:6, 47:122, 48:42, 76:11) and elsewhere in reference to both natural and scriptural objects through which God reveals himself. They encompass two different types of divine self-manifestations in Nature and Scripture,

 Blowers 2012, 320 – 321.  Blowers 2008b, 163 – 164; Dysinger 2005, 174– 175.  Lemaître 1953, 1819.

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namely “types” (tupsē) and “symbols” (rāzē), which parallel the Qur’ānic notion of ’āya. ⁹¹ Ephrem shares with other Greek and Latin Fathers of the time a typological hermeneutical method of Scripture and Nature.⁹² How does that work? The idea is that any natural or scriptural token (i. e. objects, phenomena, stories, etc.) have – beyond their literal or physical reality – a higher and deeper meaning, they constitute pointers helping human beings to glimpse at the divine reality. They are interfaces between humans and the divine. The grasping of these “types” and “symbols” with which Scripture and Nature are replete, enables human beings to momentarily seize “the glorious divine reality”, or “Truth”, and thus to grow “in spiritual awareness”.⁹³ The example of the bird illustrates very well how Ephrem sees symbols in Nature. He emphasizes in several places that in order to fly the bird needs to stretch its wings open and that by doing so, the body of the bird naturally takes the shape of the Cross and thus symbolizes it. Should the bird gather in its wings, it would in a sense deny the Cross and the necessity of faith, and thus be denied itself and fall.⁹⁴ We would probably benefit from understanding the ’āyāt of the Qur’ān as paralleling the “types” and “symbols” of which Ephrem constantly talks. It is indeed important to emphasize that the reason why the Qur’ān points to these ’āyāt is not merely to arouse amazement and wonder in its audience. On the contrary, the ’āyāt point towards deeper meanings: God’s omnipotence, God’s plan for Creation, God’s grace, God’s ability to resurrect and recreate, etc. We could almost say that for the Qur’ān, Nature is nothing but a system of “types” and “symbols”, it is nothing but typological. Perhaps one of the best examples of this phenomenon is the repeated insistence of the Qur’ān on water as a symbol of resurrection:⁹⁵

 Brock 1992, 53 – 66; similar ideas though dressed in a different terminology are used in PseudoDionysus. Cf. Brock 1989, 11– 12.  Brock 1992, 41.  Brock 1992, 53 – 56.  See for instance Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 18:6. The Qur’ān also uses the image of the bird as a sign pointing towards deeper divine realities. In two passages at least, the bird clearly symbolizes or hints at God’s power or economy (cf. Q 16:79, 67:19; cf. also 24:41). On this, see chapter 4 of the present book.  Water as a symbol is in fact a very old motif in Christian exegesis. Tertullian and later writers would indeed read the waters mentioned in the Creation narrative of Genesis (1:2, 1:6, 1:7) as signifying the waters of baptism and thus endow them with a salvific meaning (Tertullian, De Baptismo 3 – 4). Cf. Blowers 2012, 98. It must also be pointed out that the motif of rain as lifegiving seems to have existed in pre-Islamic poetry. Cf. Sinai 2019.

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(It is) God who sends the winds, and it stirs up a cloud, and We drive it to some barren land, and by means of it give the earth life after its death. So (too) is the raising up. (Q 35:9)⁹⁶

It is clear from this passage that the author is not interested in the revivification of the barren land by the rain coming from the cloud. It rather seeks to indicate how this cosmic and meteorological phenomenon points towards a higher level of reality, an “antitype”, namely resurrection. The revival of the land by the rain is a “mimetic impress” of the pattern of resurrection in the cosmos. The believer, opening up by means of ascetic⁹⁷ practice (mostly the ṣalāt) to seeing the divine activity in the cosmos, allows himself to reach beyond the physical reality in detecting in a natural event the pattern of an event of providential history, here resurrection.⁹⁸ Thus, the Qur’ānic notion of ’āya shares functional characteristics with key concepts of some of the most influential authors of Late Antiquity in the Christian world. For authors like Ephrem, Evagrius, those coming in their wake, and the Qur’ān, Nature and Scripture are regarded as networks of signs, webs of meaning, through which God makes his plan for Creation if not knowable in detail, at least manifest to human beings.⁹⁹ It is unnecessary to highlight here the importance of Ephrem on later generations. He was indeed perceived as an authority and his writings were widely read in the Syriac world after his death at least until the 7th century. Evagrius of Pontus, for his part, was no less influential in oriental Christianity. Translations of his works were produced in the 5th century, sometimes in multiple versions, and had a tremendous impact on the Syriac spiritual vocabulary.¹⁰⁰ Given the importance of Ephrem on the following centuries and the influence of Evagrius from the 6th century onwards in the Church of the East, one wonders how the technical notions they had developed were used and appropriated in the few centuries preceding the emergence of Islam. The translations of the work of Evagrius in the 6th century attest of the popularity of his work, but I do not find in Syriac authors such a systematic use of the notion of λόγοι. With regards to Ephrem, I have not been

 Water as symbolizing resurrection is a recurrent theme in the Qur’ān. Besides Q 35:9, the most explicit passages are Q 22:5, 22:63, 25:48 – 49, 30:24, 43:11.  On the use of the word “asceticism” in reference to the Qur’ānic model described, see n. 18 in the introduction.  On “types” in Christian late antique exegesis, see Young 2002, 152– 157.  It is indeed important to highlight that God is not only (partially) knowable through those signs but that he willingly makes himself knowable through them. The Qur’ān expressly declares for instance that God would not allow the ’āyāt to be visible without his permission (’idhn) (Q 13:38, 40:78).  Becker 2006, 176. Cf. Brock 1995, 407 (n. 3); Guillaumont 1983.

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able to track either a similar use of the notion of galyātā, though this is perhaps due to the scarcity of our sources for this period.¹⁰¹ In any event, one finds at the end of the 6th century a quite intriguing development around the notion of “sign” in Church of the East.

4.3 The Qur’ānic ’āyāt: the end of a linguistic puzzle? I have said above that scholars agree on the fact that the Qur’ānic term ’āya is originally a loanword from the Syriac word ātā. It is striking therefore to note that in the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, a central text of the late 6th century at the School of Nisibis, the very term ātā is employed in a technical sense that echoes quite closely the notion of ’āyāt and the twofold meaning bestowed upon it in the Qur’ān. The Cause is “a late sixth-century address to the incoming class at Nisibis that purports to give a history of education, beginning with God’s instruction to the angels at the time of Creation and concluding with the tenure of Ḥenana of Adiabene, the head of the school at the time of the speech’s composition”.¹⁰² Developing the metaphor of a divine classroom of Creation in which God taught the angels, the text compares the learning process of understanding the cosmos to teaching children how to read the alphabet: In a similar manner we have a practice, after we have a child read the simple letters [ātwātā pšīṭātā] and repeat them, we join them one to another and from them we put together names that he may read syllable by syllable and be trained. Thus also that eternal teacher did, after he had them [angels] repeat the alphabet, then he arranged it [the alphabet] with the great name of the construction of the firmament and he read it in front of them that they might understand that he is the creator of all of them, and as he orders them, they complete his will, and because they are quick-witted, they receive teaching quickly.¹⁰³

We see here the strategy of the text which consists in metaphorically speaking of the cosmos as a divine arrangement of letters. This metaphor runs through the entire passage so as to create the impression that God’s creative process is one of “performative writing”. The universe is God’s written text. I will return

 Very little documentation has been conserved for the Church of the East indeed. Cf. Brock 2004b.  Becker 2004, 174.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 349; trans. Becker 2008, 118 – 119.

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in the next section on this very imagery. What seems particularly important to emphasize here is the expression ātwātā pšīṭātā used to designate the “simple letters”. It is likely, as Becker argues, that the expression ātwātā pšīṭātā is originally a calque of the Greek τα ἁπλᾶ στοιχεῖα used in Greek physics.¹⁰⁴ Most significantly, the author makes a pun in using this expression. The term ātwātā used in this passage of the Cause has in fact a twofold meaning since it is the plural of two distinct words in Syriac. On the one hand, ātwātā is the plural of the word ātūtā, which designates “a sign, a character, or a letter of the alphabet”. On the other hand, it is also the plural of ātā, which means “sign” or “mark”, the scriptural use of which has already been discussed earlier.¹⁰⁵ A twofold meaning thus comes out of the use of the term ātwātā in this text. At the first level, God teaches his divine letters, in the written sense, which one can assimilate with the Revelation. At the second level, these “simple letters” shown to angels are also the “signs” of God, that is his immanence in the cosmos through natural phenomena. In using the ambiguous word ātwātā, the author of the Cause makes the distinction between Nature and Scripture implode, so as to create a sense that Nature does not disclose God’s knowledge differently than Revelation. Nature and Scripture are one and the same. It can hardly be a coincidence that the term ’āyāt in the Qur’ān is used in a similar way as ātwātā in the Cause. Both words have the same twofold meaning and, most strikingly, both words are also etymologically linked since the Arabic word ’āyāt is originally a loanword from the singular form of the Syriac ātwātā. It is unlikely that the word ’āyāt in the Qur’ān directly derives from the Syriac text of course, but one wonders if this is not a case of “re-semantisation”. Izutsu observed that the word ’āyāt is never used in pre-Islamic poetry in the religious sense, but always in the naturalistic one, with the exception of this verse from Labīd b. Rabīʿa: And water and fire are His ’āyāt. In them there is a lesson to learn for those who are not jāhil. ¹⁰⁶

The example is in fact little convincing. Besides the problem surrounding the authenticity of pre-Islamic poetry, the life of Labīd b. Rabīʿa as reported by the later tradition is highly intertwined with nascent Islam. Indeed, Labīd is said to have converted to Islam and died around 660/661 and, as Sinai puts it, “Labīd’s

 Note that Origen already compares the luminaries to “celestial letters” (τά οὐράνια γράμματα) that angels and divine powers are able to read so as to rejoice and find divine guidance (Philocalia 23:20).  Becker 2006, 131– 132.  As translated by Izutsu 2009, 144– 145.

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dīwān includes a significant amount of material that is reminiscent of the Quran or even bears clear traces of quranic diction, even though this is often interwoven with ideas that are pre-Islamic in nature and diverge from quranic teachings”.¹⁰⁷ There is no need to emphasize that this precise verse is highly reminiscent of the “Qur’ānic diction” and thus falls out of the present scope. However, recent research brought to the fore an occurrence of a use of the word ’āyāt in a religious sense in pre-Islamic poetry. It is found in a Christian Arabic poem by ʿAdī b. Zayd al-ʿIbadī (ca. 600) in a very similar context as that found in the Qur’ān. The authenticity of the poem is of course difficult to assess, but the philological analysis does not suggest a “Qur’ānic diction” as in the previous example and it is thus worthy of consideration: How the God of creation let appear his grace to us and taught us his first signs [wa-ʿarrafa-nā ’āyāti-hi l-’uwalā].¹⁰⁸ (vv. 1– 2)

The text does not talk explicitly about scriptural ’āyāt here, but it uses the same vocabulary of teaching (ʿarrafa) as the Qur’ān and the Cause. Dmitriev is certainly right in pointing out that this example shows that “even if ’āya in pre-Islamic poetry indicates only ‘signs,’ ‘road-signs,’ it is likely that the Arabic word’s semantic field was extended and interpreted hermeneutically among Arabic Christians who were familiar with Syriac tradition. The poem’s use of the word ’āya thus ought to be explained in terms of a shared linguistic and theological context rather than in terms of the poem’s textual dependence on the Qur’an.”¹⁰⁹ Additionally, it is noteworthy that ʿAdī b. Zayd lived in the city of al-Ḥīra, a well-known Eastern-Syrian stronghold.¹¹⁰ The presence of the word ’āyāt in a religious sense in this poem only adds to our hypothesis, namely that its technical sense in the Qur’ān has something to do with how the Syriac word ātwātā was used in the Church of the East, and more specifically perhaps in the School of Nisibis. To be sure, ātwātā is not as profusely used in the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools as ’āyāt in the Qur’ān. Nonetheless, given that this text was so central in the School of Nisibis, one wonders how much this metaphor, which appears to be specific to the Nisibene worldview, could have impacted members of the institution.¹¹¹ In one way or another, the origin of

 Sinai 2019, 22 (esp. n. 97).  Trans. Dmitriev 2010, 353.  Dmitriev 2010, 356.  On the poet and his cultural milieu, see Hainthaler 2005.  One wonders whether this new insight on the potential origins and meanings of the word ’āyāt does not open up new vistas on the famous “mysterious letters” placed at the beginning

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the Qur’ānic notion of ’āya seems bound to the connection established between the words ātā and ātūtā in Syriac, and the way in which some late sixth-century Syriac authors were willingly playing on them in the context of ascetic writings on natural contemplation. To sum up this section, we see that the technical notion of ’āyāt is not devoid of antecedents in late antique natural theological systems. Sharing functional characteristics with the Evagrian λόγοι and the Ephremian “types” and “symbols”, the term ’āyāt also shares operative and striking linguistic aspects with the Syriac word ātwātā used in a central text at the School of Nisibis. The Cause of the Foundation of the Schools indeed plays on the polysemy of the word ātwātā, so as to create the impression that the universe is in fact an arrangement of divine letters forming a book of Creation. Not unlike the Syriac text, the Qur’ān describes Creation as a network of signs that the believer can read in order to gain knowledge of his Creator and more specifically of his plan for Creation.

5 Qur’ānic teleology 5.1 Negative teleology: Creation is not purposeless! As described above, the Qur’ān clearly emphasizes that God is the sole Creator of the universe. The centrality of this status entails that he also deserves to be worshipped and numerous Qur’ānic passages call humans to acknowledge that they owe their existence to him (e. g. Q 2:21, 6:1, 7:10, 11:61, 14:32– 34, 16:52, 16:80 – 81, 36:22, 39:6, 43:26 – 27, 87:1– 4). Though the text makes clear in different verses that Creation is for human beings (anthropocentrism; cf. Q 2:22, 2:29, 6:96, 10:67, 14:32– 34, 16:5 – 8, 16:10 – 18, 16:80 – 81, 17:12, 20:54– 55, 22:65, 23:17– 22, 67:15, 78:6 – 13, 79:32– 33) and that its contemplation should lead them to be thankful to God and fear him, it is also keen on indicating that this is not something of

of certain surahs in the Qur’ān. As a matter of fact, seven of the twenty-nine occurrences of these mysterious letters are followed by a clause of the type tilka ’āyāt al-kitāb (“these are the ’āyāt of the Scripture”; Q 10:1, 12:1, 13:1, 15:1, 26:2, 27:1, 28:2, 31:2; cf. also 41:2– 3, 45:2– 3), some others do not mention the ’āyāt but make reference to the kitāb (Q 2:2, 32:2, 32:7, 40:2, 43:2, 44:2, 46:2), more rarely the qur’ān only (Q 20:2, 36:2, 38:1, 50:1) or simply the notion of writing (Q 68). These mysterious letters are thus tightly connected to the semantic field of “writing” or “reciting”. In light of what we have said of the word ’āyāt and ātwātā above, we perhaps should understand the word ’āyāt in expressions of the type tilka ’āyāt al-kitāb that often follow these isolated letters, in the very sense of “letters” (Ar.: ’āyāt < Syr.: ātwātā < atūtā (sg.): “a sign, a character, or a letter of the alphabet”).

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which God was in need. If God had wanted a diversion (lahw), he would have taken it “from himself ” (min laddun-nā; Q 21:17). Accordingly, the text asserts that God did not create the cosmos “in vain” (bāṭilan; Q 3:190 – 191, 38:27) or “in jest” (lāʿibīna; Q 21:16, 44:38). Elsewhere, God even asks his people: Did you think that We created you in vain [ʿabathan], and that you would not be returned to Us? (Q 23:115)

All these passages indicate the Qur’ān’s concern to reiterate the affirmation that Creation was not made by God purposelessly. Through these formulas, the text betrays once again its acquaintances with principles rooted both in the biblical tradition and in Greek philosophy. Indeed, Isaiah 45:18 already insists on the fact that God created the world with a purpose: For thus says the Lord, who created the heavens (he is God!), who formed the earth and made it. He established it; he did not create it a chaos [MT: lō tōhū; LXX: οὐκ εἰς κενὸν; Pesh.: lā srīqā’īt], he formed it to be inhabited!

The turn translated here by “chaos” is lō tōhū in Hebrew, literally, “not tohu”, usually understood as “not in vain”, an expression rendered by οὐκ εἰς κενὸν in the Septuagint and by the adverb lā srīqā’īt in the Peshitta, which both mean “not empty”, “not in vain”, or “not without a cause”.¹¹² Without doubt, teleology became a pervasive theme early on in Christian exegesis. Early Christian thinkers such as Justin Martyr, Theophilus of Antioch, and others influenced by the Greek, especially Platonicizing, philosophical tradition, believed that all things had a τέλος, an end or a purpose. In light of this Christian background, one wonders with what or with whom the Qur’ān is actually taking issue here. Does it imply that God did not create the world “without a temporal end, an eschaton”, or “without a finitude”? The term lāʿibīna used in Q 21:16 and 44:38 is rather straightforward since the root LʿB refers to the idea of “playing”, “sporting”, “gaming”, or “jesting”.¹¹³ In these two verses, the meaning is thus clearly that God did not create the world to pass time, or, as Q 21:17 puts it, as an “amusement” (lahw). The same meaning applies to the word ʿabath used in Q 23:115. One of the meaning of the root ʿBTH is “to play, to sport”, and Lane gives for the word ʿabath: “play, or sport in which is no profit to be reckoned, or of which no account is to be made.”¹¹⁴

 Payne-Smith 1903, 392.  Lane 1955 – 1956, 2662.  Lane 1955 – 1956, 1933.

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The use of the word bāṭilan in Q 3:190 – 191 and 38:27 however deserves a bit more attention. This active participle of the first form (fāʿil) used here in an adverbial sense is built on the well-known root BṬL for which dictionaries provide a very negative sense. For the verb baṭala, Lane gives: “It (a thing) was, or became bāṭil, as meaning contrary of ḥaqq; it was, or became false, untrue, wrong or incorrect, fictitious, spurious, unfounded, unsound, vain, unreal, nought, futile, worthless, useless, unprofitable, [etc.]”. Thus, the classical understanding of bāṭilan as “vainly, in vain” is quite sound in light of dictionaries. Though not contradicting the meaning of this Qur’ānic word, a glance at the Syriac meaning of the root perhaps gives more depth to this terminological choice in the Qur’ān. The peʿal form of the root BṬL in Syriac is equally negative (“to cease to work, be idle, at leisure; to come to an end, come to nought, fail; to be void, of no effect; to cease”). The second sense of the root turns out to be rather positive: “to take care of, attend to”. ¹¹⁵ Most importantly, it is on this root that the Syriac for “Divine Providence”, bṭīlūthā, is built. This etymological element should certainly not be overplayed. Nevertheless, it is useful to bear in mind that the possibility that these turns of phrase disputing the “purposelessness of the universe” might well be rooted in a Christian stock of formulas. The fact that the text is so keen on denying the purposelessness of the universe makes us wonder whether the Qur’ānic community had to face opponents holding such an idea or if this is simply part of a classic formulaic rhetoric. The solutions are not mutually exclusive. It is at least important to note that these strong denials occur sometimes in clear polemical contexts. After stating in Q 38:27 that the world has not been created “without purpose” (bāṭilan), the text adds that such allegation “is the conjecture of those who disbelieve” (dhālika ẓannu lladhīna kafarū). Supposing that these accusations reflect what the Qur’ānic opponents believed, the text goes here one step further than merely accusing them of not reflecting on the Creation’s goal: it is indeed their “thought” (ẓann). In his typology of Greco-Roman philosophical cosmologies, David Furley came up with a range of criteria that broadly define two different cosmological paradigms, which he calls, the “Closed World” and the “Infinite Universe” models. The “Closed World” model, in which the Qur’ān could undoubtedly be categorized, has among its main characteristics the comprehension that the cosmos was purposefully designed. This is one of the main breaking points with the “Infinite Universe” paradigm, which encompasses worldviews according to which the universe came into being by accident and which classically did not feel the need to develop

 Payne-Smith 1903, 41.

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the idea of a purposeful cosmos.¹¹⁶ Although adopting a cosmology belonging to the “Infinite Universe” paradigm does not necessarily entail a divineless worldview, the un-teleological character of such systems led early Christian writers to accuse the holders of such models of atheism insofar as they denied the divine steering of Creation. Christians seem to have had to defend themselves on this specific point throughout Late Antiquity. One of the best pieces of evidence we have that the topic was still a matter of dispute at the time the Qur’ān was about to emerge is certainly the seventh-century mystic Isaac of Nineveh. Sabino Chialà recently edited and translated two discourses of Isaac the Syrian conserved in the manuscript tradition and belonging to an otherwise lost “fifth part” of his writings.¹¹⁷ The possibility that these discourses are authentically from Isaac of Nineveh is debated. Awaiting further investigation on the topic, it is certainly worth mentioning that the first discourse is entitled “Examples of confirmation from the Scriptures, against those who say that the world proceeds by chance, without a guide” (teḥwyātā mšarrnītē d-men ktābē lūqbal aylēn d-‘āmrīn d-b-šegmā rādē ʿalmā d-lā mdabbrānā). The content of this text is in fact rather scarce in terms of arguments since it almost only consists of a series of quotations from scriptures aiming at showing that Creation is not steered haphazardly. Isaac pays particular attention to the difficult articulation between God’s foreknowing plan and the free will with which humans are granted. As in the Qur’ān, one wonders here against whom Isaac is arguing. The few articles dedicated to those two discourses do not address the question unfortunately. In any event, we see that the Qur’ānic accusation against the idea of a purposeless universe does not completely appear out of the blue, but rather follows on from a cosmological doctrine that Christians felt the need to continuously reassert throughout the late antique period.¹¹⁸ Nevertheless, taking issue with the Platonic idea of a God creating with necessity (ἀνάγκη), these Christian thinkers insisted that their God was unconditional upon anything in Creation. Thus, these scholars agreed on the fact that the existence of the universe must serve a reason (τέλος), but they also took for granted that God could not be conditional upon the existence of the universe, that he was not in need of the Creation. In this context, the universe was regarded as cre-

 Furley 1987, 1– 8; Furley 1986, 223 – 235.  The manuscript tradition indeed describes these two discourses as “taken from the fifth part of Mar Isaac, bishop of Nineveh”. Cf. Chialà 2014, 124. For the edition and Italian translation of the text, see Chialà 2013; Mary Hansbury translated both discourses into English. Cf. Hansbury 2015.  Blowers 2012, 23, 34– 35.

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ated not “in need” but “out of goodness” and “free will”.¹¹⁹ In later Christianity, the debates surrounding this notion and its articulation with the idea of creation by the outflowing goodness of God not only became pervasive but also reached levels that go well beyond the scope of the present research.¹²⁰ If we glance at the Syriac tradition, for instance, the theme is tackled in Ephrem and other thinkers coming in his wake.¹²¹ Jacob of Sarugh explicitly addresses the matter in one of his memrē on the six days of Creation and declares that “when He had no need for it (kad lā snīq), He created them [creatures], and magnified them, as He was great, with beauties of their natures”.¹²² Similarly, the insistence on the fact that Creation was unnecessary to God appears in Narsai,¹²³ where he is even granted the epithet “the One without Need” (lā ḥsīrā).¹²⁴ Although the formulas “out of goodness” or “out of free will” are not explicitly used in the Qur’ānic text, it is evident that verses such as Q 3:190 – 191, 21:16 – 17, 23:115, 38:27, 44:38 show that the Qur’ānic authors were acquainted with the late antique debates surrounding these matters. Not only does the Qur’ān shows its concern for the assertion of a purposefully created world as Christians did but, just as them, it also polemicizes against those who argued the opposite.

5.2 Affirmative teleology: Creation as a training ground Beyond denying that God created the world purposelessly, the text also seems to positively affirm the existence of a precise divine plan for Creation. If we except one or two unclear cases,¹²⁵ it does not develop a notion of “plan” as such (in comparison to the words τέλος, σκοπός), but we find nonetheless the pretty clear exposition of the Creation’s purpose in a few passages:

 The idea that the cosmos is indeed the natural overflow of God’s goodness is also a Platonic idea. It was already taken over by Philo of Alexandria. Cf. Chadwick 1983, 8 – 13; May 1994, 10, 19 – 20,  See for instance Chadwick 1983, 8 – 13 for a good overview of these debates.  Kronholm 1978, 39.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies, ed. Bedjan 1907, 3:7; trans. Muraoka 2018, 17.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 3:356, 3:372– 373, 6:481– 484.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:427.  The word makr in certain cases comes very close to the notion of “plan”, though it is also sometimes granted the negative meaning of “plot” (e. g. Q 7:99, 7:183). See Droge’s translation of Q 7:183.

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He (it is) who created the heavens and the earth in six days – and His throne was upon the water – that He might test you (to see) which of you is best in deed [li-yablū-kum ’ayyu-kum ’aḥsan ʿamalan]. (Q 11:7)

Three other surahs explicitly mention this: Surely We have made what is on the earth a splendour for it, so that We may test them (to see) which of them is best in deed [li-nablū-hum ’ayyu-hum ’aḥsan ʿamalan]. (Q 18:7)

And the longer Q 67:1– 4: Blessed (be) He in whose hand is the kingdom – He is powerful over everything – who created death and life to test which of you is best in deed [li-yablū-kum ’ayyu-kum ’aḥsan ʿamalan] – He is the Mighty, the Forgiving – who created seven heavens in stories (one upon another). You do not see any mistake in the creation of the Merciful. Cast your sight again! Do you see any fissure? Then cast your sight again and again! Your sight will come crawling backs to you, worn out. (Q 67:1– 4)

And finally: Surely We created the human from a drop, a mixture – We test him [nabtalī-hi] – and We made him hearing (and) seeing. Surely We guided him to the way, (to see) whether (he would be) thankful or whether (he would be) ungrateful. (Q 76:2– 3)

These passages attest that the Qur’ān understands the physical world as a way of testing mankind and their deeds, according to which they will be judged and rewarded. Elsewhere the text exhorts the righteous ones not to enjoy “the flower of this present life” (zahrat al-ḥayawāt) that have been given to some people on the earth and rather to be persistent in their prayer in expectation of a more lasting reward from God (Q 20:131). The primary function of the present world is therefore to be a place granted to humans so as to give them the opportunity to exercise their free will, according to which they will be judged. This idea is not completely unheard of in Jewish and Christian traditions, but it reflects a very ascetic understanding of the universe. One of the earliest authors to evoke that idea in the Jewish and Christian traditions of exegesis is certainly Philo of Alexandria. Commenting on the scene of Adam’s naming of the animals, Philo emphasizes that this divine task ascribed to Adam does not reflect any sort of divine doubt but rather that since God had given him the ability to reason, he wanted to put him to the test, “as a teacher does [with] a pupil, kindling his innate capacity, and calling on him to put forth some faculty of his own”.¹²⁶  Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 149; trans. Colson/Whitaker 1929, 119. Cf. Becker 2006, 23.

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Nevertheless, it is only from the 4th century onwards that the motif really develops. As Blowers shows, key texts grounding this worldview are to be found in the biblical Wisdom literature and more especially the Ecclesiastes. Authors such as Gregory of Nyssa and Gregory Thaumaturges, at the intersection of Christian Platonism and Christian Stoicism, will start arguing that the material world is providentially organized in order to help human beings to ascend spiritually.¹²⁷ Basil of Caesarea explicitly compares the created world to “a place of training and a school (παιδευτήριον) for the souls of men”.¹²⁸ It is certainly not by accident that when the Christian “school movement” starts taking off, such scholastic vocabulary begins to be used in cosmological context. Evagrius of Pontus also understands Creation as a training ground granted by God, through grace, to rational beings (λογικοι) so as to allow them, through contemplation, to regain the unity (θέωσις) they once experienced with the divinity. In line with Origen, he held that the Creation described by Moses in the book of Genesis was only the second Creation, that of the corporeal world. Previous to this was a first Creation, a noetic one, during which intellects where united to God through continuous contemplation. In turning away from God, these intellects broke their unity with him, entailing a first judgement in which God decided to make these intellects fall into corporeal bodies and created the material world (second Creation). Unlike Origen, Evagrius did not regard this second Creation as a punishment but rather conceived it as a place in which these fallen intellects, by means of contemplation of God’s λόγοι, could eventually recover the lost unity with God.¹²⁹ The Qur’ān shares with the Evagrian system the idea that the physical world is a place where God allowed himself to be known through contemplation in order to eventually gain salvation. Central to these respective systems is the notion of free will to which we shall soon turn. Inheriting from the Ephremian and Evagrian paradigms, and through the prism of Aristotelian logic and the influence of Theodore of Mopsuestia as well, the text of the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools offers a very advanced understanding of the “corporeal world” as a training exercise for “this wonderful instru-

 Blowers 2012, 210.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 1:5; trans. Way 2003, 9.  The idea of a double Creation is certainly not extant in the Qur’ān and the possibility to unite with the divine is not explicit either. Nevertheless, let us remember that in being translated into Syriac Evagrius’ Kephaalia Gnostica were also expurgated of the obvious Origenist background. Following this anti-Origenist editorial line, the translator of the S1 version modified the passages of the text where the doctrine of the twofold Creation and the notion of union with God was most explicitly formulated. Cf. Guillaumont 1962, 241– 244.

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ment of rationality”.¹³⁰ Not only does it endorse the view that the present world is a place where rational beings train themselves so as to gain knowledge of God and his plan for Creation, but it also cloaks this teleological doctrine within a very school-oriented imagery of which the Qur’ān is not completely devoid.

6 The Classroom of Creation The idea that the Qur’ān inherits from the “classroom” imagery is not entirely farfetched. First of all, it should be highlighted that in a few passages, the Qur’ān enjoys resorting to scholastic terminology. It is especially evident in the oaths placed at the beginning of two surahs. In Q 96, for instance, God is said to “teach [humans] by the pen” (vv. 4– 5) and Q 68 starts by an oath, with scholastic overtones, “By the pen and what they [angels] write” (v. 1). Accordingly, the speech of God is compared to a sea of ink (Q 18:109, 31:27). Trees are also paralleled with pens (Q 31:27) and some passages compare the shape of the sky in the eschaton to “the rolling up of a scroll for the writings” (Q 21:104, 39:67; cf. also Is 34:4, Rev 6:14). Besides this, the massive use of the notion of a kitāb (“book”, “writing”) concealing God’s absolute knowledge in the universe is central in the Qur’ān.¹³¹ This knowledge is often epitomized by the use of the word ghayb (literally “absence”, “hidden”): With Him are the keys of the ghayb. No one knows them but Him. He knows whatever is on the shore and the sea. Not a leaf falls but He knows it. (There is) not a grain in the darkness of the earth, and nothing ripe or withered but (it is recorded) in clear Scripture [fī kitābin mubīnin].¹³² (Q 6:59)

A similar idea occurs in Q 34:3: (He is the) Knower of the ghayb. Not (even) the weight of a speck in the heavens and the earth escapes from Him, nor (is there anything) smaller than that or greater, except (that it is) recorded in a clear Scripture [fī kitābin mubīnin]. (Q 34:3)

To this already rich scribal and scholastic imagery, we can add the famous and cryptic passage of Q 85:21– 22 where it is said that “a glorious recitation” (qur’ān majīd) is inscribed on a guarded tablet (lawḥ maḥfūẓ). This last case is particularly  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 344.  On the notion of kitāb, see Madigan 2001. Note that Izutsu observes the use of the word kitāb in the sense of “divine record of everything” in a poem of Labīd. As mentioned above however, the authenticity of Labīd’s dīwān needs to be seriously questioned here. Cf. Izutsu 2009, 139.  Droge’s translation slightly revised.

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noteworthy given that the motif of the tablet (lūḥā) occurs multiple times as well in the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools. As I already mentioned, therein the universe itself is equated to a written tablet: As if upon a tablet [lūḥā], He wrote and composed all the visible bodies that it [mind] might read them and from them know that one who was the cause of this learning […].¹³³

The image of the “tablet” is used here and in several other passages of the same text.¹³⁴ It is possible that the author of the Cause derives this image from Evagrius of Pontus.¹³⁵ A similar metaphor is already found in Philo and Origen. Becker suggests that the image might well ultimately derive from Aristotle who compared the human mind to a tablet.¹³⁶ This particular idea is quite compelling when one thinks of the fact that the seat of the mind, the faculty of understanding, was the “heart” for the authors of which we are talking. The Aristotelian idea certainly found in the Bible fertile ground, since God’s teaching, the Law, is said to be written “on the tablet of your heart” (MT: ʿal lūaḥ libbe-kā; LXX: επί πλακός καρδίας σου; Pesh. ʿal lūḥē d-lebbak) in different occasions (Prov 3:1– 3, 7:3; 2 Cor 3:3; cf. also Deut 6:6 and Jer 17:1, 31:33). Various Qur’ānic scholars have drawn attention to the fact that the twofold meaning of ’āyāt in the Qur’ān (“natural signs” and “verses, pieces of revelation”) suggests a literary strategy aimed at identifying the cosmos with an open-air book containing information on the Creator.¹³⁷ The idea is quite compelling, even though the Qur’ān never makes explicit the comparison of the universe to a book. One of the problems we have is that many passages in which the word ’āyāt is used do not allow us to determine whether it refers to scriptural or natural signs. In any case, the Qur’ān seems very much aware of its two different usages of the term ’āyāt. In some instances, we are even left wondering whether it does not purposefully entertain its ambivalent meaning so as to create a sense that Nature and Scripture reflect one another. In some cases, as Boisliveau mentions, the text places pericopes on natural phenomena next to references to the descent of the Revelation so as to convey this conceptual association.¹³⁸ In fact, the Qur’ān

 Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 345; trans. Becker 2008, 113.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 352, 3532, 354, 358.  He indeed declares in his Letter to Melania: “As those who teach letters to children trace them on tablets, thus also Christ, teaching his wisdom to rational beings, has traced it in corporeal nature” (Epistula ad Melaniam 22). Cf. also Evagrius, Kephalaia Gnostica 3:57 and Practicus 92. Cf. Becker 2006, 133, 252 (n. 42).  Becker 2006, 148.  Graham 2010, 116; Peterson 2001b, 62– 63.  Boisliveau 2014, 194.

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never spells out the ontological difference between scriptural signs and natural ones, but rather treats them as equals and even suggests their pointing towards the same metaphysical reality: the ’āyāt of heavens and earth and the ’āyāt of Revelation (sacred history) point towards God in a similar fashion. The beginning of Q 45 for instance is a good example where the word ’āyāt is used no less than nine times in both senses in the lapse of a few verses only. It is worth quoting here verses 2 to 6, which present a particularly ambiguous use of the word ’āyāt: The sending down of the Book is from God, the Mighty, the Wise. Surely in the heavens and the earth (there are) ’āyāt indeed for the believers. And in your creation, and what He scatters of the creatures, (there are) ’āyāt for a people who are certain. And (in the) alternation of the night and the day, and what God sends down from the sky of (His) provision, and by means of it gives the earth life after its death, and (in the) changing of the winds, (there are) ’āyāt for a people who understand. Those are the ’āyāt of God. We recite them [natlū-hā] to you in truth. In what (kind of ) proclamation – after God and His ’āyāt – will they believe?¹³⁹

The example of Q 45 is quite unique in the Qur’ān. Here, the heaven and the earth, together with other cosmic natural objects and phenomena are designated as ’āyāt (vv. 3 – 5). Yet, right after, the text affirms that these same signs are recited (talā) by God to the Qur’ānic prophet. We are here left in some kind of flou artistique in which God’s signs in Nature are not seen or witnessed, nor shown or displayed, but recited and listened, as if the universe was itself revealed, or one should say, as if the universe was itself the Revelation. Thus it appears that by means of the reference to “signs”, the Qur’ān suggests a mirroring of Nature and Revelation. Effectively, this not only means that the signs of Nature are contained in the Book,¹⁴⁰ I think, but rather that both Revelation and natural phenomena are two aspects of a single divine “book” that points to a single metaphysical reality: God and his plan of salvation. If the merging of Scripture and Nature is indeed what the Qur’ān seeks to achieve in designating as ’āyāt both items of sacred history and the cosmos, then it echoes a long-lasting motif in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Philo of Alexandria had already argued in various works that natural law and Mosaic law were

 Droge’s translation slightly modified for the purpose of the demonstration.  Boisliveau seems to lean cautiously towards this interpretation, even though she also speaks of a “clair parallélisme” between the Qur’ānic discourse on natural phenomena and the self-referential discourse of the Qur’ān. Cf. Boisliveau 2014, 197. The idea that mysteries of Nature are contained in the Revelation is central to rabbinic Judaism where the celestial Torah is seen as the blueprint of Creation, which led rabbis to grant scriptural contemplation supremacy over natural contemplation. On this see for instance Alexander 2009.

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two sides of the same coin.¹⁴¹ In the Christian tradition, the understanding of Creation and Revelation as two equal and indissociable means to reach a knowledge of God, eventually led a few late antique authors to identify the former with the latter. While Origen and the Cappadocians often compared Nature and Scripture to show their interrelation, and early on spoke of the idea that the sky is a book full of signs,¹⁴² the first explicit comparison of Nature as a whole to a book in the Christian tradition seems to appear in Athanasius of Alexandria (4th c.) who affirms that creation “as it were in writing, indicates and proclaims its master and maker”.¹⁴³ Roughly at the same time, Evagrius of Pontus and Ephrem of Nisibis do not use the comparison of Nature to a book but, so to say, genuinely “bookify” Creation. In his Practicus, Evagrius declares: “My book, O Philosopher, is the nature of [created] beings, and it is there when I want to read the words (λόγοι) of God”.¹⁴⁴ Elsewhere, Evagrius compares Creation to written letters that, once read, allow for the grasping of the one who wrote them.¹⁴⁵ Elsewhere, he straightforwardly affirms: The book of God is the contemplation of bodies and incorporeal [beings] in which a purified mind [νοῦς] comes to be written through knowledge. For in this book are written the logoi of providence and judgment, through which book God is known as creator, wise, provident, and judging.¹⁴⁶

A similar imagery is used by Ephrem, who writes perhaps a generation before Evagrius. In his Hymns on Paradise, the Syrian metaphorically speaks of the “book of creation”: The keys of doctrine, which unlock all scriptures’s books, have opened up before my eyes the book of creation, the treasure house of the Ark, the crown of the Law. This is a book which, above its companions, has in its narrative made the Creator perceptible and transmitted His actions; it has envisioned all His craftsmanship, made manifest His works of art.¹⁴⁷

      

Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 13 – 15; De vita Mosis 2, 48 – 53; cf. Blowers 2012, 47. See for instance Origen, Philocalia 23:15, 20. Blowers 2012, 318 – 319. Evagrius, Practicus 92; trans. Sinkewicz 2003, 112. Cf. Blowers 2012, 319. Evagrius, Epistula ad Melaniam 2. Cf. Blowers 2012, 319. Evagrius, Scholia on the Psalms 138:16; trans. Dysinger 2005, 171– 172, slightly modified. Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Paradise 6:1; trans. Brock 1990, 108 – 109.

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The comparison is repeated in his Hymns on Faith, where he also declares that “Nature is like the Scripture”¹⁴⁸ and both are said in many passages to reflect one another.¹⁴⁹ Evagrius and Ephrem’s respective conceits enjoyed further developments in various authors of later centuries. Around the time of the Qur’ānic composition in the Greek-speaking world, Maximus the Confessor takes over Evagrius’s imagery and build on it quite substantially.¹⁵⁰ In the Syriac-speaking world, Narsai, the famous founder and director of the School of Nisibis at the end of the 5th century, resorts to this motif, doubtless building on Ephrem’s imagery. Having in mind the image already seen in the last section of God teaching the angels during the week of Creation, he affirms: Through the six days, He taught them [the reasonable beings] the ordering of His power, and He made them skilful writers by the work of His hands. They studied a learned book [sefrā mhīrā], in the Creation in front of them, and they started arranging the beings without discernment, thanks to their skill.¹⁵¹

The motif of a “book of creation” flourishes several times in Narsai’s Homilies on Creation. Whereas at one point he designates Creation as a “new book” (sefrā ḥadtā), he also depicts Creation as a book “written in God’s palm”, which he calls the “book of His eternity” (sefrā d-amīnūteh).¹⁵² The motif particularly develops in the School of Nisibis as attested by the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools already mentioned in the last section.¹⁵³ The author of the Cause indeed subtly plays on the double meaning of the word ātwātā (“letters” and “signs”), so as to convey the meaning that in writing letters, God also creates his “signs” in the universe. This literary strategy is made explicit when, in the same passage, the text depicts the creation of the firmament and affirms that God arranged letters of the alphabet to create “the great name of the construction of the firmament” then read it in front of the angels.¹⁵⁴ Everything

 Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 35:1; trans. Wickes 2015, 203, slightly modified.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 35:7; Hymns on Paradise 5:2– 3; Hymns against Heresies 28:11, 38:4.  Blowers 2012, 320 – 322.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 5:137– 140.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 2:250 – 254; 5:451.  Brock 2017, 243 – 244.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 349. The origin of this metaphor, as Becker argues, is Evagrius of Pontus who regularly uses the lexical field of “reading” and “writing” in relation to natural contemplation. In his Letter to Melania for instance, Evagrius compares Creation to a letter (ktībātā) sent to communicate with someone from afar. Cf. Becker 2006, 131– 133.

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unfolds as if divine creation was first the creation of the name of the created object and that its pronunciation by God in front of the angels made it come into being.¹⁵⁵ The motifs of the book of Creation and the larger school imagery clearly reached outside the scholastic context in the 6th and 7th centuries. Undoubtedly under Mār Abā’s influence, one finds in Cosmas Indicopleustes’ Christian Topography the motif of the six days of Creation as a classroom for angels, making abundant use of the vocabulary of “teaching” and “learning”.¹⁵⁶ Similarly, a letter of the catholicos Giwargis (d. 680) addressed to an otherwise unknown Mina makes use of the same motif.¹⁵⁷ A seventh-century witness of the Church of the East, not formally associated with the School of Nisibis, attests that the natural theological framework mentioned above and the motifs of the book of Creation and school imagery that go with it, reached outside of the scholastic circle. This representation had also spread in mystical circles usually thought of as remote from secular and scholastic ones. Isaac of Nineveh for instance, whose brother may have been Gabriel Qatraya (or Gabriel the “Lion”) who occupied a teaching function at the School of Nisibis,¹⁵⁸ provides us with a straightforward explanation of how the invisible nature of the essence of God can be approached: The nature of the Essence is invisible but can be known by means of His mysteries. That is to say, those mysteries which wills that they be made known. And they are known by means of meditating on the structure of the universe. especially by continual consideration of God’s Economy in its various revelations, given indeed to inform the diligent mind which inquires faithfully and searches the things assiduously.¹⁵⁹

Unsurprisingly, Isaac’s natural theology is quite in line with what we have said of the earlier Christian tradition so far. God makes his mysteries available to humankind and they can be known by means of meditation on “the structure of the universe”. Elsewhere, Isaac describes the present world as a “school” and declares

 Trans. Becker 2008, 123. Note that just as in the Qur’ān, it is not Adam who names the animals but God. Indeed, in the Cause, Adam is only responsible for reading the tablet on which God wrote the names beforehand. Similarly, this text shares with the Qur’ān and other parabiblical writings the idea that Satan was in fact an angel who rebelled against God.  Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 3:28 – 33, 36 – 42.  Wolska 1962, 81.  Becker 2006, 158.  Isaac of Nineveh, Kephalaia 3:17; trans. Kessel 2015, 294. We call here Kephalalia, Isaac’s Chapters on Knowledge, which form in fact the third chapter of the Second Collection of his writings. The three first chapters of this second part are still awaiting edition. Kessel’s partial translation is based on the manuscript Oxford, Bodleian Library syr. e. 7.

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that “the first book which was given to rational beings was the natural created world.”¹⁶⁰ Within this context, it is certainly worth highlighting that God is very often described as a writing deity in the Qur’ān. The text not only implies that God had written down all things from all eternity, but God’s writing activity is mentioned as an ongoing process in several verses (e. g. Q 3:53, 3:181, 5:83, 7:156, 9:111, 19:79, 21:94, 36:12, 43:19). These passages however are not connected to the divine creative activity. Of greater importance for us are the places in which the Qur’ānic God is seemingly granted the role of pedagogue. It is for instance quite remarkable that one of the verbs most commonly associated with the term ’āyāt is talā, “to recite” (31 times). Connecting the notion of recitation with that of revelation or “verses” obviously makes sense since it refers at least to something previously composed (either orally or in writing) but in the passage of Q 45 cited above, talā is used to refer to cosmic signs as if both natural and scriptural signs could be recited all the same. Although Q 45 remains to my knowledge an isolated example, in many respects the Qur’ān still portrays a God with the characteristics of a pedagogue. Besides the fact that he is repeatedly described as “reciting” (talā) the signs, “bringing down” (ātā) the signs, and “explaining” (faṣṣala) them, he is also ascribed the role of “teaching” (ʿallama) in many passages (Q 2:31, 2:32, 2:39, 2:251, 2:282, 3:48, 4:113, 5:4, 5:110, 12:6, 12:21, 12:37, 12:68, 12:101, 18:65, 21:80, 36:69, 53:5, 55:2, 55:4, 96:4, 96:5). Once again, this Qur’ānic detail leads to consider the East-Syrian tradition as a potential origin for the presence of this motif in the Qur’ān. As Brock pointed out, apart from the Psalms where it is often used, the Hebrew verb limmed (“to teach”) has God as subject in only three passages of the Old Testament (2 Sam 22:35, Is 48:17, Sir 18:13).¹⁶¹ Thus in comparison to the Bible, and proportionally all the more, the theme seems to enjoy a real emphasis in the Qur’ān where God is the subject of the verb ʿallama in 21 occurrences. In fact, Macina and Brock argued that the representation of God as a pedagogue developed particularly in the East-Syrian tradition. It is indeed easy to understand how the biblical, and especially Psalmic, roots of this imagery found fertile ground in the context of the birth of the school movement in the Syriac world.¹⁶² The Qur’ān is thus in line with the East-Syrian tendency to resort to the classroom imagery in cosmological context. We get the increasing impression that the Qur’ānic authors and/or their informers were somehow acquainted with the move Isaac of Nineveh, First Collection 5; trans. Brock 1990, 138; for the Syriac text, see Bedjan 1909, 61.  Brock 2017, 236.  Macina 1982– 1983; Brock 2017.

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ment of the schools that developed in the 6th century East-Syrian world. In the next section, we suggest that the Qur’ānic version of the account of Adam naming the animals is best understood in light of the scholastic context as well.

7 A scholastic version of Adam naming the animals In the previous sections, we suggested that the vocabulary of the Qur’ān came at times quite close to the classroom imagery that particularly flourished in the Church of the East. Here, we show that this trend is observable in the retelling of the biblical Adamic story of the naming of the animals, which in the Judeo-Christian tradition establishes the status of men in relation to their world. Contrarily to other episodes concerning Adam, the naming of the animals only occurs once in the Qur’ān: (Remember) when your Lord said to the angels, “Surely I am placing on the earth a ruler [khalīfa].” They said, “Will You place on it someone who will foment corruption on it, and shed blood, while we glorify (You) with Your praise and call You holy?” He said, “Surely I know what you do not know.” And He taught Adam the names – all of them. Then He presented them to the angels, and said, “Inform Me of the names of these, if you are truthful.” They said, “Glory to You! We have no knowledge except for what You have taught us. Surely You – You are the Knowing, the Wise.” He said, “Adam! Inform them of their names.” And when he had informed them of their names, He said, “Did I not say to you, ‘Surely I know the unseen (things) of the heavens and the earth’? I know what you reveal and what you have concealed.” (Q 2:30 – 33)

Several elements present in this passage are foundational of the specific anthropology promoted by the Qur’ān and can be related to the tradition described above. The first point of interest is the function of khalīfa granted by God upon Adam. The word khalīfa only appears here and in Q 38:26, where it designates David. Droge rightly points to the fact that the word khalīfa in Arabic means “successor”, as attested by the occurrences of the word in the plural elsewhere (khulafā’ and khalā’if; Q 6:165, 7:69, 7:74, 10:14, 10:73, 27:62, 35:39), but he nevertheless opts for the translation by “ruler”, which he considers better since the passage Q 2:30 is an obvious retelling of Gen 1:28 “where God gives ‘sovereignty’ [to Adam] over his creation.”¹⁶³ Other translations do not satisfyingly render the meaning of khalīfa (and probably none do). Jones translates by “viceroy”; Dawood by “deputy”; Masson has “lieutenant” and Blachère has “vicaire”.¹⁶⁴ All these pas Droge 2013, 4 (n. 38).  On the various translations and interpretations of the word, see Paret 1970, 211– 212.

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sages attempt to surmount the problem of conveying the meaning of “ruling” as expressed in Gen 1:28 in staying as close as possible to the etymological meaning of the root KHLF (“to follow, come after”).¹⁶⁵ Indeed, in this well-known verse of Genesis where Adam is made “in the image of God”, man is twice said to have been granted “dominion over” the animals (RSV, NRSV, REB) or to “rule” (NEB) the animals (Gen 1:26, 28). I would argue that the understanding of the word khalīfa in the Qur’ān as “ruler” however is both teleological and wrong, especially in light of the late antique developments around this passage. Brock showed that following the Targum, the Peshitta does away with the notion of “ruling” or “dominion” in translating the Hebrew verb radah by the Syriac šlaṭ which rather means “to have authority over”.¹⁶⁶ This seemingly insignificant semantic shift in fact had important consequences, since in trying to understand the tension between “being in the image of God” and “having authority” over animals, Syriac writers eventually understood man as God’s representative in Creation, “an agent to whom authority has been delegated”.¹⁶⁷ In return for this divine favour, mankind needs to exert its delegated power properly, “in the image of God”, implying the exertion of authority seeking to spread love.¹⁶⁸ Some Fathers even resort to the metaphor of the mirror to explain the synergic link between God and his image. In the beginning, man was created by God as a highly polished mirror, thus perfectly reflecting God’s image. At the Fall (wrong use of free will), the mirror loses its brilliance, which is only restored through incarnation and through sacraments. We see how Syriac writers reintroduced in their exegesis of Gen 1:26 – 28 the notion of free will in this world that is determinant for salvation.¹⁶⁹ The emphasis on man being made in the image of God was very strong in the Antiochene tradition. Given the influence of Antiochene exegesis and especially of Theodore of Mopsuestia in the Church of the East, it is not surprising to find that the expression plays a key role in the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools. A relevant passage in this regard, occurs when the text describes the “School of Noah”. After having praised the patriarch, the text reads:

 On the meaning of the root KHLF in pre-Islamic and early Islamic sources, see Shahin 2009, 557– 628.  On the development of the concept of “vicarious kingship” in Syriac late antique literature, see Papoustakis 2017.  Brock 1990, 132; see also Brock 2016a.  Brock 1990, 132– 133.  Brock 1990, 132– 133.

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He [God] appointed him [Noah] to be a substitute [ḥlaptā] for the world and to renew that image-ness [ṣalmānūtā] which had been erased.¹⁷⁰

Noah is here attributed the role of renewing the lost “image-ness” of God among humans. Becker notes that the epithet ḥlaptā is commonly associated with Noah in Sirach 44:17 and in Aphrahat.¹⁷¹ It is remarkable here that this notion of “substitute” is explicitly connected with that of being in the image of God and thus with Adam. In using this notion, it is very likely that the text has in mind the exegetical development just mentioned concerning humans as being granted authority by God over the animals rather than simply been endowed with power over creatures. This notion of “authority” in fact allows for a much more dynamic relationship between humans and God. It is moreover quite crucial to note that linguistically speaking, the term ḥlaptā and the term khalīfa share the same root and are used in the identical context of an exegesis on the “imageness and likeness of God” of Gen 1:26. Given the fact that the epithet is here applied to Noah and not to Adam, it would be bold to suggest a direct link between both texts. It should be mentioned however, that Adam and Noah are paired up in Q 3:33 as the chosen ones together with the “house of Abraham and the house of ʿImrān”. I would argue that the use of the word khalīfa attests that the Qur’ān is aware of the tradition extant in the Cause, ultimately based upon the variant of the Peshitta where Adam is not endowed power over Creation but is, in his quality of “image of God”, delegated divine authority over the world. Be that as it may, the term khalīfa is not the only detail worthy of attention here. Scholars have long noted that the episodes of naming the animals in the Bible and in the Qur’ān present differences. Whereas the Bible has Adam naming the animals, the Qur’ān has God teach Adam the names of “all things” (al-’asmā’ kulla-hā) who then recites them to the angels. In light of the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, this detail is noteworthy. First of all, the notion of teaching reminds us of the singular way the Cause describes the world as a succession of classrooms, from that of the angels up to the School of Nisibis. The passage of the Cause describing the “School of Adam” deserves to be quoted here: Now at the same time that he made Adam and Eve, he caused to be made before them in the order of the letters the wild and domestic animals, and he whispered [lʿaz] in him (i.e. Adam) secretly so that he might read openly [neqrā]. Adam read [qrā] in this first tablet [lūḥā] the names for all the domestic animals and for all the wild animals of the field and all the birds of the heavens. Everything Adam called (each) living soul, that was their name. Because he

 Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 355; trans. Becker 2008, 125 slightly adapted.  Aphrahat, Demonstrations 13:5.

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repeated these unwritten letters well in the composition of exact names, he (i.e. God) then introduced his school to the Garden of Eden and there he taught [tqan]¹⁷² him the laws and the judgements.¹⁷³

In this very rich excerpt, just as in the Qur’ān, Adam does not name the animals himself, but is taught the names by God. Through the use of the verb lʿaz, which is according to Becker, often used to describe the activity of the Holy Spirit in Syriac, the text indeed aims at showing that Adam did not come up with the names of the animals himself but that he was taught the names by God. It is easy to see how in its attempt to “scholasticize” sacred history, the Cause reframes this Adamic narrative and depicts once again God as a pedagogue and Adam as his student. The emphasis in both the Qur’ān and the Syriac text is put on Adam’s free will, and his free decision to exert his power in a good way over Creation and to recite the names he has been taught. The whole idea, as Brock argued, is that the right use of the divinely originated authority leads to an attitude of thanksgiving and praise towards the Creator, a posture of faith, which constitutes a prerequisite step in order to grasp the divine – be it in Ephrem’s “types” and “symbols”, the Cause’s atwātā, or Isaac’s mysteries – in the universe. This is precisely the same scenario described by the Qur’ān. The role of man in the universe is to rightly use his free will so as to acknowledge the immanence of the divine through its signs (’āyāt) in the cosmos. This endeavour leads to an attitude of gratefulness, awe, and praise towards the Creator. Given the multiple parallels highlighted above, the fact that both texts share the motif of Adam being taught the names by God can hardly be regarded as accidental.¹⁷⁴ One seems compelled to acknowledge that both texts echo a same tradition. In any case, it is evident that in the Cause, and probably in the Qur’ān, the reshaping of this Adamic episode serves the larger purpose of anchoring the text’s anthropology, cosmology, and teleology. In fact, it is very likely that this unique Qur’ānic episode constitutes the foundation of Qur’ānic anthropology. In any event, in adopting this motif, the Qur’ān seems to show once again its acquaintance with

 Note the variant reading w-ktab leh taman, “and he taught for him there”.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 352; trans. Becker 2008, 122– 123.  Other noteworthy elements could be mentioned such as for instance the fact that the Qur’ān does not speak of the animals. Unlike the Bible where Adam is given power over the creatures (“the fish, etc.”) and taught the names of the animals, the Qur’ānic Adam is made khalīfa “on the earth” (fī l-’arḍ), and not on creatures, and is taught “the names of all things” (al-’asmā’ kulla-hā). Although the Cause focuses on the name of animals, we learn in the excerpt quoted above that in fact, Adam is taught much more than the names of the animals, but also “laws and judgement”. Besides, it is worth highlighting with Brock that some Fathers understood the power/authority granted by God upon mankind as extended to the whole Creation. Cf. Brock 1990, 135.

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this late antique cosmological tradition, in which Creation is a place of learning for intellectual beings and where natural and scriptural contemplation are considered two indissociable soteriological tools.

8 Conclusion This chapter was dedicated to solving an apparent paradox: why is the Qur’ān so often talking about natural phenomena but never provides with a cosmological theory about it. Throughout the last pages, we argued that the Qur’ānic discourse on the cosmos was subsumed to the larger theological agenda of the text. Nature is regarded in the text as a theatre staging God’s mightiness, in parallel to Revelation. The Qur’ān indeed constantly invites humans to enrol in the school of God who sprinkled the cosmos with “signs” through which he teaches believers about the existence of the divine plan for Creation. Structurally speaking, we pointed out that the Qur’ānic instrumentalization of Nature as a means of divine communication with men was very much in line with a (late) antique tradition of natural contemplation, following on Hellenistic Judaism (Philo of Alexandria especially), developing early on in patristic literature (Clement of Alexandria, Origen), and flourishing especially around the 4th century in the writings of some of the most famous Christian ascetic writers of the time (the Cappadocians, Evagrius of Pontus). Simultaneously, the writings of Ephrem of Nisibis also bear witness to the development of a comparable idea in the Syriac world. No doubt the joint influence of Ephrem and these Greek authors contributed to the development of original contemplative models in the Christian East. At the end of the 6th century, the School of Nisibis attests of the heritage of this tradition of natural contemplation. The analysis of the Qur’ānic rhetoric, terminology, and even the retelling of one of its Adamic narratives, suggests that the natural contemplative model promoted by the Qur’ān echoes this Christian scholastic tradition. Our research so far shows that the contemplative model of the Qur’ān and the terminology that it deploys within this ascetic framework strongly suggest that the authors of the text had come to be acquainted with the spiritual tradition of the Church of the East and more specifically perhaps with its school movement. The proximity with the East-Syrian tradition is sufficiently close to encourage us to further the hypothesis of a connection with the Church of the East and its ascetic model. In the next chapter, we tackle in more details how the Qur’ānic contemplative is meant to read God’s signs in the cosmos. It will be shown how, in this regard, the Qur’ān resonates with another branch of the East-Syrian spiritual tradition.

Chapter 2 Contemplation: Between Theory and Practice 1 Introduction The last chapter was dedicated to studying the role of the cosmos in Qur’ānic discourse. We showed that it is by and large granted a revelatory status and constitutes a semantic tool through which God makes himself knowable to human beings. Within this framework, the universe’s existence is primarily contingent upon human beings’ existence. The cosmology of the Qur’ān can thus be described as primarily theologico-anthropological. It only exists as a playground for humans to grasp the signs scattered by God in the world. Given this understanding of the cosmos as an interface of communication between God and humans, we can expect the Qur’ān to give more precision about the inner, cognitive and spiritual, process through which one is meant to grasp God’s presence in the world. This chapter addresses the human dimension of this contemplative model. Is man merely a passive receptor of the divine irradiance in the cosmos or does he have an active role to play therein? Does the Qur’ān provide us with any details concerning the intellectual process of grasping the divine signs? Does the grasping of the ’āyāt constitute the end of contemplation or is it merely a means to another end? Here, we argue that the configuration of the communication between God and men in the Qur’ān reflects similarities with the Christian ascetic tradition of Late Antiquity. We show that the grasping of the divine through the ’āyāt of God should not be regarded as an ascending dialectic only conditional upon human’s free will. We suggest instead that the ’āyāt of Nature and Scripture constitute the place of the encounter between God and men, supposing concomitantly an action of grace on the part of God and of purification on the human side. We show that in understanding this purificatory process as something happening in the “heart” and leading to a state of “remembrance of God”, the Qur’ān echoes the Syriac Christian ascetic tradition. More precisely, the text articulates here notions and concepts that were particularly popular among East-Syrian mystics active in the 6th and 7th century (Sahdona, Isaac of Nineveh, Dadishoʿ Qatraya, etc.), some of whom originated from the region of Beth Qatraye in the Arabic Peninsula. Finally, we study how the Qur’ān parallels late antique concerns about the possibility to reach only a limited divine or esoteric knowledge through contemplation. We show how the Qur’ānic ascetic endeavour is in fact directed towards the kindling of the desire to seek con-

https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-004

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tinually “the face of God” through practice without however suggesting that contemplation leads to divine knowledge in the earthly life.

2 The necessity of divine grace In his ground-breaking book God and Man in the Qur’ān, Toshihiko Izutsu studies the “structure of the semantic field” that interests us here and summarizes it as follows: (1) God sends down the āyah; (2) man responds to it by either accepting as Truth (taṣdīq), or rejecting it as Falsehood (takdhīb); (3) the former naturally leads to ‘belief ’ (īmān) and the latter to ‘disbelief ’ (kufr).¹⁷⁵

Though certainly too mechanistic, this excerpt quite satisfyingly summarizes the system under scrutiny.¹⁷⁶ The first stage described by Izutsu here constitutes a cornerstone of the communication system between God and men. As studied in the first chapter, the Qur’ān emphasizes in several places that God does not need the universe for himself. The text also declares in many instances that God bestows his mercy upon whom He pleases. This is crucial for it means that without God’s will allowing humans to find his signs in the universe, they would simply not be able to find them, no matter how hard they tried:

 Izutsu 2009, 150.  Izutsu however is swift to highlight the existence in the Qur’ān of a second “semantic field” in which human’s free will is reduced to nothing with the absolute emphasis on God as the almighty Guide on whom acceptance or rejection of the divine message entirely depends (e. g. Q 6:39). For him, both systems co-exist in the Qur’ān without any seeming contradiction, despite the fact that they appear irreconcilable. Contrarily to what Izutsu affirms however, I do not think that the text bears witness here to two different systems, nor that both systems can be juxtaposed. When the semantic field of the sending down of the ’āyāt and that of “guidance” (hudā) converge in the same pericopes, the guidance in fact constitutes the outcome of the acceptance of God’s signs by humans. It therefore suggests that being guided by God occurs only after having recognized his signs, a subsequent stage in the spiritual life (e. g. Q 3:102– 103, 16:104– 105, 45:7– 11, 62:5). It seems clear from these different passages that there exists between the recognition of ’āyāt (taṣdīq) and divine guidance (hudā) a causal relationship. It does not mean of course that this is the case throughout the entire text – notions can evolve. Nevertheless, affirming as Izutsu does, that tanzīl (“sending down of ’āyāt) in the first semantic field equates to hudā (“guidance”) in the other, seems too big of a leap. In the system under scrutiny, human beings really have the freedom to accept and recognize God’s signs; predestination does not apply at this level. Cf. Izutsu 2009, 150 – 154.

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Evil is what they have sold themselves for: they disbelieve in what God has sent down, (because of ) envy that God should send down some of His favor on whomever He pleases of His servants [baghyan ’an yunazzila llāhu min faḍli-hi ʿalā man yashā’u min ʿibādi-hi]. So they have incurred anger upon anger, and for the disbelievers (there is) a humiliating punishment. (Q 2:90)

Such passages indicate that for the Qur’ānic authors, contemplation does not constitute a solitary semantic quest made possible by the sole human desire to seek the knowledge of God. It is clear that none of this would be possible without God’s first act of “sending down”, an act of divine lowering motivated by divine grace only (faḍl).¹⁷⁷ God’s “sending down” (tanzīl) of the ’āyāt by his grace is in fact the conditional beginning of the communication between him and humans, the cornerstone on the path to salvation. God is knowable through cosmic and scriptural signs as we showed in the last chapter. But they come “from his grace” as the expression min faḍli-hi attests at the end of some sign passages (e. g. Q 16:14, 30:46, 35:12, 45:12). In other words, the reaching of metaphysical realities on one’s own is impossible since the presence of the signs are the fruit of God’s grateful act of “sending down”. Finding the signs of God in the world constitutes an encounter with the divine rather than a solitary quest. The Qur’ānic stress on the impossibility to find (or simply benefit from) the ’āyāt without God’s grateful tanzīl is already quite specific when considered in light of the whole trajectory of the notion of contemplation throughout Antiquity. Within the Platonic framework, the endeavour of contemplating “ideas” emerges from the ardent need of the souls to grasp what lies beyond their reach, a need triggered by the memory of an original union of the souls with the divinity.¹⁷⁸ This system foreshadows the later Christian contemplative model in which the desire for contemplation emerges in the contemplative subject due to a force that escapes his free will, an instinctive motion towards the reaching of a lost union. Yet, for Plato the conditions for contemplation are not extraneous to human beings and do not suppose any motion of mercy or grace on the part of the contemplated object. It constitutes an effort of the soul by the soul for the soul.¹⁷⁹ Things remain the same later in Neoplatonism. Plotinus for instance also regarded the soul as the entity providing the work (ἔργον) to reach back its former state.¹⁸⁰  One wonders whether the translation by Droge of min faḍli-hi here and elsewhere in the text by “some of his favor” would not be better understood as “by his Grace”.  Arnou points out that Plato betrays here his acquaintances with ancient Dionysiac and Orphic traditions that conceived this semantic quest as a continuously unsatiated desire to come back to a state of union with the divinity. Cf. Arnou 1953, 1719.  See for instance, Plato, Phaedo 65e-66a. Cf. Arnou 1953, 1725 – 1729.  Lemaître 1953, 1846.

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With the Christian adoption and reframing of this contemplative model however, the paradigm changes. Lemaître affirms that Eastern Christians unanimously agreed on the fact that contemplation represents a gift from God, an act of divine grace.¹⁸¹ For Origen already, the practice of θεωρία is conditional upon God’s mercy: But we affirm that human nature is not sufficient in any way to seek for God and to find Him in His pure nature, unless it is helped by the God who is object of the search [μὴ βοηθηθεῖα ὑπὸ τοῦ ζητουμένου]. And He is found by those who, after doing what they can, admit that they need Him, and shows Himself [ἐμφανίζοντος ἑαυτὸν] to those to whom He judges it right to appear, so far as it is possible for God to be known to man and for the human soul which is still in the body to know God.¹⁸²

Further down, he adds: It is probable that the knowledge of God is beyond the capacity of human nature (that is why there are such great errors about God among men), but that by God’s kindness and love to man [χρηστότητι δὲ καὶ φιλανθρωπίᾳ τοῦ θεοῦ] and by a miraculous divine grace [καὶ παραδόξῳ καὶ θειοτέρᾳ χάριτι] the knowledge of God extends to those who by God’s foreknowledge have been previously determined, because they would live lives worthy of Him after He was made known to them.¹⁸³

It is clear from those two passages that Origen already regards contemplation as intrinsically connected to God’s grace without which the effort to reach knowledge about him becomes vain. One finds here already a complex dynamic where the right use of human free will meets with divine mercy to acquire divine knowledge.¹⁸⁴ The idea percolated into later Christian ascetic literature. Some even emphasized that purification itself, required to achieve contemplation, was also impossible without God’s grace. Gregory of Nyssa for instance, affirmed that the possibility of purifying oneself to reach θεωρία, though being the result of one’s free will, was in fact the fruit of a purification that is “not our work at all; it is not the achievement of any faculty of man; it is the great gift of God”.¹⁸⁵ This pu-

 For Aristotle and Stoics later, the desire for contemplation seems to arise from the desire to live a virtuous life and does not comprise this notion of reaching out to higher realities. Cf. Arnou 1953, 1725 – 1729; Lemaître 1953, 1845 – 1846.  Origen, Contra Celsum 7:42; trans. Chadwick 1953, 430 – 431.  Origen, Contra Celsum 7:44; trans. Chadwick 1953, 432.  Lemaître 1953, 1770.  Gregory of Nyssa, De virginitate 12; trans. Moore/Wilson 1988, 664.

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rification in fact would be nothing without the Spirit’s grace.¹⁸⁶ Such is, mutatis mutandis, the repeated claim of the Qur’ān as well: Do you not see those who claim purity for themselves [lladhīna yuzakkūna ’anfusa-hum]? No! (It is) God (who) purifies whomever He pleases [bali llāhu yuzakkī man yashā’u] – and they will not be done evil in the slightest. (Q 4:49) You who believe! Do not follow the footsteps of Satan. Whoever follows the footsteps of Satan – surely he commands (what is) immoral and wrong. If (it were) not (for the) favor of God on you, and His mercy [wa-law-lā faḍlu llāhi ʿalay-kum wa-raḥmatu-hu], not one of you would ever have been pure [mā zakā min-kum min ’aḥadin ’abadan]. God purifies whomever He pleases [wa-lākinna llāha yuzakkī man yashā’u]. God is hearing, knowing. (Q 24:21)

That the Qur’ān holds such an idea is not surprising given what we highlighted in the first chapter. The long chain of ascetics who wrote about θεωρία defended similar ideas. Evagrius of Pontus for instance held that the perception of the λόγοι would not be possible without God’s “assistance” (βοηθεία). As Dysinger argues, for Evagrius “the perception of these inner meanings presupposes God’s grace; ascetic effort and contemplative skill do not suffice, unaided, to apprehend them.”¹⁸⁷ Once again, though clothed in the particular Qur’ānic vocabulary of “descent” (NZL), the Qur’ān shares with the Christian contemplative tradition the idea that the act of divine bounty is preliminary and conditional upon finding the ’āyāt and purifying oneself.

3 The condition of purity In highlighting that the Qur’ān, like previous Christian asceticism, defends the idea of the necessary divine grace for humans to reach the ’āyāt, we glimpsed the Qur’ānic notion of purity (cf. Q 24:21). This notion is central for it determines the accessibility of the divine signs sent down by God in Creation and in Revelation. The grasping of the signs indeed supposes a cathartic process on behalf of human beings. The necessity for purity – whatever that implies – in order to access the ’āyāt is common to all contemplative systems of Antiquity. Platonism and Neoplatonism understood the access to contemplation as requiring a κάθαρσις. For Plato, the reaching of contemplation is synonymous with a preparation of the soul for the vision of the ideas, a preparation consisting in the exercise of purificatory virtues

 Lemaître 1953, 1775.  Dysinger 2005, 171.

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by detachment of the soul from the body as well as a dialectic process at the term of which the contemplated object is apprehended in its intelligible purity.¹⁸⁸ Once θεωρία meets the Christian framework however, it also meets with Christian notions. One of our earlier commentators, Clement of Alexandria, already emphasized that the contemplation of God relies on faith, hope, and charity.¹⁸⁹ These are the necessary ingredients to reach the state of purity characterized by the practice of prayer and continuous remembrance of God.¹⁹⁰ In the prolongation of ancient philosophers, Origen, and later Fathers such as Basil and his brother Gregory of Nyssa, also insisted on purity as a precondition to contemplation. This purification process, mainly happening during the first stage of the ascetic development, translates into a triumph over one’s passions through impassibility (ἀπάθεια).¹⁹¹ Though the necessity of purification is mostly expressed by distinct turns of phrase studied later in this chapter, the very notion of “purification” occurs in the Qur’ān a number of times. Especially noteworthy are those passages where “purification” is mentioned in contact with the notion of ’āyāt. It is the case in at least four parallel verses: Our Lord, raise up among them a messenger from among them, to recite Your signs to them, and to teach them the Book and the wisdom, and to purify them [yatlū ʿalay-him ’āyāti-ka wayuʿallimu-humu l-kitāba wa-l-ḥikmata wa-yuzakkī-him]. Surely You – You are the Mighty, the Wise. (Q 2:129) From wherever you go forth, turn your face toward the Sacred Mosque. And wherever you are, turn your faces toward it, so that the people will not have any argument against you – except for the evildoers among them; do not fear them, but as We have sent among you a messenger from among you. He recites to you Our signs, and purifies you, and teaches you the Book and the wisdom, and teaches you what you did not know [yatlū ʿalay-kum ’āyātinā wa-yuzakkī-kum wa-yuʿallimu-kumu l-kitāba wa-l-ḥikmata wa-yuʿallimu-kum mā lam takūnū taʿlamūna]. So remember Me (and) I shall remember you [fa-dhkurū-nī ’adhkurkum]. Be thankful to Me and do not be ungrateful to Me. (Q 2:151) Certainly God bestowed favor on the believers when He raised up among them a messenger from among them, to recite His signs to them, and to purify them, and to teach them the Book and the wisdom [yatlū ʿalay-him ’āyāti-hi wa-yuzakkī-him wa-yuʿallimu-humu l-kitāba. wa-lḥikmata], though before (this) they were indeed clearly astray” (Q 3:164) He (it is) who has raised up among the common people a messenger from among them, to recite His signs to them, and to purify them, and to teach them the Book and the wisdom

   

Lemaître 1952, 1719; Festugière 1936, 123, 157. Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 4, 54:7. Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 7, 49:4– 7. Cf. Lemaître 1952, 1767. Lemaître 1952, 1770.

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[yatlū ʿalay-him ’āyāti-hi wa-yuzakkī-him wa-yuʿallimu-humu l-kitāba wa-l-ḥikmata], though before (this) they were indeed clearly astray – and others of them who have not (yet) joined them. He is the Mighty, the Wise. That is the favor of God [dhālika faḍlu llāhi]. He gives (it) to whomever He pleases [yu’tīhi man yashā’u]. God is full of favor [wa-llāhu dhū l-faḍli l-ʿaẓīmi]. (Q 62:2– 4)

Unfortunately, these verses give us little information about what purification really consists of. The prophet clearly holds a purificatory role here, but how does purification relate to the other components of the verses: the teaching of the book and the wisdom – what these terms refer to exactly is unclear –, and the recitation of the ’āyāt? Could it be that the recitation of the ’āyāt in fact constitutes a purificatory process already? It is noteworthy that the process of purification and the necessity of divine grace were in fact subject of controversy in the Qur’ānic milieu: Do you not see those who claim purity for themselves [lladhīna yuzakkūna ’anfusa-hum]? No! (It is) God (who) purifies whomever He pleases [bali llāhu yuzakkī man yashā’u] – and they will not be done evil in the slightest. (Q 4:49)

The fact that this passage occurs in a polemical context suggests disagreements in the Qur’ānic milieu as to the understanding of access to purity. Some seem to have claimed the possibility to reach purity on their own (yuzakkīna ’anfusa-hum) whereas the Qur’ānic authors held that purity was a favour from God. Some passages seem to indicate that purification is not a means to an end for the Qur’ān, but is rather the very goal of its religious program sponsored: Blessed¹⁹² is he who purifies himself [qad ’aflaḥa man tazakkā], and remembers the name of his Lord, and prays. (Q 87:14– 15)

As Guillaume Dye notes, the turn qad ’aflaḥa is rare enough in the Qur’ān to be pointed out. It only occurs four times altogether. Other passages in the Qur’ān echo this turn of phrase and reminds of the genre of the beatitudes: qad ’aflaḥa l-mu’minūn (Q 23:1; “Blessed are the believers”¹⁹³) and qad aflaḥa man zakkāhā (Q 91:9; “Blessed is he who purifies it [the soul]”¹⁹⁴).¹⁹⁵ The exact modalities of this purificatory process remain unclear from the co-text. Traditionally, the verbs formed on the root ZKY have been understood as references to the purifica-

   

Rather than “Prosperous…” as Droge translates. Rather than “The believers have prospered” as Droge translates. Rather than “He has prospered who purifies it” as Droge translates. Dye 2019d, 2039; Dye 2019a, 594– 595.

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tory virtue of “giving alms” because of the latter use of the term zakāt, “alms”.¹⁹⁶ This might be too much of a leap when considering all the occurrences of the verbs zakā, zakkā, and tazakkā. In the next section, I show that this purificatory process cannot be fully grasped without looking at the Qur’ānic notion of heart.

3.1 The role of the heart The reader of the Qur’ān is well-accustomed to several types of recurring formulas that often conclude sign passages. Particularly noteworthy are phrases such as “these are ’āyāt for a people who…” (li-qawm …) or “may they …” (laʿalla-hum…). The verbs following these constructions vary from one verse to the other but mainly emphasize two different aspects in human beings: their ability to use their senses, either rational faculties (e. g. tafakkara, tadabbara, ʿaqila, faqiha) or sensorial ones (e. g. samiʿa), and their ability to behave adequately in fearing and thanking God (e. g. ittaqā, shakara).¹⁹⁷ Being tooled with rational faculties and senses, believers have no excuse but to recognize the divine signs in the universe, lest they be hypocrites. Particularly central to the understanding of how these notions connect with one another is the Qur’ānic conception of the heart. A number of times, human beings are characterized in the Qur’ān as ’ūlū l-’albāb (“those with a heart”). This expression should indeed be understood within the ancient Semitic understanding of the heart as seat of the mind or the intellect (as opposed to our modern understanding of the heart as the seat of emotions only). Within the contemplative context, the heart constitutes the organ that needs to be purified in order to reach God’s knowledge. The Qur’ān varies between three different words to designate this organ. The most frequent term is qalb. It is used 132 times in the text on the overall (18 times in the singular, once in the dual, and 113 times in the plural). The word is often used in the context of the description of unbelievers’ hearts that are said to

 Andrae 1955, 136; Dye 2019d, 2040.  There are seven different verbs associated with the word qawm (sometimes in the negative). This amounts to 56 occurrences of the expression: qawm yūqinūna (4): Q 2:118, 5:50, 45:4, 45:20; qawm yaʿqilūna (10): Q 2:164, 5:58, 13:4, 16:12, 16:67, 29:35, 30:24, 30:28, 45:5, 59:14; qawm yaʿlamūna (10): Q 2:230, 6:97, 6:105, 7:32, 9:6, 9:11, 10:5, 27:152, 36:26, 41:3; qawm yafqahūna (5): Q 4:78, 6:98, 8:65, 9:127, 59:13; qawm yu’minūna (18): Q 6:99, 7:52, 7:188, 7:203, 10:101, 12:37, 12:111, 16:64, 16:79, 23:44, 27:86, 28:3, 29:24, 29:51, 30:37, 39:52, 43:88, 58:22; qawm yatafakkarūna (7): Q 10:24, 13:3, 16:11, 16:69, 30:21, 39:42, 45:13; qawm yadhdhakkarūna (2): Q 6:126, 16:13.

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have “hardened” (qasā, shadda)¹⁹⁸, an image already found in the Bible (e. g. Mk 3:5, 6:52, 8:17), or to contain a “disease” (maraḍ)¹⁹⁹. The word is used in a series of other meanings.²⁰⁰ Most importantly, as Jane Dammen McAuliffe signals, it is in the qalb that the connection with God is best felt. Among other things, the act of “remembering God” takes place in the qalb, where “steadfastness in faith” is felt (Q 16:106), and where “pious fear” (taqwā) arises (Q 22:32). These different themes associated with the notion of heart, only make sense within the framework of the antique representations of the heart as being the organ that enables intellection. This meaning is particularly conveyed by the expression man la-hu qalbun,²⁰¹ “the one who has a heart”, where the word qalb is quasi-synonymous with “understanding”.²⁰² Even though the latter expression does not occur in contact with the notion of “sign”, the parallel formula ’ūlū l-’albāb (“those having hearts”)²⁰³ sometimes closes sign passages (e. g. Q 3:190, 38:29). The word lubb only appears in this expression and always in the plural. It does not seem to designate a distinct part of the heart than qalb. Both lubb and qalb are synonymous and refer to “the very thing which enables man to ‘understand’ the meaning of the divine ’āyāt.”²⁰⁴ It is indeed with the lubb that both the ’āyāt of Nature and of Scripture are grasped: Surely in the creation of the heavens and the earth [fī khalqi l-samāwāti wa-l-’arḍi], and (in) the alternation of the night and the day [wa-khtilāfi l-layli wa-l-nahāri], (there are) signs indeed for those with a heart [la-’ayātin li-’ūlī l-’albābi].²⁰⁵ (Q 3:190) A blessed Book [kitābun] – We have sent it down to you, so that those with a heart may contemplate its signs and take heed [li-yaddabbarū ’āyāti-hi wa-li-yatadhakkara ’ūlū l-’albābi].²⁰⁶ (Q 38:29)

Moreover, the different occurrences of the expression ’ūlū l-‘albāb confirm the tight correlation between “having a heart” and “fearing God” (ittaqā) as it was already the case with verses in which the word qalb was mentioned (Q 2:179, 2:197, 5:100,

 Q 2:74, 5:13, 6:43, 22:53, 39:22, 57:16.  Q 2:10, 5:52, 8:49, 9:125, 22:53, 24:50, 33:12, 33:32, 33:60, 47:20, 47:29, 74:31.  A noteworthy one is the two occurrences of the expression “uncircumcised heart” (qulūbu-nā ghulfun) in Q 2:88 and 4:155, reminiscent of the well-known Pauline expression (Rom 2:25 – 29; cf. also Jer 9:25).  Q 2:10, 5:52, 8:49, 9:125, 22:53, 24:50, 33:12, 33:32, 33:60, 47:20, 47:29, 74:31.  McAuliffe 2002.  Q 2:179, 2:197, 2:269, 3:7, 3:190, 5:100, 12:111, 13:19, 14:52, 38:29, 38:43, 39:9, 39:18, 39:21, 40:54, 65:10.  Izutsu 2009, 148.  Droge translation slightly modified for the purpose of the demonstration.  Droge translation slightly modified for the purpose of the demonstration.

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65:10). The articulation of both notions is not easy to understand. Whereas ’ūlū l‐’albāb could have designated humans in general, whose tooling with a heart (i. e. mind) should lead to pious fear (taqwā), it seems in fact that the expression only refers to humans who make proper use of their heart (or are at least willing to do so). This is for instance very clear in Q 39:17– 18: Those who avoid al-Ṭāghūt – for fear that they serve it – and turn to God (in repentance) – for them (there is) good news [al-bushrā]. So give good news to My servants [fa-bashshir ʿibādi], those who listen to the word and follow the best of it [alladhīna yastamiʿūna l-qawla fa-yattabiʿūna ’aḥsana-hu]. Those are the ones whom God has guided [’ūlā’ika lladhīna hadāhumu llāhu], and those – they are those with understanding [’ūlū l-’albābi]. (Q 39:17– 18)

Although the articulation of the different segments in this verse is opaque, we get a sense that the expression ’ūlū l-’albāb refers to people who made proper use of their heart and consequently “listened and followed the best” of “the good news” (bushrā). Using appropriately one’s heart would correspond here to having acquired a necessary state of purification in order to receive the “good news” from God. Finally, a word should be said of the last term for heart in the text: fu’ād. It is used on the overall 16 times in quite distinct, but no less noteworthy, turns of phrase. Like Dt 29:3 quoted above, fu’ād is regularly associated with the other senses of “sight” (baṣar) and “hearing” (samʿ), all three seemingly forming the necessary tools that, when properly used, lead to an attitude of thankfulness (e. g. Q 16:78, 23:78, 32:9). Given these connections, one can surmise that fu‘ād refers to a sensory skill rather than to a mere organ: it refers to the heart in its capacity of transmitting and receiving feelings. The famous vision of the Lote tree presents a particularly remarkable use of the word. There, the fu‘ād is said to have seen things (Q 53:11; mā kadhaba l-fu’ādu mā ra’ā), a singular detail to which we now need to turn.

3.2 The heart and the sense of sight As we said already in the first chapter, the “heart” was regarded in Antiquity as the seat of the intellect and thus the centre of the intellectual activities in man. That the Qur’ān takes over this anthropological conception is explicit from all the passages mentioned above where the acts of “remembering”, “understanding”, “knowing”, “reflecting” (tadhakkara, ʿaqala, ʿalima, tafakkara, faqiha, etc.) are explicitly connected with the idea of “having a heart” (’ūlū l-’albāb) in the formulas extant

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at the end of sign passages.²⁰⁷ The Qur’ān is thus in line with a whole range of antique traditions in that regard. Here, I shall rather focus on less widespread motifs connected to this imagery and shared with more specific branches of late antique literature. It will help us understand the practicalities of “the act of contemplation” according to the Qur’ān. The first of these motifs is the attribution of the sense of sight to the heart. We saw that the heart (fu’ād) was sometimes listed together with hearing and seeing, but the capacity of seeing is also explicitly attributed to this organ. In Q 22:42– 45, God reminds to the prophet that other prophets before him were also accused by their people of lying and mentions the terrible punishment they endured. God then rhetorically asks: Have they not travelled on the earth? Do they have hearts to understand with or ears to hear with [fa-takūna la-hum qulūbun yaʿqilūna bi-hā ’aw ’adhānun yasmaʿūna bi-hā]? Surely it is not the sight (which) is blind, but the hearts which are within the chests are blind [fa-’inna-hā lā taʿmā l-’abṣāru wa-lākin taʿmā l-qulūbu llatī fī l-ṣudūri]. (Q 22:46)

Although the notion of ’āyāt is not used explicitly here, those who accuse the prophet of being a liar certainly refuse to admit that the ruins of past unbelievers constitute “signs” of the prophet’s legitimacy. Though they witness the ruins of former people with their eyes, they do not look into it with their hearts and the meaning concealed behind these vestiges remains invisible. It is as if the semantics behind the physical evidence was not accessible to them anymore.²⁰⁸ It is not farfetched to assume that the same mechanism applies to the natural contemplative endeavour promoted in the Qur’ān. Though all humans can see natural objects with their eyes, only those who choose to see with the heart can understand they constitute divine ’āyāt. Undoubtedly, the most important passage attributing “sight” to the heart is the visionary text of Q 53. After having described the vision at “the highest horizon”, and just before the description of the famous vision of the Lote Tree, the author declares: His heart did not lie about what it saw [mā kadhaba l-fu’ādu mā ra’ā]. Will you dispute with him about what he sees? (Q 53:11– 12)

 On the notion of heart in the (late) antique world, see Guillaumont 1950.  This needs to be connected the motif of having a “sealed heart” in Q 4:155, 7:100, 7:101, 9:87, 9:93, 10:74, 16:108, 30:59, 40:35, 47:16, 63:3.

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The heart is once more said in the next verse to have seen the Lote tree, which is described as “one of the greatest signs of his Lord” (min ’āyāti rabbi-hi lkubrā). Though the Qur’ān conserves its own particularity here, it is noteworthy that this text, which constitutes one of the most mystical strata of the Qur’ān, appeals to a motif that enjoyed popularity among late antique ascetic writers. The attribution of the sense of sight to the heart is in fact a well-known motif in Christian writings. Perhaps remastering the Platonic metaphor of the “eye of soul” (ἡ τῆς ψυχῆ ὄψ; Republic 7:519b-533d), the author of the Letter to the Ephesians had already spoken of “the eyes of the heart” (1:18). A similar image occurs in the Acts of Thomas, an early Syriac text, where the apostle declares at one point: “Let not the eyes of your hearts be blinded” (w-lā netʿawwarn ʿaynē d-lebbawtḫūn).²⁰⁹ In a different style, Matthew’s Gospel attributes a beatitude to Jesus that had tremendous impact on later spirituality in which he explicitly links the sense of sight with the heart: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God” (Mt 5:8). The idea remained in later writings and also came to be associated with other parts of the body, not least the ears.²¹⁰ Such metaphors were widely used in late antique ascetic literature, but it is important to note that because of the biblical conception of the heart and on the basis of verses such as Mt 5:8, ascetic writers were keen on granting the heart a prominent role in the process of contemplation. For a Greek-speaking Christian like Origen trained in the Hellenistic philosophical tradition, the association of the heart with the intellect was rather counter-intuitive. Yet, Origen refers to the notion of heart a number of times in his writings.²¹¹ Particularly relevant for us is this passage of the Contra Celsum: In our view because God is not corporeal, He is invisible. But He may be perceived by those who can perceive with the heart [τοῖς δὲ θεωρητικοῖς καρδίᾳ θεωρητός], that is the mind [τουτέστι νῷ], though not with an ordinary heart, but with a pure heart [καρδίᾳ δὲ οὐ τῇ τυχούσῃ ἀλλὰ τῇ καθαρᾷ].²¹²

Furthering and commenting on the Platonic image of “eye of the soul”, Origen also differentiates between the eyes of the body and the eyes of the soul. After having commented on Gen 3:6 – 7 as a reference to Adam’s and Eve’s eyes, he adds: That is also why our Saviour, knowing that these two kinds of eyes belong to us, says, “For the judgement came I into this world, that those who do not see may see and that those who see

   

Acts of Thomas, ed. Wright, 1, 330; trans. Klijn 2003, 248. Brock 1988a, 94– 96. Guillaumont 1950, 67– 69. Origen, Contra Celsum 6:69; trans. Chadwick 1953, 383.

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may become blind” (John 9:39). By those who do not see he is obscurely referring to the eyes of the soul [τοὺς τῆς ψυχῆς ὀφθαλμούς], to which the Logos gives the power of sight, and by those who see he means the eyes of the senses. For the Logos blinds the latter, that the soul may see without distraction that which it ought to see. Therefore, the eye of the soul of any genuine Christian is awake and that of the senses is closed. And in proportion to the degree in which the superior eye is awake and the sight of the senses is closed, the supreme God and His Son, who is the Logos and Wisdom and the other titles, are comprehended and seen by each man.²¹³

As Antoine Guillaumont suggests, it is possible to separate Christian spiritual writers from the 4th/5th century onwards into two different groups according to their treatment of the notion of heart. On the one hand, a whole range of writers influenced by Platonic philosophy and its tripartite division of the soul was quite reluctant to employ the biblical and Semitic imagery of the heart, which they tended to downplay. This was for instance the case for Evagrius, who preferred to talk of the mind (νοῦς) as the tool of intellection. On the other hand, another ascetic trend that developed between the 5th and the 8th centuries abundantly developed the image (and thus the role) of the heart within the contemplative context.²¹⁴ This was particularly the case in the East-Syrian mystic tradition, which was sometimes described as a “spirituality of the heart” for that reason.²¹⁵ The mystic writers of the Church of the East indeed developed original ascetic systems under the influence of different authors such as Evagrius, Pseudo-Macarius, and Ephrem. The latter had early on talked of the “luminous eye” (ʿaynā dšafyā).²¹⁶ Distinct from the two eyes of the face, Ephrem describes this “luminous eye” as an inner “eye of the soul” (ʿaynā d-nafšā) or “of the mind” (ʿaynā d-tʿrīṯā).²¹⁷ There is little doubt that Ephrem identifies this spiritual eye as the heart itself, even though he never explicitly says so to our knowledge. Roughly at the same time as Ephrem, motifs revolving around the notion of “heart” bloomed under the pen of Pseudo-Macarius, an author that very much influenced later East-Syrian mystics, as shown by Beulay.²¹⁸ For Macarius, the soul in the heart is like a pupil in the eye:²¹⁹

 Origen, Contra Celsum 7:39; trans. Chadwick 1953, 427.  Guillaumont 1950, 74.  Brock 1989, 11; Beulay 1987, 42– 64.  This motif has been studied by Sebastian Brock in numerous occasions. See in priority, Brock 1992.  See for instance, Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 5:18, 53:12.  The actual identity of Macarius is a complex and unsettled topic. On the one hand, there exists at least two important figures bearing that name: Macarius of Alexandria and Macarius of Egypt. On the other hand, the so-called Macarian writings have sometimes been attributed to the Messa-

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There is the example of the eye, little in comparison to all the members of the body and the pupil itself is small, yet it is a great vessel. For it sees in one flash the sky, stars, sun, moon, cities, and other creatures. Likewise, these things are seen in one flash, they are formed and imaged in the small pupil of the eye [τῇ μικρᾷ κόρῃ τοῦ ὀφθαλμοῦ]. So it is with the mind toward the heart.²²⁰

Elsewhere, Macarius explains how the invisible “land” of the Godhead can be reached: There likewise is a land, luminous with the Godhead, where the camps and armies of angels and holy spirits walk about and find their rest. But the darksome world is invisible to human eyes nor can it be touched by the senses. Neither can the luminous world of the Godhead be touched or seen with physical eyes. But to those who are spiritual, namely, who see with the eyes of the heart, both the world of Satan and darkness and also the world of divine light lie revealed.²²¹

In later Syriac spiritual writings, the imagery of the heart as possessing the sense of sight became quite popular. Expressions like the “eye of the heart”, the “eye of the mind”, the “eye of the soul”, or even the “inner eye” occur in the seventh-century mystic Sahdona for instance.²²² Here is one excerpt that summarizes the ascetic endeavour according to Sahdona: Above all, we bring close to ourselves the grace of the Spirit, and the eye of our soul is made to shine by the understanding we receive from him [w-ʿaynā d-napšan l-sukkālā meneh metmarqā]. This is why God gave us eyes, mouth and hearing, so that all our limbs might be filled with service of him, as we recount his words, carry out his wishes, continuously sing his praises and ceaselessly offer up to him thanksgiving. By these means we shall purify our minds.²²³

lian Symeon of Mesopotamia. In all likelihood, these writings probably originate in the Syriac milieu of the beginning of the 5th century. It is unclear what version of the writings of Pseudo-Macarius East-Syrian mystics had at their disposal. Syriac and Greek manuscripts of Macarius differ in content, with the Greek tradition possessing much more material than the Syriac one. Given the consistent content of the Syriac manuscripts, Beulay suggested that it is not impossible that the Macarian writings were only known to Syriac writers by means of an anthology. Cf. Beulay 1987, 35 – 42.  Guillaumont 1950, 77.  Pseudo-Macarius, Spiritual homilies 43:7; trans. Maloney 1992, 221– 222.  Pseudo-Macarius, Spiritual Homilies 14:6; trans. Maloney 1992, 107.  Sahdona, Book of Perfection 8:3, 9, 44, 47, 54– 55.  Sahdona, Book of Perfection 8:54; trans. Brock 1987, 224– 225.

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Roughly at the same time, Babai the Great attests to the popularity of this image. Talking about “unclean thoughts”, he says: They are like rust to iron for people with a pure mind; they are like blindfolds over the eyes of the soul, so that it cannot see clearly what it is doing.²²⁴

A last example should suffice to comfort us in the idea that the motif of the eye of the soul was truly popular among East-Syrian authors in the 7th century. Among others, the very famous Isaac of Nineveh bears witness to this motif in his description of the different stages of prayer: If the heart flows forth smoothly and abundantly with long drawn out prayer, combined with intensity of diverse stirrings, then this is a sign of fervor; it is an indication that the mind has not yet become aware of the light contained in the words, nor yet received experience of the knowledge which illumines the inner eye during the time of prayer; but the mind nonetheless receives strength from the things that the heart – or the lips – cause to flow forth.²²⁵

In these authors, the sight of the heart is understood as the ability that the (spiritual) heart has to contemplate God. One wonders whether the Qur’ānic sign passages and their conclusions often stressing the role of the heart in the perception of the ’āyāt, could be read as the prolongation of this imagery. The absence of explanations about how one is meant to use his heart to grasp the ’āyāt makes it difficult to determine. Once again, the Qur’ān does not theorize but attests to a practice. In this section, we showed that the Qur’ānic attribution of the sense of sight to the heart already places the Qur’ān in line with late antique representations in the context of contemplation.²²⁶ This encourages us to pursue our analysis. We will soon see that a mosaic of concepts articulated around the notion of “heart” in the Qur’ān shares even more precise parallels with the Christian ascetic tradition.

 Babai of Nisibis, Letter to Cyriacus 19; trans. Brock 1987, 145; Brock’s edition forthcoming. The Syriac text has not been consulted.  Isaac of Nineveh, Second Collection 2:67; trans. Brock 1987, 269; see also 253.  In light of the parallel highlighted, it is perhaps worth wondering whether the visionary text in Q 53 would not benefit of a new reading in light of the mystical East-Syriac tradition. Even though the famous sidrat al-muntahā remains unparalleled, the phrase al-‘ufuq al-‘aʿlā perhaps builds on the imagery of the heart as a microcosm. We find in a number of writers the idea of a “firmament of the heart”. Beulay notes that the expression is frequent in the late Joseph Hazzaya but that it is also in use in previous writers. It is already extant in Hesychius and in the Syriac writer Simon the Graceful. Cf. Beulay 1987, 48, 205, 265 (n. 102).

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3.3 Healing the heart Though technically everyone possessing a heart should be able to see the divine in Creation, numerous passages of the Qur’ān identify the reason of unbelief with a dysfunctionality of the heart. As mentioned already, the text often speaks of the hearts of the unbelievers as having hardened and containing a disease. In line with the imagery on which we already commented, the unbelievers are also said to be “heart-blinded”. Building on the imagery of a defective heart, the Qur’ān mentions that God heals the heart of the believers (Q 9:14) and also suggests that the Revelation has healing virtues for the heart (Q 10:57; cf. also 17:82, 41:44): Fight them! God will punish them by your hands, and disgrace them, and help you against them, and heal the hearts of a people who believe [wa-yashfi ṣudūra qawmin mu’minīna]. (Q 9:14) People! An admonition has come to you from your Lord, and a healing for what is in the hearts, and a guidance and mercy for the believers [wa-shifā’un li-mā fī l-ṣudūri]. (Q 10:57)

These verses resort to the term ṣadr (pl. ṣudūr), “chest” or “breast”, which designates the heart by metonymy. This image is also quite frequent in previous literature. It is found in the Psalms for instance: He [the Lord] heals the brokenhearted [MT: li-šbūrē lēb; LXX: τους συντετριμμένους την καρδίαν; Pesh.: tbīray lebbā], and binds up their wounds. (Ps 147:3)

Such images found fertile ground in later spiritual traditions. Several passages of the Church Fathers mentioned above affirm that even though God can be seen through the heart, a pure heart is necessary to do so. The idea that one needs to purify himself or herself in order to access “contemplation” is already found in Platonic philosophy, as we evidenced at the beginning of this chapter. Yet, it is certainly worth mentionning that in Q 9:14 and 10:57 quoted above, the notion of “healing the heart” is conveyed both times by means of the root SHFY (only 6 occurrences overall; Q 9:14, 10:57, 16:69, 17:82, 26:80, 41:44). This root used in correlation with the notion of heart calls to mind the Syriac concept of šafyūtā that Brock regards as “one of the most distinctive concepts of Syriac spirituality” and for which, he affirms, no real English equivalent exists: “purity, serenity, clarity, luminosity, smoothness”.²²⁷ This notion is tightly connected to the activity of the spiritual heart for it designates the state in which it is able to see the hidden meaning con-

 Brock 1988, 94– 95.

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cealed in Nature and Scripture. Ephrem already speaks of the “luminosity (šafyūtā) of the heart” in several places,²²⁸ though he seems to have more precisely resorted to the imagery of the “luminous eye” of the heart. For Ephrem, this corresponds to a state of the mind, reached when one is purified of sin and has acquired faith. It constitutes the condition enabling the grasping of the “types” and “symbols” pointing towards God in Nature and Scripture.²²⁹ The vocabulary of the “purified heart” was clearly in the air in Ephrem’s time. Strikingly, the translator of Luke’s Gospel into Syriac renders the expression ἐν καρδίᾳ καλῇ in Lk 8:15 by the more connotated b-lebbā šafyā, as if he had taken advantage of the Greek expression to turn it into a concept already in use in his time. The motif is shared with, and perhaps derived from, the Palestinian Targum tradition, which uses the expression “luminous heart” (Gen 22:8, Ps 51:17).²³⁰ As Brock puts it, for these authors “the purification of the heart is a gradual theophanic process, leading ultimately to the vision of God”.²³¹ In the mystical context, the notion of “pure heart” or “luminous heart” is regarded as the condition to reach what they call “pure prayer”, a state in which mystics finally come to see God. It is not unlikely that the Qur’ānic imagery of “healing the heart” should be read in light of this Syriac mystical background, though the image might prove more generic than expected. In any event, we need to clarify what the act of “healing the heart” implies exactly within the Qur’ānic framework. In the next section, we will see that the Qur’ān regards purification as a state reached by the ascetic practice of “remembrance of God”, another notion that the Arabic text inherits from Eastern Christian asceticism.

4 Remembering God A further theme connected to the Qur’ānic anthropology within the context of contemplation is the notion of “remembrance” (dhikr). Anne-Sylvie Boisliveau distinguishes between three different meanings of the word dhikr in the Qur’ān. It designates (1) a reminder of God’s previous deeds in Prophetic history and Creation, (2) a word of praise, prayer or recitation, and (3) a reminder “sent down” to Muḥammad, something revealed, and therefore probably a self-referential term for

   

Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on the Church 27:11, 34:3. Brock 1989, 44– 45. Brock 1988, 95. Brock 1988, 104.

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the Qur’ān.²³² We see that the term – indeed the root DHKR as a whole – is polysemic but these different meanings identified by Boisliveau tend to designate different aspects of the same phenomenon rather than different phenomena per se. As I show below, the root DHKR is used in the Qur’ān to designate a spiritual attitude or a spiritual exercise. It is often linked with ascetic practices such as “reading”, “reciting”, and “praying”, that consist in constantly “remembering” or “mentioning” God and his deeds in Creation and prophetic History, which is effectively what the Qur’ān does when it recalls the signs of God.²³³ The text most of the time has God as the object of this remembrance,²³⁴ but in a few cases, it also encourages its audience to remember more precisely “the name of God”,²³⁵ his blessings,²³⁶ prophets and past stories of the people who obeyed and disobeyed God.²³⁷ Most importantly for us, the text connects the act of remembrance to a few cosmic phenomena (the signs), as in the following passage: And the earth – We stretched it out, and cast on it firm mountains, and caused every beautiful kind (of plant) to grow on it, as evidence and a reminder to every servant who turns (in repentance) [tabṣiratan wa-dhikrā li-kulli ʿabdin munībin]. (Q 50:7– 8)²³⁸

The root DHKR is also related to eschatological features such as Paradise and the Hour of the Judgement.²³⁹ On the whole, we can say that the object of the act of “remembering” is God and his plan for Creation. Boisliveau rightly points out that the same root is used among Jewish communities to designate the recitation of the scriptures in liturgy.²⁴⁰ Here, I want to show that this notion also finds quite striking counterparts in the Christian ascetic tradition studied in the previous pages. Hansbury and others highlighted the parallels between the Islamic mystical tradition and the Syriac one in this re Boisliveau 2014, 62.  Indeed, as Boisliveau mentions, “la fonction du Coran est une fonction religieuse, celle d’inciter l’homme à se souvenir de Dieu, de son omnipotence – ce qu’il a créé, son action dans le passé, ses bienfaits.” Cf. Boisliveau 2014, 66.  Around forty occurrences, either by means of the expression dhikr allāh (e. g. Q 8:22, 32:21, 39:22 – 23, 57:16) or by means of the verb dhakara often in the imperative (e. g. Q 2:198, 2:200, 2:203, 4:103, 26:227).  Through the expression dhikr ism allāh or dhikr ism al-rabb: Q 6:118 – 119, 6:121, 73:8, 76:25, 87:15.  For example, through the injunction udhkurū niʿmat allāh (Q 5:7, 5:10, 5:20, 14:6, 33:9; cf. also Q 43:13).  See especially Q 7:69, 7:74, 19:16, 19:41, 19:51, 19:54, 38:17, 38:41, 38:45, 38:48, 45:21.  Cf. also Q 19:67, 43:13, 56:62, 56:73.  Q 33:34, 38:46, 79:43, 89:23.  Boisliveau 2014, 63.

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gard.²⁴¹ To be sure, the “remembrance of God” becomes an important theme in early Islamic spirituality. We argue here that the concept is in fact already wellanchored in the Qu’ān itself.²⁴²

4.1 Remembering God in the Qur’ān The Qur’ānic text makes it clear that human beings are not merely passive recipients of God’s marvels in the world. As already mentioned, the recognition of God’s signs is co-incidental with an attitude of fear of God and belief. But believing in God involves active spiritual participation in the path of God. Particularly meaningful in this context are the Qur’ānic formulas built on the root DHKR, “to remember” or “to mention”. This root has multiple occurrences in the Qur’ān under different verbal and nominal forms. It is especially used at the end of multiple sign passages. While the expression qawn yadhdhakkarūn (“people who remember”) is only found twice (Q 6:126 and 16:123), there are seventeen occurrences of the formula laʿalla-hum yatadhakkarūna (lit. “so that they may remember”) and its second person plural variants.²⁴³ We also count nine examples of the rhetorical question: ’a-fa-lā tadhakkarūna (“Don’t you remember”).²⁴⁴ Droge often translates the verb tadhakkara by “to take heed”. This translation occludes the technical meaning of the verb in interpreting it as a mere formula urging believers to “pay attention” to God and his signs. It is evident that the notion of remembrance conveyed by this verb is supposed to be directed towards God and his bounty expressed through signs, as numerous other passages of the text explicitly suggest. Nevertheless, in light of the equivalent Christian notion of remembrance of God, it becomes clear that the act of “remembering God” extends well beyond the idea of a spiritual awareness of the Creator.²⁴⁵ It constitutes a spiritual exercise per se. The recurrence with which the notion of “remembrance” appears in the text and the formulaic way in which it is brought up are extremely striking. As with other notions already studied (e. g. ’āyāt), the Qur’ān does not appear to use the idea of “remembering God” in passing, but to resort to it, in a formulaic manner,

 Hansbury 2014, 98.  For a semantic analysis of the root DHKR in the Qur’ān, see Boisliveau 2014, 59 – 68.  Q 2:221, 6:152, 7:26, 7:57, 7:130, 8:57, 14:25, 16:90, 20:44, 24:1, 24:27, 28:43, 28:46, 28:51, 39:27, 44:58, 51:49.  Q 6:80, 10:3, 11:24, 11:30, 16:17, 23:85, 32:4, 37:155, 45:23.  We thus agree with Boisliveau that Blachère’s translation of dhikr and dhikrā by “édification” is mistaken. Cf. Boisliveau 2014, 65.

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as if “remembrance of God” was a rather well-defined technical concept in the Qur’ānic milieu. Quite noticeable in this regard are the 84 occurrences of the root in the first verbal form dhakara (especially the injunction directed to the believers to “Remember!” God, his bounty, and his name), as well as the formulas dhikr allāh,²⁴⁶ dhikr al-rabb,²⁴⁷ and dhikr al-raḥmān ²⁴⁸. Although the text never clarifies what “remembering God” really means, one thing that seems certain is that it involves a specific action of the “heart”: Recite what you have been inspired (with) of the Book of your Lord. No one can change His words, and you will find no refuge other than Him. Be patient within yourself [’aṣbir nafsa-ka] with those who call on their Lord in the morning and the evening [maʿā lladhīna yadʿūna rabba-hum bi-l-ghadawāti wa-l-ʿashiyyi], desiring His face [yurīdūna wajha-hu], and do not let your eyes turn away from them desiring the (passing) splendor of this present life [wa lā taʿdu ʿaynā-ka ʿan-hum turīdu zaynata l-ḥayawāti l-dunyā]. Do not obey (anyone) whose heart We have made oblivious of Our remembrance [wa-lā tuṭiʿ man ’aghfalnā qalba-hu ʿan dhikri-nā], and (who only) follows his desire and whose concern is (only) excess. (Q 18:27– 28)

It is not surprising to see the notions of remembrance and heart connected in this verse of the surah of the Cave, which is highly influenced by Christian literature.²⁴⁹ Here, the audience is quite explicitly encouraged to adopt an ascetic lifestyle and to strive for the acquisition of a hidden divine knowledge, crystalized by the reference to “the face (wajh) of God”. Above all, the positive attitudes of “calling on the Lord in the morning and in the evening” and “to desire the face of God” (yurīdūna wajha-hu) are opposed to the negative behaviour of “those whose heart We made oblivious of the remembrance of Us” (wa-lā tuṭiʿ man ’aghfalnā qalba-hu ʿan dhikrinā). This would technically indicate that those who constantly call on the Lord in the morning and in the evening possess a heart in which the act of “remembering God” happens. The notion of “remembrance” thus refers to a distinctive ascetic practice tightly connected to the activity of the spiritual heart.

 Q 5:91, 13:282, 24:37, 29:45, 39:22, 39:23, 57:16, 58:19, 62:9, 63:9.  Q 12:42, 21:42, 38:32, 72:17.  Q 21:36, 43:36.  See Mortensen 2019a for a general overview of the Christian lore in this surah. For studies on specific pericopes therein, see among others: van Bladel 2008; Griffith 2008; Tardieu 2011; Tesei 2011; Tesei 2015a.

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4.2 Late antique roots of the notion The roots of this notion of remembrance of God go back to the formative period of the Christian tradition and even before.²⁵⁰ Guillaumont showed that the Christian concept originates in turns of phrase already found in the Hebrew Bible (e. g. Ps 77:3 – 4, 118:55). Philo makes use of it several times and associates it with a whole array of ascetic practices such as the eremitic life, the reading of the Scriptures, etc. Most importantly, he connects the continuous remembrance of God with the practice of prayer: They keep the memory of God [τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ μνήμην] alive and never forget it, so that even in their dreams the picture is nothing else but the loveliness of divine excellences and powers. Indeed many when asleep and dreaming give utterance to the glorious verities of their holy philosophy. Twice every day they pray, at dawn and at eventide. ²⁵¹

This last point is particularly important, for “remembering God” will increasingly be associated with prayer in the later Christian tradition, to the extent that both notions will even coincide at some point. Origen is one of the first Christian witnesses to the use of this expression. He connects it with the necessity of purifying the “inner man” in his Homilies on Numbers. ²⁵² We therefore see that the concept is in use at an early stage already despite the fact that it is not always easy to determine to what it refers exactly. Overall, one could describe the remembrance of God as an attitude in which the exercitant comes to constantly remember God and his bounty. It is almost always related to the act of praying. The exact meaning however, varies from one author to the other. As Herman Teule observed, some understand “remembrance of God” as a “spiritual attitude”, but others seem to understand it as an “ascetic practice” per se. ²⁵³ In Origen’s time however, the expression has not yet acquired the technical sense that it endorsed in later Christian tradition. The technical meaning of the notion of “remembrance” particularly arises under the pen of three later authors: Pseudo-Macarius, Basil of Caesarea, and Evagrius of Pontus.²⁵⁴ The latter, who tackled the concept a few times without really lingering on it,²⁵⁵ is unclear about what he means by “remembrance of God”. In some places, he seems to regard it either

     

Sieben 1980, 1404– 1408. Philo of Alexandria, De vita contemplativa 26 – 27; trans. Colson 1941, 126 – 127. Origen, Homilies on Numbers 24:2. Teule 2010. Sieben 1980, 1408. Teule 2010, 15.

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as an ascetic activity per se, but other passages imply that it is an attitude generated by ascetic activities such as spiritual reading, prayer, and living in solitude (Gr.: ξενιτεία > Syr.: aksnāyutā).²⁵⁶ Roughly at the same time, the expression occurs in Basil of Caesarea, whose connection with Evagrius are well-known. Basil insists on the necessity of continually remembering God, especially in recalling the favour which he grants humans. I quote here the translation to the Syriac version of Basil’s rule: I consider it a good disposition of love when one has a good desire, wholehearted and insatiable, to be pleasing to God. This then is perfected through continual remembrance of God [dukrānā d-alāhā], and through unceasing mindfulness of his benefits towards us [ʿuhdānā d-lā gmar men ṭbāteh d-lwatan]: how great they are.²⁵⁷

Comparable notions can be found in other Cappadocian Fathers.²⁵⁸ As Guillaumont says however, it is in Pseudo-Macarius that one finds the greatest development around this motif. Beulay also describes the idea of “continuously remembering” and praying God as typically Macarian in emphasis. ²⁵⁹ The notion naturally pervaded in the Syriac world under the name of ʿuhdānā d-alāhā or sometimes dukrānā d-alāhā. We find it in the fifth-century Syro-orthodox author Philoxenus of Mabbug, who connects the idea with the fear of God (temhā).²⁶⁰ For him, remembering God also involves the remembrance of divine judgment. Hansbury notes that Philoxenus’ understanding of the remembrance of God in fact exceeds the “spiritual attitude” to almost become an “ascetic exercise”.²⁶¹ He concludes one of his discourses with the following words: By the recollection (ʿuhdānā) of his awesome and venerated Name, let us maintain our lives in complete vigilance and let us raise up praise at all times to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit forever.²⁶²

The notion continued to be popular under the pen of later East-Syrian writers. Probably influenced by Macarius, who uses “prayer” and “remembrance of God”

 Teule 2010, 15.  Basil of Caesarea, Rule of Basil, Question 16; trans. Silvas 2014, 116 – 117; it corresponds to the Question 14 in the Latin version, see Silvas 2014, 160 – 161.  E. g. Gregory of Nazianzus, Orations 27:5. This passage in Gregory was quoted later by Sahdona, on which more is said below. Cf. Sieben 1980, 1408 – 1410.  Beulay 1987, 49 – 54.  On the fear of God in Syriac literature, see Louf 2010 and Hansbury 2009.  Hansbury 2014, 95 – 96.  Philoxenus of Mabbug, Discourses 7:29; ed. Wallis Budge 1894; trans. Kitchen 2013, 175.

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almost interchangeably, Syrian mystics, especially in the 7th century, abundantly developed the theme. Dadishoʿ Qatraya and Simon the Graceful profusely resort to it, for instance. The latter describes what the “drink of True knowledge” consists of in the following terms: It consists of a continuous remembrance of the mercies of God and of His grace for all and for us [ʿuhdānā amīnā d-ṭaybūteh d-alāha w-d-raḥmāwhy d-ʿal kull w-d-ṣēdayn]; and of a mind persevering in reading and meditating upon the spiritual power found in the (created) natures, and in the glories of the next world [marʿā d-amīn b-qeryānā w-methagā b-haylē rūḥānē d-ba-kyānē wa-šbīḥātēh d-ʿalmā ḥadtā].²⁶³

Sahdona and Isaac of Nineveh also further the notion, even though with a lesser intensity according to Beulay.²⁶⁴ For all these authors, the “remembrance of God” is the spiritual activity par excellence, as Guillaumont argues. It came to be regarded as an activity that annihilates the functioning of external senses in order to be fully committed to the exercise of “remembering God”.²⁶⁵ The word used in Syriac to convey this notion is mainly that of ʿuhdānā, but our authors use it interchangeably with the word dukrānā (“memory”). This is the case with Sahdona for instance.²⁶⁶ For the period of time considered, the writings of the very popular seventh-century mystic Isaac of Nineveh probably constitute the most relevant witnesses to the use of the concept of ʿuhdānā (as well dukrānā) of God.²⁶⁷ In some passages, Isaac seems to understand the ʿuhdānā d-alāhā as a mere spiritual attitude coming out of prayer, reading scriptures, and psalmodying,²⁶⁸ but in other places, he implies that remembering God is synonymous with the act of praying to God: “Constant prayer […],” he says, “is the continual remembrance of God (ʿuhdānā ammīnā d-alāhā)”.²⁶⁹ The mystic indeed ought to “persevere in prayer which is the luminous form of the remembrance of our Lord God”.²⁷⁰ The latter passages would thus rather imply that remembering God is a full-fledged ascetic practice.

 Simon the Graceful, On the Food of True Knowledge; trans. Mingana 1934, 48 – 49.  Beulay 1987, 49 – 54.  Guillaumont 1950, 76.  Hansbury 2014, 96 – 97.  Hansbury mentions the quite comparable, yet more technical, use of the concept in the later John Dalyatha (690 – 780). Noteworthy is the connection he makes between the use of the heart, the seat of the intellect, in the process of recollecting God. Cf. Hansbury 2014, 97.  Isaac of Nineveh, Second Collection 2:30.  Isaac of Nineveh, Third Collection 8:1– 2; trans. Hansbury 2015, 357.  Isaac of Nineveh, Third Collection 8:3. For further references, see Hansbury 2014, 100 – 103.

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Despite the difficulty in grasping how the notion was used in these authors, it is remarkable to note that the Qur’ān makes a similar association of the notion of remembrance with both spiritual attitudes and ascetic practices. The text for instance affirms that contrary to real believers, when hypocrites “stand up for prayer (wa-’idhā qāmū ’ilā l-ṣalāti), they stand up in a lazy fashion, showing off (before) the people, but they do not remember God, except a little (wa-lā yadhkurūna llāha ’illā qalīlan)” (Q 4:142). This suggests that remembering God corresponds to the right attitude in prayer. In other verses, the “remembrance of God” is listed as a full-fledged spiritual activity along with other practices such as praying, giving alms, and reciting the Book: Certainly We have sent down to you signs [āyāt] that make (things) clear, and an example of those who passed away before you, and an admonition for those who guard (themselves). God (is the) light of the heavens and the earth. The parable of His light is like a niche in which (there is) a lamp, the lamp in a glass, the glass like a brilliant star, lit from a blessed tree, an olive (tree) that is neither (of the) East nor (of the) West, whose oil almost shines, even though no fire has touched it – Light upon light, God guides to His light whomever He pleases, and God strikes parables for the people, and God has knowledge of everything – in houses (which) God has permitted to be raised up and in which (He has permitted) His Name to be remembered [fa-yudhkara fī-hā smu-hu]. Glorifying Him there, in the mornings and the evenings, are men (whom) neither a (business) transaction nor bargaining diverts from the remembrance of God [dhikra llāhi], or (from) observing the prayer and giving the alms. They fear a Day on which the hearts and the sight will be overturned [tataqallabu fī-hi l-qulūbu wa-l-’abṣāru], so that God may repay them (for the) best of what they have done, and increase them from His favor. God provides for whomever He pleases without reckoning. (Q 24:34– 38)

The well-known “verse of light” in fact articulates most of the notions we talked about heretofore: sign, remembrance, heart, sight. Remembering God is also connected to praying and giving alms in Q 29:45. Yet, the articulation of these different elements, and especially the relation between “remembering” and “praying” is not entirely clear. Whereas Q 29:45 describes the remembrance of God as more beneficial than praying itself, other passages imply that the remembrance of God is an advisable attitude on behalf of the believer once the prayer has ended: When you have finished the prayer, remember God [fa-’idhā qaḍaytumu l-ṣalāta fa-dhkurū llāha], whether standing or sitting or (lying) on your sides. (Q 4:103)

Another more nuanced example confirms the latter sense but at the same time identifies the act of praying with that of remembering God: You who believe! When the call to prayer is made [’idhā nūdiya li-l-ṣalāti] on the day of assembly, hurry to the remembrance of God [fa-sʿaw ’ilā dhikri llāhi], and leave business

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aside. That is better for you, if (only) you knew. Then, when the prayer is finished [fa-’idhā quḍiyati l-ṣalātu], disperse on the earth and see some favour from God [wa-htaghū min faḍli llāhi], and remember God often [wa-dhkurū llāhi kathīran], so that you may prosper. (Q 62:9 – 10)

Elsewhere, a causal link seems established between praying and remembering God: Surely I am God – (there is) no god but Me. So serve Me, and observe the prayer for ²⁷¹ My remembrance [wa-’aqimi l-ṣalāta li-dhikrī]! (Q 20:14).

We see that as in the authors studied above, the notion of “remembrance of God” in the Qur’ān oscillates between designating an ascetic practice close to the Christian notion of spiritual prayer and a spiritual attitude generated by prayer itself. It is not impossible that these two slightly different meanings reflect different layers of composition in the text.²⁷² It seems quite plausible in any case that in talking about the “remembrance of God”, the authors of the Qur’ān inherit from the Christian notion described. We will now see that the text illustrates the “act of remembering God” in a very classical fashion as well.

4.3 Shared wordings in the illustration of the remembrance of God The insistence on the necessity of continuity in prayer and remembering God is expressed in Q 4:103 by means of an expression only found twice in the Qur’ān: “remember God, whether standing or sitting or (lying) on your sides” (qiyāman wa-quʿūdan wa-ʿalā junūbi-kum). This wording is repeated in a very dense passage, to which we have referred several times already: Surely in the creation of the heavens and earth, and (in) the alternation of the night and the day, (there are) signs indeed for those with a heart [la-‘āyātin li-’ūlī l-’albābi], who remember God [lladhīna yadhkurūna llāha], whether standing or sitting or (lying) on their sides [qiyāman wa-quʿūdan wa-ʿalā junūbi-him], and reflect on the creation of the heavens and the earth [wa-yatafakkarūna fī khalqi l-samāwāti wa-l-’arḍi]: ‘Our Lord, You have not created this in vain. Glory to You! Guard us against the punishment of the Fire.²⁷³ (Q 3:190 – 191)

 My emphasis.  Boisliveau also suggested that the semantic difficulties surrounding this notion could be solved by means of a chronological study of this term in the text. Cf. Boisliveau 2014, 68.  Trans. Droge slightly revised for the purpose of the demonstration.

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Masson notes a similar expression in Deut 6:7:²⁷⁴ And these words which I command you this day shall be upon your heart; and you shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. (Deut 6:6 – 7; cf. also 11:19)

These passages of the Scriptures were particularly suitable to describe the attitude of “remembrance of God”. A systematic analysis of the use of these scriptural references among the Fathers is not necessary here. Let us just give a few highlights of this turn of phrase among the “masters of the remembrance of God”²⁷⁵. It is clearly this biblical verse that Gregory of Nazianzus has in mind in the following excerpt: Now, I am not saying that it is not needful to remember God at all times;… I must not be misunderstood, or I shall be having these nimble and quick people down upon me again. For we ought to think of God even more often than we draw our breath; and if the expression is permissible, we ought to do nothing else. Yea, I am one of those who entirely approve that the word which bids us meditate day and night (Ps 1:2), and tell at eventide and morning and noon day (Ps 55:17), and praise the Lord at every time (Ps 34:1); or, to use Moses’ words, whether a man lie down, or rise up, or walk by the way [κοιταζόμενον, διανιστάμενον, ὁδοιμοροῦντα], or whatever else he be doing (Deut 6:7) – and by this recollection [τῇ μνήμῃ] we are to be moulded to purity. So that it is not the continual remembrance of God that I would hinder [Ὥστε οὐ τὸ μεμνῆσθαι διηνεκῶς κωλύω], but only the talking about God; nor even that as in itself wrong, but only when unseasonable; nor all teaching, but only want of moderation.²⁷⁶

We find similar turns in the Pseudo-Macarian corpus to illustrate the “remembrance of God” as well. The following passage comes right after a quotation of Deut 6:5: He [the Christian] should love the Lord, not only when he enters into the place of prayer, but in walking and talking and eating, may he remember God and love him with affection [ἀλλὰ καὶ περιπατῶν καὶ ὁμιλῶν καὶ ἐσθίων ἔχῃ τὴν μνήμην τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ τὴν ἀγάπην καὶ τὴν στοργήν].²⁷⁷

And in his Great Letter:

   

Masson 1967, 812 (n. 191, 1). The expression is used by Lemaître 1952, 1860. Gregory of Nazianzus, Orations 27:4; trans. Browne/Swallow 1988 – 1991, 580. Pseudo-Macarius, Spiritual homilies 43:3; trans. Maloney 1992, 219 – 220.

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Since inner custody and care of the soul go together, namely, to remember God with striving and always to entertain good thoughts, let us not slack in such zeal, whether eating or drinking or resting or doing anything else or in talking, so that all we do may be to God’s glory and not to our own, lest anything sordid or unclean ensnare our life by the enticements of the devil.²⁷⁸

Pseudo-Macarius apparently enjoyed this listing of different situations in which the perfect ones continuously remember God.²⁷⁹ Unsurprisingly, the phrase is also found in later mystics of the Church of the East to illustrate this very same concept of “remembrance of God”. This is the case of Sahdona, for instance but a systematic analysis of the sources would certainly reveal much more occurrences across this vast corpus.²⁸⁰ It is quite remarkable that the Qur’ān uses this quasi-Deuteronomic turn of phrase in this context, for it shows that, perhaps unconsciously, the authors of these passages or their informers (or both) had the same “scriptural reflex”²⁸¹ than the few authors mentioned earlier, namely to illustrate the act of “remembering God” by means of the turn of phrase found in Deut 6:7 or a similar one.

4.4 Reading as an ascetic practice Particularly reminiscent of the Christian tradition under scrutiny are the themes of “reading” and “reciting”. The root TLW (“reciting”) is indeed used in contact with the root DHKR a number of times.²⁸² In half of the cases, the notion of ’āyāt occurs as well (Q 3:58, 18:83, 33:34, 39:23). Similarly, the eleven occurrences of the root QR’ in contact with DHKR are noteworthy.²⁸³ The text indeed uses the expression “to remember in the qur’ān” (dhakara fī l-qur’ān; Q 17:46) or “to remember through the qur’ān” (dhakara bi-l-qur’ān; Q 50:45). One surah even starts

 Pseudo-Macarius, Great Letter; trans. Maloney 1992, 264– 265.  See also Beulay 1987, 50.  Sahdona, Book of Perfection 8:60, 9:48.  Something would need to be written on the fact that contrary to Christian or Jewish exegetes, the Qur’ānic authors do not seek to accommodate their thought with the Bible. Even though there are biblical turns of phrase in the text, the authors of the Qur’ān are not attached to the “letter” of the biblical text. The idea that they had at their disposal a Bible or part of it is in fact debated. On biblical turns of phrase in the Qur’ān, see Reynolds 2019. On the status of the Qur’ānic text with regards to the biblical one, and especially the phenomenon of “intertextuality”, see also Neuwirth 2010, 733 – 734. On the translation of the Bible in Arabic, see Griffith 2013.  Q 3:58, 8:2, 10:71, 18:83, 29:45, 29:51, 33:34, 37:3.  Q 17:41, 17:46, 20:113, 36:69, 38:1, 39:27, 50:45, 54:17, 54:22, 54:32, 54:40.

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with the exclamation wa-l-qur’ān dhī l-dhikr, which could be rendered by “The reading, that of the remembrance [of God]” (Q 38:1). The refrain in Q 54 is particularly illustrative of this tendency: Certainly we have made the Qur’ān easy for remembrance [wa-laqad yassarnā l-qur’āna li-ldhikri], yet (is there) anyone who takes heed [fa-hal min muddakirīna]? (Q 54:17, 54:22, 54:32, 54:40)

Here again, Droge’s translation of muddakirīn by “to take heed” downplays the technical meaning of “remembering” in making it seem like a mere inclination towards being attentive to the Revelation. Yet, the association in these verses of “reading” and “remembering” brushes aside in my eyes the possibility of such an interpretation. The precise articulation of “reading” and “remembering” is not exactly plain. Part of the interpretation lies in the meaning of the word qur’ān itself (“reading”, “reciting”, or “Qur’ān”?). It would seem from Q 17:46 and 50:45 at least that the attitude of “remembrance of God” could be conveyed by means of the qur’ān, that is, taken literally by means of “reading” or “reciting”.²⁸⁴ Somehow, the Qur’ān appears to further once again the Christian understanding of θεωρία, according to which there could not be any “gnosis”, that is knowledge of God, without “praxis”. This idea, shared by many Christian authors of Late Antiquity, is crystallized by a formula already found in Origen: “Neither praxis without contemplation, nor contemplation without praxis” (οὔτε γὰρ πρᾶξις οὔτε θεωρία ἄνευ θατέρου).²⁸⁵ Beyond prayer, the act of reading (qeryānā) was in the Syriac mystical literature often connected to the spiritual attitude of “remembrance of God”. As Chialà pointed out, the instrumentalization of “reading” within the context of spiritual ascent is hardly surprising given the status granted to Scripture, and Psalms in particular, in the Syriac world, and more specifically in the East-Syrian school movement and monasticism. But whereas in the scholastic context, reading meant “lingering on the words and debating the meaning (sukkālā) of the text”,²⁸⁶ in monastic circles, reading was rather regarded as an active spiritual practice. Isaac of Nineveh argues for instance that “the labour of reading (ʿmālā d-qeryānā) […] serves as the gate by which the intellect enters into the divine mysteries and takes strength for (attaining) luminosity in prayer”.²⁸⁷ Isaac indeed emphasizes

 For a thorough analysis of the semantic field of the word qur’ān and the question of the Qur’ānic self-referentiality, see Boisliveau 2014, 40 – 58.  Origen, Fragmenta in Lucam 72. Cf. Lemaître 1952, 1802.  Becker 2006, 185.  Isaac of Nineveh, Second Collection 21:13; trans. Brock 1995, 116.

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that it is from the act of reading (qeryānā) that the need for constant prayer (slōtā) arises.²⁸⁸ We also find this stress on reading in other mystical authors such as Sahdona or Dadishoʿ Qatraya who insist on qeryānā as conditional upon grasping the spiritual meaning concealed in Scripture and in Nature.²⁸⁹ Given the twofold meaning of the word qeryānā in Syriac, i. e. both “reading” and “reciting”, one wonders to what the spiritual exercise of reading really correspond here. It was common to differentiate between different spiritual exercises depending on the spiritual stage of a monk. Most authors usually advocate starting with “external practices” and then gradually moving on to “internal ones”. For Isaac of Nineveh for instance, “recitation” was encouraged in the first stage. Then in the second stage comes “reading and kneeling”. In the third stage, the monk continues to kneel and read but he also starts meditating on God’s providence and perform the prayer of the heart. As Brock notes, psalmody becomes less important at this spiritual level.²⁹⁰ We see that the connection between the notion of qur’ān and that of “remembrance of God” in the Qur’ān echoes once again the Christian late antique spiritual tradition under scrutiny. In the last few pages, we evidenced that there exists in the Qur’ān a whole network of notions that finds precise correspondence in the vocabulary and imagery of late antique Christian ascetic literature. Despite the fact that the precise meaning and articulation of some of these notions is unclear, it seems indisputable that the correlation of terms such as “heart”, “remembrance”, “prayer”, “reading” and others in the text, hint at the late antique Christian ascetic roots of this spiritual model. In this context, the East-Syrian ascetic and mystic literature proves particularly helpful as it bears witness to the developments of such kind of spirituality at the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān. One thing leading to the other, it could seem like we have moved away from cosmology to touch upon the theme of the ascetic background of the Qur’ān. This is only so because one is indissociable from the other. Whereas cosmic objects are seen with the eyes, the network of “signs” (i. e. the cosmos in its quality of the-

 See for instance Isaac of Nineveh, Third Collection 9:12; cf. also Second Collection 21:13; 29:5 – 11; and Kephalaia 1:66 – 67.  Sahdona, Book of Perfection 2, 8:51. Bettiolo sees this aspect of Dadishoʿ’s work as Evagrian in influence. Cf. Bettiolo 1986, 201– 213. Nevertheless, the emphasis on reading as a means towards illumination in Syriac mysticism could also have emerged under the influence of John the Solitary. The latter declares for instance: “Pay attention to the reading of the words of Scripture, in order to learn from them how to be with God… In this way you will be illumined in prayer as a result of your reading” (Letter to Hesychius 24). Cf. Hansbury 2014, 107– 111; Isaac, Third Collection, trans. Hansbury 2015, 364 (n. 2).  Brock 2015, 32.

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ophanic stage) can only be seen with the “heart”. In the spiritual system of the mystics studied, the act of “remembering God”, whatever that practically means, leads to the vision of God with the “heart”, which in turns encourages back the contemplative to strive more (and more) in the “remembrance of God”. Practice leads to continuous remembrance of God, which has cathartic virtues. We contended that this sheds light on some of the Qur’ānic turns of phrase that often close up sign passages. As a matter of fact, when the text affirms that cosmic phenomena constitute signs for “a people who remember” (qawm yadhdhakūrna) or for “those who have a heart” (’ūlū l-’albāb), it most likely encourage its audience to train intensively, through continuous prayer and other ascetic practices (such as reading and reciting), in order to see the ’āyāt in the cosmos with their spiritual heart. The study of the concepts related to the Qur’ānic ascetic system would certainly deserve further work. Our goal in this chapter is to study what one might call the contemplative anthropology and the specificities of the purification process through which believers need to pass in order to grasp God’s ’āyāt. Everything seems to indicate that though invisible with the eyes of the body, God makes himself available to human beings through the eyes of their heart, an organ trained and purified through the continuous practice and the spiritual attitude of remembrance of God.

5 Divine knowledge We have already mentioned that ultimately what the Qur’ān hopes to achieve in exhorting its audience to seek God’s ’āyāt in Revelation and Nature is to trigger in contemplative subjects a specific ethos of thankfulness and fear towards God. It stands to reason that what sparks this attitude is the desire to acquire some sort of knowledge or information about God throughout the contemplative activity. For practical reasons, I have designated it until now as “divine knowledge”. This expression needs further clarification.

5.1 Esoteric knowledge Most Christian ascetics of Late Antiquity regarded the acquisition of knowledge about God – at least to a certain degree – as the true goal of the contemplative activity. It is quite striking that the Qur’ān does not explicitly talk about divine knowledge as an outcome of the contemplation of the divine signs. The Qur’ān does sug-

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gest that there exists an esoteric²⁹¹ knowledge hidden in the universe, aspects of which are made accessible by God for humans. Yet, on the whole this knowledge remains mostly unreachable by humans. The notion that condenses best the idea of “hidden knowledge” is the word ghayb: With Him are the keys of the unseen [mafātiḥu l-ghaybi]. No one knows them but Him. He knows whatever is on the shore and the sea. Not a leaf falls but He knows of it. (There is) not a grain in the darkness of the earth, and nothing ripe or withered, but (it is recorded) in a clear Book. (Q 6:59)

This passage illustrates how this ghayb, sometimes called the “ghayb of heavens and earth” (Q 11:23), simply constitutes a knowledge of the whole. Time, space, and stories of the prophets belong to this ghayb (Q 3:44, 11:49, 12:102) and it is said to be concealed in a “clear Scripture” (kitāb mubīn) a few times (Q 6:59, 34:2; cf. also Q 27:75). Although ultimately hidden, God bestows this ghayb, or supposedly part of it, to whom he pleases, and more specifically to “a messenger whom He has approved” (e. g. Q 3:179, 72:26 – 27).²⁹² Despite the deployment of this notion in the text, it is not suggested to my knowledge that common people could attain this hidden wisdom of the whole – it seems reserved to some prophets only. Further research might in fact reveal that the role of the prophet as a sort of catalyst or channel of the contemplative practice constitutes the Qur’ānic ascetic program’s originality, at least in some of its layers. In any case, it is necessary to highlight that the notion of ghayb in passages such as Q 6:59 does not seem to correspond to a knowledge about God per se, but rather to a knowledge about his plan for Creation (i. e. the economy of Creation). Whatever the term ghayb exactly means however, there is a clear attempt in the Qur’ān at discouraging the enterprise of trying to reach beyond what God allowed to be knowable. In few passages, the text suggests that one should not seek too much knowledge or speculate about what remains “unknown” by definition. Although the notion of ghayb is proper to the Qur’ān to talk about what lies beyond the limit of human understanding and investigation, we will see that the Qur’ān

 The term “esoteric” has multiple meanings. It refers here to the idea that there exists knowledge hidden in the world, that requires, in this context, a specific behaviour in order to be attained. On the polysemy of the term “esoteric”, see for instance Faivre 2010.  The idea of a secret knowledge is also sometimes conveyed by other words derived from the Semitic roots BṬN (cf. Q 31:20), KNN (cf. Q 56:78), or SRR (e. g. Q 20:7, 25:6), all referring to the idea of “being concealed or hidden”. Cf. Bar-Asher 2002, 423.

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once again echoes late antique preoccupations in arguing that there exists a knowledge in the world that remains out of human reach.

5.2 Limited investigation In two passages at least, the text takes direct issue with people seeking knowledge that lies beyond their reach and condemns investigations of the unknown: Do not pursue what you have no knowledge of. Surely the hearing and the sight and the heart – all those you are responsible for. Do not walk on the earth in jubilation. Surely you will not plumb the depths of the earth, nor reach the mountains in height. All that – the evil of it – is hateful in the sight of your Lord. That is some of the wisdom your Lord has inspired you (with). (Q 17:36 – 39)

We showed throughout this chapter that, by means of the notion of ’āyāt, the Qur’ān conceived the universe and the Revelation as filled with evidence of God and his plan for Creation. Yet, the text seldom speaks of the knowledge that comes out of the recognition of the ’āyāt. Through verses such as the one cited above, the text rather suggests that these signs allow the believer to acquire a knowledge of his plan for Creation, or rather, knowledge of the existence of a divine plan for Creation. This plan indeed remains beyond humans’ reach. While chosen ones can access the ghayb, the text makes it clear that common people should content themselves with finding comfort into signs rather than trying to go beyond them. The following verse, more directed towards scriptural ’āyāt than to cosmic ones, seems to confirm this interpretation: He (it is) who has sent down on you the Book [’anzala ʿalay-ka l-kitāba], of which some verses are clearly composed [min-hu ’āyātun muḥkamātun] – they are the mother of the Book [hunna ’ummu l-kitābi] – but others are ambiguous [wa-‘ukharu mutashābihātun]. As for those in whose hearts (there is) a turning aside [fa-’ammā lladhīna fī qulūbi-him zayghun], they follow the ambiguous part of it, seeking (to cause) trouble and seeking its interpretation [min-hu ibtighā’a l-fitnati wa-btighā’a ta’wīli-hi]. No one knows its interpretation except God [wa-mā yaʿlamu ta’wīla-hu ’illā llāhu]. And (as for) the ones firmly grounded in knowledge [wa-l-rāsikhūna fī l-ʿilmi], they say, “We believe in it. All (of it) is from our Lord.” Yet no one takes heed except those with understanding [wa-mā yadhdhakkaru ’illā ’ūlū l-’albābi]. (Q 3:7)

This passage concentrates a number of difficulties that scholars have pointed out over the years.²⁹³ It is worth highlighting that it presents a high concentration of

 Segovia 2019, 138 – 139.

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notions studied in the last pages: ’āyāt, sending down, remembrance, and heart. Apart from that, the text deserves attention for several reasons. First of all, it suggests the existence of “ambiguous” ’āyāt that some privilege over the others. One wonders what this means exactly for, if we agree with Izutsu that the ’āyāt constitute means of communication between God and men, then even the ambiguous ’āyāt need to be directed at someone. Secondly, it is important to note here that the Qur’ān condemns “interpretation” (ta’wīl) as something only God is able to do. One wonders how this part of the verse connects with the preceding one. What is exactly the nature of the prohibition here? Whereas the beginning of the verse blames the interest in ambiguous ’āyāt, it is the interpretation of any kind of ’āyāt that is discouraged in the second part of the verse. Finally, the behaviour of those who “seek trouble and interpretation” is contrasted with the behaviour of those who believe. The latter are called “the ones firmly grounded in knowledge” (al-rāsikhūna fī l-ʿilm). This expression is only found twice in the Qur’ān (cf. Q 4:162), which suggests that in the Qur’ānic system true “knowledge” (ʿilm) is belief. It is tempting to see here a tension between two forms of contemplation. Reading between the lines, the text suggests that some people adopt a speculative stance towards the Revelation, neglecting practice, whereas the path promoted by the Qur’ān is indissociable from the cultivation of the heart through the practice of remembrance of God (which is what the last sentence of this passage, wa-mā yadhdhakkaru ’illā ’ūlū l-’albāb, clearly suggests). The only other occurrence of the expression al-rāsikhūna fī l-ʿilm (“those firmly grounded in knowledge”) confirms that knowledge is inseparable from practice and faith: But the ones who are firm in knowledge [al-rāsikhūna fī l-ʿilmi] among them – and the believers – believe in what has been sent down to you [yu’minūna bi-mā ’unzila ’ilay-ka], and what has been sent down before you [wa-mā ’unzila min qabli-ka]. And the ones who observe the prayer, and who give the alms, and who believe in God and the last Day, those – We shall give them a great reward. (Q 4:162)

The expression al-rāsikhūna fī l-ʿilm occurs once again in contact with a number of ascetic notions already studied (cf. also Q 3:7), especially the observance of prayer and almsgiving. How does the performance of these spiritual and charitable exercises (remembering God, praying, giving alms, believing in God and the last Day) link with the idea of being “firm in knowledge”? It is not made plain in either of these two verses, but it is tempting to argue that these practices are conditional upon the acquisition of knowledge.

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The prohibition of delving too deep into the cosmos possesses antecedents in the late antique tradition.²⁹⁴ We saw above that with the Cappadocian Fathers, one already finds an emphasis on natural contemplation that is not so far from what the Qur’ān says in Q 17:36 – 39. Despite the fact that these thinkers regarded Creation as a semantic tool to gain knowledge of the Creator, they were also keen on insisting on the impossibility of completing successfully this semantic enterprise. Basil for instance insists in his Homilies on the Hexaemeron on the fact that simple contemplation, though not negative in itself, in fact widens the gap between the Creator and Creation. He therefore encouraged his audience to adopt a discrete kind of curiosity (πολυπραγμοσύνη). Yet, he and his contemporaries also pointed out the pitfalls provoked by all too literal or allegorical readings of the universe.²⁹⁵ Basil affirms that one should not seek to understand certain things. In discussing the expression of the “pillars of the universe” occurring in Ps 74:4, and discarding the literal reading of this biblical image for instance, he argues that there is no rational way to understand by what means the universe remains held up. He advises his audience in the following manner: “Set a limit, then, to your thoughts, lest the words of Job should ever censure your curiosity as you scrutinize things incomprehensible” (cf. Job 38:6). The “pillars” of the universe are no other than God himself and the means by which he holds the world will remain mysterious for the human mind.²⁹⁶ Behind this is lurking the whole issue of the accessibility of God’s essence.²⁹⁷ We find in several places of patristic literature the development of the doctrine that God is only accessible through what he allows to reveal about himself. Gregory of Nazianzus for instance, in describing an ecstatic vision he experienced, declares that even as a bishop he only glimpsed at the “back side of God”. According to him, not even Moses on Mount Sinai or Paul, who famously described his vision in 2 Cor 12:1– 4,²⁹⁸ contemplated God fully.²⁹⁹ Although this certainly constitutes

 In Judaism, the locus classicus for this is the Mishnaic ban on interpreting the ma’aseh berēšīt (i. e. Creation narrative; Mishnah Ḥagigah 2:1), reproduced in the fifth-century midrashīm of Midrash Rabbah (Genesis). Nonetheless, whereas in the Qur’ān, just as in the Christian tradition, Scripture and Nature are regarded as two tools to achieve divine knowledge, rabbinic texts such as the Midrash Rabbah seem to be willing to downplay natural contemplation in favour of scriptural contemplation. Cf. Alexander 1992, 237– 238.  See for instance Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 1:9, 3:9. Cf. Blowers 2012, 325; Blowers 2016, 12– 13.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 1:9.  The doctrine of the “inaccessibility of God” seems to find its roots in the context of the Arian controversy. Cf. Becker 2006, 251 (n. 32).  The passage runs as follows: “I must boast; there is nothing to be gained by it, but I will go on to visions and revelations of the Lord. I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught

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a recurring trope in mystic literature, it is useful to remind ourselves that Q 53:1– 18 and 81:22– 25, the two visionary accounts of the Qur’ān, go to great lengths to highlight the distance at which the divine being stood during the encounter (the contemplated being stood at the horizon, then he approached and descended, and he was at a two bow lengths or nearer). Similar arguments about the impossibility to see God fully are found in Evagrius. For him, there existed two types of contemplation. He describes the higher one as the contemplation of the Holy Trinity (a contemplation that he names θεολογία) and opposes it to lower types of contemplation: that of incorporeal and corporeal beings, and the contemplations of the judgment and of the divine providence. It is fair to say that Evagrius regarded the contemplation of Nature as a path that could only lead to a limited knowledge of the Creator, a knowledge of his attributes: One who sees the Creator according to the harmony of beings – it is not [God’s] nature that he knows, rather he knows His wisdom by which He has made everything: and I do not mean the essential wisdom, but that which appears in beings, that which is called natural contemplation by those who are expert in these things. And if this is so, what is the madness of those who say they know the nature of God!³⁰⁰

This wisdom is no other than the λόγοι, natural and scriptural traces of the LogosChrist through whom everything was created. In Evagrius, just as in so many late antique Christian theorists of natural contemplation, there is in this world no other knowledge than a knowledge of the Wisdom of God. It is certainly not useless to point out that in Q 3:7 quoted above, the incomprehensible ’āyāt mutashābihāt (“the obscure signs”) are opposed to signs that are said muḥkamāt. To be sure, the translation “clear ’āyāt” does not do justice to this rare word association. One wonders here why the text does not rather resort to the root BYN, usually used when the idea of “clarity” is conveyed. The text speaks of the “clear Arabic tongue” of the Qur’ān twice (lisān ʿarabī mubīn: Q 16:103, 16:195), and the expression “clear or explicit signs” is also found several

up to the third heaven – whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows. And I know that this man was caught up in Paradise– whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows – and he heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter.” Note that Paul is uncertain about the nature of his experience. Not only does he repeat twice that he does not know whether he still was in his body at the moment of the vision, but he also adds that the things he heard cannot normally be heard by humans.  Gregory of Nazianzus, Orations 28:3. Cf. Blowers 2016, 16.  Evargrius of Pontus, Kephalaia Gnostica 5:51; trans. Dysinger : http://www.ldysinger.com/Evagrius/02_Gno-Keph/00a_start.htm.

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times (’āyāt bayyināt: Q 2:99, 3:97, 10:15, 17:101, 19:73, 22:16, 22:72, 24:1, 28:36, 29:49, 34:43, 45:25, 46:7, 57:9, 58:5; ’āyāt mubayyināt: Q 24:34, 24:46, 65:11). It is certainly dangerous to extrapolate from etymologies but the form muḥkam is a passive participle of the fourth derived form (’afʿal) of the root ḤKM, the root of “wisdom” par excellence in Semitic languages. This participle is only found twice in the text. The only other occurrence is also articulated around notions studied in this chapter: Those who believe say, “If only a sūra were sent down.” But when a clearly composed sūra is sent down [fa-’idhā ’unzilat sūratun muḥkamatun], and fighting is mentioned in it [wa-dhukira fī-hā l-qitālu], you see those in whose hearts is a sickness [alladhīna fī qulūbi-him maraḍun] looking at you with the look of one who faints at the point of death. Woe to them! […] Do they not contemplate the Qur’ān [’a-fa-lā yatadabbarūna l-qur’āna], or (are there) locks on their hearts [’am ʿalā qulūbin ’aqfālu-hā]? (Q 47:20-24)

One wonders whether the word muḥkamāt does not designate in this context something in which God’s Wisdom has been imprinted. Building on the hypothesis that the Qur’ān shares with previous ascetic traditions the view that God is only knowable through his Wisdom in this world, these ’āyāt muḥkamāt, “signs full of wisdom”, would therefore constitute the only signs worth lingering on. Such a reading can only be hypothetical, but it is important to note that this odd conveying of the root ḤKM occurs in contact with the notion of “heart” (qalb), of “contemplation” (tadabbara), of “reading” (qur’ān), and most importantly of “remembrance” (dhakara). Besides, the relation of this mosaic of notions with the semantic field of “fighting” (qitāl) is noteworthy and would deserve further inquiry. Indeed, the invitation to “fight in the path of God” present throughout the Qur’ān brings to mind strong ascetic themes.³⁰¹

5.3 Knowledge of the limit In the Syriac world, the doctrine of God’s incomprehensibility became very much debated. Although advocating that one should seek knowledge of God in contemplating the cosmos, Ephrem was also concerned with people investigating too deeply in Nature. As Sebastian Brock argued, Ephrem posits an important separation – that he himself perceives as a “chasm” (peḥtā) – between the Creator and his creatures. The possibility that the human intellect could ever gain knowledge of his Creator in trying to cross that “chasm” is vain. For him, God is fundamentally hid-

 On this, see Mortensen 2019b.

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den but reveals himself, as we already saw, to human intellects through “revealed things” or “points of revelation” (galyātā). Ephrem insists on the fact that human investigation is not allowed to go beyond these galyātā and therefore gain full knowledge of the Godhead.³⁰² He tackles this impossibility of investigating over and again in his Hymns of Faith. ³⁰³ One of the arguments that Ephrem uses against the possibility of investigating the Godhead is of particular interest for us: The one who is able to investigate set limits upon it [the object of its investigation]. A knowledge that can limit the Knower-of-all is greater than he, for it can measure all of him. Whoever has investigated the Father and the Son is greater than both. God forbid that the Father and the Son would be investigated and dust and ash would be exalted.³⁰⁴

The impossibility of measuring and setting limits on the limitless God appears or is alluded to in several other places of his Hymns on Faith ³⁰⁵ and similar arguments are applied to Nature itself.³⁰⁶ It is quite striking to find in the Qur’ān the occurrence of the same reasoning on the non-limitable nature of God. After having declared God’s dominion over heaven and earth for instance, the famous “Throne verse” uses the very same argument: [God] knows whatever is before them and whatever is behind them, but they cannot encompass any of His knowledge [lā yuḥīṭūna bi-shay’in min ʿilmi-hi], except whatever He pleases [’illā bi-mā shā’a]. (Q 2:255).

Like Ephrem, the Qur’ān brings up the argument in a polemical context. Defending the divine origin of the qur’ān, “a distinct setting forth of the kitāb”, against the accusation of human forgery, Q 10:39 reads: No! They have called a lie what they cannot encompass in (their) knowledge of it [kadhdhabū bi-mā lam yuḥīṭū bi-ʿilmi-hi], and when the interpretation of it has not come to them.

Similarly, Q 18:60-82 narrates an unusual travel account about Moses. Therein, the prophet encounters a servant of God, to whom God had given mercy and taught knowledge (ʿallamnā-hu ladun-nā ʿilman; v. 65). Moses asks the man:

 Brock 1992, 26 – 27.  Wickes 2015, 43 – 51. Cf. also the entry “investigation” in the index, 412– 413.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 9:16; trans. Wickes 2015, 120.  For instance in Hymns on Faith 5:8, 9:14, 18:10, 26:4, 26:7, 28:4, 29:1, 29:3 30:1, 32:6 – 7, 45:4, 50:2, 51:2, 55:6, 55:9, 66:1, 67:24, 69:18, 71:9 – 10, 74:16 – 17.  For instance in Hymns on Faith 64:6, 41:3.

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Shall I follow you on (the condition) that you teach me some of what you have been taught (of ) right (knowledge) [hal ’attabiʿu-ka ʿalā ’an tuʿallimani mimmā ʿullimta rushdan]? (Q 18:66)

The servant of God then replies: How could you have patience for what you cannot encompass in (your) awareness of it [wakayfa taṣbiru ʿalā mā lam tuḥiṭ bi-hi khubran]? (Q 18:68).

The limited access to divine knowledge is also implied in Q 18:91, 20:110, 27:22, 27:84. On the reverse, the text stresses in several places how God encompasses everything (Q 65:12, 72:28; cf. also 17:6, 48:21). The claim of God’s omniscience is very common in the Qur’ān and in the Biblical tradition. One wonders however if contrasting the limitless character of God’s knowledge with the limited one of humans does not constitute a subtler statement. John Chrysostom for instance defended the inaccessibility of the Godhead, a theme to which he dedicated twelve homilies known under the name Homilies on the Incomprehensibility of God.³⁰⁷ Becker suggests that these ideas were popular in the Edessene context of the 5th century. Given the natural theological model developed in the Cause, it is no surprise to find in it warnings against the foolishness of thinking God as accessible. Heavily relying on Neoplatonic and Aristotelian terminology, the text successively argues that the investigation in God is limited, that God is unknowable except thanks to the grace he placed in humans and what he accepted to reveal “concerning his essence, albeit in a manner fit only for children”.³⁰⁸ Humans (and angels) are “too weak to consider the divine essence”, and this is the reason why God has placed in humans the soul, that is compared to “an invisible lamp […] filled with the oil of immortal life”,³⁰⁹ which remotely echoes the famous Qur’ānic verse of Light (Q 24:35).³¹⁰ Elsewhere, the text reminds that, “he who has determined that he has attained knowledge even about things that are unknowable – an abortion is better than him, since it is complete stupidity. But if he knew God as unknowable, this one would be known by God as wise”.³¹¹ All in all, the Qur’ān argues along the same lines as these late antique classical arguments about God’s knowability. Even though the cosmos and revelation are re Becker 2006, 130 – 131.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 336; trans. Becker 2008, 105. Cf. also Becker 2006, 134– 150.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 340; trans. Becker 2008, 108.  See also Ephrem’s Hymns on Faith concerning the comparison to God’s accessibility to the knowability of light.  Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 337; trans. Becker 2008, 105 – 106. Cf. also Becker 2006, 148 – 149.

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plete with God’s signs, this does not mean that any sort of knowledge about God’s essence can come out of their contemplation. Rather than offering a semantic quest leading to an ever-increasing knowledge of the Creator, the Qur’ān sets limits upon the outcome of the contemplative endeavour. There is no knowledge reachable beyond that which God allows humans to grasp, his divine plan for Creation, his Wisdom. What the ’āyāt of the cosmos (but it is the same for the ’āyāt of Revelation) really point to is the fact that God is purposefully steering the universe. Though humans cannot reach the metaphysics behind the ’āyāt of God in the world, they can find comfort in the actual existence of a divine economy of Creation through the process of purification. They can perceive the divine showing on the surface of the natural phenomena, without penetrating it.

6 Seeking the face of God The last pages sought to demonstrate that the Qur’ānic spiritual model does not seem to promote divine knowledge as an outcome of the contemplative endeavour in this life. Multiple reasons can be invoked here to make sense of this limitation. First of all, it is not impossible that a people sharing the belief in the imminent arrival of eschatological and apocalyptical events could well have been little concerned with the acquisition of divine knowledge and kept their expectations quite low in their contemplative endeavour. It is reasonable to think that in this eschatological context, believers were more concerned about “practicing right” than “knowing well”. Secondly, one should perhaps not too easily discard the possibility that theological issues underlie this matter. We know how much the text is concerned by the accusation of associationism and we ought to remember that most contemplative systems offer at the end of the contemplative path a form of union with God, a divinization (θέωσις). This union with the Godhead is never explicitly promised by the Qur’ān to its audience, not even in the post-eschatological re-creation of the world. A third option might need to be considered here. One wonders how much our reading of the Qur’ānic ascetic program is distorted by the default reading of the text as a faithful witness to the religious experience of the Qur’ānic community as a whole. Most Christian writers of the divine contemplation mentioned in this study regarded the spiritual life as divided into different degrees in which divine knowledge is gradually revealed. It is not necessary to go through all the different theories about this but only to mention that natural theology generally constitutes a lower degree of contemplation within these systems.

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In this context, we must ask ourselves whether the Qur’ān does not reflect the spiritual experience of only a sub-group of the community in which it emerged. Is it possible, in other words, that the natural and scriptural contemplative program sponsored by the Qur’ānic text only form one degree of a larger contemplative system that the Qur’ān would not reflect given its arguably neophyte audience? Whereas the text never explicitly states that the purification of oneself leads to knowledge about the Creator, several passages describe those who perform ascetic practices and therefore purify themselves as “the ones who seek the face of God” (alladhīna yurīdūna wajha llāhi). The following passage is particularly illustrative: Is the one who knows that what has been sent down to you from your Lord is the truth, like the one who is blind? Only those with understanding take heed [’innamā yatadhakkarūna ’ūlū l-’albābi]: those who fulfil the covenant of God and do not break the compact, and who join together what God has commanded to be joined with it, and fear their Lord, and are afraid of the evil reckoning, and who are patient in seeking the face of their Lord [alladhīna ṣabarū btighā’a wajhi rabbi-him], and observe the prayer [wa-’aqāmū l-ṣalāta], and contribute from what We have provided them, in secret and in open, and avert evil by means of the good. Those – for them (there is) the outcome of the Home. (Q 13:19-22)

Once again, we see here the articulation of several notions studied in the previous pages. The expression “to seek the face of God” is found in several other passages (Q 2:272, 6:52, 18:28, 30:38 – 39, 78:9, 92:20; cf. also Q 28:88, 55:27) and should probably not be understood as a mere figure of speech. Seeking the face of God here seems to designate the overall ascetic endeavour of purifying oneself in order to follow the path leading towards “seeing the face of God”, another way of illustrating the acquisition of divine knowledge and union with the Creator. Despite mentioning people “seeking the face of God”, the text never talks about people who “found the face of God”. Between the lines, one sees the outlining of the view that such a stage in the spiritual ascent does not happen in this world but that the quest for the face of God is really what the present life is about: But the one who guards (himself ) will avoid it [the flaming fire]: the one who gives his wealth to purify himself [yatazakkā], and (confers) no blessing on anyone (expecting) to be repaid, but only seeks the face of his Lord, the Most High [’illā btighā’a wajhi rabbi-hi l-’aʿlā]. Soon indeed he will be pleased [wa-lā sawfa yarḍā]. (Q 92:17– 21)

The expression “to seek the face of God” thus crystallizes the whole Qur’ānic ascetic enterprise and suffices to show that though not reachable in this world, divine knowledge or “seeing the face of God” is the ultimate goal of the ascetic observance. But whereas the passages studied exhort the addressees to observe this spiritual attitude in order to be rewarded in the afterlife, a handful of pericopes in the text evidences a higher degree of contemplation, one that exceeds the contem-

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plation of the divine economy of salvation. It is obviously the well-known vision of the Lote Tree: By the star when it falls! Your companion has not gone astray, nor has he erred, nor does he speak on a whim. It is nothing but an inspiration inspired. One harsh in power has taught him – One full of strength [shadīdu l-quwā]! He stood poised, while He was at the highest horizon, then He drew near and came down. He was two bow-lengths tall, or nearly. And so He inspired His servant [ʿabdi-hi] (with) what He inspired. His heart did not lie about what it saw. Will you dispute with him about what he sees? Certainly he saw Him at a second descent, by the Lote Tree of the Boundary, near which is the Garden of the Refuge, when (there) covered the Lote Tree what covered (it). His sight did not turn aside, nor did it transgress. Certainly he saw one of the greatest signs of his Lord. (Q 53:1– 18)

We already said that the language of the “seeing heart” in this passage is not insignificant and probably shows that this visionary account or part of it belongs to the same layer as the one studied throughout the past two chapters. What is important to emphasize here is that the text does not constitute an exhortation to contemplate the signs addressed to “a people who remember” but rather witnesses the mystical experience of a person³¹² who had in all likelihood already reached the necessary degree of purification enabling the access to another level of divine knowledge, a vision of God. That this purification was the fruit of the work of “remembrance of God” or “continuous prayer” is not explicit. Nevertheless, it is important to stress the presence of the motif of a “heart that sees” in this passage, which quite closely echoes the notion of “spiritual heart” and the motifs associated to it studied in this chapter. The identification of the contemplated being in this excerpt has been the subject of many debates. While he has traditionally been identified with the angel Gabriel, the tradition also records that “some of the companions of the prophet (e. g. Ibn ‘Abbās) believed it was God whom the prophet saw.”³¹³ The philological evidence leans towards the maximalist interpretation of the passage. The epithet “One full of strength” (shadīd al-quwā) reminds one of similar descriptions of

 One could argue that this passage reflects the experience of a single person and that it is therefore difficult to make it fit within the framework of the contemplative and ascetic system we are discussing. Yet, at the same time it is not surprising not to find in the text other testimonies of such experiences. It is noteworthy that text recording apocalyptic visions rarely talk about the vision of more than a single man at a time. Moreover, we also need to remember that, if we exclude apocalyptic texts, which constitutes a specific genre in which the main character is usually not the author, ascetic writers are often reluctant to talk too much about such experiences (e. g. Paul in 2 Cor 12:1– 4, and Gregory Nazianzus in Orations 28:3). This however does not mean that they were isolated cases in their spiritual milieu.  Droge 2013, 360 (n. 7).

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God elsewhere in the text (e. g. Q 4:84, 8:52, 40:22, 51:58). Moreover, the designation of the contemplating subject as his ʿabd (“servant” or “slave”) makes it clear that we are dealing here with a theophany.³¹⁴ As we already noted, the text puts a great deal of effort into stressing that this theophany is only partial in insisting on the distance at which God stood, in describing the haziness surrounding the Lote Tree, and in mentioning that the sight did not transgress. This is in agreement with what we said earlier. Most Church Fathers indeed insisted on the impossibility to see God face to face in this life.³¹⁵ Since a large part of our study shows that the Qur’ān’s spiritual model echoes late antique Christian asceticism, it is important to mention here that this visionary account, which probably constitutes the most prominent witness of a spiritual experience in the Qur’ān, is not a phenomenon of ecstasy. As Lemaître puts it, in eastern Christian spirituality, ecstasy is an encounter of the intellect with God beyond the limit of the intellect itself.³¹⁶ On the contrary, the whole quest for the “face of God” in the Qur’ānic text, and a fortiori, the encounter with God described in this passage, does not involve an abduction of the intellect out of its own boundaries, but rather constitutes a theophany within the spiritual heart itself. The Qur’ān thus promotes a spiritual path that is nothing but an introspection and an unceasing purification of the spiritual heart in the hope of finding, if not in this life, in the hereafter, “the face of God”.

7 Conclusion In this chapter, we tried to show that the way the Qur’ān understands and depicts the process of accessing divine signs shares many similarities with the Christian ascetic tradition. We pointed out that divine grace was a prerequisite for humans to start off their quest for meaning,. We then turned towards the notion of purifi Droge 2013, 360 (n. 7). Scholars have highlighted that the other visionary passage Q 81:23 appears to identify the person seen on the “clear horizon” with an angel on the basis that v. 19 talks about a rasūl karīm (“honourable messenger”). Yet, in my opinion, nothing suggests that this “honourable servant” is indeed the entity seen on the “clear horizon”. In fact, in its two other occurrences, the expression rasūl karīm explicitly refers to the Qur’ānic prophet and Moses (Q 44:17, 69:40). This is not to say that the adjective karīm is exclusively reserved to prophets of course – it is at times attributed to angels and God –, but simply to emphasize that no element in Q 81’s text encourages us to adopt the traditional interpretation, quite the contrary. On this topic, see Crone 2017b, 364– 366.  Lemaître 1952, 1831.  See the discussion on ecstasy in Lemaître 1952, 1862– 1864.

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cation in the Qur’ān. We saw that in line with previous traditions, the Qur’ān contends that in order to see the ’āyāt in the cosmos, the contemplative subject needs to have a pure heart. This aspect of the Qur’ānic ascetic system is expressed by various means but the most striking one is its recurring use of the notion of “remembrance of God”, a phrase tightly connected to the Christian spiritual vocabulary of Late Antiquity and especially to the East-Syriac tradition. Finally, we tried to lay hands on the very outcome of the contemplative life according to the Qur’ānic text. The Qur’ānic contemplative path, rather than promising divine knowledge as an outcome of practice, stresses by various means that the contemplative endeavour provides the believer with confidence in the existence of a divine plan for Creation, which leads to an attitude of thankfulness and fear of God. The reader might have had the feeling throughout this chapter that we were steering away from the topic of cosmology. This cannot be further from the truth. While in the first chapter we showed how the depiction and the status of the universe was entirely framed by the natural theological system of the Qur’ān, this chapter shows how the Qur’ān conceives Nature as the opportunity for men to exercise themselves spiritually and find the divine through it. In studying this model, we showed how much the Qur’ān was indebted to the late antique Christian ascetic vocabulary and imagery. More specifically, the Qur’ān looked particularly close to Syriac mysticism in insisting on the role of the heart in the process of discerning God’s āyāt in the world. Without denying the importance of other Christian ascetic branches at the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān, it is important to insist on the fact that Eastern-Syrian writers were particularly active at the time the Qur’ān is usually thought to have been composed (7th c.). The possibility that the authors of the Qur’ān were influenced by the ascetic model of which these authors bear witness is in fact more than plausible. Their writings quickly became popular in monastic circles. It is difficult to determine when the interest in their literature sparked exactly, but we know for sure that the writings of Isaac of Nineveh for instance circulated beyond the frontiers of the East-Syrian Church during the 8th century.³¹⁷ Shortly after the emergence of Islam, we also see anthologies gathering their writings.³¹⁸ In a sense, we could think of the Qur’ān as a witness that this model of spirituality, adapted and certainly simplified, was percolating outside the strict confines of the monasteries in those days already.

 Brock 2004a, 222– 223. The homilies of Isaac were translated in Greek at the end of 8th or beginning of the 9th century, before being translated into multiple languages up until today. Cf. Brock 1999 – 2000; Brock 2001.  Debié 2010, 142.

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The last two chapters have shown how Creation is understood in the Qur’ān as a place where God reveals himself to those who make the effort to work on themselves. This ascetic endeavour constitutes an enterprise of purification of the spiritual heart leading to a progressive clearing of its sight and enabling the contemplative to grasp the divine manifested in Creation through the ’āyāt. From this point of view, Creation is not merely a place of delight gratefully granted by God to humans. It constitutes an opportunity for “those who have a heart” to gain salvation in exerting themselves spiritually and in continuously “seeking the face of God”.

Chapter 3 Doctrine of Creation 1 Introduction The last two chapters were dedicated to the study of the status of Nature within the Qur’ānic contemplative program. We saw that the Qur’ān promotes a spiritual experience of the cosmos by means of ascetic practices. We now leave the realm of practice and enter the realm of doctrine. In the introduction, we emphasized that the Qur’ān never theorizes the cosmos. In this chapter and the next however, we analyse closely some of the passages alluding to the origin of the world and its maintaining into existence to grasp better the Qur’ānic doctrine of creation. At the time the Qur’ān was being composed, the question of why, how, and when Creation came into being had long been debated in Jewish and Christian traditions. Perhaps more systematically than Jewish ones, Christian thinkers started early on systematizing cosmological arguments to align them with their theological agenda. They indeed always put a great deal of effort into making their cosmological conception of the universe concord with the idea of God’s creatorship and absolute power over the world. Given the late antique Christian and Jewish lore in the Qur’ān, one thus wonders how the text posits itself within the debates on creation. In the first part of the chapter, we show that the Qur’ānic cosmology puts a huge emphasis on “creativity” as a skill belonging to God only. This is in itself not very original for a text emphasizing God’s absolute supremacy over the world. Nevertheless, we argue that in doing so, the Qur’ān uses polemical arguments that reach far back in Christian literature. The second part of this chapter studies the modality of the notion of “creation” in the Qur’ān. After having studied the terminology used in this context, we take over the debated issue of whether the Qur’ān endorses the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. This theme emerged in late antique Christianity for the purpose of preserving God’s absolute supremacy and unconditionality. For obvious reasons, the Qur’ānic theological claim of an absolute monotheism would have highly benefited from a clear-cut endorsement of this doctrine. Yet, we argue that the Qur’ānic authors appear to have a fragmented knowledge of these debates. In the final part of the chapter, we show that the Qur’ān betrays its knowledge of late antique polemical arguments against the theory of an unprovidential creation. In this regard, the analysis of specific turns of phrase connected to the notion of “creation” in the Qur’ān reveals parallels with Christian ways of talking about the providential creation of the world. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-005

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2 Creatorship and createdness The notion of “creation” is central in the Qur’ānic text and constitutes what we could call a “key categorizing principle” within the Qur’ānic worldview. The text indeed depicts the capacity “to create” as the criterion that primarily divides the world between two entities: Creator and creatures. This ontological division is frequently raised by various means, one of them being anti-polytheistic polemics.

2.1 Polemics on created creators In very highly polemical contexts, the text often scolds its alleged opponents in denying the creative skills of the deities they “call on instead of God”. This is expressed by various turns: People! A parable [mathal] is struck, so listen to it. Surely those you call on instead of God will not create a fly [lan yakhluqū dhubāban], even if they joined together for it. And if a fly were to snatch anything away from them, they would not (be able to) rescue it from it. Weak is the seeker and the sought (alike)! (Q 22:73)

As Azaiez notes, this type of argument can be described as a minore ad maius. It is a way to stress the fact that the other gods invoked by the Qur’ānic opponents are powerless.³¹⁹ From a rhetorical point of view, we are not in the context of a denial of the existence of these other entities, but simply in a hierarchization, and more precisely a subordination, with regard to the Qur’ānic God on the principle of “creatorship”.³²⁰ This message is conveyed in a number of other passages: Say: “Who is Lord of the heavens and the earth?” Say: “God.” Say: “Have you taken allies [’awliyā’] other than Him? They do not have power to (cause) themselves benefit or harm.” Say: “Are the blind and the sighted equal, or are the darkness and the light equal? Or have they set up associates for God who have created a creation like His [’am jaʿalū li-llāhi shurakā’ā khalaqū ka-khalqi-hi], so that the creation is (all) alike to them?” Say: “God is the Creator of everything. He is the One, the Supreme.” (Q 13:16) Is the One who creates like the one who does not create [’a-fa-man yakhluqu ka-man lā yakhluqu]? Will you not take heed [’a-fa-lā tadhakkarūna]? (Q 16:17)

 Azaiez connects this passage with Q 2:26 that records another parable about the gnat. The argument in the former is quite distinct from Q 22:73 however. Cf. Azaiez 2019, 839.  Masson notes that the rabbinic literature records the idea that “it is impossible for a man to create either a fly or a gnat”. Cf. Masson 1976, 46.

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This is the creation of God [hādhā khalqu llāhi]. Show me what those (whom you worship) instead of Him have created [fa-‘arū-nī mādhā khalaqa lladhīna min dūni-hi]. No! The evildoers are clearly astray. (Q 31:11) Say: “Have you seen your associates whom you call on instead of God? Show me what part of the earth they have created [’arū-nī mādhā khalaqū mina l-’arḍi]. Or do they have any partnership in (the creation of ) the heavens [’am la-hum shirkun fī l-samāwāti]?” Or have We given them a Book, so that they (stand) on a clear sign from it? No! The evildoers promise each other nothing but deception. (Q 35:40) Say: “Do you see what you call on instead of God? Show me what (part) of the earth they have created [‘arū-nī mādhā khalaqū mina l-’arḍi]. Or do they have any partnership in (the creation of ) the heavens [’am la-hum shirkun fī l-samāwāti]? Bring me any Book before this (one) or any trace of knowledge, if you are truthful.” (Q 46:4)

In these verses, the text aims at the distinction between “Creator” and “creatures” without putting into question the very existence of these other entities worshiped by the Qur’ānic opponents. The stress on this ontological gap (Creator vs. creatures) is made plain in a few other verses: Do they associate (with Him) what does not create anything [mā lā yakhluqu], since they are (themselves) created [wa-hum yukhlaqūna]? (Q 7:191) Surely those you call on instead of God are servants [ʿibād] like you. So call on them and let them respond to you, if you are truthful. (Q 7:194)³²¹ Those they call on instead of God do not create anything [lā yakhluqūna shay’an], since they are (themselves) created [wa-hum yukhlaqūna]. (Q 16:20) Yet they have taken gods other than Him. They do not create anything [lā yakhluqūna shay’an], since they are (themselves) created [wa-hum yukhlaqūna], and do not have power to (cause) themselves harm or benefit, and do not have power over death or life or raising up. (Q 25:3)

It is clear from these verses that the ability to create is thought to belong to God alone.³²² In all likelihood, the repeated assertion that God is the only creator

 Karl-Friedrich Pohlmann identifies the sequence Q 7:189 – 195a as an interpolation. He adds that v. 194 under scrutiny is an even later addition to the interpolation. Cf. Pohlmann 2019, 325 – 326.  O’Shaughnessy notes the possibility that certain expressions or verses (e. g. “the best of creators” [’aḥsan al-khāliqīn]; Q 23:14, 37:125) suggest that there exist other creators, but that God surpasses them. I am not convinced that this interpretation is correct. Indeed, such kind of superlative expressions look like mere ways of speaking and should probably not be interpreted literally as evidence of the existence of multiple creators in the Qur’ānic worldview. Cf. O’Shaughnessy 1985, 2– 3. Cf. also his interpretation of Q 3:49, 5:110, 13:16, 23:91 from which there is probably less to be inferred than he claims.

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finds its raison d’être in the fact that God’s ability to create hints at his ability to “create anew” (Q 10:4, 20:55, 21:104, 27:64– 68, 29:19, 30:11, 50:15, 85:13). Such claim is to be read within the contemplative framework described in the first chapter: creation points towards re-creation, protology towards eschatology.³²³ This will be studied in the last section of this chapter. In asserting that creativity belongs to God only, the Qur’ān echoes antique polemics. The Hebrew Bible already drew a contrast between God’s creatorship and the “useless productivity of human craftsmen”.³²⁴ This is particularly emphasized in the Deutero-Isaiah: Set forth your case, says the Lord; bring your proofs, says the King of Jacob. Let them bring them, and tell us what is to happen. Tell us the former things, what they are, that we may consider them, that we may know their outcome; or declare to us the things to come. Tell us what is to come hereafter, that we may know that you are gods; do good, or do harm, that we may be dismayed and terrified. Behold, you are nothing, and your work is naught; an abomination is he who chooses you. […] Behold, they are nothing; their molten images are empty wind. (Is 41:21– 29)

The Qur’ānic claim is not so remote from this passage of Isaiah. As compared to God’s Creation, the work of men and their idols are simply “empty winds”. Nevertheless, the argument presented here is not quite the same as the one found in the Qur’ān. These verses in Isaiah and the parallel passages (Is 40:19, 40:26, 44:9 – 17, 46:6 – 7) suggest that what is at stake is rather the fabrication of idols by men rather than the absence of creative ability by the idols themselves. Although both texts argue along parallel lines, this biblical text does not resort to the argument of a fundamental opposition between Creator and creatures as found in the Qur’ān. It would not be surprising to find antecedents to this Qur’ānic argument spread among early Church Fathers. It has been shown indeed that the passages cited of the Deutero-Isaiah were for instance extremely useful to them in polemics against Gnostics³²⁵ and Marcionites.³²⁶ In a long demonstration against the latter’s belief that they could elevate themselves above the demiurge, Irenaeus already uses this opposition between Creator and creatures. After having enumerated God’s wonders in Creation, he asks:

 Izutsu 2009, 127– 128.  Blowers 2012, 198.  The word “Gnostic” encompasses a number of different traditions whose respective cosmologies can at times hardly be reconciled. Irenaeus for instance especially uses the argument against Valentinians.  Blowers 2012, 198 – 200.

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Against what one of these works, then, do they set themselves in opposition? What have they similar to show, as having been made through themselves, or by themselves, since even they too are the Workmanship and creatures of this [Creator]?³²⁷

In the following book, Irenaeus takes over the thematic once again in a more polemical fashion: For that all things, whether Angels, or Archangels, or Thrones, or Dominions, were both established and created by Him who is God over all, through His Word, John has thus pointed out. For when he had spoken of the Word of God as having been in the Father, he added, “All things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made.” (John 1:3) David also, when he had enumerated [His] praises, subjoins by name all things whatsoever I have mentioned, both the heavens and all the powers therein: “For He commanded, and they were created; He spoke, and they were made.” Whom, therefore, did He command? The Word, no doubt, “by whom,” he says, “the heavens were established, and all their power by the breath of His mouth.” (Psalm 33:6) But that He did Himself make all things freely, and as He pleased, again David says, “But our God is in the heavens above, and in the earth; He hath made all things whatsoever He pleased.” (Psalm 140:3) But the things established are distinct from Him who has established them, and what have been made from Him who has made them. For He is Himself uncreated, both without beginning and end, and lacking nothing. He is Himself sufficient for Himself; and still further, He grants to all others this very thing, existence; but the things which have been made by Him have received a beginning. But whatever things had a beginning, and are liable to dissolution, and are subject to and stand in need of Him who made them, must necessarily in all respects have a different term [applied to them], even by those who have but a moderate capacity for discerning such things; so that He indeed who made all things can alone, together with His Word, properly be termed God and Lord: but the things which have been made cannot have this term applied to them, neither should they justly assume that appellation which belongs to the Creator.³²⁸

Undoubtedly, the argument passed on to the next generations of heresiologists, though it is not always easy to track.³²⁹ My skimming of the sources on the Syriac side suggests that one of the most important authors to resort abundantly to the argument of opposition between Creator and creatures is Ephrem of Nisibis. In one of this Hymns against Heresies, the Nisibene attacks Bardaisan’s doctrine (allegedly taken over by Mani) of the pre-creation existence of the five primordial el-

 Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus haereses 2, 30:3; trans. Roberts/Donaldson 1999, 668.  Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus haereses 3, 8:3; trans. Roberts/Donaldson 1999, 697– 698.  For instance, despite the massive number of “heresies” treated by Epiphanius of Salamis, we have not found this argument in his Panarion. This would deserve a more systematic study.

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ements (air, water, fire, light, and darkness)³³⁰ and argues that these elements are in fact created. He declares: “Identical is the name of the essences, for there is not among them one that is older or younger.” Then, there is not among them, one that is stronger or weaker. Because “an identical name” means that all of them are identical in everything. Either they are all good or they are all just, but they cannot be both created [ʿbīdē] and creators [ʿabūdē].³³¹

Once again, the argument echoes the Qur’ānic verses mentioned: one cannot be simultaneously Creator and created. Ruani notes that Ephrem particularly cherished this kind of argument, pointing at the incoherent and contradictory stance of his opponents.³³² He uses the same argument in his Commentary on Genesis: The reason that Moses wrote [this book] is as follows: the Creator had been manifest to the mind of the first generations, even up until the [generation of ] the Tower. The fact that creatures were created was also publicly taught [āp brītē d-brītē ennēn metkerezn hway]. Moreover, from [the generation of ] the Tower to [the generation of ] Moses, there was no lack of men among the sons of Shem to preach these things. But, when the sons of Abram went astray in Egypt and deserved to become godless along with the entire world, they too become estranged from those noble commandments that are fixed in our nature and they considered substances, which had come into being out of nothing, to be self-existent beings, and they called created things that had been made out of something “gods” [w-l-brītē d-etʿbed men meddem elāhē kannīw ennēn].³³³

Ephrem seems to have appreciated the notion of creatorship as a key criterion in the ontological distinction between God and the rest of the world. Phil Botha showed that Ephrem’s cosmology was characterized by an emphasis on two strong polarities: a vertical one and a horizontal one. The vertical polarity, the most important one, is the opposition between the Creator on the one hand, and his Creation on the other, that is between the uncreated (God) and the created (angels, humans, etc.). The horizontal polarity is determined by the notion of corporeity separating incorporeal beings (i. e. God and angels) and corporeal beings (e. g. humans).³³⁴

 On Bardaisan’s doctrine of the elements, see Drijvers 1966, 130 – 143; Camplani 1998, 554– 563. On Ephrem’s refutation of Bardaisanism, see Beck 1978, 271– 333.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns against Heresies 3:3; my translation. For a French translation and valuable notes, see Ruani 2018; cf. also trans. Cerbelaud 2017.  Ruani 2018, 343 (n. 343).  Ephrem of Nisibis, Commentary on Genesis, Prologue 2; trans. Mathews/Amar 1994, 67– 68. See also Féghali 1986 and 2005.  Botha 1995 – 1996; see also Pasquet 2016.

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This first polarity materializes in Ephrem’s thought by the ontological “chasm” (peḥtā) already mentioned in the last chapter. “A thing-made, he says, is not able to investigate him, for as great as it may be, greater is the one who made it”.³³⁵ On this matter, the Syrian sometimes loses his temper: “Who is so learned that he cannot distinguish a thing-made from its maker?”.³³⁶ It is clearly this opposition between Creator and creature, “maker” and “thing-made”, that is here at play. One of the most illustrative passages of this tension occurs when the poet addresses the createdness of angels. It is worth quoting at length here: My Lord, it is not because you are envious that your works [ʿbādāyk] are smaller than you. [Rather], a thing-made [ʿbādā] cannot be equal to its Maker [ʿābūdā] – dreadful blasphemy! If it could be equal, then the servant [ʿbādā] would be the companion of its master, and the master a friend to his servant [ʿbādā]. Blessed is the one who {has perceived} that the Lord, in his love, bent down and as a servant clothed himself with his servant [w-lbešeh l‐ʿbādā ʿbādeh].³³⁷

This Ephremian emphasis did not go unnoticed in later Syriac writers. We find a similar argument in Narsai’s discussion of the status of angels: They are things-made and not makers of things-made [w-law ʿabūdē d-ʿbīdātā], and of the things-made by the Maker they were made servants [w-l-ʿbīdātā d-men ʿbūdā ʿbīdēn ʿbādē].³³⁸

The homilist resorts to this motif in other places as well.³³⁹ In endorsing the arguments against created creators, the Qur’ān clearly betrays its acquaintance with late antique polemics. But with whom is the Qur’ān taking issue here? In the polemical passages where Ephrem and Narsai wave this argument, they are not taking issue with polytheism per se, but with what they perceive as being polytheistic doctrines in people that otherwise see themselves as monotheist Christians (here Bardaisan). Caricaturing the opponents’ ideas so as to make an even bigger charge against them, constitutes a common polemical strategy among heresiologists. In other words, the fact that the Qur’ān accuses unbelievers of multiplying creators does not necessarily mean that the text reflects their actual position. It is possible and even likely that, just as Ephrem, the Qur’ān is a distorting mirror of its opponents’ practices and beliefs.

 Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 4:4; trans. Wickes 2015, 72. Cf. also Hymns on Faith 30:2, 69:11, 70:1.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 24:5; trans. Wickes 2015, 166.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 5:5; trans. Wickes 2015, 82.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 5:431– 432; my translation.  See for instance, Narsai, Homilies on Creation 3:43 – 44.

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2.2 On being ʿibād of God In light of Ephrem and Narsai’s passages quoted above, I wonder whether it is not possible to offer a new understanding of the word ʿibād in some verses of the Qur’ān. Both Syriac authors indeed play on the root ʿBD, which in Syriac means both “to serve” and “to create”. The Syrian poets both take the opportunity of this double meaning to play on the two antithetic pairs ʿbādā vs. ʿābūdā (“creature” vs. “Creator”) and ʿbādā vs. mārā (“servant” vs. “Lord”). Of course, such a pun does not work in Arabic where the root ʿBD only has the meaning “to serve”. However, the fact that those who are said in Q 7:191 to “be created” rather than “creators” are further declared in Q 7:194 to be ʿibād makes me wonder whether the author of the passage did not have the Syriac double meaning of the root in mind. An overview of the use of the word ʿibād in the text does not suggest that it should always be understood as “created things” rather than “servants”, but the case needs to be considered in a few occurrences of the root, especially in polemical contexts. The adoption of sons by God and the concept of createdness are explicitly tied together in another polemical passage: Is it not (a fact) that pure religion is for God (alone). But those who take allies instead of Him – ‘We only serve them so that they may bring us near to God in intimacy’ – surely God will judge between them concerning their differences. Surely God does not guide anyone who is a liar (or) ungrateful. If God wanted to take a son [walad], He would indeed have chosen whatever He pleased from what He created [law ’arāda llāhu ’an yattakhidha waladan la-ṣṭafā mimmā yakhluqu mā yashā’u]. Glory to Him! He is God, the One, the Supreme. (Q 39:3 – 4)

It is unclear whether the text takes issue with Jesus’ divine sonship or with divine sonship in general here.³⁴⁰ Nevertheless, what interests us here is that the text goes a step further than merely denying this possibility. Besides affirming that God did not take a son, it also stresses that even if he had wanted to choose a son, the latter would have remained a creature and God the unique Creator. The very same polarity between Creator and creatures seems at stake in a few other polemical passages concerning the sonship of Jesus and the angels: People of the Book! Do not go beyond the limits in your religion, and do not say about God (anything) but the truth. The Messiah, Jesus, son of Mary, was only a messenger of God,

 Indeed, one has to remember that walad can have the more generic meaning of “progeny” in Arabic. If this is the meaning conveyed here, we cannot completely exclude that not only Christians are attacked here but also other religious traditions attributing a descendance to God. Similar turns of phrase are used elsewhere in the Qur’ān to deny the angels’ divine sonship for instance (e. g. Q 4:171– 172).

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and His word, which He cast into Mary, and a spirit from Him. So believe in God and His messengers, but do not say, ‘Three.’ Stop! (It will be) better for you. God is only one God. Glory to Him! (Far be it) that He should have a son [’an yakūna la-hu waladun]! To Him (belongs) whatever is in the heavens and whatever is on the earth. God is sufficient as a guardian. The Messiah does not disdain to be a servant of God [lan yastankifa l-masīḥu ’an yakūna ʿabdan lillāhi], nor will the angels, the ones brought near [wa-lā l-malā’ikatu l-muqarrabūna]. Whoever disdains His service [wa-man yastankif ʿan ʿibādati-hi] and becomes arrogant – He will gather them to Himself – all (of them). (Q 4:171– 172)

Once again, the case is subtly made here. It pleases Jesus to admit that he is a mere ʿabd. The argument is already quite strong when one understands the word ʿabd as meaning “servant”, but one wonders in light of the above whether the verse does not read better with the Syriac double meaning of the root in mind. In this case, Jesus and the angels would concede their “createdness” and/or their “servanthood” (ʿibāda). Note that the particle lan could well indicate that the scene is happening in the future, most likely on the Day of Judgement. The passage Q 43:15 – 19 concerning angels also benefits from this reading, even though it condenses a few polemics that are not easy to disentangle. Similarly, our hypothesis offers new perspectives on the following passage: They say, ‘The Merciful has taken a son.’ Glory to Him! No! (They are) honored servants [ʿibādun mukramūna]. (Q 21:26)

I find it quite compelling to understand here the expression ʿibād mukramūn in the context of the wordplay used by Narsai and Ephrem. As for the word mukram it calls to mind well-known passages in Mk 1:9 – 11 and Mt 3:16 – 17, where Jesus is called by the Spirit “my beloved Son” (Gr.: ὁ Υἱος μου ὁ ἀγαπητός; Pesh.: bery ḥabībā). This in turn is a rereading of Is 42:1 (cf. also Ps 2:7) where God talks of his “servant, whom I uphold” (MT: ʿabdī etmāk; LXX: ὁ παῖς μου, ἀντιλήμψομαι αὐτοῦ; Pesh.:ʿbdādī sammekt). Whether the Qur’ānic expression is actually connected to these biblical phrases or not, there is little doubt that the meaning of the expression ʿibād mukramūn is not far from the idea of exalted servants/creatures. In the last two sections, we insisted on the fact that the ability to create was conceived within the Qur’ānic framework as something that, ontologically speaking, sets God apart from the rest of the world. This Qur’ānic polarization helps the Qur’ān polemicize against its associationist opponents: one cannot create and be created at the same time. The Qur’ān draws on an identifiable though not particularly widespread polemical motif found especially in Ephrem and Narsai. In the next section, we show that the Qur’ān takes over another late antique anti-associationist polemical arguments in order to preserve the idea of God’s unity.

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2.3 Disarray in heaven and earth There are other anti-polytheistic arguments connected to the theme of creation in the Qur’ān. Patricia Crone pointed out that the text takes over the traditional antipagan argument that the “coexistence of many gods would lead to anarchy”. Such a conception is found in at least three passages of the text: If there were any gods in the two of them [heaven and earth] other than God, the two would indeed go to ruin. (Q 21:22) Say: “If there were (other) gods with Him, as they say, they would indeed have sought a way to the Holder of the throne.” (Q 17:42) God has not taken a son, nor is there any (other) god with Him. Then each god would indeed have gone off with what he had created, and some of them would indeed have exalted (themselves) over others. Glory to the God above all they allege! (Q 23:91)

And one might also find a similar argument hidden in this passage as well: Are various [mutaffariqūna]³⁴¹ Lords better, or God, the One, the Supreme? (Q 12:39)

Crone notes that this argument “seems to have been pioneered by Lactantius”.³⁴² It is already probably grounded in a criticism made by Cicero against Homer who, in talking about the Trojan War, depicted gods fighting against one another.³⁴³ The argument in any case became common among the Apologists. It is found in Tertullian and in Irenaeus.³⁴⁴ It is also taken over by Constantine himself in his Ad sanctorum coetum. ³⁴⁵ Crone notes the presence of the argument in Eusebius of Caesarea.³⁴⁶ We also find it in Gregory of Nazianzus, who extensively explains how “polyarchy” leads to “anarchy”: The three most ancient opinions concerning God are Anarchia, Polyarchia, and Monarchia. The first two are the sport of the children of Hellas, and may they continue to be so. For Anarchy is a thing without order; and the Rule of Many is factious, and thus anarchical, and thus

 As Crone, we are inclined to understand the participle mutafarriqūna with the meaning “discordant”. The different occurrences of the verb tafarraqa support this reading. Cf. Crone 2010, 190.  Lactantius, Divine Institutes 1, 3:17. Cf. Crone 2010, 189.  Cicero, De natura deorum 2:70 – 71.  Tertullian, Apologeticum 14:2; Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus haereses 2, 1– 5. Cf. Monat’s note in Lactancius, Divine Institutes, ed. and trans. Monat 1986, 52– 53 (n. 1).  Constantine, Ad sanctorum coetum 10.  Eusebius of Caesarea, Life of Constantine 3:6.

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disorderly. For both these tend to the same thing, namely disorder; and this to dissolution, for disorder is the first step to dissolution.³⁴⁷

Crone further mentions that the Armenian author Elishē offers a similar development in the 6th century and affirms that it must have found its way into the Syriac tradition at an unknown stage, since we find it in Moses bar Kepha’s writings at the end of the 9th century.³⁴⁸ We already said that Gregory of Nazianzus was one of the most read and translated authors in the Syriac world of Late Antiquity and there is therefore little need to try to track the idea in Syriac authors themselves. The Nazianzen provides us with a terminus ante quem for the presence of the argument of polyarchy in the Syriac world. The fact that in order to argue God’s omnipotence, the Qur’ān uses the “creator vs. created” distinction and the argument against polyarchy shows that its authors draw their arguments from a repertoire of long-attested anti-pagan polemical attacks. But beyond controversy, the presence of these arguments in the Qur’ānic text and the emphasis on “creativity” as a criterion that sets God the Creator apart from (the rest of ) the world, his Creation, we need now to turn to semantic questions: What does “creating” mean in the Qur’ān? What are the words to designate this exclusively divine act? How does it differ from the human ability to make and build things? From what does God create the universe? Why does God need to create at all?

3 Creation out of matter vs. Creation out of nothing In the first of this chapter, we showed the strategies and the arguments deployed by the Qur’ān to emphasise that the ability to create constitutes the principle that distinguishes God from the rest of the world. We therefore need to turn now to the semantics behind the Qur’ānic notion of “creation”. What does “creating” mean within the Qur’ānic worldview? The answer to this question is not immediately clear on reading the Qur’ān. Here, we propose to study the modalities of the notion of divine creation according to the Qur’ān in light of late antique cosmological debates. We particularly draw attention to the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo.

 Gregory of Nazianzus, Orations 29:2; trans. Browne/Swallow 1988 – 1991, 607.  Moses Bar Kepha, Hexaemeron 3; Cf. Crone 2010, 189 – 190; Thomson 1982, 86 – 87.

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3.1 The antique backdrop In the Jewish and the early Christian tradition, the idea that God created the heavens, the earth, and all that is in between was taken as an axiomatic principle. The question of “from what” God created the cosmos however was never really addressed until the first Christian authors sought to attune the biblical text and Greek philosophy. In Judaism, the main concern had been to defend over and again the view that God was the sole creator and unique ruler of the universe. No one seems to have been really bothered about the question of how God created heaven and earth.³⁴⁹ Passages such as 2 Maccabees 7:28 have at times been interpreted as addressing the issue of the modality of creation. It is not really the place here to discuss the origin of this concept, but Gerhard May convincingly argued that such passages were not concerned with the issue of the material origin of the cosmos per se (i. e. transition from absence of matter to existence matter), but merely with its coming into being (i. e. passage from non-being to being).³⁵⁰ In the Greek philosophical traditions, since Parmenides at least, the eternity of matter was taken for granted on the basis that “nothing comes from nothing”. On that principle only, neither Platonists, nor Aristotelians, nor Stoics questioned the eternity of matter.³⁵¹ No one was concerned about the fact that the idea of creation out of matter could endanger the principle of a unique and almighty creator to the universe. As May argued, Middle Platonism (1st c. BCE – 3rd c. CE) had slowly come to trade the ancient Platonic doctrine of Ideas for a concept of God. Middle Platonists such as Cicero, Philo of Alexandria, and Plutarch, reading Plato’s Timaeus literally, still endorsed the old idea of eternal matter even though they understood the world itself as created in time. Likewise, Hellenizing Jewish texts such as the Wisdom of Solomon, Philo of Alexandria’s treatises, and many other Jewish writings of the Hellenistic period, all concomitantly held that the cosmos had been created out of matter and argued for an omnipotent and unique God, without having the slightest concern that the former’s validity might well have hampered the latter’s.³⁵² Yet, things gradually changed by the 2nd century CE. At that time, Christianity encountered Greek philosophy and Gnostic groups were rising in power. Although this is still open to debate, it is especially this latter factor that triggered the Christian formulation of the principle of creatio ex nihilo. Indeed, Gnostic groups, main   

May May May May

1994, 1. 1994, 6 – 26. 1994, 8. 1994, 6.

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ly located in Rome and Alexandria, had come to connect the question of the origin of evil (theodicy) with the existence of matter and therefore regarded the material universe in a negative fashion. For them, Creation was not the product of the highest God, but that of a lesser divine being (a demiurge) whose imperfect creative skills had let evil enter into the world. To avoid the philosophical problem of eternal evil – hence eternal matter – and a dualism between the principle of good and that of evil, they posited that the physical world had come into being; it had to be originated in time.³⁵³ These theories were unacceptable for most Christian theologians of the time for a number of reasons. One of them of course was that the idea of a demiurge jeopardized the principle of the all-powerful creator of the universe that constituted the kernel of the Jewish-Christian message. Several Christian teachers had come to consider that these Gnostic ideas highly endangered the doctrine of a unique creator. Simultaneously, these debates had drawn Christian theologians’ attention to the fact that the pre-creation existence of matter mortgaged the principle of an unconditional and free divine creator. On the one hand, it would entail that matter is co-eternal with God; and on the other hand, it would diminish the divine creative power and freedom in making God dependent on pre-existing matter to perform creation. Hence, from the 2nd century onwards, the writings of philosophically educated Christian authors such as Justin Martyr, Tatian, or Theophilus of Antioch, attest to a slow shift towards the adoption of new cosmological principles in support of the conception of an unconditional and free creator.³⁵⁴ It is possible to track the evolution of this doctrine in the literature of these early Church Fathers. In the writings of Justin Martyr for instance, changes were already on their way, even though Justin still stuck to the old compromise and endorsed at the same time the idea of a God as creator and ruler of the entire universe while advocating a creation out of eternal matter. Tatian the Syrian, Justin’s disciple, is the first known author that grappled with the problem of the origin of matter per se. In his Oratio ad Graecos, he argued for the very first time for a divine origin of the material substratum with which God created the universe. Nevertheless, although Tatian argues that matter came into existence through God only without any other external help, he never uses the “out of nothing vocabulary” and contents himself with the idea of matter as “produced” by God.³⁵⁵

 Except for Marcion who was arguing for the eternity of matter. Cf. May 1994, 39 – 41. Concerning dualism, one of the great opponents that the Church Fathers constantly polemicized against was Mani. On patristics and Manicheism, see for instance the short introduction by Lieu 2008, 231– 233. On Manicheism itself, see Tardieu 1981.  May 1994, 1– 5.  May 1994, 152.

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It is not the place here to provide a diachronic and exhaustive survey of the concept of creatio ex nihilo. However, it is important to highlight that from the end of the 2nd century and throughout the period of Late Antiquity, after Tatian and Theophilus of Antioch, no Christian thinker ever contested the concept of creation of matter in time. Debates continued over this very topic throughout Late Antiquity as Christians attempted to defend their worldview against that of the Platonizing polytheists and different heterodox groups. In fact, during the following centuries, polemics over this very topic never really toned down: Cyril of Alexandria’s refutation to Julian the Apostate’s Against the Galileans,³⁵⁶ John Philoponus’s Against Proclus on the Eternity of the World composed in 529,³⁵⁷ or, in the Syriac world, Ephrem, Narsai and Jacob of Sarugh’s writings against Manicheism and Bardaisanism, are only a few examples attesting to the vividness of these debates.³⁵⁸ Hence, the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo emerges in the specific Christian context. To our knowledge, the debates surrounding this issue never really reached the same level of intensity in late antique Judaism. Although some argued that the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo was “intrinsic” to second temple Palestinian Judaism already, rabbis actually never used this particular vocabulary.³⁵⁹ Moreover, the unsystematicity of late antique Jewish texts in this regard is noteworthy. The famous fifth-century Midrash Rabbah (Genesis) is, as Peter Schäfer said, “the first rabbinic text that unequivocally refers to the question of the creation out of nothing”.³⁶⁰ Yet, it is clear that the compiler is not interested in this doctrine but rather mentions it in passing as he collates from a large amount of sources.³⁶¹ Moreover, creation out of pre-existing matter is also supported in another section of the same text, suggesting that creatio ex nihilo had not become a common doctrinal point among rabbis.³⁶² In light of this short overview of the origins of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, and before turning to a close scrutiny of the Qur’ānic position on the matter, we

 The emperor had attacked Christians on their own grounds affirming, among other things, that Plato was better than Moses and that the latter had never taught creatio ex nihilo. Cf. Young 2010, 320.  Wherein the Christian Alexandrian philosopher challenged, in philosophical terms, the eighteen arguments for the eternity of the world developed by the famous Neoplatonist Proclus a few decades earlier. Cf. Sorabji 2015, 71.  For texts, see Ephrem of Nisibis, Polemics, trans. Mitchell 1912; Polemics, ed. and trans. Beck 1978; Hymns against Heresies, trans. Ruani 2018 (see also trans. Cerbelaud 2017). For Studies, on Ephrem against Bardaisan, see for instance Beck 1976; Beck 1978; Drijvers 1966.  Bockmuehl 2012, 258.  Schäfer 2008, 267. Cf. Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 1:5, 1:9.  Schäfer 2008, 267.  Cf. Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 1:5.

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need to stress once again that the context of emergence and development of this cosmological principle is intimately linked with the development of Christian doctrine. For centuries, not to say millennia, before the 2nd century CE, intellectually well-equipped authors and thinkers did not see any incompatibility between the doctrine of a creation out of eternal matter on the one hand and the belief in the existence of a supreme and almighty creator of the universe on the other. Centuries later, the Qur’ānic text, one that pushes monotheism and anti-associationism to the utmost limit, apparently does not feel the need to address the question of matter either. What does it tell us of the cultural milieu of its composition? How do we explain this in the light of the otherwise massive Christian lore in the text? Given the importance of the notion of creation in the theological program of the Qur’ān, it is easy to see how it could have taken advantage of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. Modern scholarship has often tried to determine whether the Qur’ān endorses this doctrine.³⁶³ Several passages of the Qur’ān have been regarded by scholars as evidencing both the idea of creatio ex nihilo or creation out of matter. Each of them are addressed below. Throughout this section, we will have to constantly remind ourselves that the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is not concerned with the mere creation of the universe, nor a sort of performative speech, but that it revolves around the issue of matter. ³⁶⁴ In analysing closely these passages, we argue that none of them – except one perhaps – evidences that the authors of the Qur’ān engaged with the question of the origin of matter, despite the fact that medieval and modern Muslim scholars alike have often invoked verses such as Q 40:57 (“the creation of heavens and earth is greater than the creation of the people”) to make the point that the Qur’ān displays the argument of creatio ex nihilo. For obvious reasons, this type of passages cannot be taken as textual evidence for the Qur’ānic endorsement of this doctrine and will not be considered in this section.³⁶⁵

3.2 The vocabulary of “creation” in the Qur’ān The first thing to highlight is that the different verbs used in the text to convey the idea of creation all etymologically involve the pre-creation presence of matter. According to Peterson, the verb khalaqa, the most important one in the text (184 oc-

 For discussions on this topic, see O’Shaughnessy 1985; O’Shaughnessy 1970; Peterson 1990; Peterson 2001a.  May 1994.  O’Shaughnessy 1985, 1.

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currences), conveys the idea of working leather.³⁶⁶ Zammit does not list any secure cognates for this word in other Semitic languages but suggests a number of possible connections: Ge’ez hwallaqwa (“to enumerate, estimate”) and laḥakwa (“to make, form, create”), the Syriac ḥlaq (“to allot, determine, destine”), the biblical Aramaic ḥlāq (“a portion, possession, lot”), and the Hebrew ḥālaq (“to divide, share”).³⁶⁷ Despite the problems surrounding our Arabic dictionaries, they all confirm that khalaqa etymologically refers to the ideas of “measuring, forming, moulding, allotting, arranging, polishing”, rather than “creating”, let alone “out of nothing”.³⁶⁸ The Qur’ān does not reserve this verb to the particular creation of the world out of nothing. This is further supported by the fact that the root KHLQ is used in many occurrences to talk about creation out of matter: the devil and the jinns are said to be created out of fire (Q 15:27, 55:15), humans are created from dust, earth, and clay (Q 3:59, 6:2, 7:12, 15:26 – 33, 23:12, 30:20, 32:7, 38:71, 38:76, 55:14), and Jesus creates birds from clay as well in Q 3:49 and 5:110. The roots JʿL, BD’, BNY, BDʿ, BR’, NSH’, FṬR which are all used in the context of creation and sometimes interchangeably with the root KHLQ no more imply a creation without pre-existing matter, quite the contrary, as Peterson showed.³⁶⁹ Beyond the existence of matter or not, it is noteworthy that the Qur’ān uses many different verbs and roots to designate the act of creation. One wonders whether they all designate different specificities in the creative endeavour or if they just need to be taken as synonyms. Beyond the root KHLQ, four are particularly worthy of attention:³⁷⁰ 1) BD’. 15 occurrences > 13 in the context of creation.³⁷¹ Forms: bada’a (I) “to originate, begin”; ’abda’a (IV) “to originate”. Cognates:³⁷² Epigraphic South Arabic: bd’ (“beginning, first occasion”). Commentary: In the Qur’ān, this root clearly designates God’s capacity to “bring things about”, to “originate” them. The verb is mostly used in contact with the word khalq “Creation” in the turn of

 Peterson 2001a.  Zammit 2002, 166, 598.  De Biberstein-Kazimirski 1860, 623 – 624; Wehr 1979, 299; Lane 1955 – 1956, 1, 799 – 800.  Peterson 2001a.  For this, I found Peterson 2001a, particularly helpful. He however lists three other roots, BNY (“to build, construct”), JʿL (“to lay out, set up, put”), and NSH’(“to grow”) that I left out of this analysis since, they seem too general, are used in a metaphorical way, or merely refer to God’s ability to make objects grow (mostly vegetation) rather than to “create” per se.  In the context of creation, see Q 7:29, 10:4, 10:34; 21:104; 27:64; 29:19 – 20, 30:11, 30:27, 32:7, 34:49, 85:13. Two further occurrences of the verb are just used in the sense of “to start doing something” (Q 9:13, 12:76). They are the only occurrences of the verb where God is not the subject (see also the negative turn Q 34:49).  Here and for what follows, I systematically consulted Zammit 2002 and Leslau 1987.

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phrase yabda’u l-khalqa thumma yuʿīdu-hu and its variants (“[God] originated the Creation and will restore it”). The term is also used to designate the creation of humans (Q 7:29), especially “from clay” (Q 30:27). BDʿ. 4 occurrences > 2 in the context of creation.³⁷³ Forms: badīʿ “Originator, Creator”. Cognates: no known cognates. Commentary: The epithet badīʿ alsamāwāt wa-l-’arḍ occurs only twice (Q 2:117, 6:101). Although it is used in the same context as the root BD’, it is noteworthy that the text does not refer to creation the same way when it conveys the idea with the root BDʿ (khalq vs. al-samāwāt wa-l-’arḍ). BR’. 6 occurrences.³⁷⁴ Forms: bara’a (I) “to create”; bāri’ (“Creator”); bariyya (“Creation, creatures”). Cognates: ³⁷⁵ Aramaic: bera (“to create”); Syriac: brā (“to create”); Hebrew: bārā (“to shape, create”); Akkadian: barū (“to make, create”). Commentary: The three occurrences of the active participle of the first form bāri’ (Q 2:54, 59:24) and one occurrence of the verb bara’a in Q 57:22. The root appears to be borrowed from Aramaic and, most likely, Syriac.³⁷⁶ It is connected and strongly reminiscent of the Hebrew verb bārā (“to create”) used in Gen 1:1. The term bāri’ is used an epithet of God (“the Creator, your Creator”), especially in Q 59:24 where it is equated with the other epithets al-khāliq (“the Creator”) and al-muṣawwir (“the One who shapes”), showing once again that creation is here understood as a mere arrangement of matter. The verb bara’a (Q 57:22) designates the origination of “disasters” (muṣība) on earth, (eternally) written in a book. The two occurrences of the word bariyya in Q 98 are used to oppose “the worst of Creation” (sharru l-bariyyati) to “the best of Creation” (khayru l-bariyyati). They sometimes have been understood as references to “humanity” only,³⁷⁷ but given the etymology, the largest sense of “Creation” should be preferred. We thus seemingly have a minor challenger to the word khalq. FṬR. 20 occurrences > 15 in the context of creation.³⁷⁸ Forms: faṭara (I) “to split (open), break up, create”; tafaṭṭara (V) “to split (open), break up”; infaṭara (VII) “to be split open”; fāṭir “Creator”; munfaṭir “split open”; fiṭra “creation”; fuṭūr “fissure, flaw”. Cognates: Ge’ez: faṭara (“to create, fashion”); Hebrew: pāṭar (“to

 Q 2:117, 6:101, 46:9, 57:27.  Q 2:54, 57:22, 59:24, 98:6 – 7.  Zammit only lists the Arabic root BR’, which refer to the idea of “freedom, soundness, and innocence”.  Jeffery 1938, 75 – 76.  Masson 1967, 763.  Q 6:14, 6:79, 11:51, 12:101, 14:10, 17:51, 19:90, 20:72, 21:56, 30:30, 35:1, 36:22, 39:46, 42:5, 42:11, 43:27, 67:3, 73:18, 82:1.

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set free, let out, split, create”); Aramaic and Syriac: pṭar (“to separate, leave, cease”); Mandaic: pṭr (“to open, set apart”); Ugaritic: pṭr (“to split”); Akkadian: paṭāru (“to loosen, detach”). Commentary: In the context of creation, the word faṭara (i. e. not the words tafaṭṭara, infaṭara, fuṭūr) behaves as a synonym to khalaqa, seemingly without the etymological meaning of “splitting”. It is used to refer to the creation of “heavens and earth” as well as the creation of “humans”.³⁷⁹ At this stage of the research, it is difficult to determine whether different roots reflect different “hands” in the Qur’ānic text. What seems obvious is that some of them were preferred over others. Whereas the first three roots listed are quite self-explanatory or find semantic counterparts in other Semitic languages, the root FṬR deserves perhaps further commentary. It is indeed, after KHLQ, the most frequent root in the text to designate the act of creation. We saw that when used in the Qur’ān, it really designates the act of creating. The notion of “splitting” induced by the etymology of the root seems completely ignored when the term replaces khalaqa. Nevertheless, given the formulaic context in which the root mostly occurs (8 occurrences of FṬR + al-samāwāt wa-l-’arḍ), one wonders where and when this imagery finds its sources. The image of separation calls for some remarks. In the first chapter of Genesis, God twice uses separation as an act of creation. He first separates “the light from the darkness” (Gen 1:4) and then “the waters from the waters” (Gen 1:6 – 7). The Hebrew in both cases uses the verb badal, translated in Greek by διαχωρίζω and in Syriac by the verb praš. The idea of separation as an act of creation probably goes far back in the Semitic imagery and beyond.³⁸⁰ It is already used in Akkadian cosmological texts,³⁸¹ but also in Greek and Egyptian mythologies.³⁸² In fact, although the etymology of the Hebrew root BR’ (from which is derived bārā) is debated

 See Gobillot for a different interpretation of the root. She notes that the root is often used in the context of the “second creation” of humans, the resurrection (which is true), but then she connects it with the image of the plant going out of the earth by means of a separation, an emergence out of a crack. Cf. Gobillot 2002, 104– 109; cf. also Gobillot 2000, 7– 14.  As Stéphanie Anthonioz argued, creation by separation is a recurrent motif in cosmology across cultures. Cf. Anthonioz 2020, 113. On “separation” as an act of creation in the Ancient Testament, see Beauchamp 2005. See also Speyer 1961, 4.  For instance, the famous Babylonian creation poem, the Enūma Eliš, where the monster Tiamat is “split like a shellfish into two parts” which are later used to set the limits of the universe, the sky and the abyss. For the edition and translation into French, see Talon 2005. Note that we know that this creation narrative was still known in Late Antiquity in scholarly circles. Cf. Talon 2005; Talon 2001.  Anthonioz 2020, 113 – 117.

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among scholars, some argued that a connection needed to be established with the biconsonantal root BR, which refers to the semantic field of “cutting”.³⁸³ In any case, the fact that the separation of light in Gen 1:4 coincides with the first occurrence of God’s speech in the text (i. e. “Let there be light” in Gen 1:3) did not go unnoticed by later commentators. Philo for instance develops on this basis the motif of the λόγος τομεύς, “the dividing Logos”, God’s speech which divides everything “corporeal or immaterial”.³⁸⁴ It is an arrangement of the universe by speech – categorization and thus division. In the prolongation of this imagery, let us also note the description of God’s speech in the Epistle to the Hebrews: For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword (μάχαιραν δίστομον), piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. (Heb 12:4) ³⁸⁵

From the above, general remarks on the semantic field of “creation” in the Qur’ān can be formulated. First of all, the presence of so many different roots to refer to the act of “creating” in the text in fact echoes the already quite numerous terms used in the Bible in this context. The Masoretic text distinguishes between three words in the first chapter of Genesis: bārā (“to create”; Gen 1:1, 1:21, 1:27), ʿāsā (“to make”; e. g. Gen 1:7, 1:16, 1:25, 1:26, 1:31, 2:2, 2:3, 2:4, 2:18), and yāṣār (“to form”; Gen 2:7– 8, 2:19)³⁸⁶. This partition clearly posed problems to the translators of the Bible. The Septuagint does not make any distinction between the two first ones, which are both rendered by ποιέω (“to make”), while the third one (yāṣār) is translated by πλάσσω (“to shape, to fashion”). Aquila uses for the latter another verb still, κτίζω (“to found”, “to create”), which also constitutes one of the two verbs (with ποιέω) used in the New Testament to designate the act of creation (e. g. Mt 19:4).³⁸⁷ Syriac translators did not have the same issues as the Greek ones. In first chapter of Genesis, the Peshitta translates bārā with its cognate brā and ʿāsā by ʿbad (“to make”). The Hebrew verb yāṣār as for it is translated by gbal (“to form, fashion, mould”). The plurality of roots in the Qur’ānic text parallels in a sense the plural way of talking about “creation” in the Bible. In both texts, certain verbs are reserved to  Most recent studies even suggest that the root BR’ referred to the idea of “separation”, not in the sense of “cutting”, but in the sense of “delimitating in setting apart”. Cf. Anthonioz 2020, 117– 119.  Philo of Alexandria, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 130 – 140.  The image of the two-edged sword (ῥομφαία δίστομος) is taken over in the Book of Revelation (Rev 1:16, 2:12).  The latter is only used in the second creation narrative of Genesis. Cf. Alexandre 1988, 73.  Alexandre 1988, 72– 74.

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God’s action as opposed to human ones. Yet, neither the Bible nor the Qur’ān uses verbs that specifically hint at God’s capacity to create without pre-existing matter. In both cases, the terminology deployed in fact rather suggests the pre-existence of matter. The analysis of the semantic field of “creation” in the Qur’ān does not support the view that its authors defended the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. In the vocabulary used, the Qur’ān appears to fall back on the default conception of an act of creation conceived as an arrangement of matter rather than a proper “creation”. This impression is corroborated by the analysis of different cosmological images brought up in the text.

3.3 Kun fa-yakūn Among the passages sometimes misinterpreted as evidencing the Qur’ānic endorsement of creatio ex nihilo are the repeated statements that when God wants something to come into being, he merely needs to say “Be”, and it is (kun fayakūn; Q 2:117, 3:47, 3:59, 6:73, 16:40, 19:35, 36:82, 40:68). Some occurrences of this expression seem to allow this reading at first glance: They say: “God has taken a son”. Glory to Him! No! Whatever is in the heavens and the earth (belongs) to Him. All are obedient before Him – Originator of the heavens and the earth [badīʿu l-samāwāti wa-l-’arḍi]. When He decrees something [wa-’idhā qaḍā ’amran], He simply says to it, “Be!” and it is [kun fa-yakūnu]. (Q 2:116 – 117)

Anyone acquainted with the biblical text identifies the formula kun fa-yakūn with the biblical phrases “Let there be…” pronounced by God in Genesis in order to create a series of cosmic objects beginning with light (Gen 1:3: “And God said, ‘Let there be light’, and there was light”). The Arabic expression conserves the rhythm and assonance of the original Hebrew expression yehī… wa-yehī that had been maintained in the Septuagint γενηθήτω… καὶ ἐγένετο and in the Peshitta d-nehwā… w-hwā. ³⁸⁸ This utterance of divine speech retained the commentators’ attention. Early exgetes of the Bible addressed the questions of why and to whom God talks in creating. In the Greek world, some authors such as Eusebius of Caesarea, Basil of Caesarea, and John Philoponus argued that this was merely an example of anthropomorphism that should not be understood literally.³⁸⁹ Some, like Origen or Ephrem,

 Alexandre 1988, 89 – 90.  Eusebius of Caesarea, Preparations for the Gospel 7:11; Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 2:7; John Philoponus, De opificio mundi 1:22. Cf. Gouillard 1973, 137; Alexandre 1988, 88 – 89.

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regarded Gen 1:3 as an address to Christ.³⁹⁰ Antiochene scholars for their part provided yet another interpretation of God’s speech. Theodore of Mopsuestia, Theodoret of Cyrus, Cosmas Indicopleustes, Narsai, and Jacob of Sarugh among others, interpreted it as an allusion to God teaching the angels about Creation and its Creator.³⁹¹ The fact that Christian exegetes were divided on that issue is in itself illuminating for our understanding of the Qur’ānic recycling of this formula. The Qur’ān adopts a quite distinctive position in comparison to the three Christian interpretations listed above, for it makes clear that the addressee of the imperative kun is the very object that is about to come into being. This is not explicit in each of the eight passages containing the kun fa-yakūn formula, but it is at least the case in Q 3:59: Surely the likeness of Jesus is, with God, as the likeness of Adam. He created him from dust, (and) then He said to him, ‘Be!’ and he was [kun fa-yakūnu]. (Q 3:59)

It is worth noting a linguistic specificity in the formula kun fa-yakūn. If the biblically educated reader immediately sees the connection with the “let there be …” formula in Genesis, a fundamental difference subsists between both turns. Whereas, in the Bible, God uses a jussive mood to create, the Qur’ān resorts to the more straightforward imperative kun (“Be!”), although Arabic also allows for a jussive (li-yakun). Can there be any theological reason for that linguistic discrepancy? For some of the Christian exegetes, the jussive (rather than imperative) of the biblical text had not gone unnoticed.³⁹² For Ephrem, this verbal form confirms that God’s speech in Gen 1:3 is addressed to the Son of God:³⁹³ In the beginning, things-made were created by means of the Firstborn. For “God said, ‘Let there be light,’” and it was created [d-nehwā nuhrā w-etberrī]. To whom did he command, When, look: there was nothing? When he commanded the light, He did not command it,

 Origen, Commentary on John 2, 23:148 – 154. On Origen’s complex interpretation of Gen 1:3, see Blowers 2012, 125. On Ephrem, cf. below.  Theodoret of Cyrus, Questions Genesis 9; Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 3:28 – 29; Narsai, Homilies on Creation 2:226 – 254, 339 – 340; Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:24. We will see later that the absolute absence of the mention in Genesis of the creation of angels had left an interpretative gap that Christian thinkers tried to bridge.  Note that the Septuagint translates the exhortative Hebrew form yehī by an imperative form already γενηθήτω. In doing so however, the Greek translator also inflects the text of Genesis towards a more philosophical reading in moving from the idea of “being” (εἶναι) towards the idea of the “coming into being” (γίγνομαι). Cf. Alexandre 1988, 89 – 90.  Kronholm 1978, 39 – 41.

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“Be!” [lāw d-hway pqad leh] But he said, “Let there be!” [d-nehwē mehwā āmer hwā] Indeed, the word is different– “Be” from “Let there be”.³⁹⁴

Thus, for him, the reason why the text reads “Let there be” rather than the imperative “Be!” is because God commands the Son to create light rather than himself commanding the created thing “to be”. God “could have said ‘Bring forth swarms’ (Gen 1:20)” to the waters but rather chose to say “Let [the waters] bring forth swarms”,³⁹⁵ Ephrem says a bit further. Similarly, in commenting upon Gen 1:26 (“Let us make man in our image”), Ephrem declares that “It would be blind to think that he spoke to Adam”.³⁹⁶ Accordingly, the interpretation that these phrases constitute addresses to the watchers (i. e. angels) is discarded: “it would be clearly presumptuous, for it would render a servant a partner and companion with its Lord”.³⁹⁷ Apart from the Son, he claims, “there is not some other Being who could be like a partner to him”.³⁹⁸ It is almost as if Ephrem was here taking issue with the Qur’ānic turn kun fayakūn. Not only does the Qur’ān have God explicitly address created unanimated matter, but the very linguistic rendering of the formula prevents any ambiguity regarding the addressee. The biblical jussive “Let there be” leaves room for interpretation, the Qur’ānic imperative “Be!” rules out the possibility of an intermediary between God and the object under creation. With this phrasing, the text linguistically closes the door to the possibility of a mediated creation.³⁹⁹ We suggest that through the formula kun fa-yakūn the Qur’ān engages with the exegetical debates surrounding the “Let there be …” formulas of Genesis’ first chapter. The very fact that the Qur’ānic version of this formula somehow fits perfectly the anti-associationist message conveyed throughout the text is in itself a convincing argument in favour of a conscious undertaking of theological reworking. A further argument supports this hypothesis in my view, namely that the kun fa-yakūn formula is sometimes used in anti-Christian polemical passages. It is the case in Q 2:116 which attacks the Christian belief in the Son of God head-on and reaffirms that the universe belongs to God only and that he is its Creator (badīʿ alsamawāt wa-l-’arḍ). Q 19:35 also polemicizes straightforwardly against the sonship of Jesus. Thus, given the fact that these anti-Christian formulas occur in cosmolog-

 Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 6:6; trans. Wickes 2015, 92– 93.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 6:15; trans. Wickes 2015, 96 – 97.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 6:7.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 6:8; trans. Wickes 2015, 93.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 6:11.  Interestingly, Zishan Ghaffar also recently noticed the importance of Ephrem to make sense of the kun fa-yakūn formula in the Qur’ān. Cf. Ghaffar 2021.

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ical contexts (to the exception of Q 19:35), it seems likely that the Qur’ānic authors are not taking issue with the trinitarian doctrine only but also with the slightly more specific understanding of God’s Son as being creator or mediator in creation as well. The specificities of the kun fa-yakūn formula thus appear to be part of the overarching theological agenda of the Qur’ān. Yet, it is worth noting that the text does not give up the biblical turn but rather reshapes it: God still utters “speech” in creating. One might wonder why an omnipotent God needs speech to create in the first place. Does that not imply that he is conditional upon something in Creation? Is he not able to create out of his sole free will? Why does he need to say to a thing “Be!” before it comes into being? Such difficulties had come to the mind of Christian authors in Late Antiquity but do not seem to bother the authors of the Qur’ān. We said that Ephrem gets through this difficulty in considering that Gen 1:3 is an address to the Son. Nonetheless, despite this convenient solution found by the Syrian writer, the fact that he tackles the question indicates that God’s speech utterance in the first chapter of Genesis potentially threatened the principle of an allpowerful God. The fact that the “Let there be…” type of formula appears in the Qur’ān in a modified and theologically less ambiguous form shows that the Qur’ānic authors were aware of potential misinterpretations and therefore sought to reframe it. The very presence of this modified formula also shows that the Qur’ānic authors were not ready to part ways with the idea of God’s speech in creation ultimately rooted in the necessity for Jews and Christians to account for its manifold occurrences in Gen 1. In other words, they are attached to the biblical narrative but not to its letter. To come back to the question of matter and the modality of creation in the Qur’ān, it is important to highlight that though stressing the immediacy of the creative act, the expression kun fa-yakūn does not actually imply a creatio ex nihilo. In Q 3:59 quoted above for instance, the coming into being of Jesus and Adam (kun fayakūn) by God is taken as an action separated from the creation itself (khalaqa then qāla la-hu kun fa-yakūn). It is as if God’s modelling of their shape had to be understood as an ability distinct from the breathing of life into them. One could argue here that the creative activity is depicted as a two-stage process involving first a creation from dust (i. e. matter) and then an “animation” through the divine command. In this passage, the kun fa-yakūn formula relates to the second stage of this creative process. Other passages go along the same line. In a polemical tone, Q 36:77 declares that God created humans from a drop (nuṭfa), and after a polemical section where it is affirmed that God will give life to decayed bones a second time after having given birth to them the first time, the text asserts that when God intends

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something, he simply needs to say to it “‘Be!’ and it is” (kun fa-yakūn). The kun fayakūn in Q 40:68 does not point towards a conception of creatio ex nihilo either, for it comes right after the affirmation in v. 67 that God creates humans “from dust (turāb), then from a drop (nuṭfa), then from a clot (ʿalaqa)” before bringing them forth as children and providing him with what he needs in order to reach maturity and then become old. We see from the above that the kun fa-yakūn formula, far from being a sign of the Qur’ānic acceptance of the concept of creatio ex nihilo, is rather often connected to the vivification of matter. We should not hasten to conclude from these passages that the Qur’ān supports a creation out of matter, for nothing indicates here that the matter to which God commands to be (kun) is not itself divinely created. In fact, it is not so much in creation itself that the Qur’ān is interested here, but in animation and vivification. We find this pattern in other passages as well.

3.4 “I created you before, when you were nothing” Surah 19 provides us with two passages that outwardly seem to formulate the idea of a creation “out of nothing”. Two verses of this very unique surah show the author’s interest for giving explanations of God’s creative modality. The first one occurs when God announces to Zachariah the “good news” of John’s future birth, and Zachariah cries out astounded that this is not possible since his wife cannot conceive and he has become old. God thereupon replies: So (it will be)! Your Lord has said, ‘It is easy for Me, seeing that I created you before, when you were nothing’ [wa-qad khalaqtu-ka min qablu wa-lam taku shay’an]. (Q 19:9)

The whole section dealing with the annunciation of John’s birth to Zachariah finds its origins in Luke 1:5 – 25. However, although this pericope presents several similarities with the account in Luke, it also departs from it. The greatest difference between both texts is certainly the fact that whereas in Luke, the good news concerning John’s birth is announced by the angel Gabriel to Zachariah, the Qur’ānic version has God speaking to Zachariah without an angelic intermediary.⁴⁰⁰ It is no surprise therefore to find absolutely no echo of v. 9 in the Gospel of Luke.

 Although one could argue that the verb qāla at the beginning of the verse could be interpreted as evidence that it is indeed an angel that tells or transmits God’s words, this cannot be inferred from the text itself. Besides, the Qur’ān often uses of the verb qāla to stage the interaction between protagonists and make their discussion (and at times opposition) more lively. Cf. Azaiez 2017, 59.

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The second passage occurs in a short excerpt blaming those doubting resurrection: The human says, “When I am dead, shall I indeed be brought forth alive?” Does the human not remember that We created him before, when he was nothing [khalaqnā-hu min qablu walam yaku shay’an]? (Q 19:66 – 67)

The use of the formula wa-lam yaku/taku shay’an at the end of these two verses comes close in terms of formulation to the Christian doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. Yet, such an interpretation is unlikely. The whole issue revolves around the interpretation of the word shay’. It is tempting to understand it as referring to matter or substance. In fact, the statement does not tackle the issue of materiality at all but that of beingness. In both cases, the emphasis is in fact put on God’s very ability to make a being out of a non-being rather than focusing on what the newly created being is made of. We already mentioned above that there have been debates in modern scholarly literature regarding the origin of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo and whether such a doctrine had already been elaborated in Second Temple Judaism. Within that framework, the case of 2 Maccabees 7:28 is particularly discussed by scholars: I beseech you, my child, to look at the heaven and the earth and see everything that is in them, and recognize that God did not make them out of things that existed [οὐκ ἐξ ὄντων ἐποίησεν]. Thus also mankind comes into being.

Gerhard May convincingly showed that there is probably less to extrapolate from such a passage than it may appear. Despite the fact that some scholars interpreted this verse as the first attempt to formulate a doctrine of creatio ex nihilo, the expression οὐκ ἐξ ὄντων ἐποίησεν is in fact merely an allusion to the fact that something that now exists had once no existence. In a similar yet historically unrelated fashion, Xenophon states in his Memorabilia that parents “bring forth children out of non-being”.⁴⁰¹ Thereby, the Greek author does not argue for the creation ex nihilo of a child by his parents, but rather stresses the opposition between being and non-being. Hence, just as the other texts generally cited to make the case that creatio ex nihilo was endorsed by pre-Christian Judaism, 2 Maccabees 7:28 does not take issue with the question of matter – which is all the debate over creatio ex nihilo is about –, but rather addresses the question of “beingness”, that is, in philosophical terms, “ontology”.⁴⁰²

 Xenophon, Memorabilia 2, 2:3.  May 1994, 6 – 8, 163

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I believe that this reasoning also applies to the two verses of Q 19 cited above. From a theological point of view, interpreting them as a formulation of creatio ex nihilo would imply completely untenable positions. In the case of Q 19:9, that would mean that God created Zachariah (or Adam if we understand the sentence to refer to humans in general) from nothing, an unlikely theological stance in light of both logic (Zachariah has parents) and the Qur’ānic passages dealing with the creation of Adam which always insist on his creation out of clay. In the case of Q 19:67, it would imply that the Qur’ān develops the concept of resurrection ex nihilo, which is clearly at odds with everything the Qur’ān says about the resurrection of both bodies and souls. Thomas O’Shaughnessy suggested that the Qur’ān comes here very close to how the Syrian writer Aphrahat speaks about resurrection: About this resurrection of the dead I shall instruct you, most dear one, to the best of my ability. God in the beginning created man; He molded him from dust and He raised him up. If, then, when man did not exist, He made him from nothing, how much easier is it for Him now to raise him up like a seed sown in the earth.⁴⁰³

There are in this citation quite a few parallels with the text of the Qur’ān. First of all, the expression “when man did not exist” parallels the Qur’ānic turn of phrase under scrutiny. It is as O’Shaughnessy argues a statement of creation out of “relative nothingness” (I would rather call this an “ontological nothingness”). One could indeed paraphrase the sentence as: “When man did not exist as man, but existed only as dust”.⁴⁰⁴ There is no other way to understand the passage since Aphrahat equates here “making man from nothing” with the idea of “moulding man from dust”, a very common view, which the Qur’ān shares (e. g. Q 3:59). There is not any relationship between these antique texts and the turns of phrase under scrutiny in Q 19 of course. They only provide with noteworthy pieces of comparison for our understanding of the Qur’ānic turns. Although the formula wa-lam yaku/taku shay’an in the Qur’ān looks quite close in meaning to the idea of creatio ex nihilo, it is in fact quite a big leap both from the standpoint of logic and from a historical perspective to interpret them as evidencing the defence of creation out of nothing in the Qur’ān.

 Aphrahat, Demonstrations 8; as quoted in O’Shaughnessy 1985, 5.  O’Shaughnessy 1985, 5 – 6.

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3.5 “Where they created from no thing?” We need to consider a final Qur’ānic pericope, in which the Qur’ān attacks the prophet’s opponents for accusing him of being an oracle-giver, a possessed, or a poet. As often in the Qur’ān, it is in these highly polemical passages that the text best betrays its knowledge of late antique theological debates. Here, God (allegedly?) advises the prophet to reply to his opponents’ attacks as follows: Say: ‘(Just) wait! Surely I shall be one of those waiting with you.’ Or do their minds command them (to do) this, or are they a people who transgress insolently? Or do they say, ‘He has invented it?’ No! They do not believe. Let them bring a proclamation like it, if they are truthful. Or were they created out of nothing [’am khuliqū min ghayri shay’in]? Or were they the creators [’am humu l-khāliqūna]? Or did they create the heavens and the earth [‘am khalaqū lsamāwāti wa-l-’arḍa]? No! They are not certain. Or are the storehouses of your Lord with them, or are they the record-keepers? Or do they have a ladder on which they (can) listen? Then let their listener bring clear authority. (Q 52:31– 38)

Though the interpretation is tricky, we probably have here our best candidate for the presence of the creatio ex nihilo in the Qur’ān. Most of the rhetorical questions contained in vv. 33 – 43 are asked in expectation of a clear negative answer (cf. bal lā, “No!” of v. 36). While it is clear that the three questions in vv. 37– 38 ask with irony whether the opponents of the prophets think of themselves as angels (or demons), they appear to counterbalance vv. 35 – 36 which allegedly all ask whether they think of themselves as gods. This is pretty clear from the last two questions (“Or were they the creators? Or did they create the heavens and the earth?”), since God is repeatedly said in the Qur’ān to be the only creator and to have created the heavens and the earth. Nevertheless, the first part of v. 35, ’am khuliqū min ghayr shay’, is quite cryptic. The first thing to mention is that although literally speaking the phrase translates as “were they created out of nothing”,⁴⁰⁵ Bell understood the sentence as meaning “were they created for no purpose?”, a puzzling translation supported only by the later Muslim exegetical tradition.⁴⁰⁶ In any event, there remains an issue with this turn of phrase. If the text is here mocking the slanderers in accusing them of thinking themselves gods, asking them whether they think they are “created out of nothing” makes no sense since God is evidently not created, let alone “out of nothing”, according to the Qur’ān (as shown

 This is the translation of Droge, Masson, and Jones among others. Dawood translates by “were they created out of the void”.  Bell 1991, 2, 211; cf. also O’Shaughnessy 1985, 55; Neuenkirchen 2019b, 159.

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in the first section).⁴⁰⁷ I see two possible explanations of this passage, none of them being entirely satisfying. The first one would be to consider that the text alludes here to angels. There was indeed a tradition in Late Antiquity according to which angels were created at the same time as heavens and earth and thus created out nothing. It is perhaps the right interpretation, but it contrasts with the several passages of the text where angels are said to be created “out of fire”. The second interpretation would be to consider that the text is wrongly vocalized here. If the passage indeed aims at accusing the unbelievers to think of themselves as gods, one rather expects the verb khalaqa to be in the active voice, ’am khalaqū min ghayr shay’ (“did they create out of nothing?”), in which case the sentence would undoubtedly be a reference to the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo. The reading of the mater lectionis without the vowels would allow this interpretation, but one wonders how much it is conditioned by our knowledge of the existence of this doctrine. Once again, history shows that the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo is not a natural conclusion people reached across time and space, but one that emerged in particular historical circumstances. Assuming that this is the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo that is alluded to here, the interpretation presents a further difficulty. The fact that it appears within a list of rhetorical questions suggests that the doctrine was rather well assimilated in the Qur’ānic milieu. Why then does the Qur’ān never mention it elsewhere? And why does it talk about the creation of angels and not of heavens and earth? While the text argues numerous times that God is the only creator and that he created heavens and earth, making the two subsequent questions obviously ironical (“Or were they the creators? Or did they create the heavens and the earth?”), no other place in the text uses the turn khalaqa min ghayr shay’. We are therefore left in the dark since the answer to the question of Q 52:35 is nowhere to be found. These observations do not completely invalidate the possibility that the text endorses the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo here, but it adds to the difficulty of interpretation.

3.6 A universe out of “formless matter”? In the last section, we analysed an example where the Qur’ān perhaps hints at the authors’ knowledge of the idea of a creation out of nothing. Other passages come very close to stating the opposite, namely a creation out of matter. Scholars who

 Bell 1991, 2, 311.

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tackled the question of creation in the Qur’ān seem quite confident that at least two other passages of the Qur’ān actually defend the idea of a world created out of matter. Thomas O’Shaughnessy for instance suggested that Q 21:30 and Q 41:9 – 11 contradict the traditional understanding of the Qur’ānic endorsement of creatio ex nihilo. Let us have a closer look at these verses: Do those who disbelieve not see that the heavens and the earth were (once) a solid mass [ratq], and We split the two of them apart [fa-fataqnā-humā], and We made every living thing from water? (Q 21:30)

At first sight, this verse appears to straightforwardly support the creation of the universe from something rather than nothing. Nevertheless, a close analysis shows that the passage is less explicit than it looks. First of all, contrary to how the verse has been translated in western languages, the word ratq – a hapax in the Qur’ān – does not immediately point towards matter, but rather indicate the state of an object. Indeed, the various Arabic dictionaries indicate that RTQ, an unproductive root in Arabic, refers to the idea of “mending, repairing, patching up, sewing up”.⁴⁰⁸ The etymological evidence can certainly not be regarded as decisive of course. Some have considered that the first part of Q 21:30 alludes to the very beginning of the creation narrative whereas it could well in fact be an allusion to the creation of the firmament, the cosmic separation between heaven and earth. Whereas Gen 1:1 describes the creation (bārā) of heaven and earth, vv. 6 – 8 of the same chapter describe the creation of the firmament in a vaulted shape, the role of which is to separate “the waters from the waters”. The vocabulary of “separation” used in these verses to describe the creation of the firmament, reminds us greatly of Gen 1:6 in which an act of “separation” rather than “creation” is evoked. It is indeed particularly striking to observe that none of the roots usually related to the act of creation in the Qur’ān (KHLQ, BR’, etc.) are used in this passage, not even the root faṭara whose etymology conveys the meaning of splitting and would have thus perfectly matched the present passage’s intention. The text uses instead the verb fataqa, which designates the action of “splitting, cleaving, unstitch-

 Lane provides the following meanings: “to close up, repair, sew up, to reform, to amend”. Hans Wehr gives for the entry rataqa “to mend, repair, patch up, sew up”. Kazimirski suggests the same meaning: “Souder, ou réparer ce qui est cassé à l’aide d’une ferrure. Arranger, réparer, rétablir (les affaires).” Cf. Lane 1955 – 1956, 1027; Wehr 1979, 376; de Biberstein-Kazimirski 1860, 317. For cognates in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Ugaritic, see Zammit 2002, 188.

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ing, unsewing” something.⁴⁰⁹ Just as ratq, the verb fataqa is a hapax in the Qur’ān; neither the verb nor the root is to be found in the corpus anywhere else.⁴¹⁰ Another argument rules out in my mind the possibility that the verb fataqa is used to designate the primeval creation of heaven and earth, namely the enclitic pronoun -humā suffixed to it (fataqnā-humā). Had the coming into existence of “heavens and earth” been the result of the “separation” of the ratq, one would have expected the sequence fataqnā-hu rather than fataqnā-humā. Even though such linguistic details do not need to be overplayed, it only adds in this case to our other arguments. The very literal reading of this passage suggests that heavens and earth were forming an indistinct entity (ratq), and that their current observable aspect is the result of the divine activity of splitting them apart, a fatq. The emphasis is here put on the opposition between these two states. Moreover, the assonance between ratq and fatq is not fortuitous, for it precisely accentuates this opposition. If this interpretation is correct, the word ratq needs rather to be regarded as synthesizing the state of the world in Gen 1:2 rather than the state of the universe before Gen 1:1. Gen 1:2 indeed describes the earth as “formless and empty”, the famous Hebrew tōhū wā-bōhū, translated in the Septuagint by ἀόρατος καὶ άκατασκεύαστος and in the Peshitta by tūh w-būh.

3.7 A sky made of smoke A similar ambiguity can be found in what probably constitutes the most precise Qur’ānic hexaemeral narrative: Say: “Do you indeed disbelieve in the One who created the earth in two days, and do you set up rivals to Him? That is the Lord of the worlds. He placed on it firm mountains (towering) above it, and blessed it, and decreed for it its (various) foods in four days, equal to the ones who ask. Then, He mounted (upward) to the sky, while it was (still) smoke [dukhān], and said to it and to the earth, ‘Come, both of you, willingly or unwillingly!’ They both said, ‘We come willingly’.” He finished them (as) seven heavens in two days, and inspired each heaven (with) its affair. (Q 41:9 – 12)

Although the passage cannot be taken as evidence of creatio ex nihilo, we find ourselves here in the same situation as in Q 21:30 analysed above. From a sequential point of view, it does not seem to allude to the creation of heaven and earth them-

 Lane gives the following meaning: “to slit, to rent (asunder or open), to divide lengthwise, to disjoin, to disunite, to undo the sewing of, to unsew, to unstitch”. Cf. Lane 1955 – 1956, 2331.  Zammit 2002, 315.

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selves, but rather to their arrangement. The passage implies that heaven and earth were already created and that, having taken care of the arrangement of the earth during the first four days of creation, God turned to the heaven which had remained in the state of “smoke” (dukhān) until then. In any case, this passage proves extremely complicated to study in comparison with biblical literature, for although it is one of the only pericopes of the whole Qur’ān that details to a certain extent – though limited – the creation week, very little of what it says matches the biblical creation narrative. It is therefore important not to project too much onto the word dukhān, “smoke”. The term could well refer to matter of some kind, but it is difficult to assert for sure. One could see it as an attempt to render the “darkness” of Gen 1:2 or the “mist” in Gen 2:6,⁴¹¹ but it is perhaps closer to Is 51:6, where the prophet compares the heavens to “smoke” (MT: ʿāšān; LXX: καπνός; Pesh.: tenānā). This passage is used by Basil for instance to demonstrate the substance of the sky (Hexaemeron 1:8). Yet, the Qur’ān provides us with absolutely no details concerning this “smoke” and once again it seems more interested in emphasizing a transformation of state (it was dukhān and now it is seven heavens) rather than describing a creative process. From the above, a few remarks need to be formulated. Although the etymological evidence as well as the absence of clear statement on the subject suggest that the Qur’ān holds by default that the universe was created by God out of pre-existing matter, we argued that neither Q 21:30 nor Q 41:9 – 11 – usually taken as evidence of that claim –, address the issue of the creation of the world at all but rather of subsequent stages of creation. That being said however, and despite our analysis, these passages remain very cryptic. We can assume that someone acquainted with the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo and the potential theological issues surrounding the question of pre-existing material in creation would certainly not have formulated these passages the same way. In other words, the question is not so much whether ratq or dukhān designate matter or a pre-creation status of the world, but rather whether someone aware of the doctrine of creatio ex nihilo and the theological pitfalls (God’s conditionality, absence of free will, etc.) going along with the idea of pre-existing matter would have taken the risk of formulating verses such as these.

 Droge 2013, 319 (n. 20).

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4 Creation and Providence Another theme that the Qur’ān comes close to addressing and surprisingly never really engages with is the issue surrounding the first cause of the universe, the very first principle that made it come into being. In the first chapter, we saw that the text insists in different places on the fact that God did not create the universe for nothing, that this universe was created for a purpose. Though we studied in detail the nature of this purpose, namely triggering a contemplative activity in human beings, one could argue that in broad outline, the Qur’ān shares with the Jewish and Christian traditions the opinion that the universe has been created for the benefit of humankind. Nevertheless, the very existence of Creation poses a major theological problem from which the Christian tradition attempted to steer away: why would God need Creation in the first place? In one passage, the Qur’ān seems to provide a beginning of answer to this theological question: We did not create the sky and the earth, and whatever is between them, in jest [lāʿibīna]. If we wanted to choose a diversion, We would indeed have chosen it from Ourselves, if we were going to do (anything) [law ’aradnā ‘an nattakhidha lahwan la-ttakhadhnā-hu min ladun-nā ’in kunnā fāʿilīna]. (Q 21:16 – 17)

The affirmation that the universe was not created “in jest” or “in vain” (v. 16) occurs elsewhere as we said already (Q 23:115, 38:27, 44:38). But the idea expressed in v. 17 that God would have chosen a diversion from himself if he had wanted to, is unparalleled in the text. It bears however the traces of an ancient argument aiming at discarding the presumption of a relation of necessity between God and his Creation. The denial that God benefits from Creation fits perfectly within the framework of the extreme monotheistic message of the Qur’ān. In discarding the possibility that God finds “diversion” in the cosmos, the text in fact departs from the conception that the divinity fulfilled a need or a desire in creating. Such ideas hamper the notion of divine freedom (i. e. to create or not, according to will) and thus annihilate from a logical standpoint the absolute transcendence of God over Creation. This argument originates in Greek philosophy, and more precisely in Platonism, where God is already said to be “without need” (ἀπροσδεής).⁴¹² It was taken over later in Christianity and there is little doubt that it is this latter tradition that the Qur’ān echoes. Why did God create the world in the first place then, if not for his own sake? Why is there something rather than nothing if not to fulfil a divine need?

 The matter is very well explained in Sedley 2007, 114– 119.

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Here again, Christian authors provided a clear-cut answer and, built on the Platonic principle that Creation is the natural consequence of God’s goodness. In this framework, the first cause of Creation originates in the outflow of God’s absolute bounty. The Platonic principle was inflected in Christianity so as to assert God’s philanthropy, a slight but important move (e. g. John Chrysostom, On Providence 7:38 – 39). Christian authors transformed the old argument of an unnecessary Creation towards the idea of Creation as the outflow of God’s love. This conception presents its own theological issues that were raised in due course, but we need not to go much deeper into Christian thought to understand what Q 21:16 – 17 is taking issue with. Its author is aware of the necessity of discarding the idea that God created the world for his own fulfilment. Yet, it is noteworthy that he does not provide with an alternative explanation to the argument of necessity. Although the text makes it clear in multiple passages that God grants Creation to mankind out of mercy and bounty, explicit references to what triggers this merciful divine impetus in the first place is nowhere to be found. Once again, the text is not interested in going into detailed cosmological and philosophical discussions. In practice, given that the text constantly insists on the favour dispensed by God in the world for the sake of human beings, there can be little doubt that the Qur’ānic authors regarded the universe as having come into being out of sheer divine bounty for humans. In theory, the fact that the Qur’ān remains once again at the level of denial and polemic concerning that topic makes one wonder whether the authors of the text were aware of the theological intricacies behind the polemical arguments they used or if they simply knew nothing more than these polemical turns.

4.1 A purposeful creation The question raised at the end of the last section is tricky to assess, but it shows the complexity of interpreting the nature of the Qur’ānic text and its position within the larger cosmological and theological debates of Late Antiquity. Another important cosmological theme – connected to the previous one – against which the Qur’ān argues is the idea that the creation came into being accidentally and unintentionally. That the Qur’ān conceives the world as providentially created and maintained is obvious from our first chapter. What interest us here is the polemical fashion in which the text affirms this belief. A few passages already studied deserve renewed attention. The first one is a parallel to Q 21:16 – 17:

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Did you think that We created you in vain [khalaqnā-kum ʿabathan], and that you would not be returned to Us [wa-’anna-kum ’ilay-nā lā turjaʿūna]? (Q 23:115)

Here, as O’Shaughnessy argues, the denial of God creating mankind purposefully is tied with the expression “to return to Us”, as if the purpose of this world, was its coming to an end. This constitutes quite a common trope in the Qur’ān (cf. the numerous occurrences of the verb rajaʿa) and is in line with Jewish and Christian traditions as well. It infers that creation, rather than being a diversion from God, in fact represents an opportunity for humans to exercise their freewill, redeem, and thus fall back into an – allegedly lost? – unity with God (cf. Q 11:7).⁴¹³ Other turns in the text may well be used to convey the notion of a purposeful creation. Two of the four parallel passages arguing that God did not create “in vain” or “in jest” articulate with this idea the notion of ḥaqq (“truth”). After having explained that God would have chosen a diversion in himself if he had wanted to, Q 21:18 declares: No! We hurl the truth against falsehood [bal naqdhifu bi-l-ḥaqqi ʿalā l-bāṭili], and it breaks its head, and suddenly it passes away. Woe to you for what you allege! (Q 21:18)

The context does not make it clear what the expression bi-l-ḥaqq really refers to here, but in the parallel verses Q 44:38 – 39, it is more straightforwardly put in opposition to creating “in jest” (lāʿibīna): We did not create the heavens and the earth, and whatever is between them, in jest [lāʿibīna]. We created them only in truth [mā khalaqnā-humā ’illā bi-l-ḥaqqi], but most of them do not know (it). (Q 44:38 – 39)

In all likelihood, this opposition aims at underlining the fact that God created the world with an intention in mind, a plan, a purpose. Scholars have pointed out that the word ḥaqq in the Qur’ān should probably not be reduced to a single meaning. As Macdonald and Calverley indicated, the meaning of the root ḤQQ in Arabic is slightly obscure but can be recovered by means of its cognate in other Semitic languages. The corresponding root in Hebrew has different meanings, all revolving around the idea of engraving something: 1) “to cut in, engrave (in wood, stone or metal)”, 2) “to inscribe, write, portray”, 3) “to prescribe, fix by decree”. Thus, especially according to this third meaning, the word ḥaqq would seem to designate

 O’Shaughnessy 1985, 56.

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something immutable.⁴¹⁴ We now need to consider, the articulation of the word ḥaqq with the notion of creation.

4.2 Creating in truth O’Shaughnessy observed that the term ḥaqq seems sometimes identified with some sort of divine creative command: He (it is) who created the heavens and the earth in truth [bi-l-ḥaqqi]. On the day when He says “Be!” and it is. His word is the truth [qawlu-hu l-ḥaqqu], and the kingdom (will belong) to Him on the Day when there will be a blast on the trumpet. (He is) the Knower of the unseen and the seen. His is the Wise, the Aware. (Q 6:73) Surely the likeness of Jesus is, with God, as the likeness of Adam. He created him from dust, (and) then He said to him, “Be!” and he was. The truth (is) from your Lord [al-ḥaqqu min rabbi-ka], so do not be one of the doubters. (Q 3:59)

These two verses are not the only ones connecting the notion of creation with that of ḥaqq. Overall, seventeen verses explicitly associate them.⁴¹⁵ Besides those already discussed above, twelve of them more specifically associate the word khalaqa (“to create”) with the expression bi-l-ḥaqq (“with the Truth”). In all cases but one, the elements created are heavens and earth (Q 6:73, 14:19, 15:85, 16:3, 29:44, 30:8, 39:5, 44:38 – 39, 45:22, 46:3, 64:3). The only exception talks of the creation of the sun and the moon (Q 10:5). Of course, multiple verses talking about creation do not mention the ḥaqq, but when the expression bi-l-ḥaqq occurs, it is almost always used in the context of the creation of “heavens and earth”. The association of the verb khalaqa with the expression bi-l-ḥaqq (“with the ḥaqq” or “by means of the ḥaqq”) in all these passages suggests either instrumentality (“by means of the ḥaqq”), an association in creation (“with the ḥaqq”), or intentionality in the creative activity (“for the ḥaqq”). The hypothesis of an “instrumental ḥaqq” should probably be discarded. The fact that Q 45:22 associates the word with the notion of justice and that Q 30:8 and 46:3 coordinate the phrase

 Macdonald 1927; Macdonald/Calverley 1986; Burrell 2006; cf. also Zammit 2002, 146. Note also some of the Ethiopic uses of the root which perhaps offer original leads in the cosmological context: ḥǝqqa, “a little, a little while, for a short time, a little way, by degrees”; babbaḥǝqq, “little by little, gradually, by degrees”; baḥǝqqu, “sufficiently, enough, very, very much, greatly, considerably, thoroughly, completely, exceedingly, utterly, intently, accurately, entirely, (Lt) in a little time”; (with a negative) “not at all”. Cf. Leslau 1987, 240.  O’Shaughnessy 1985, 30.

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“with the ḥaqq” with “with a fixed term” imply that the text indeed refers to an association in creation and/or an intention here rather than an intermediary.⁴¹⁶ In other verses, the ḥaqq seems identified as a manifestation of the divine power “hurled forth by God” and responsible for the primeval and the eschatological creations: Say: “The truth [al-ḥaqq] has come! Falsehood (can) neither bring (anything) about, nor restore (it).” (Q 34:49)

Here again, ḥaqq is opposed to “falsehood” (bāṭil) in a well-known formula used many times in the Qur’ān, which usually has God as subject (yubdi’u llāhu l-khalqa wa-yuʿīdu-hu). In this case, the word ḥaqq refers to God, an attribute of God, his power, or at least a purpose, rather than to an associate in creation. Though perhaps a bit overplayed, Thomas O’Shaughnessy proposed a thoughtprovoking parallel between the word ḥaqq and the notion of “wisdom” in the biblical tradition. As he argues, “in the apocalyptic and sapiential writings of the late Hellenistic Age ‘truth’ (ἀλήθεια) takes on the meaning of ‘wisdom’, that is of God’s wise and providential design in His dealings with creatures”.⁴¹⁷ The notion of “truth” was used in a range of texts such as the Psalms in the sense of divine teaching that one should strive to acquire (cf. Ps 25:5, 26:3, 86:11; Mal 2:6; Prov 23:23; Eccles 12:10; Sir 4:28). Hence, the concept of truth had come close to the idea of God’s plan, sometimes synonymous of “mystery” (cf. Tob 12:11, Wis 6:22). On the Day of Judgement, “those who trust in him will understand truth”, says Wisdom 3:9, and the Book of Daniel even speaks of the “Book of Truth” in which the divine plan is written (Dan 10:21; cf. also 8:26, 9:13, 10:1, 11:2).⁴¹⁸ This calls to mind the Qur’ānic references to the book (kitāb) and the qur’ān being sent down and speaking bi-l-ḥaqq (Q 2:176, 2:213, 3:3, 4:105, 5:48, 6:114, 17:105, 23:62, 39:2, 39:41, 42:17, 45:29). A noteworthy point is that although the word is used as an epithet of God in five different verses (Q 20:114, 22:6, 22:62, 23:116, 31:30), the word ḥaqq is also identified with Jesus in other places. Indeed, the phrase al-ḥaqq min rabbi-ka (“the Truth from your Lord”) in Q 3:59 could be read as an apposition designed to talk about Jesus around whom revolves the whole sentence. The same Jesus is given the epithet qawl al-ḥaqq, “Word of Truth” or “Speech of Truth” in Q 19:34 (cf. also Q 6:73 above where qawl is equated with ḥaqq). This epithet is reminiscent of the Qur’ānic version of the Annunciation where Mary is already told about the

 O’Shaughnessy 1985, 35 – 36.  O’Shaughnessy 1985, 35.  De la Potterie 1962, 1330 – 1331.

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coming of the “good news of a word from Him (bi-kalimatin min-hu)” (Q 3:45), as well as the even more explicit Q 4:171: People of the Book! Do not go beyond the limits in your religion, and do not say about God (anything) but the truth. The Messiah, Jesus, son of Mary, was only a messenger of God, and His word [kalimatu-hu], which He cast into Mary, and a spirit from Him. So believe in God and His messengers, but do not say, “Three”.

One wonders whether qawl and kalimat are not simply two different allusions to the Christian notion of Logos here.⁴¹⁹ The Qur’ānic ḥaqq seems in any case tightly connected to the notions of “creation” and “speech utterance”, and it is moreover used as an epithet attributed either to God or to Jesus. Is it thus too daring to assume that it is originally connected to the Christian idea of the cosmic ChristLogos? Not only does the Qur’ān itself suggest such a meaning, but other formulas are strongly reminiscent of two New Testament phrases. First of all, Pauline literature refers to the message of the Gospel by means of two expressions: the “truth of the Gospel” (Gal 2:5, 2:14; ἡ ἀλήθεια τοῦ εὐαγγελίου) and “the word of the truth” (ὁ λόγος τῆς ἀληθείας; Col 1:5, Eph 1:13, 2 Tim 2:15). They respectively translate into Syriac by šrāreh d-sbarātā/šrāreh d-ewangelyūn and melltā d-quštā/melltā d-šrārā. The Qur’ānic epithet qawl al-ḥaqq granted to Jesus seems quite obviously a calque of the latter one.⁴²⁰ Secondly, the notion of truth is central in the Gospel of John. John understands “truth” as the Father’s word heard by the Son (Jn 8:26, 8:40, 8:45 – 47, 17:17). Christ himself is the proclaimer of this truth from God, “for the law was given through Moses”, but “grace and truth came through Jesus Christ”. In the same Gospel, Jesus himself says he is “the truth”: Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life [Ἐγώ εἰμι ἡ ὁδὸς καὶ ἡ ἀλήθεια καὶ ἡ ζωή]; no one comes to the Father, but by me. If you had known me, you would have known my Father also; henceforth you know him and have seen him.” (Jn 14:5 – 7)

Further down in the same chapter, Jesus uses the expression “Spirit of truth” (τὸ πνεῦμα τῆς ἀληθείας) three times to designate the Paraclete (Jn 14:17, 15:26, 16:13; cf. also Jn 18:37– 38 displaying the discussion with Pilatus where Jesus identifies himself with the truth and 1 Jn 5:6 where the Spirit is named “the Truth”).

 On the different context of occurrences of the word qawl, see Peterson 2001b, 53.  De la Potterie 1962, 1331– 1332.

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The association of Jesus with the notion of “truth” and therefore the connection between “truth” and “word” or “speech” in the Qur’ān is not unprecedented. Given that background, it is clear that the translation of khalaqa bi-l-ḥaqq by “he created in truth”, as if the turn meant “he really created”, does not do justice to the complexity of the expression. If O’Shaughnessy is right in associating the Qur’ānic ḥaqq with the Christian “wisdom”, then its association with the context of creation reminds us of a well-known exegesis on Gen 1:1. Through a complex scriptural interplay, New Testament scriptures already developed what scholars called a “prepositional theology” that provided them with a substantial basis “to articulate divine causality and the mediatorial role of the Logos in creation”.⁴²¹ The demonstration takes Prov 8 as the starting point. In this passage, Wisdom (ḥokhma) speaks in the first person, a personified Wisdom, that early Christian identified with Christ. In this text, Wisdom declares at one point: The Lord created me at the beginning [MT: rēšīt; LXX: ἀρχὴν] of his work, the first of his acts of old. (Prov 8:22)

This verse allowed for a new reading of Gen 1:1’s turn be-rēšīt/ἐν ἀρχῇ. As the preposition be-/ἐν, usually understood as meaning “in”, can also mean “by means of ” both in Hebrew and in Greek,⁴²² one can therefore understand the first verse of Genesis, be-rēšīt bārā elōhīm/ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς, as the affirmation that God created heavens and earth through the Logos. The different turns of phrase found in texts like Jn 1:3, 1:10, Heb 1:2, Col 1:16 – 17, and 1 Cor 8:6, already suggest that Creation was made “through” (διά) and held together “in” (ἐν) Jesus the Logos/the Son and that he existed “before” (πρό) all things.⁴²³ Given this scriptural basis, it did not take long before Christian commentators such Theophilus of Antioch or Origen reflected back on Gen 1:1 and granted agency to Christ the Logos in creation.⁴²⁴ Origen for instance emphasized the fact that the preposition διά, “through”, in Jn 1:3, was different from ὑπό, “by”, and that all things were made “through” the Word but “by” the Father.⁴²⁵ Subsequent writ-

 Blowers 2012, 223.  Bailly 1950, 664– 665. On the syntax of Gen 1:1 and its original meaning, see Baasten 2007.  Blowers 2012, 223 – 224. See especially the very helpful table on 224. In fact, Daniel Boyarin suggested that Jn 1:1 was already a sort of midrash on Gen 1:1. Cf. Boyarin 2001, 243 – 284; and also Le Déaut 1978, 1, 74– 75 (n. 5).  Origen in his De principiis (1, 2:1) takes over this position and explicitly connects Christ with the Wisdom of Proverbs 8. Cf. Alexander 2009, 16 – 17.  Blowers 2012, 223 – 224.

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ers took over this exegetical stance and therefore agreed upon the idea that God had created the entire universe “in” or “through” (Hebrew: b-; Greek: ἐν) Christ.⁴²⁶ This interpretation gradually became subject of much tension inside and outside the Christian world. In the context of the Arian controversy and after the Council of Nicaea in 325, the adoption of such language was perceived as coming very close to subordinationism by the defenders of Nicaea. Pro-Arian theologians had indeed emphasized the created nature of the Son and his instrumental role in creation.⁴²⁷ From that point onwards, Christian theologians would need to deploy a wealth of imagination to circumvent this difficulty and accommodate the scriptural evidence of the mediation of Christ in creation with the necessity to support the idea of an equal partnership between the Father and the Son throughout the creative process.⁴²⁸ The early Christian interpretation of the word “beginning” in Gen 1:1 as being a reference to Christ did not create troubles among Christians alone. Philip Alexander convincingly suggested that this Christian exegesis compelled rabbis to provide a counter-exegesis to the first verse of the Torah.⁴²⁹ This counter-position is best exposited in the famous fifth-century text known as the Midrash Rabbah on Genesis which opens its very first chapter by this demonstration.⁴³⁰ The interpretation was in fact so common that the late Targum Neofiti reads Gen 1:1 with a double translation of the Hebrew be-rēšīt: From the beginning with wisdom the Memra of the Lord created and perfected the heavens and the earth.⁴³¹

In light of the above, the Qur’ānic addition of bi-l-ḥaqq after the affirmation that God created heavens and earth is perhaps less innocent and meaningless than it looked in the first place. Not only the notion of “truth” finds counterparts in previous debates over the question of creation, but the twelve occurrences of the verb khalaqa in contact with the turn bi-l-ḥaqq all mention heavens and earth as the objects of the creative process. In other words, we could well have here a set formula based on an exegetical reading of Gen 1:1 according to which God creates through his Logos.  Alexander 2009, 14– 15.  Blowers 2012, 224– 225.  Blowers 2012, 225 – 227.  Alexander 2009, 24.  There seems to be a consensus concerning the dating of the edition of Midrash Rabbah (Genesis) in the first half of the 5th century, roughly at the same time as the Talmud of Jerusalem. Cf. Schäfer 2008, 267.  Trans. McNamara 1992, 52.

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According to specialists, the interpretation of the expression “in the beginning” as respectively an allusion to Christ for Christians and the Torah for rabbinic Jews was taken for granted throughout Late Antiquity and constituted a divisive issue between both religious traditions, one that irreversibly shapes one’s understanding of the origin of the world. It is surprising that the Qur’ān never mentions the notion of “beginning”, given the prominence of the debates surrounding this expression. In any case, the above shows how intertwined the notions of creation, truth, and speech were at the time. The formulaic use of the word ḥaqq in creative contexts and its association – and sometimes equation – with the notion of “speech” (qawl) and performative divine speech (kun fa-yakūn) suggests a latent idea of creative speech, coming very close to the Christian cosmic Logos. At the very least, it points towards the idea that Creation is not an undesired outcome of God’s bounty, but was arranged according to a plan, a wisdom, that plays the role of interface between God and its creation. It is certainly worth remembering within that context that the Christian masters of contemplation put a huge emphasis on the fact that it is “truth” that one seeks through the process of θεωρία, a truth of divine kind. For authors such as Evagrius of Pontus, the acquisition of divine knowledge was simply synonymous with getting to know the truth through which God had revealed himself to people in the universe, i. e. Christ the Logos and Wisdom.⁴³² The whole contemplative quest on which Evagrius invites the Gnostics, as a quest for the knowledge of Christ, is based on the understanding of the word “truth” as a reference to Christ in verses such as 1 Tim 2:4– 6, in which it is said that God “desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth”. Although this long detour by the biblical scriptures does not entirely solve the complexity of the idea of a “creation bi-l-ḥaqq”, it certainly brings new insight into the expression. The opposition between a world created lāʿibīna and a world created bi-l-ḥaqq indicates a providentially ordered cosmos. A maximalist reading could push the interpretation towards the idea that this expression bears the traces of intricated exegetical debates surrounding the first verse of Genesis.

4.3 Polemics on the vain creation Whether the authors of the Qur’ān completely grasped the theological weight of some of the turns they used to describe the act of creation will probably remain

 See for instance Evagrius of Pontus, Kephalaia Gnostika 2:73. See also Ramelli 2015, liii, lxxxiv; cf. also 149.

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an open-ended question. Nevertheless, the text itself shows that at the very least these authors were aware of the existence of some of the debates and polemics surrounding the issue of the providential creation. In a passage negating the unprovidential arrangement of the cosmos, the text makes a charge against unnamed opponents: We did not create the sky and the earth, and whatever is between them, without purpose [bāṭilan]. That is the conjecture of those who disbelieve [dhālika ẓannu lladhīna kafarū]. So woe to those who disbelieve on account of the Fire. (Q 38:27)

As already mentioned, the detour by the late antique Christian literature makes one wonder whether the Qur’ān here takes issue with real opponents. Were there in the Qur’ānic milieu people arguing for a purposeless divine creation, or does the text simply take over classical polemics against the idea of an unprovidentially created cosmos? Polemics on the topic were very lively under the pens of Christian authors in Late Antiquity, especially in reaction to some Greek philosophical schools. Christian thinkers especially argued against what Furley called the “Infinite Universe paradigm” of Ancient Philosophy, mainly encompassing the Greek Atomist cosmologies that saw “no need to affirm a purposive beginning (ἀρχή) or end (τέλος) of the cosmos”.⁴³³ As Blowers reminds, the fact that a providential principle is absent from the theory of these Greek thinkers does not signify that the world “emerges out of sheer randomness” or that they did not conceive the idea of a divine being ordering it. Nevertheless, their Christian critics were not keen on granting them the benefit of the doubt.⁴³⁴ From an early point, the Church Fathers launched repeated attacks on philosophers on the precise topic of creation. Justin Martyr, Theophilus of Antioch, Irenaeus of Lyon, Origen were among the first to target those Greek philosophers, especially Epicureans, whom they regarded as defending an unprovidential Creation.⁴³⁵ A rapid glance at Greek patristic literature up to the 8th century shows that this accusation became a real topos in writings about divine Providence. Athanasius of Alexandria, Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, and Theodoret of Cyrus among others, all polemicized against Epicur-

 Furley 1987 1, 1– 8; Furley 1986, 223 – 235; Blowers 2012, 21.  Blowers 2012, 23.  Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum 2:4; Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus haereses 3, 24:2; 5, 26:2; Origen, De Oratione 5; Contra Celsum 1:10. Note that Origen himself was (falsely) accused by Theophilus of Antioch of denying the existence of a Providence for all creatures, limiting it to the celestial spheres. Cf. Simonin 1936, 955.

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eans.⁴³⁶ John Chrysostom probably deserves a special mention as the writer who most prolifically wrote about Divine Providence. He himself polemicizes against the cosmology of the philosophers in passing only.⁴³⁷ The brief, but clear, Qur’ānic attack against the “thought” (ẓann) that the world is unprovidentially created and maintained, raises questions in light of this late antique background. Once again, should we infer from this that the Qur’ān is arguing against real opponents or is it simply taking over an ancient polemic against an unspecified target? If the target is indeed real within the Qur’ānic milieu, does it reflect the real “thought” of the Qur’ānic opponents or is this a mere caricature used by the authors of the text to rebuke unbelievers? I would be tempted to opt for the latter option and argue that the Qur’ān is here picking up a stock formula in a polemical repertoire inherited from the late antique polemics mentioned. Necessary precautions need to be taken however, for it is striking that once again, the text takes over certain polemics and not others. A wide range of polemical arguments were used by Christian heresiologists concerning heterodox views on creation. They were for instance often keen on accusing other philosophical and religious groups when tackling the topic of Divine Providence. Discussions on πρόνοια (“Providence”) were also frequently the occasion to remind that, though supporting a providential cosmology, Plato had depicted a God conditioned by the preexistence of eternal matter. Similarly, Manicheism was regularly attacked for placing the origin of evil in matter. Despite the great recurrence of these polemical arguments in Christian sources, their occurrence in close contact with the question of Providence, and the fact that – once again – the Qur’ān would have immensely benefited from taking a stance in these debates from a theological argumentative perspective, none of them are ever alluded to in the text.

5 Conclusion Throughout this chapter, we emphasized a perplexing observation. Though constituting a key categorizing principle in the Qur’ānic system, the Qur’ān does not engage with a definition of the notion of creation whatsoever, to the extent that the questions of how (exactly) and why (exactly) the world came into being – a theme underlain by major theological issues – are never tackled in the text. The analysis  Athanasius of Alexandria, On Incarnation 2; Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 1:2; Homilies on Psalms 1:4; Gregory of Nyssa, De anima et resurrectione 8; Theodoret of Cyrus, Cure for Pagan Maladies 6.  Simonin 1936, 941– 960.

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of the different passages that come close to addressing the topic of the modality of creation studied in the last section reflects the authors’ acquaintance with biblical turns of phrase and polemical motifs, but it also indicates that they are little aware of the intricacies of these theological issues. With regard to its doctrine of creation, the text in fact seems interested in two particular points. Firstly, it repeats over and again that God is the sole creator of the universe. To support this claim, one of its strategies is to argue that what distinguishes God from the rest of the world (including other deities) is his creatorship: one cannot be creator and creature at the same time. The fact that the text takes over well-known late antique polemical arguments in this regard, but otherwise shows no awareness of a refined understanding of the theological issues revolving around it, certainly appears perplexing and paradoxical to us, especially in light of the importance of the theme in late antique hermeneutics. Once again, we need to remind ourselves that the Qur’ān is not a textbook of cosmology; unlike the authors to whom we compare it, it does not systematize thought and therefore does not provide with a theory on creation. Yet, at the same time, one must recognise that the absence of evidence that the authors of the Qur’ān had a more refined understanding of creation than the default biblical creation out of pre-existing matter, betrays the fragmentary knowledge its authors have of late antique cosmological debates. It is as if they had inherited polemical slogans but not the theorical developments behind them. Secondly, the Qur’ān is very insistent on the fact that the world was created purposefully, providentially, towards an appointed end. This strong teleological claim needs to be read within the contemplative framework highlighted in the first two chapters. In the Qur’ān, Creation as well as Revelation are regarded as networks of signs pointing at a higher metaphysical reality, God’s economy, his plan for Creation, the grasping of which constitutes a salvific path. In a similar way, the Qur’ān sees the history of the origin of Creation (the creation narrative) as valuable only insofar as it foreshadows the New Creation. The number of passages balancing God’s ability to create with his ability to re-create is simply massive and crystallized by the expression yubdi’u llāhu l-khalqa thumma yuʿīdu-hu, “God brings about Creation and then restores it” (e. g. Q 10:4, 10:34, 27:64, 29:19, 30:11, 36:81, 50:15, 85:13). This forms a knowledge that the believer can reach in contemplating the world: Do they not see how God brings about the creation [‘a-wa-lam yaraw kayfa yubdi’u llāhu lkhalqa], (and) then restores it [thumma yuʿīdu-hu]? Surely that is easy for God. Say: “Travel the earth [sīrū fī l-‘arḍi] and see how He brought about the creation [fa-’unẓurū kayfa

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bada’a l-khalqa]. Then God produces the latter growth. Surely God is powerful over everything.” (Q 29:19 – 20)⁴³⁸

Another example of the view that the first creation points towards the second one would be the following passage: On the Day when We shall roll up the sky like the rolling up of a scroll for the writings: as We brought about the first creation, (so) We shall restore it – (it is) a promise (binding) on Us. Surely We shall do (it)! (Q 21:104)

Once again, protology points towards eschatology. In fact, one wonders whether the perspective that the Qur’ān’s interest in the first creation only lies in its pointing towards re-creation, does not explain its lack of concern for a refined and theologically suitable cosmogonical theory. The Qur’ān indeed inherits from Late Antiquity the idea of a bodily resurrection in mentioning in a number of parallel passages that God will revive dust and bones at the end of time to give birth to the second Creation (Q 17:99, 20:55, 22:6 – 7, 35:10, 36:77– 79; cf. also 23:80 – 81, 25:47– 49, 27:67– 68, 31:28, 32:10, 36:33, 41:39, 43:11, 50:2– 4, 50:9 – 11, 56:47, 57:20, 71:17– 18, 75:3, 79:10 – 11). In a system where this world’s interest lies in its mirroring and foretelling of the second world, it is easy to see how the theory of a primordial creation out of nothing loses its appeal in favour of the image of a God vivifying matter. If the second creation of the world needs – for theological reasons – to be conceived as a recreation from matter, then there is no real necessity to think of the first creation as happening otherwise, especially if no one in the Qur’ānic milieu was philosophically or theologically tooled to point out the potential theological hindrances of an underdeveloped doctrine of creation.

 Note that Droge considers this paragraph up to v. 23 as a later addition. Cf. Droge 2013, 260 (n. 16).

Chapter 4 Divine Economy and Continuous Creation 1 Introduction The last chapter studied the Qur’ānic understanding of the act of creation, its modalities, and the repertoire of motifs and arguments that the text deploys to support the overarching theological claim of the Qur’ān that God was not conditioned, assisted, or afflicted in any sort of ways when he created the world. Although the Qur’ān does not appear to be aware of all the debates that arose throughout the late antique period concerning the modalities of creation, and is especially silent on the question of the coming into being of matter, it cannot be doubted that its authors envisioned the divine act of creation as most perfectly executed. We saw indeed that the capacity to create was perceived in the Qur’ān as a key criterion distinguishing God from everything else; one cannot be both creator and created. Given this stress on the capacity to create as intrinsically connected to the Godhead, it comes as no surprise that the authors of the Qur’ān conceived creation as a never-ending process: God’s creating activity in fact never stopped after the week of creation, his creation is continuous. The text repeatedly ascribes to God the cosmic role of sustaining the world. God continuously provides humans with food and necessary supplies (e. g. Q 6:96, 7:9, 26:75, 28:57, 29:60, 30:40, 34:24, 36:71– 73). He is also responsible for the regularity of astral motions in the sky (e. g. Q 7:54, 13:2, 14:33, 16:12, 29:61, 31:29, 35:13, 39:5), for the succession of day and night (e. g. Q 14:33, 16:12), as well as any other things that allow humans to live on a daily basis. All these passages show that the Qur’ān grants to the theme of the creatio continua (“continuous creation”; i. e. maintenance of the universe) a prominent place within the overall Qur’ānic cosmological discourse. This is hardly surprising given the natural theological system described in the first chapter. God’s creatorship is observable in the cycles and the regularity of the world. In this chapter, we highlight that some of the motifs, metaphors, and turns of phrase used to illustrate God’s continuous support of the world come extremely close to an imagery that developed in the Syriac Christian tradition. More specifically, we argue that several unconventional motifs used within this context find particularly striking parallels in the Syriac homiletical corpus.⁴³⁹  Preliminary results to some themes treated in this chapter were published in my article, Decharneux 2019b. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-006

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2 A sky without columns In the Qur’ān, the role of maintaining the universe in existence is unsurprisingly ascribed to God. Not only does he provide mankind with fruits, water, cattle, crops, etc. enabling them to subsist, but his role of cosmic maintainer also plays out on the macrocosmic level. The text twice highlights the role of God in sustaining the cosmic structure: God holds the heavens and the earth firm [llāha yumsiku l-samawāti wa-l-’arḍa], so that they do not move away [’inna ’an tazūlā wa-la’in zālatā]. If they move away, no one will hold them firm after him [’in ’amsaka-humā min ’aḥadin min baʿdi-hi]. (Q 35:41) [God] holds back the sky from falling on to the earth, except by his permission [wa-yumsiku lsamā’a ’an taqaʿa ʿalā l-’arḍi ’illā bi-’idhni-hi]. (Q 22:65)

Although these two verses present differences, they both make explicit God’s role in preventing the sky from falling on to earth. The idea that Creation is only maintained by God’s action suits quite logically the extreme monotheism and anti-associationism proclaimed throughout the Qur’ān. Although this statement can be seen as a commonplace, it is likely that in declaring this, the text intends to argue against competing cosmologies with regards to the subsistence of the universe. Within the biblical tradition, the issue of the universe’s economy was disputed. Though Jews and Christians would always agree that the universe remains in existence thanks to God’s activity, the modality of this divine operation would vary from one tradition to another. While some argued that God charged the angels to ensure the sustenance of the cosmos (cf. more on this in the next chapter), others for instance ascribed this role to aspects or attributes of the divinity (e. g. divine powers) or even to specific persons of the Trinity. The Qur’ānic insistence on God’s role in this context betrays theological preoccupations rather than mere cosmological ones. The ascription to God of this cosmic role results less from a reflection on how the universe remains standing than from the necessity to avoid the potential diminishing God’s all-powerfulness. The world can simply not have a life of its own. Nothing falls outside of God’s field of competence. It is remarkable within this context that the Qur’ān does not only affirms this doctrine, but also takes issue with alternative explanations for the maintenance of the world. More specifically, the Qur’ān attacks frontally one of the classical biblical motifs used in this context in stating twice that the sky is held up by God “without visible columns”: [It is] God who raised up the heavens without columns that you see [bi-ghayri ʿamadin tarawna-hā]. (Q 13:2)

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He has created the heavens without columns that you see [bi-ghayri ʿamadin tarawna-hā]. (Q 31:10)

This denial of existing pillars supporting the sky is in contradiction with the cosmology of the Bible, in which several books explicitly mention the existence of pillars sustaining either the sky or the universe. The image occurs for instance in 2 Sam 22:8, where the text speaks of the “bases of heaven” (mōwsḏōt ha-šāmayim). Similarly, the Book of Job speaks both of “the pillars of heaven” (ʿamūdey šāmayim; 26:11) trembling when God threatens them, just as it also mentions “pillars of the earth” (9:2). Other occurrences of this imagery are Ps 75:4, 1 Sam 2:8.⁴⁴⁰ Given the weight of this motif in the biblical cosmological imagery, one wonders why the Qur’ān seeks to discard this biblical motif. The hypothesis that the Qur’ān borrows here from another tradition than the biblical one is unlikely. Firstly, the denial of the pillars of heaven is not extant in pre-Islamic texts to our knowledge.⁴⁴¹ Secondly, the motif does not find any real correspondences in non-biblical cosmological literatures. Two parallels need nonetheless to be mentioned. Gombrich signals that in the Rig-Veda, “the sky is said to be propped up, but there is also reference to the marvel of the unsupported sky”.⁴⁴² Another loose parallel can be found in Zoroastrian texts where Ahura Mazdā declares to Zoroaster that he holds the earth and the sky which are devoid of supports.⁴⁴³ Nevertheless, it seems that the Qur’ānic motif finds particularly clear precedents in the Syriac homiletical tradition. Kevin van Bladel suggested that this Qur’ānic idea of a sky “without columns that you see” might be related to the Ethiopic version of the Book of Enoch, where the sky is described as sustained thanks to winds playing the role of “pillars of the sky”:⁴⁴⁴

 For a good overview of the biblical depiction of the sky, see Fontinoy 1999, 59 – 71.  The Arabic expression bi-lā ʿamad yurayna appears in a poem attributed to the pre-Islamic poet Umayya b. Abī l-Ṣalt. Nevertheless, Nicolai Sinai showed that this piece reveals “a pastiche of standard Quranic terminology” given the amount of parallels this text possesses with the Qur’ān. Sinai quite convincingly argues: “The assumption that the poem really does stem from Umayya would require that more than two dozen Quranic surahs drew, over a period of approximately two decades, from one single poem by Umayya – decidedly the less likely hypothesis”. Cf. Sinai 2011, 400 – 401.  Gombrich 1975, 113.  Molé 1963, 397.  Van Bladel 2008, 233.

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I saw the treasuries of all the winds: I saw how He had furnished with them the whole creation and the firm foundations of the earth. And I saw the corner-stone of the earth: I saw the four winds which bear [the earth and] the firmament of the heaven. And I saw how the winds stretch out the vaults of heaven, and have their station between heaven and earth: these are the pillars of the heaven [’äǝmādä sämāy].⁴⁴⁵

Elsewhere, the same text also mentions the “pillars of the earth” (57:2). For van Bladel, the fact that these pillars were made of wind led to the understanding that they were invisible, giving rise to the Qur’ānic expression.⁴⁴⁶ Although this hypothesis cannot be fully discarded, the solution is not entirely satisfying. Beyond the fact that one would have to explain how this single motif of the Book of Enoch ended up in the Qur’ān, van Bladel misses the theological stakes underlying this strongly negative statement. The question of how the sky and the universe were maintained was very much discussed in Christian Late Antiquity. More specifically, we can pin down in Christian exegesis the embarrassment of some authors concerning the scriptural affirmation of existence of pillars sustaining the sky. Basil of Caesarea’s exegesis provides a noteworthy comparandum here: If you suggest that there is another body heavier than the earth to prevent the earth from going downward you will notice that, that too, needs some like support to keep it from falling down. And, if we are able to fashion some support and place it underneath, our mind will seek again the support for that, and thus we shall go on endlessly, always inventing other bases in turn for the bases found. Moreover, the farther we advance in our reasoning, the greater is the supporting force we are compelled to bring in, that will be able to withstand the whole superimposed mass. Set a limit, then, to your thoughts, lest the words of Job should ever censure your curiosity as you scrutinize things incomprehensible, and you also should be asked by him: “Upon what are its bases grounded?” (Job 38:6) But, even if at some time in the Psalms you hear: “I have established the pillars thereof ” (Psalm 74:4), believe that the sustaining force [τῃ δυνάμει τοῦ κτίσαντος] is called the pillars.”⁴⁴⁷

Basil here invokes the old Greek argument against infinite regress and argues that the biblical motif of the pillars should in fact be interpreted as a metaphor for the power of God. Similar concerns are raised in various authors from different Christian horizons in the few centuries before the emergence of the Qur’ān.⁴⁴⁸ It is not

 Book of Enoch 18:1– 3; trans. Isaac 1983, 23.  Van Bladel 2007, 233.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 1:9; trans. Way 2003, 15 – 16.  See for instance, Ephrem’s Homilies on the Holy Week 1:211– 218. One of the arguments often used to make sense of the sustaining of the earth without supports is that the balance is maintained thanks to the elements composing heaven and earth. The sky being light and volatile pushes

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the place to list them all here, but it is worth noting that in terms of phraseology, the Qur’ānic sky “without columns” is explicitly found in Syriac literature. Aphrahat uses it in his Demonstrations: Great are the works of God; deep and wondrous are his thoughts. He suspended the sky without pillars [d-lā ʿamūdē], and made firm the earth without supports.⁴⁴⁹

The same turn is found multiple times in Jacob of Sarugh’s cosmological imagery. In some of his memrē, Jacob emphasizes the absence of columns to support the universe: [The firmament] became like an arch hanging and standing without foundation [d-lā šatīsē], borne not by columns [law ʿamūdē], but by the remzā. ⁴⁵⁰

In his Homily on the Chariot that Ezekiel saw, Jacob similarly states: The citadel of human species is mightily built and is suspended, by means of the remzā, without foundations [d-lā šetēsē] or columns [w-lā ʿamūdē].⁴⁵¹

And further down: The house of the human species stands isolated on all sides, there are neither walls [wa-d-lā esē], nor foundations [w-lā šetēsē], nor columns [w-lā ʿamūdē].⁴⁵²

Although the same ideas are virtually found in other texts of Late Antiquity as seen above, the resemblance between the Syriac and the Arabic phrases appears to me unparalleled. Not only is the word for “columns” built in both cases on the Semitic root ʿMD (Syr.: ʿamūdē, Ar.: ʿamad; cf. also the Ethiopic ’äʿǝmād), but both texts use them in analogous syntactical structures: “without X” (d-lā/bi-ghayr).⁴⁵³

upwards while the earth, to which is attached the former, is heavy and drags down (e. g. Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 2:16; Theodore bar Koni, Scholia 1:77; Sanders 1967, 6; cf. also Wolska 1962, 221– 228).  Aphrahat, Demonstrations 14:34; trans. Lehto 2010, 336. I thank Vincent Curcio for pointing out this reference to me. Speyer already notes the parallel with Aphrahat. Cf. Speyer 1961, 7.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:35; trans. Muraoka 2018, 61 slightly revised for the purpose of the demonstration.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 4:548; trans. Golitzin 2011, 28 – 29.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 4:548; trans. Golitzin 2011, 28 – 29.  It is difficult to determine whether Jacob understood his expression literally or if this is only a literary trope. In his homily on the seventh day of Creation, Jacob tells us about the seven pillars of the earth. Elsewhere he also speaks about the columns of the world (ʿamūday ʿalmā; Homilies 3:129, 149; 4:144).

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The possibility that the Qur’ānic expression indirectly originates in the Sarughian imagery is not entirely far-fetched. In fact, Jacob of Sarugh’s hexaemeral imagery had an afterlife in the 6th century. Kathleen McVey identified a Sarughian influence in an anonymous hymn praising the beauty of a church dedicated to Saint Sophia in Edessa, which was written in the middle of the 6th century. The hymn purports to compare the structure of the church to the cosmos and in this context compares its ceiling to the sky, supported d-lā ʿamūdē (“without columns”): Behold! Its ceiling is stretched out like the sky and without columns [d-lā ʿamūdē], it is arched and simple.⁴⁵⁴

Whether McVey’s hypothesis of a Sarughian influence in this hymn is valid or not, this verse shows that in the century previous to the emergence of the Qur’ān, the depiction of a “sky without columns” was in the air in the region of Edessa.

3 Divine powers Pending the discovery of new sources sharing with Jacob and the Qur’ān the motif of a universe standing “without columns”, it is sensible to assume that both the Qur’ānic and the Syriac expressions draw at the very least from a common cosmological repertoire. Given this hypothetical connection, it is not fruitless to get a closer look at how Jacob and the other authors denying or qualifying the physical evidence of cosmic columns understood the maintenance of the universe. We already mentioned that Basil of Caesarea, in his first homily on the Hexaemeron, argued for a metaphorical/allegorical interpretation of the cosmic pillars and suggested that the universe was entirely held up “by the power of the Creator” (τῃ δυνάμει τοῦ κτίσαντος). In the same vein, Jacob of Sarugh, along with his opponent Narsai, attributed the role of maintaining the universe to divine powers, among which is the remzā (“sign”). The terminology and imagery deployed by Jacob and Narsai to illustrate the activity of these divine powers present particular connections with the Qur’ān. The term remzā commonly designates a “sign, gesture, symbol” in Syriac⁴⁵⁵ and is often used to stress the quickness with which God’s creative act operates. Although already in use in Ephrem, it takes on a particular meaning in Narsai and Jacob of Sarugh. Commenting on Narsai’s eschatological thought, Gignoux de-

 Edessan Hymn 5; trans. McVey 1983, 95, slightly modified. See also the French translation and notes in Dupont-Sommer 1947.  Payne-Smith 1903, 543.

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scribes the notion of remzā as “a divine act, through which God instantly realizes his desires”.⁴⁵⁶ The definition also fits Jacob’s use of the concept. It is, both in Narsai and Jacob, the medium through which God’s power operates. This remzā bears four principal functions according to Alwan: the arrangement of the universe, its conservation, its destruction, and its reconstruction.⁴⁵⁷ The remzā is associated with other divine powers, the respective functions of which overlap and are difficult to grasp in detail.⁴⁵⁸ The nuance between the remzā and the ḥaylā (“power”), the seemingly second most important concept in Jacob’s system, is quite tricky to understand, especially since he apparently uses them interchangeably in cosmological contexts.⁴⁵⁹ In any event, it does not seem that Jacob himself wanted the distinction between both words to be clear-cut. At times, the remzā designates a particular mode of the ḥaylā and at times, they constitute two aspects of the same reality. Moreover, the way Jacob’s remzā and ḥaylā hinges upon other divine attributes as the puqdānā (“command”), the melltā (“Word”),⁴⁶⁰ or the ḥūšābā (“thought”) remains obscure and tenuous.⁴⁶¹ The Qur’ān also appears to delegate the maintenance of the universe to divine attributes sometimes. Although Q 22:65 and 35:41 quoted above both affirm God’s role in the preservation of the post-Creation arrangement of the world preventing the sky and the earth from collapsing, the former presents a formula absent for the latter that could well reflect a more subtle cosmological conception. Whereas Q 35:41 affirms that the sky would fall without God maintaining it, Q 22:65 reads that the sky would fall “without God’s permission” (’illā bi-’idhni-hi). The translation of the word ’idhn by “permission” here does not seem to do justice to the ac Gignoux 1966, 329.  Alwan 1988 – 1989, 99 – 103.  In fact, the word remzā in Narsai and Jacob is almost impossible to translate. In her introduction to the translation of Jacob’s eschatological homilies, Isabelle Isebaert-Cauuet justifies her choice not to translate the word: “Certains traducteurs adoptent le mot ‘Signe’ comme équivalent français du remzā ; nous craignons que ce terme ne rende pas justice à la complexité de cet élément mystérieux et capital de la pensée de Jacques, que l’on trouve également dans l’œuvre de Narsai. Aussi préférons-nous garder le terme remzā dans notre français […]”. Cf. Isebaert-Cauuet 2005, 13. Mathews Jr. translates “’signal’ as it is ambiguous enough not necessarily to indicate a physical gesture on the part of God as ‘nod’ or ‘gesture’ would. Nonetheless, the precise meaning remains impossible to translate into English”. Cf. Mathews 2009, 14 (n. 10). On the remzā in Narsai, see also Pasquet 2016, 142– 144.  Sony 1989, 175 – 176.  Although Jacob frequently insists on Jn 1:3 (“all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made”), he seems to prefer to use the remzā in cosmological context.  For a detailed discussion on the topic, see Alwan 1988 – 1989; Bou Mansour 1993, 117– 124; Paulos 1989, 175 – 176.

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tual meaning of this Qur’ānic notion. In some cases, the ’idhn of God appears to play a role in the cosmos: A light and a clear scripture have come to you from God. He guides those who seek his approval to paths of peace and He brings them from the darkness into the light by his permission [’idhn] and guides them to a straight path. (Q 5:15 – 16)⁴⁶²

A question arises from a literal reading of this verse: why does God need his own permission to “bring forth those who seek his approval”? What about the possibility that such turns reflect the existence of divine powers within the Qur’ānic cosmological thought?

3.1 Divine permission The different Qur’ānic occurrences of ’idhn often indicate the permission given by God for a vertical motion between earth and heaven. The “book”, the angels, the messengers, and the spirit (rūḥ) have all gone down thanks to the divine ’idhn (Q 2:97, 4:64, 97:4). In the same way, the ’idhn allows Paradise’s entry (Q 2:221, 14:23), as well as the intercession with God (Q 2:255, 10:3, 20:109). Moreover, the ’idhn of God plays a role in the context of military victories (Q 2:249, 2:251, 3:152, 3:166). Besides, demons are twice said to cause damage because of God’s ’idhn (Q 2:102, 58:10). Finally, the ’idhn of God is granted six times to Jesus in two parallel verses where he accomplishes miracles (e. g. Q 3:49, 5:110). Out of its thirty-nine occurrences in the Qur’ān, ’idhn appears thirteen times in the expressions ’illā bi-’idhni llāhi,⁴⁶³ ’illā bi-’idhni-hi,⁴⁶⁴ ’illā min baʿdi ’idhni-hi ⁴⁶⁵ (“except with God’s permission”/“except with his permission”).⁴⁶⁶ This recalls passages in Jacob – and to a lesser extent in Narsai – where the term remzā is inserted in the formula ellā remzā (“except the remzā”).⁴⁶⁷ The resemblance is quite striking since the Syriac particle ellā is etymologically linked to the Arabic ’illā and used in parallel syntactical constructions. Similarly, the words ḥaylā and puqdānā are also

 See also Q 14:1.  Q 2:102, 3:145, 10:100, 13:38, 14:11, 40:78, 58:10, 64:11.  Q 2:255, 11:105, 22:65.  Q 10:3.  With only one longer wording in Q 4:64, mā ’arsalnā min rasūlin ’illā li-yuṭāʿa bi-’idhni llāhi (“We did not send a prophet for any other reasons than being obeyed according to God’s permission”). Besides, there is also one occurrence of ’illā bi-’amri-hi (Q 19:64).  For the turn in Narsai, see Homilies on Creation 2:209 – 210. In Jacob, the expression especially occurs three times in a cosmographical passage already mentioned (cf. Homilies 3:35; 4:550 – 551).

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often used by Jacob in the same construction (ellā + X).⁴⁶⁸ The Qur’ān as well articulates other key divine features within that linguistic construct ’illā bi-X: ʿilm (Q 35:11, 41:47)⁴⁶⁹, ḥaqq (Q 6:151, 10:5, 15:8, 15:85, 17:33, 25:68, 30:8, 44:39), qadar (Q 15:21), sulṭān (Q 55:33) and ’amr (Q 19:64). Not unlike the homiletical and formulaic fashion with which Jacob conveys the divine powers, the Qur’ān often connects the divine activity in the world with the terms ’idhn, ’amr, ḥaqq, and others. In the next section, we further explore the possibility that these notions, and especially the word ’amr, refer to divine powers.

3.2 Divine command and the divine economy Among all the Qur’ānic notions cited in the last section the most mysterious is certainly the ’amr. The term ’amr, traditionally translated by “order”, “affair”, or even “command”, also appears to have a particularly complex status in the Qur’ān and has been abundantly commented upon in modern scholarship.⁴⁷⁰ Rudolph, among others, designated the Qur’ānic ’amr as the “hypostasized Verb”, which, according to him, could be compared to the Targum’s mēmrā and to Philo of Alexandria and the New Testament’s λόγος.⁴⁷¹ More recently, scholars have tried to be more cautious concerning the possible connection between ’amr and the Targumic mēmrā or the New Testament and Philonian λόγος, while conceding that such a link remains plausible. Thomas O’Shaugnessy, for his part, contested this hypothesis and suggested that the Qur’ānic ’amr was an “intermediary force between God and the world.”⁴⁷² More recently, Tilman Nagel wrote in the Encyclopaedia of the Qur’ān: “Amr is something like his [God’s] decree, an uninterrupted influx of his volition into the world”,⁴⁷³ whereas Uri Rubin signalled that ’amr can at times designate the revelation (e. g. Q 65:12).⁴⁷⁴ Stephen Shoemaker suggested a very different reading of certain occurrences of the word. In line with Cook, he understands the expression ’amr allāh in the sense of “God’s rule”, “God’s reign”, “God’s domin-

 For ḥaylā, see for instance Homilies 3:51; 4:552. Concerning puqdānā, it occurs in a slightly different construction: ellā meṭṭūl haw puqdānā (Homilies 3:45).  It is worth noting that an alternative canonical vocalization of the text ʿalam rather than ʿilm in Q 43:61, in which case the meaning would rather be “sign”. Perhaps this emendation should be made for other occurrences of ʿilm in the text. Cf. Anthony 2014, 248 (n. 13).  See Baljon 1958, for an overview of the sources on the subject before 1958.  Rudolph 1922, 40 – 41; cf. aslo Andrae 1955, 172.  Baljon 1958, 8 – 9.  Nagel 2006, 5, 266.  Rubin 2004, 292.

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ion” and even “empire of God”, a reading allowed by the dictionaries according to him.⁴⁷⁵ This leads him to the conclusion that the expression is a reference to the eschatological notion of the “Kingdom of God”.⁴⁷⁶ These different meanings given to the word ’amr attest to the complexity of this concept in the Qur’ānic vocabulary. It is important to remind ourselves that the 166 occurrences of the word ’amr in the Qur’ān do not necessarily need to have all the same meaning. Of interest for us are the several instances where the ’amr is clearly bestowed a cosmological role otherwise reserved to God. Whereas the root SKHR in the second derived form (sakhkhara) is usually used to refer to God’s subjection and regulation of cosmic elements for the benefit of human beings, a few passages ascribe this same function to the ’amr: He subjected the night and the day for you, and the sun and the moon, and the stars (are) subjected by His command [musakhkharātun bi-’amri-hi]. Surely in that are signs indeed for a people who understand. (Q 16:12)

The ’amr thus acts as a sort of regulating power in these passages (cf. also Q 7:54, 16:79). In another verse, it is heaven and earth that stand by God’s ’amr: And among His signs is that the sky and the earth stand by His command [bi-’amri-hi]. (Q 30:25)

We see from this verse that the word ’amr plays a central cosmological role since it is almost described as the keystone of the cosmic structure. In this regard, the ’amr is conferred the same function as God and his permission (’idhn) in Q 22:65 and Q 35:41, where they are ascribed the power preventing the universe from collapsing. Others passages of the Qur’ān provide with a cosmological ’amr and hint at the functioning of this divine attribute: Surely your Lord is God, who created [khalaqa] the heavens and the earth in six days. Then He sat down [thumma stawā] on the throne. He directs the (whole) affair [yudabbiru l-’amra]. (There is) no intercessor without His permission [’illā min baʿdi bi-’idhni-hi]. That is God, your Lord, so serve Him! Will you not take Heed? (Q 10:3)

Both the fact that the root ’MR is connected to the semantic field of “speech” and the fact that the word ’amr is used in the context of creatio continua are strongly reminiscent of discussions on the Christian Logos. The divine Logos was regarded

 Shoemaker 2012, 222; Shoemaker 2014, 529.  Shoemaker 2012, 222; Shoemaker 2014, 529 – 530.

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early in the Christian tradition as permeating the cosmos to providentially order the world and steer it.⁴⁷⁷ The expression yudabbiru l-’amr remains apparently opaque to modern translators (e. g. Droge: “He directs the affair/command”; Jones: “directing the affair”; Masson: “Il dirige le commandement”, Blachère: “[Allah] élabore l’Ordre”). Droge however notes that “the idea may be that God controls the universe from his throne ‘through’ his ’amr” and signals the possible connection with the Aramean mēmrā and the Greek λόγος.⁴⁷⁸ To be sure, the association of ’amr with the verb dabbara here is noteworthy. This verb only occurs four times in the Qur’ān, and always in cosmological contexts. In every case, the term ’amr is the direct object (Q 10:31, 13:2, 32:5).⁴⁷⁹ The verb dabbara is usually understood as meaning “to make arrangements, make plans, prepare, plan, organize”.⁴⁸⁰ Nevertheless, the fact that it only occurs in contact with the word ’amr in the Qur’ān signals that the expression probably has a technical meaning. In a conference held in 2018 at in London, Holger Zellentin compellingly drew a parallel between the Qur’ānic expression yudabbiru l-’amr and the repeated use of the root DBR in the Syriac Didascalia Apostolorum in cosmological contexts.⁴⁸¹ The comparison is noteworthy, but I think that there is more to it than a simple textual parallel. In fact, the term mdabbrānūtā in Syriac translates the Greek concept of divine οἰκονομία (“economy”). The root DBR is systematically associated in Jacob’s homilies with the action of the divine powers (remzā, ḥaylā, etc.) in cosmological contexts. A quick glance at some of Jacob’s cosmological homilies – especially his homilies On the Hexaemeron and On the Chariot that Ezekiel saw –, reveals a high number of occurrences of the participle mdabbar in contact with these powers.⁴⁸² The linguistic parallel between the Syriac corpus and the Arabic one is not only striking because of the Semitic root they share, but also because both roots are used in the same derived form (paʿʿel / faʿʿala). Nevertheless, whereas in Jacob, the ḥaylā and the remzā are always subjects of the verb dabbar, in the Qur’ān the word ’amr is rather the direct object of dabbara whose subject is always implicitly understood as being God. Although one might argue that an unvocalized

 See for instance Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 7, 2:5; Irenaeus, Adversus haereses 1, 22:1– 2. Cf. Loi 1990, 2132.  Droge 2013, 272 (n. 8).  To these four occurrences should be added the expression al-mudabbirāt ’amran in Q 79:5.  Wehr 1979, 312.  Didascalia Apostolorum 2, 252– 253.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 2:134; 3:31, 643; 4:390, 502, 544, 549, 553.

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text might help the reading of ’amr as subject rather than object of yudabbiru, it is possible that it rather reflects a reluctance to personify these powers and attribute distinctive cosmic functions to anything else than God himself. A last point on the expression yudabbiru l-’amr needs to be added. In three of the four occurrences of the expression (Q 10:3, 13:2, 32:5), the Qur’ān contrasts the primeval creation of heaven and earth, described by means of verbs conjugated in the perfect form (khalaqa, istawā), with the sustenance of this creation by means of the verb dabbara conjugated in the imperfect: yudabbiru. The text clearly plays here on aspectuality in order to suggest that while the creation of the cosmos, which occurred in a primeval time, is now over (hence, perfect form), the divine maintenance of the Creation is still underway (hence, imperfect form). This distinction between primeval and continuous creations is formulated in another passage of the Qur’ān: [A] Surely your Lord is God, [B] who created [khalaqa] the heavens and the earth in six days. Then He mounted the throne. [C] The night covers [yughshī] the day, which it pursues urgently [yaṭlubu-hu ḥathīthan], and the sun, and the moon, and the stars are subjected, (all) by His command [bi-’amri-hi]. [D] Is it not (a fact) that to Him (belong) the creation [al-khalqu] and the command [al-’amru]? Blessed (be) God, Lord of the worlds! (Q 7:54)

The opposition between both cosmic actions is very neatly rendered in this verse. After the opening [A], section [B] starts praising the creative ability of God at the beginning of times in referring to the six days of creation. The text then moves on in section [C] to another divine quality, that of continuously maintaining the cosmic order “through” or “by means of ” (bi‐) his ’amr, quality here exemplified by the tireless regularity of planetary motions. Section [D] recapitulates [B] and [C] in declaring via a rhetorical question that the khalq and the ’amr belong to God and are not external to him. The fact that the text here renders both actions by abstract nouns is noteworthy. One is almost tempted to translate [D] by: “Is it not a fact that the primeval creation (creatio ab origine) and the maintenance (creatio continua) belong to Him?”⁴⁸³ The very fact that God is said to continuously make the stars move bi-’amri-hi and that right after the word ’amr is contrasted with the word khalq confirms the hypothesis that in this passage and the others cited above, the divine ’amr refers to a divine power responsible for the maintenance of the universe.

 This was already pointed out by Baljon 1958, 9.

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4 Focus on Q 16:77 – 79 The use in both corpora of a similar imagery (e. g. sky without columns), common turns of phrase (e. g. ’illā bi-/ellā, dabbara/mdabbar), and the conception of powers in the preservation of the universe (’amr, ’idhn/remzā, ḥaylā), altogether form an important number of clues suggesting that both the Qur’ān and Jacob bear witness to a same tradition. This hypothesis is further supported by the analysis of Q 16:77– 79 provided in the next two sections.

4.1 The blink of an eye and childbirth In surah 16, the Qur’ān gives us a glance at its eschatological doctrine: To God (belongs) the unseen of the heavens and the earth, and the command of the Hour [’amru l-sāʿati] is only like a blink of the eye [ka-lamḥi l-baṣari], or it is nearer. Surely God is powerful over everything.⁴⁸⁴ (Q 16:77)

This verse is composed of a substantial amount of particularly enigmatic turns of phrase. The obscure “unseen (ghayb) of the heavens and the earth” left aside, it also refers to a cryptic “command of the Hour” (’amr al-sāʿa). The expression has an obvious eschatological meaning and ultimately refers to God’s call for the end of the world. It is illustrated by means of a comparison: the ’amr al-sāʿa is like “a blink of the eye”. The comparison of the ’amr to the “blink of an eye” is also extant elsewhere in the Qur’ānic corpus (cf. Q 54:50: “and Our command is but a single (act), like a blink of the eye [ka-lamḥi bi-l-baṣari]”) and has already been largely commented. The description of the ’amr operating extremely rapidly is reminiscent once again of traditions on the Logos.⁴⁸⁵ Nevertheless, it is the more specific motif of the “blink of the eye” that interests us here. Gabriel Reynolds recently paralleled the Qur’ānic “blink of the eye” with Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians: ⁴⁸⁶ Lo! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment [ἐν ἀτόμῳ], in the twinkling of an eye [ἐν ῥιπῇ ὀφθαλμοῦ], at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. (1 Cor 15:51– 52)

 Droge’s translation slight modified.  For instance Philo of Alexandria, Quis rerum divinarum heres sit 130.  Reynolds 2019, 57– 59.

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Whereas Reynolds sees a continuity between the Pauline phrase and the Qur’ānic one, he also indicates that a slight semantic shift occurs between the Greek and the Arabic expressions. The Greek word ῥιπή, just as its translation in the Syriac Peshitta rpāp, designates the idea of “shining”, “blinking”, whereas the Arabic lamḥ would rather insist on the movement of the eye, a “glance”.⁴⁸⁷ Leaving aside those semantic subtleties, we agree with Reynolds that the meaning of both phrases is obviously the same and aims at insisting on the suddenness with which the final eschatological event will take place. Clearly, the idea that the eschaton comes as quickly as the “blink of an eye”, was in the air in Paul’s time. The belief that God will “resuscitate the dead in the blink of an eye” (ḥerep ʿayn) appears in the Jewish Amidah prayer dating back to the 1st century BCE as well. Goitein even suggested that the Qur’ānic expression hailed directly from this Jewish prayer,⁴⁸⁸ and although such a hypothesis can hardly be discarded – there must be a link, be it indirect between both expressions –, one should recall that this passage in Paul influenced many other writers and texts in Late Antiquity.⁴⁸⁹ Syriac writers articulating the notion of remzā such as Jacob of Sarugh, were quite keen on associating the cosmic activity of this divine power with that of “the blink of an eye”. In fact, historically speaking the notion of remzā is tightly related to the movement of the eye. Alwan contends that the Syriac root RMZ, usually translated as “to sign, make a sign, mean”, takes on the additional meaning of “to wink (the eye)”.⁴⁹⁰ This very meaning is actually well-attested in the Peshitta where the phrase remzā d-ʿaynē (lit. “a sign of the eyes”) occurs once (Is 3:16) and where we also find twice the use of the verb rmaz in the sense of “blinking the eyes” (Prov 6:13, 10:10). In his Commentary on Genesis, Ephrem of Nisibis compares the immediacy of the creative act to a maṭraf temrā or a rpāp ʿayna, i. e. the “twinkling of an eye” (1:8). Similarly, Narsai insists on the rapidity of the remzā on the Judgment Day and states that the second Creation will take place as quickly as the “blink of an eye”.⁴⁹¹ Jacob of Sarugh’s eschatological homilies display several occurrences of this motif. He indeed describes the remzā as the power through which everything

 Reynolds 2019, 57– 59.  Goitein 1955, 50.  Denise Masson notes for instance the use of this very motif in Augustine, Ephrem the Syrian, and Pseudo-Hippolytus. Cf. Masson 1967, 870 (n. 77, 1).  Payne-Smith gives “a sign, hint, gesture, a dark saying; suggestion symbol; remzā da-gbīnā: a motion of the eyebrow; remzā d-ʿaynē: a glance, wink.” Cf. Payne-Smith 1903, 543.  Gignoux 1966, 329.

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is renewed, and the dead bodies resurrected in the “blink of an eye” (ba-rpāp ʿaynē): The remzā amasses heaps of earth and turns towards all things made [tuqānē] to renew them. At the [sound of ] the voice, the dead will rise in the blink of an eye [ba-rpāp ʿaynā], and the incorruptible livings will fly to the Bridegroom’s encounter.⁴⁹² And the corpses which, for a long time, had gestated into her [the earth] and became clay, by shaking and rubbing, she makes them go out at the encounter of He who raises from the dead [mnaḥmānā]. At the rapid remzā, the pangs strike her, as for a childbirth, in the blink of an eye [ba-rpāp ʿaynā], she begets all the bodies that are in her.⁴⁹³

The comparison of the remzā to the “blink of an eye” in Jacob’s homilies evokes the Qur’ānic comparison of the “’amr of the Hour” to the “blink of an eye” in Q 16:77. Under Ephremian influence, the notion of remzā enjoyed new developments in Narsai and Jacob of Sarugh, becoming a divine power in its own right. The Qur’ān seems to build on a similar repertoire of metaphors to illustrate the action of the ’amr. It is remarkable that in the passage quoted above, Jacob builds on biblical – more specifically Pauline – imagery to illustrate the action of the remzā at the eschaton. Not only does it resort to the image of the “blink of the eye” hailing from 2 Corinthians as we already said, but he also resorts to the imagery of the birth pangs which most likely derives from the Epistle to the Romans: We know that the whole creation has been groaning in travail together until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruit of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Rom 8:22 – 23)

The fact that Jacob appeals to this image of the birth pangs right after describing the remzā as the “blink of an eye” is significant for our study. Immediately after the comparison of the ’amr to the “blink of an eye”, the text builds on the motif of childbirth as well: (It is) God (who) brought you forth from the bellies of you mothers – you did not know a thing – and made for you hearing and sight and heart, so that you may be thankful. (Q 16:78)

The meaning here is not eschatological, but the image is conveyed right after the mention of a strongly eschatological message epitomized by the expression ’amr alsāʿa. In this light, it is not impossible that the passage originally bore a more escha Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 2:857; my translation.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 1:715; my translation. Cf. also Homilies 1:715; 2:855.

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tological meaning, perhaps comparing the way humans were brought forth from the womb of their mothers to the way the earth will bring them forth at the resurrection. The Qur’ānic association of both motifs brings once again to mind the homiletical fashion with which Jacob of Sarugh builds on Pauline imagery. In the next section, I argue that the Qur’ān develops yet another motif used by Jacob to illustrate the action of the remzā.

4.2 The bird suspended in the air of the sky After having warned about the rapidity with which God’s ’amr will come at the end of times, the Qur’ān enumerates various divine signs attesting to God’s benevolence in the universe. The verse Q 16:79 will here hold our attention: Do they not see the birds, subjected in the midst of the sky [’a-lam yaraw ’ilā l-ṭayri musakhkharātin fī jawwi l-samā’i]? No one holds them (up) but God [mā yumsiku-hunna ’illā llāhu]. (Q 16:79)

This motif has a clear parallel elsewhere in the Qur’ān, though slightly variating: Do they not see the birds above them, spreading (their wings), and folding (them) [’a-wa-lam yaraw ’ilā l-ṭayri fawqa-hum ṣāffātin wa-yaqbiḍna]? No one holds them (up) but the Merciful [mā yumsiku-hunna ’illā l-raḥmānu].⁴⁹⁴ (Q 67:19)

Although the cosmological nature of these verses could be challenged at first glance, the two pericopes in which they occur leave little doubt on the matter. Q 16:79 is closely preceded by a sentence dealing with “the mysteries of heavens and earth” (Q 16:77), while Q 67:19 occurs just after some apocalyptical warnings (Q 67:16 – 17). Moreover, the idea of “holding the birds up” is conveyed in both verses by the verb ’amsaka/yumsiku, which is precisely the verb used in the aforementioned passages where God was said to prevent the sky from falling on to the earth while holding it firmly (Q 22:65, 35:41). Gabriel Reynolds made the point that this “reference to the flight of birds in both passages seems to owe something to Jesus’ reference to birds in the Gospel.”⁴⁹⁵ It is true that both Luke and Matthew use the example of the bird to illustrate God’s beneficence:

 Droge’s translation slightly modified for the purpose of the demonstration.  Reynolds 2019, 59 – 60.

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Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? (Mt 6:26; see also Lk 12:24)

Yet, the content of the message is quite different. As Reynolds himself argued, “whereas Jesus speaks of the way birds do not need to sow or harvest and yet still find food, the Qur’ān insists that they fly only by the power of God”.⁴⁹⁶ Moreover, the purpose of each verse is also quite distinct. In the case of the Gospel, the verse aims at highlighting the importance of having confidence in God, whereas the Qur’ān uses the metaphor of the bird to illustrate God’s power. In fact, these Qur’ānic verses are closer in meaning and form to the following Matthean passage: Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground without your Father [Gr.: ἄνευ τοῦ Πατρὸς ὑμῶν; Pesh.: belʿud men abūḫūn]. (Mt 10:29)

Both the Qur’ān and Matthew resort to a rhetorical question in the first half of the verse. Though in their respective second half, both texts seek to convey the same meaning, they in fact frame it in a different way. While Matthew affirms that “without your Father” the birds would not fall to the ground, the Qur’ān affirms exactly the contrary, namely that the bird would not remain upheld in the air without God’s help. Yet, the parallel is striking, for just as the Qur’ān uses the clause ’illā llāhu/’illā l-raḥmān, the text of the Gospel resort to the restrictive clause “without your Father” (Greek: ἄνευ τοῦ Πατρὸς ὑμῶν; Syriac: belʿud men abūḫūn). Clearly, both passages have something to do with one another. Although the use of the example of the bird suspended in the air of the sky to illustrate the activity of God’s power is quite intuitive and natural – it is the reason why the Qur’ān uses it –, our close scrutiny of late antique literature has nonetheless revealed that the image seems also quite rare. Our research has shown that the bird imagery is used in various late antique Christian authors but never to the same end as the Qur’ān. Basil of Caesarea for instance famously compared the “spirit hovering on water” of Gen 1:2 with the image of a bird brooding its eggs.⁴⁹⁷ Ephrem of Nisibis, for his part, often sees in the flight of the bird a metaphor of faith and a type of the cross.⁴⁹⁸  Reynolds 2019, 60.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 2:6. This image was taken over by several Christian authors later on. Cf. Robbins 1912, 48 – 49. On the reception of this motif in later Syriac Christianity, see Brock 1999, 327– 349.  See for instance Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 18:1– 3, 24:8, 84:6. The metaphor also recalls passages in Hekhalot literature concerning the maintaining of the throne of God: “Your throne flies from the hour that You inserted the peg of the weaving of the web that completed the world and plaited it, standing over it many years, generations without end, and as yet it has not rested its

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The Qur’ānic metaphor is in fact extremely close both conceptually and linguistically to a metaphor conveyed at least three times by Jacob of Sarugh to illustrate the function of the remzā and the ḥaylā. In depicting how God maintains the balance of the earth, Jacob declares: There is no body either above it or below it nor round it but a force [ḥaylā] supporting it. It hangs and exists like a bird [pāraḥtā] inside nothing, and in its midst there is a turbulent universe full of movements.⁴⁹⁹

As opposed to the passage of the Gospel mentioned earlier, the flight of the bird is well and truly compared to God’s power here. It is repeated in his Homily on the fifth day of Creation: Look at the bird when it is standing erect and relaxed and its feathers are spread out and it is standing on nothing, and it is not heavy for that nothing on which it is set, but its wing is stable and rests as if on something, and its feet and wings are spread to and it stands there and that empty space where it is please is like the earth for it, and when it is not leaning nor resting, hanging in the air and imagining the earth hanging on nothing. The hidden force [ḥaylā kasyā] of the Divinity, that is that something on which all the creation hangs and with which it is held.⁵⁰⁰

A third occurrences of this image appears in the Homily on the Chariot that Ezekiel saw, where it is said the remzā confers upon everything its stability and cries out: See! They are suspended and stand like a bird who is suspended in the air with nothing on which it rests except the remzā. ⁵⁰¹

Here, Jacob’s phrasing draws so near, both linguistically and thematically, to the Qur’ānic passage cited above that one could read both excerpts synoptically. I put them in the following table:⁵⁰²

feet on the surface of Aravot, but only flies like a bird and stands under You.” And further down: “And they [the majestic ones of the majestic ones] carry it with power, strength, and might, and they too have not rested their feet on the surface of Aravot, but they fly like a bird and they stand under it.” Cf. Davila 2013, 60.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:40; trans. Muraoka 2018, 69.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:96; trans. Muraoka 2018, 148 – 151.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 4:551; my translation purposefully literal for the need of the demonstration. For a smoother translation see Golitzin 2011, 34– 35.  I slightly modify Droge’s translation in the table to make it closer to Arabic the text and more suitable for the demonstration.

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Table 1: A bird in the sky Q :

Jacob of Sarugh

Do they not see ’a-lam yaraw

See! hā They [firmament and earth] are suspended and stand tlīn qāymīn

the birds [collective meaning] ’ilā l-ṭayri

like a bird ayk pāraḥtā

subjected in the midst of the sky musakhkharātin fī jawwi l-samā’i

who is suspended in the air d-talyā b-ā’ar

(that) nothing holds mā yumsiku-hunna

with nothing on which it rests w-lā īt meddem d-ʿlaweh teškan

except God ’illā llāhu

except the remzā ellā remzā

In fact, one is tempted to argue that both texts not only share a common cosmological typology, but also provide with an example of hypertextuality. Indeed, Q 16:79 not only conveys the same idea as Jacob with the same vocabulary but, when both pieces are broken down into semantic units (see the table), we observe that nearly every unit of the Arabic text finds its counterpart in the Syriac one. Apart from the fact that the Qur’ān uses the example of the bird as bearing witness to the maintaining of the universe by God whereas Jacob more specifically attributes this function to the remzā of God, the correspondence is almost exact. The two texts share several linguistic elements. They both start by calling out the audience (’a-lam yaraw/hā)⁵⁰³ in drawing attention to the bird (al-ṭayr/pāraḥtā) or more precisely on the hanging of the bird in the sky (musakhkharātin fī jawwi lsamā’i/d-talyā b-ā’ar). Finally, both excerpts emphasize that there is logically nothing else that allows the bird to remain upheld in the sky (mā yumsiku-hunna/w-lā īt meddem d-ʿlaweh teškan) except God, or in Jacob’s case, the divine remzā (’illā llāhu/ellā remzā). From a syntactical point of view, both verses are built on the same grammatical structure, a negative sentence with a restrictive clause: lā īt … ellā and mā … ’illā. Without overlooking the significant differences existing between both passages, which are central to correctly explain the reason of this correspondence, it can nonetheless be established that the connection between both excerpts holds on the

 A characteristic they both share with Matthew 6:24. Cf. Reynolds 2019, 59.

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thematic, the sequential, and the linguistic levels. The Qur’ān has never been so close to quoting a Christian text. Throughout the last few sections, we have highlighted correspondences between Jacob of Sarugh and the Qur’ān’s respective doctrines of the maintenance of the universe. The Qur’ān shares with the Sarughian corpus and many others, the understanding that God is ultimately responsible for sustaining the world. More specifically, they share the idea that divine powers play a role in this endeavour (’idhn, ’amr/ḥaylā, remzā). What is particularly striking is their common means of illustrating this cosmic phenomenon. Parallel motifs and similar linguistic patterns have been pointed out: negation of columns, common turns of phrase, blink of an eye, bird suspended in the air, etc. Beyond the possible connection with the Sarughian corpus here, which can neither be proven nor disproven, we see that the Qur’ān constructs a doctrine of continuous creation built on scripturally rooted metaphors and images. Moreover, the text shows that its authors had a good idea of the importance of arguing for a providentially governed creation. God created the world, maintains it, but also decides its end. The text indeed displays the understanding that the lifetime of the world depends on God who can choose to call back his ’amr at any time. In the next section, we show how the text also echoes late antique speculations on the time this world will remain maintained.

5 Age of the world and sabbatical rest We see from the above that the Qur’ān not only ascribes to God the role of originator of the world but endows him with the function of sustaining the universe. God, or rather his ’amr, steers Creation towards an appointed end. Given this providential governance, it is not surprising that the Qur’ān displays speculations about the lifetime of the world. We already said in a previous chapter that the Qur’ān fully endorsed the biblical motif of the week of creation in making explicit that the world was created in six days. Nevertheless, it is striking that there is absolutely no mention in the Qur’ān of the seventh day of creation. Whereas the text regularly mentions the six days of creation and affirms God’s sitting on the throne afterwards (Q 7:54, 10:3, 13:2, 20:5, 25:59, 32:4, 57:4), one hardly finds a reference to the seventh day and the sabbatical rest. The repeated affirmation that God created the world in six days is perhaps less trivial than it looks in light of the biblical tradition. Concerning the completion of creation, the Hebrew text of Genesis reads in a slightly redundant way:

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Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them. And on the seventh day God finished his work which he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had done. (Gen 2:1– 2)

These verses bothered the early interpreters of the Bible. The Septuagint already provided with a tremendously different reading according to which God “completed his work on the sixth day” (καὶ συνετέλεσεν ὁ θεὸς ἡμέρᾳ τῇ ἕκτῃ) and this is the case in many other versions including the Syriac ones (Pesh.: w-šlam alāhā byawmā štītyā ʿbādāwhī).⁵⁰⁴ Scholars disagree over whether the Masoretic text or the Septuagint represents the original version, but the important point for us is that this discrepancy created debates among Jews and Christians in Late Antiquity. Rabbis obviously rejected the reading of the Septuagint,⁵⁰⁵ but they had nonetheless to find a way to accommodate the belief that God completed his work on the seventh day with the impossibility that God could have worked on the sabbath.⁵⁰⁶ Greek commentators also had to accommodate the representation that the world was created in six days to the mention of a seventh one. To this end, Philo takes over neo-Pythagorean speculations on numerological symbolism,⁵⁰⁷ which find echoes in numerous Christian commentators as well.⁵⁰⁸ In light of the above, it is remarkable that the Qur’ān affirms so straightforwardly the creation of the world in six days and completely ignores the seventh day. Indeed, with the rejection of the Septuagint motif, the extant documentation suggests that the emphasis on the historicity of the creation in six days constituted a distinctively Christian motif in the East. The hypothesis that the seventh day is not mentioned in the Qur’ān due to late antique issues surrounding the exegesis of God’s rest is supported by several Qur’ānic passages taking a position against the idea that God rested at some point or felt tired. He created heavens and earth, “and was not tired out by their creation” (Q 46:33), for “slumber does not overtake Him, nor sleep” (Q 2:255). God even defends himself against such accusations: Certainly We created the heavens and the earth, and whatever is between them, in six days. No weariness touched Us in (doing) that. (Q 50:38)

 Cf. also Samaritan Pentateuch, the Book of Jubilees (2:16, 25), and the Vetus Latina for instance. In fact, besides MT, only the Vulgate reads “on the seventh day” (die septimo) among the extant ancient versions.  See for instance Babylonian Talmud, Megilah 9a.  Alexandre 1988, 214– 216.  Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 13 – 14.  For instance Basil of Caesarea, On the Creation of Man 2:8; Didymus the Blind, On Genesis 34.

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The absence of divine weariness after creation is even cited as evidence for the eschatological re-creation of the world: Were We tired out by the first creation? No! They are in doubt about a new creation. (Q 50:15)

Such affirmations strongly echo passages such as Ps 121:4 (“He who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep”) or Is 40:28 (“He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable”). The idea that God needed to rest after the creation of the world became increasingly problematic among commentators who wanted to affirm God’s absolute power and unconditionality. Philo for instance already argued that God did not rest on the seventh day. For him, Moses rather affirmed that God caused Creation to rest in Gen 2:3: “God never leaves off making, but even as it is the property of fire to burn and of snow to chill, so it is the property of God to make”.⁵⁰⁹ A few centuries later, the Qur’ān affirms, along Philo’s line that God never stops his creation. The text not only denies God’s rest on the seventh day, but it also emphasizes his continuous creativity by various means already studied. Besides, Masson translates the two occurrences of the epithet al-khallāq as “le Créateur qui ne cesse de créer” (Q 15:86; 36:81) and, although it is unprovable, it is possible that this intensive adjectival form (ism al-mubālagha) hints at the intention to convey this meaning.⁵¹⁰ These verses respectively talk about the coming of the eschaton and God’s ability to bring forth a new creation, which indeed shows that the epithet al-khallāq is used in a context willing to emphasize God’s ability to create a second time. For the Church Fathers as well the doctrine of a continuous creative activity of God was central, especially given Jesus’ affirmation in John 5:17 that both the Father and him “are still working”. The apparent antinomy between such an affirmation and God’s rest in Gen 2:2 had not gone unnoticed. Origen for instance would go as far as to say that nothing says that Gen 2:2 talks about the seventh day. For him God is still working, and the rest mentioned in Gen 2:2 is an allusion to the world to come.⁵¹¹ The position taken by Origen is symptomatic of how uncomfortable Christian authors were with the idea of the sabbatical rest. The topic was indeed frequently addressed, sometimes on polemical grounds.⁵¹² The easiest way out of

 Philo of Alexandria, Legum allegoriae 1:5 – 7; trans. Colson/Whitaker 1929, 149.  Wright 2004, 137.  Origen, Homilies on Numbers 23, 4:3 – 4.  E. g. Gregory Nazianzen, Orations 30:11; Augustine, De Genesi contra Manicheaos 1:22, 33; and Contra Adimantum 2; Maximus the Confessor, Quaestiones ad Thalassium 2. Cf. Blowers 2012, 103 (n. 4).

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that conundrum was to grant God’s rest or the seventh day a symbolical meaning. Among all the possible interpretations, the idea of the septimana mundi, a millenarian reading of the seventh day, is particularly worth mentioning here. This doctrine is grounded on Ps 90:4 (“For a thousand years in your sight are like yesterday when it is past, or like a watch in the night”; cf. also 2 Peter 3:8) and was abundantly used in Christian exegesis throughout the centuries. Psalm 90:4 is used as a typological instrument to reflect back on the creation narrative. Given that one day for God is a thousand years for us, the week of creation typifies the 6000 years of the age of the world and the seventh day figures the thousand years during which the world will come to rest. This interpretation is first found in the Letter of Pseudo-Barnabas dating back from the first half of the 2nd century,⁵¹³ but it also appears in other early Christian commentaries.⁵¹⁴ This eschatological and millenarian interpretation of the seventh day found ist way early on in the Syriac world. It is attested both in Greek texts translated into Syriac and in Syriac authors.⁵¹⁵ Severus Sebokht (d. 666/667) and George of the Arabs (d. 723) tell us that Bardaisan (d. 222) believed that the world would endure 6000 years, but he does not use the creation week typology. Aphraates (d. 345) is the first known author to endorse for sure this doctrine.⁵¹⁶ Ephrem was in all likelihood acquainted with this typological interpretation as well.⁵¹⁷ Similarly, the Pseudo-Ephremian Cave of Treasures assumes the chronology of the septimana mundi. ⁵¹⁸ Many other Syriac texts and authors, especially from the 6th and 7th centuries, display this typological motif showing that the idea was well implanted at the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān.⁵¹⁹ Unsurprisingly, the motif appears in Jacob of Sarugh’s writings and especially in his homily on the seventh day of creation. The author is clearly bothered by the idea of the sabbatical rest by God and emphasizes by means of Jn 5:17 the continuous work of the Father and the Son in Creation: It is evident that fatigue had not affected the Lord.⁵²⁰

 The Letter of Barnabas was most likely fully translated into Syriac although only a small fragment has come down to us. Cf. Witakowski 1990, 96 – 99.  In fact, this millenarian interpretation of the seven days of creation already appears in Jewish apocrypha such as 2 Enoch (33:1– 2). Cf. Alexandre 1988, 219 – 220.  For instance Didascalia Apostolorum 2, 2.  Aphraates, Demonstrations 2:14, 21:11.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Commentary on Genesis 1:33; Homilies on the Holy Week 4:219 – 259.  Cave of Treasures 48:2– 7. Cf. Witakowski 1990, 100 – 101.  For instance, the Didascalia Apostolorum and Pseudo-Jacob of Sarugh’s Memrā on Alexander the Great.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:131; trans. Muraoka 2018, 201.

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Further down he adds: He would not have rested even if He had been tired.⁵²¹

Jacob suggests two interpretations of the sabbatical rest mentioned in Gen 2:2. One of them is eschatological and particularly relevant for us here. He argued that Gen 2:2 was an allusion to the rest that the world – and not God – will take after the eschatological events. According to the doctrine exposed above, Jacob introduces the symbolism of the number 1000 by means of Ps 90:4, which allows him to come up with the typological meaning of the creation week. Each of the six days corresponds to one of the world’s six millennia. The seventh day is a type of the seventh millennium during which the world will come to a rest or be destructed.⁵²² I already mentioned that the Qur’ān does not talk at all about the seventh day of creation. We can assume that its authors were probably not at ease with the imagery of God’s rest usually associated with this day of the creation week. Yet, the text does not deny its existence either and even seems to be acquainted with the typological interpretation described above.⁵²³ This is hardly surprising given the significant impact of this doctrine in Christianity as a whole but in Syriac Christianity more specifically. One of the four verses in which the expression yudabbiru l-’amr occurs is worth citing here: (It is) God who created the heavens and the earth, and whatever is between them, in six days. Then He mounted the throne. You have no ally and no intercessor than Him. Will you not take heed? He directs the (whole) affair [yudabbiru l-’amra] from the sky to the earth; then it will go up to Him in a day, the measure of which is a thousand years of what you count [thumma yaʿruju ’ilay-hi fī yawmin kāna miqdāru-hu ’alfa sanatin mimmā taʿuddūna]. (Q 32:4– 5)

The allusion to the six days of creation, the presence of the notion of ’amr, and the mention that one day in the eyes of God equates a thousand years on the scale of humans, shows that the author of this passage is acquainted with the millenarian typology of the septimana mundi. The mention of the 1000 years is a clear allusion to Ps 90:4, which is key to this doctrine.

 Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:131; my translation. Compare with Muraoka’s “He did not rest even if He were tired”. Cf. trans. Muraoka 2018, 203.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:132– 133. For an analysis of this motif in Jacob, see Alwan 1986, 56 – 57 and n. 30.  Note that the text condemns in several places those who do not observe the sabbath (Q 2:65, 4:47, 4:154, 7:163, 16:124). Thus, if our interpretation is correct, the authors do not see (or do not want to posit) any connection between the divine sabbatical rest on the seventh day and the human practice of observing sabbath.

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Yet, the referential scheme is slightly odd here. The text seems to imply that it is the ascent of the ’amr back to God that will last a thousand years, whereas in light of the other passages and the cosmic role of the ’amr, one expects that the ascent of the ’amr triggers apocalyptical events and initiates a thousand-year long sabbatical rest. Something might have gone amiss. If it is to these thousand years of rest that the text originally refers, it is likely that the Qur’ānic authors had in mind that the new creation would occur only after the seventh day/millennium. The conception of the new creation occurring on the eighth day/millennium, an eternal one in which time is abolished, is found in early texts such as 2 Enoch but might well be of Christian origin.⁵²⁴ The lack of clarity of the Qur’ān in this verse does not help us grasp what the authors meant exactly. Though clearly announcing the very soon end of time in several verses, it is clear that the text is against speculations on the exact time at which the world will come to an end. This is explicit in a series of passages, but it is noteworthy that it occurs in a verse dealing again with typology built on Ps 90:4: They seek to hurry you with the punishment. God will not break his promise. Surely a day with your Lord is like a thousand years of what you count. (Q 22:47)

Such warnings remind of two New Testament passages signalling that only the Father knows the appointed time: But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. (Mk 13:32– 33) So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. (Acts 1:6 – 7)

These quotations are for instance used by George bishop of the Arabs (7th/8th c.) in his discussion of the typological interpretation just mentioned, by which means he shows his discomfort with regards to such speculations.⁵²⁵ Disregarding this short digression, it is sensible to assume that the authors of the Qur’ān, or some of them at least, had endorsed the chronology coming out of this exegesis on the days of creation. However, this somewhat explicit endorsement becomes blurred again when in a parallel passage to Q 32:4– 5 and 22:47, the day is not equal to a thousand but to fifty thousand years:

 Daniélou 1948, 3.  Witakowski 1990, 105.

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A questioner questioned about the punishment going to fall – the disbelievers have no one to repel it! – from God, controller of the stairways. The angels and the spirit ascend to Him in a day, the measure of which is fifty thousand years [taʿruju l-malā’ikatu wa-l-rūḥu ’ilay-hi fī yawmin kāna miqdāru-hu khamsīna ’alfa sanatin]. (Q 70:1– 4)

The fifty-thousand-year period mentioned in this passage is quite puzzling at first sight and could be regarded as a hyperbolic variation on the symbolism of 1000. Nevertheless, I think that there is much more to it than simple hyperbolism. There exists at least one example of a discussion of the number fifty within the context of the typology of the septimana mundi. In his Oration on the Pentecost (i. e. the day number 50 after the death of Christ), Gregory Nazianzen reflects upon the relation between the numbers 50 and 7: Thus the veneration paid to the number Seven gave rise also to the veneration of the Pentecost. For seven being multiplied by seven generates fifty all but one day, which we borrow from the world to come, at once the eighth and the first, or rather one and indestructible. For the present sabbatism of our souls can find its cessation there, that a portion may be given to seven and also to eight.⁵²⁶

Gregory therefore points out that 50 equals 7 x 7 + 1 and sees in the number 50 a type of the age of the world. Having gone through forty-nine days (7 x 7), the fiftieth one figures the new creation, an eternal one. Gregory falls back here on the septimana mundi typology and observes that this fiftieth day is the first day of the new week, the eighth day of creation.⁵²⁷ Although this development on the symbolism of the number 50 does not often occur in the literature according to our overview of the sources, it is worth remembering that Gregory Nazianzen had been translated, read, commented, and quoted multiple times in the Syriac world by the time the Qur’ān emerged.⁵²⁸ Although it is impossible and pointless to make the case that Gregory’s exegesis here influences the Qur’ān, it creates a noteworthy precedent to the number 50, 000 in Q 70:4. Leaving aside numerical symbolism, it is important however to highlight that Q 70:1– 4 presents a striking difference with one of its parallel verses.

 Gregory of Nazianzus, Orations 41:2; trans. Browne/Swallow 1988 – 1991, 754.  On the symbolism of the eighth day and the doctrine of the septimana mundi as a whole, see Daniélou 1948.  On the rarity of this exegesis, see Browne/Swallow 1988 – 1991, 754 (n. 4210). On Gregory Nazianzen in Syriac, see Haelewyck 2017; Isebaert-Cauuet 2007; Schmidt 1998 – 1999; Taylor 2007; van Roey/Moors 1973 – 1974; Brock 2016b, 136 – 138; de Halleux 1983; de Halleux 1985; Detienne 2000; for editions and translations of Gregory Nazianzen’s discourses in Syriac, see Gregory of Nazianzus, Versio syriaca, ed. and trans. Haelewyck/Schmidt 2001– 2011.

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Table 2: Millenarian typology Q :

Q :

yudabbiru l-’amra mina l-samā’i ’ilā l-’arḍi thumma yaʿruju ’ilay-hi fī yawmin kāna miqdāru-hu ’alfa sanatin mimmā taʿuddūna

taʿruju l-malā’ikatu wa-l-rūḥu ’ilay-hi fī yawmin kāna miqdāru-hu khamsīna ’alfa sanatin

He directs the (whole) affair from the sky to the The angels and the spirit ascend to Him in a day, earth; then it will go up to Him in a day, the mea- the measure of which is fifty thousand years. sure of which is a thousand years of what you count.

Whereas in Q 32:5, God directs (dabbara) the ’amr, which will ascend back to him in a day, in Q 70:4 we are told that the ascension is that of the angels and the spirit. Such assertion has potentially huge implications in terms of cosmology. We suggested above that the word ’amr in these turns of phrase probably stands for the power through which God governs and maintains the universe. If this interpretation is correct then the idea that the ’amr “will go up to Him in a day, the measure of which is a thousand years of what you count” can be interpreted in two different ways. Either it constitutes an allusion to the eschaton and thus the removal of the ’amr from the world by God triggers apocalyptical events, as the removal of the keystone from an edifice triggers its destruction; or, the return of the ’amr back to God marks the beginning of the sabbatical rest of the world, which will endure for a thousand years before the second creation. I would reject the former solution given the emphasis put on the length of the time (a thousand years) and that apocalyptical events are usually thought to occur all of the sudden, in the blink of an eye. The question here is to determine whether the ascension of the ’amr in Q 32:5 and that of the angels and the spirit in Q 70:4 have the same meaning, i. e. does the author of Q 70:4 ascribe to the angels and the spirit the same cosmic function which the author of Q 32:5 attributes to the ’amr. Despite the linguistic and thematic connection between both verses, the allusiveness of the text does not allow us to deduce such meaning. The other two verses in which the angels and the spirit appear concomitantly do not enlighten the sense of the expression (Q 78:38, 97:4). Moreover, to this complex equation should be added the fact that scholars have argued that Q 70:4 (or part of it) – just as Q 97:4 – is an interpolation.⁵²⁹ The idea that the world was maintained in existence by the angels finds echoes in previous cosmological traditions. It was precisely to counter the possibility

 Bell 1991, 2, 421; Blachère’s note in his translation of the Qur’ān, 614 (n. 3); Dye 2019c, 1821.

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that God appealed to a third party to maintain the universe that authors like Basil or Jacob of Sarugh developed, among other things, metaphorical interpretations of the “columns” and emphasized that God’s powers only maintain the universe. If this is what the Qur’ān means, then the text offers two different conceptions of the continuous creation: one ascribes it to the divine power (’amr) and the other to “the angels and the spirit”.⁵³⁰ We therefore see that, once again, it is a whole array of motifs revolving around the interpretation of the sabbatical rest that the Qur’ān seems to borrow to previous traditions. The adoption of the doctrine of the septimana mundi and the negation of God’s rest or slumber constitute motifs that the Qur’ān shares with late antique Christian exegesis.

6 Conclusion This chapter studied the Qur’ānic doctrine of creatio continua. The stakes underlying this issue are tremendous for the Qur’ānic spiritual program described in the first and the second chapter. While the doctrine of creation ab origine falls under the realm of theory and revelation (it happens in primordial times and its circumstances are only known through revelation), the continuous creation falls under the realm of natural contemplation since the addressees of the Qur’ān can observe by themselves the regularity with which God makes the stars move, alternates night and day, provides with rains, etc. In a sense, this explains why the sign passages more often talk about everyday cosmological phenomena than about cosmogonical ones. This chapter mostly focused on specific motifs used in the Qur’ān to illustrate its doctrine of continuous creation. It is remarkable that these motifs attest that the Arabic text is drawing from a repertoire of images that are ultimately grounded in biblical turns of phrase. More precisely, our study suggests that the Qur’ānic doctrine of the continuous creation resorts to an imagery that is particularly wellattested in the Syriac homilies of Jacob of Sarugh. The fact that original motifs such as the “sky built without columns” or the “bird suspended in the air ” are shared by both corpuses leads one to think that there exists a historical link between them. Assessing the nature of these examples of hypertextuality in the Qur’ān is not an easy task. Do we have to consider that Jacob’s homilies are behind these Qur’ān-

 Unless the ’amr also governs the angels and the spirit of course. But the text does not talk about that.

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ic turns of phrase or should we rather see Jacob’s homilies as witnesses of a partially lost repertoire of cosmological motifs from which the Qur’ān draws as well? In one way or another, given the rarity of these images in the extant literature of Late Antiquity, we can certainly argue that it betrays the profile of some of the Qur’ānic authors and/or their informants. Although they may lack precision and systematicity as compared to the Christian theologians studied, they are sufficiently theologically educated to understand the stakes underlying the question of continuous creation and show their acquaintance with a cosmological repertoire rooted in the late antique Christian tradition.

Chapter 5 On the Creation of the Heavens 1 Introduction In the last chapter, we analysed the Qur’ānic understanding of the act of creation and showed the continuities and discontinuities with the Christian late antique developments on the question. In this chapter, we move on and study different passages of the text which allude to the creation narrative and the structure of the cosmos, focusing particularly on the creation of the heavens. We have already said that the Qur’ān broadly endorses the biblical model of creation, especially in claiming in multiple places that the world was created in six days. This apparent insistence of the Qur’ān on the historicity of the hexaemeral narrative, which seems rather banal in light of the creation narrative provided in Gen 1, in fact proves significant in light of biblical hermeneutics. We have repeatedly emphasized that providing a detailed description of the creation and the functioning of the universe lies beyond the scope of the Qur’ānic program. The text barely ever bothers describing the coming into being of the manifold objects that compose the cosmos. The sky stands alone as a cosmic item on which the Qur’ān gives precise details: creation account, speculation on the number of heavens, and metaphors. It will become increasingly clear that these motifs do not go back to a single source or tradition, but rather derive from different cosmological repertoires. The first part of this chapter studies passages providing with details concerning the creation of heavens and earth in the Qur’ān. We show that the Qur’ān seems to part ways with how late antique authors understood this episode in the creation of the world. In the second part, we study the representation of the sky and heavens in the Qur’ān. After having disambiguated the word samā’, we address the representation of “seven heavens” and propose that it may constitute a distinctive rabbinic feature in the text. The final chapter tackles cosmological metaphors used to speak about the sky in the Qur’ān in light of the Syriac tradition influenced by the Antiochene mode of exegesis.

2 A world created in six days There existed in Christian Late Antiquity a great opposition between those who granted the creation narrative of Gen 1 a historical value and those who, on the https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-007

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contrary, had adopted an allegorical reading of it. Since Philo of Alexandria at least, the authors associated with the Alexandrian tradition were rather supporters of the idea of a simultaneous creation. For authors like Clement and Origen, and even later Athanasius, the universe was created at once and the creation account of the first chapter of Genesis was nothing but a way found by Moses to speak of creation in a comprehensible way for human beings.⁵³¹ For most authors influenced by the Antiochene tradition, however, the historical value of the text was recognized. Authors such as Theodore of Mopsuestia, John Chrysostom, Severian Gabala, and Theodoret of Cyrus mainly rejected the former interpretation and endorsed the notion of a progressive creation.⁵³² Others, like the Cappadocian Fathers, were stuck in between those two positions, inclined towards the allegorical method used in Alexandria but reluctant to apply it to the creation narrative.⁵³³ Authors committed to the historicity of the first chapter of Genesis had to deal with a substantial theological problem: why would an all-powerful God need six days to create the world? Even authors choosing to interpret the creation narrative allegorically in fact needed to justify why Moses spoke of the six days of Creation. Philo of Alexandria had made the case that the Creator did not need six days to produce the world and argues for the symbolical significance of the number six, the first of perfect numbers.⁵³⁴ In the Alexandrian Christian tradition, Origen and Clement rejected the idea of a creation in six days as a mere figure of speech.⁵³⁵ Among the Cappadocians, Basil does not tackle the topic but Gregory of Nyssa, his brother, argues along the Alexandrian line that Moses spoke of the six days of creation to give some order to his narrative.⁵³⁶ The authors of the Antiochene tradition, and East-Syrian scholars in their wake, mostly resorted to the argument of the necessity of a gradual creation within the framework of the motif of the angelic classroom already studied.⁵³⁷ Without going much further into the intricacies of Christian late antique debates over the creation narrative, this short introduction shows that the Qur’ān’s proclamation of a world created in six days in a formulaic and quasi-creedal fashion (Q 7:54, 10:3, 11:7, 25:59, 32:4, 50:38, 57:4) already marks an important hermeneut-

 For instance, Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 6:16. Cf. Mangenot 1914, 2335 – 2336.  Mangenot 1914, 2336 – 2337.  The Cappadocians borrow from the Alexandrian tradition the notion of “simultaneous creation” but only use it in the sense of the primeval creation of matter. Cf. Mangenot 1914, 2335 – 2336.  Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 13 – 14.  Mangenot 1914, 2335.  Mangenot 1914, 2336 – 2337.  Blowers 2012, 123 – 124.

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ical step in light of the Christian exegetical tradition. It already positions the text within an interpretative framework that was not taken for granted in Late Antiquity. Though sparse on details, we now turn to the few descriptions of the unfolding of creation in the Qur’ān.

2.1 Creation of heaven and earth We already highlighted numerous times that the Qur’ān barely ever details how it understands the beginning of creation. This should compel us to pay even more attention to the scarce passages that actually provide with details on the matter. Leaving aside Q 21:30 which will be considered in our section on the creation of the firmament, one particular example already studied within the framework of the last chapter deserves renewed attention: Say: “Do you indeed disbelieve in the One who created the earth in two days [bi-lladhī khalaqa l-’arḍa fī yawmayni], and do you set up rivals to Him? That is the Lord of the worlds. He placed on it firm mountains (towering) above it, and blessed it, and decreed for it its (various) foods in four days, equal to the ones who ask. Then, He mounted (upward) to the sky [thumma stawā ’ilā l-samā’i], while it was (still) smoke [wa-hiya dukhānun], and said to it and to the earth, ‘Come, both of you, willingly or unwillingly!’ They both said, ‘We come willingly’.” He finished them (as) seven heavens in two days [qaḍā-hunna sabʿa samāwātin fī yawmayni], and inspired each heaven (with) its affair. (Q 41:9 – 12)

This excerpt constitutes one of the most developed creation accounts in the text. It clearly echoes the biblical creation narrative, especially in totalizing six days (2 + 4), but it also displays a number of discrepancies with regard to it.⁵³⁸ Besides the fact that in suggesting that the earth was created/arranged before the sky – which is at odds with late antique Jewish and Christian exegeses –, the text seems to suggest that though already created (khalaqa), the sky had remained in the state of “smoke” (dukhān) before being arranged by God in seven heavens. The passage implicitly endorses a progressive understanding of creation, a multi-step process, implying first a phase of creation, and only then a phase of arrangement and shaping of the created object. This is reminiscent of debates surrounding the interpretation of Gen 1:1– 2 in Christian and Jewish hermeneutics. Ancient thinkers were divided over how to interpret these two biblical verses. Among the greatest paradoxes found in there was the question of how to reconcile the announcement of the creation of heavens and earth in the first verse with the description of the chaotic state (the famous tohu wa-bohu), in which the earth was  As noted by Speyer already. Cf. Speyer 1961, 8.

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described in Gen 1:2? If we are to understand the unfolding of the text chronologically, how is one to account for God having created something in the form of chaos in the first place? Connected to this question was a second one: how can it be that God created the heavens and the earth first, but that they only received their names at a later stage (Gen 1:6 – 10)? Such difficulties needed to be addressed and triggered many commentaries. In ancient times, we can distinguish broadly between three different interpretations:⁵³⁹ 1) Some interpreters argued that Gen 1:1 was nothing but the prologue or summary of what was more thoroughly described in the rest of this first chapter from Gen 1:2. God here creates from nothing and simultaneously. 2) Some other commentators regarded Gen 1:2 as a description of the state of the earth as God created (“In the beginning God created heaven and earth. The earth, when God created it, appeared to him unformed and void”). These commentators held the idea of a pre-existing unformed matter. God here creates from chaos (and not from nothing) and progressively. 3) Some others understood Gen 1:1 as the first stage of a two-step creation process. Whereas Gen 1:1 depicted the creation of primordial and chaotic matter (creatio prima), the rest of Gen 1 described its arrangement into a harmonious and ordered cosmos (creatio secunda). God here creates from nothing but in two stages, progressively. We saw in the third chapter that the Qur’ānic stance on the creation of matter was unclear to the extent that it is difficult to position it in either one of these three different categories. It seems anyway that its understanding of creation lies somewhere in between the second and the third groups. The rendering of Gen 1:1 in the Peshitta seems to have inflected the interpretation of creatio ex nihilo in a specific fashion in the Syriac world. Following the Hebrew text and the early Targums, the Peshitta translated Gen 1:1 as follows: b-rešīt brā alāhā yat šmayyā w-yat arʿā This rendering is slightly peculiar since it conserves the Hebrew and Aramaic marker of the direct object et/yat, which does not have any grammatical value in Syriac (it corresponds to the Syriac l(a)‐). Rabbis had reflected upon this particle in the Hebrew text of course and argued that it pointed towards the idea of “substance”. Under their influence probably, and due to the fact that yātā in Syriac

 On the various interpretations of Gen 1:1– 2, see Pinard 1908, 2042– 2046; Blowers 2012, 112– 118; Alexandre 1988, 76 – 80.

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means “substance”, the early Syriac author Ephrem of Nisibis commented on the word yat and took it as the construct state of yātā. He thus comments on this first verse of Genesis:⁵⁴⁰ In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, that is, the substance [qnōmā] of the heavens and the substance [qnōmā] of the earth. […] Let us know in just what manner heaven and earth were created in the beginning. They were truly heaven and earth. There was no other thing signified by the names “heaven” and “earth”. The rest of the works and things made that followed were not meaningless significations either, for the substances of their natures correspond to what their names signify.⁵⁴¹

In suggesting this exegesis of the particle yat, Ephrem counters the supporters of a simultaneous creation, those who regarded the whole universe as created at once and not progressively. Although Ephrem affirms that this first verse attests to the creation of heavens and earth, as Moses says, he follows up his commentary in arguing that “there was nothing else created along with heaven and earth”.⁵⁴² Too worried about those who believed in pre-existing elements (Bardaisanites, Marcionites, and Manicheans)⁵⁴³ and those holding the position of a simultaneous creation, Ephrem insists that even the elements that were to be created later on that first day had not been created yet at this stage. Gen 1:2 stands as evidence that even though heaven and earth were already created, void and desolation, deprived of ontological existence, preceded the creation of elements (1:4). Thus, Ephrem sees in Gen 1:2 the description of the state of the cosmos after the creation of heaven and earth, where only the substance of these two entities had been created, though still in a chaotic state.⁵⁴⁴ Under Ephrem’s influence, this interpretation of the word yat was preserved in the East-Syrian tradition. Although we do not find it in Narsai, who is more dependent on Theodore of Mopsuestia’s exegesis for this passage (who comments on the Septuagint and thus does not have to deal with the particle yat), the interpretation of yat as qnōmā (“substance”) is cited in an anonymous commentary on Genesis dated from around 900,⁵⁴⁵ showing that the tradition of the catena preserved this reading across time in the East-Syrian Church. A brief but noteworthy summary of the doctrine can actually be found in an earlier commentary conserved in the manuscript (Olim) Diyarbakir 22:

     

Wickes 2015, 74 (n. 20). Ephrem of Nisibis, Commentary on Genesis 1:1; trans. Wickes 2015, 74. Ephrem of Nisibis, Commentary on Genesis 1:2. Wickes 2015, 75 – 76 (n. 27). Wickes 2015, 77 (n. 33). Anonymous Commentary 2r:12.

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This yat, as it is in our book, is the substance [qnōmā] of heaven. Yat is translated by “substance” [qnōmā]. After he talked about the coming into being of the heavens and the earth, he then tells in which form he created them. The earth was toh and boh [Gen 1:2], that is void, desert, and waste. That is, without having an order [tuqqānā].⁵⁴⁶

Hence, it seems that this interpretation of Gen 1:1– 2 and the idea of a progressive creation was preserved throughout the centuries in the East-Syrian Church. The Qur’ān does not offer such precise terminology on the topic but it de facto endorses a similar progressive understanding of creation. Not only does Q 41:9 – 12 display God as arranging the sky after having created it in the form of smoke, but other passages confirm this reading. It is for instance the case in Q 2:29 studied in the next section, as well as in the following excerpt: Are you a stronger creation or the sky? He built it [banā-hā]. He raised its roof [rafaʿa samkahā] and fashioned it [fa-sawwā-hā]. He darkened its night and brought forth its morning light. And the earth, after that, He spread it out. He brought forth from it its water and its pasture – and the mountains, He anchored it (to them) – a provision for you and for your livestock. (Q 79:27– 28)

Here again, the act of creation is divided in multiple phases, God first creates the sky, elevates its dome, and fashions it, in different steps. By default or by choice, the Qur’ān thus endorses a progressive understanding of creation.

2.2 Heaven or earth first? The progressive conception of creation displayed in Q 41:9 – 12 is not the only noteworthy element when compared to the unfolding of creation in the first chapter of Genesis. One of the most striking differences in this passage is that the events described do not match at all the sequence of creation found in Gen 1. As Droge notes, the creation of the earth and its vegetation normally occurs on the third day (1:9 – 13) and sea and land animals are created on the fifth and sixth days (1:20 – 25).⁵⁴⁷ What is the Qur’ān alluding to when it affirms that “He created the earth in two days” then? What are these four days during which the “Lord placed the mountains above it” and “decreed for it its foods”? Although the text implies a six-day creation account (2 + 4) as in the Bible, it also suggests that these six days only cover the creation of the earth and that God pursued creation of the heavenly realm later on. Taken literally, the text would  Commentary on Genesis-Exodus 1– 2 (ll. 19 – 24); my translation.  Droge 2013, 319 (nn. 14 and 16).

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thus defend a creation lasting for more than six days, which breaks with the biblical account. Although this would certainly constitute a major split with the biblical tradition, it would also represent a major rupture with these other passages of the Qur’ān that explicitly declare that the heavens and earth were created in six days. Particularly striking in light of the biblical background is the clear affirmation in Q 41:9 – 12 that God created or arranged the earth in the first place and then took care of the sky. At least one other passage articulates the creation of heavens and earth according to the same sequence of events: He (it is) who created for you what is on earth [khalaqa la-kum mā fī l-’arḍi] – all (of it). Then He mounted (upward) to the sky [thumma stawā ’ilā l-samā’i] and fashioned them (as) seven heavens [fa-sawwā-hunna sabʿa samāwātin]. He has knowledge of everything. (Q 2:29)

The fact that both Q 41:9 – 11 and 2:29 speak of “seven heavens” is certainly noteworthy and probably shows that they belong to the same scribal layer or that they at least pertain to similar cosmological imaginaries. In any event, such clear-cut affirmation is particularly at odds with Q 79:27– 32 where the sky is built, raised, and fashioned before the earth. Moreover, Q 2:29 and 41:9 – 11 are discordant with the general trend in Jewish and Christian hermeneutics, which had over and again discussed this issue by the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān. Philo for instance already regarded the syntactic precedence of heavens on earth in Gen 1:1 as an allusion to the chronological precedence of the heavenly realm over the earth in a yet instantaneous creation.⁵⁴⁸ Christian authors for their part had also early on been concerned about whether heaven or earth had been created first. Theophilus of Antioch addressed the question in his Ad Autolycum and criticizes Hesiod for holding that the creation started with the earth. Unlike the human architect who starts building from the bottom, God starts creation with the sky, as proved by the first verse of Gen 1 where the sky is mentioned before the earth.⁵⁴⁹ God’s ability to start by creating from the roof to the basement demonstrates his almightiness.⁵⁵⁰ Such interpretations will be perpetuated in the

 Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 26 – 29. Note that MT reads in Gen 2:4 reads: “These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created in the day God Yahweh made the earth and the heavens [’ereṣ w-šāmayim].” Nevertheless, both LXX and Peshitta break this chiasm and reestablish the normal sequence (LXX: τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ τὴν γῆν; Pesh.: b-yawmā dʿbad maryā alāhā šmayyā w-arʿā). To our knowledge, no significant exegetical interpretation came out this inversion. Cf. Alexandre 1988, 228.  Theopilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum 2:13.  John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis 1; Procopius of Gaza, Commentary on Genesis.

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Christian exegetical tradition. It is for instance still found in the seventh/eighthcentury author Anastasius of Sinai.⁵⁵¹ For what it is worth, however, late antique Christian authors were not in agreement over this. While some of them, like Basil of Caesarea stuck to the idea of a hierarchy and a precedence of the sky over the earth in creation,⁵⁵² others were definitely reluctant to give primacy to either of them. With Theodore of Mopsuestia, most Antiochene-influenced writers argued for a simultaneous creation of the heavenly and earthly realm. Cosmas Indicopleustes for instance affirms the simultaneous creation of heaven and earth, the elements they contain, and the angels.⁵⁵³ It is the same view that Theodoret of Cyrus held, though considering this issue “a silly, foolish question”.⁵⁵⁴ In the Syriac world, the question does not seem to bother Ephrem although he affirms vehemently in his Commentary on Genesis that nothing else than the respective creation of heaven and earth could be inferred from Gen 1:1.⁵⁵⁵ Narsai and Jacob of Sarugh quite naturally endorsed the doctrine of progressive creation, but they do not seem too bothered by the question either. Although some passages could be read ambiguously, Narsai definitely holds the idea of a simultaneous creation of “the heaven, the angels, the earth, water, darkness, fire, and air”.⁵⁵⁶ The simultaneous creation of heaven and earth, the primordial elements and incorporeal beings (seven primordial creatures in total) was accepted by the East-Syrian tradition judging by later exegetes and despite some variations in the items listed.⁵⁵⁷ Despite this, the Qur’ānic chronology of events is unprecedented in the biblical tradition. It is difficult to assume any major theological stakes underlying this view. In light of the previous chapter and the fact that the Qur’ān never really tackles the question of primordial creation, one once again wonders whether the chronology proposed in Q 41:9 – 11 and Q 2:29 is that of creation (creatio prima) or that of formation/shaping (creatio secunda). In both cases the heavens seem to exist already when God turns toward them to “shape” (sawwā) and “complete” (qaḍā) them as

 Anastasius of Sinai, Hexaemeron 1, 6:2. Cf. Gouillard 1973, 136 – 137; van Winden 1973.  Basil indeed declares over Gen 1:1: “From two extremes Moses implied the existence of the whole, fiving to the heavens precedence of generation and asserting that the earth was second in existence” (Hexaemeron 1:7). Cf. Trans. Way 2003, 13.  For instance Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 2:101, 3:13.  Theodoret of Cyrus, Questions on Genesis 5.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Commentary on Genesis 1:1.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 2:338 – 339, 3:144, 5:127.  See for instance the letter of the Catholicos Giwargis in Chabot 1902, 229 – 230, 494; and the later Commentary on Genesis-Exodus, ed. and trans. Van Rompay 1986, 10 and n. 24.

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seven heavens. The motif is thus in any case completely irreconcilable with what we know of the Christian debates surrounding this issue. The fact that the text in both passages displays the motif of seven heavens may be a clue that the authors of these texts did not know about such debates. As shown in the next section, the conception of seven heavens piled up on top of one another, though ancient, was hardly defended – and was in fact argued against – by Christian authors of Antiochene background. These semblance of hexaemeral narratives in the Qur’ān could thus well be the traces of influence of other traditions, unless they betray some more popular conceptions of creation, little concerned with systematicity and agreement with the Bible from which they nevertheless borrow the conception of a creation in six days.

3 Skies, heavens, firmament In the last section, we saw that Q 41:9 – 11 records a bottom-top creation of the universe. In this section, I would like to focus less on the sequence of creation as a whole and analyse what the text says on the composition of the heavens themselves. Any attempt at grasping the representation of the sky in the Qur’ānic imagery needs to start by acknowledging the polysemy of the word samā’ in this text.

3.1 Expanse vs. boundary The term samā’ is often used in the Qur’ān to designate by synecdoche the “celestial world” as a whole. This meaning is especially apparent in the “heaven-andearth formula”, that is this merismic and polar expression in which the word samā’ is opposed to ’arḍ in order to designate the entire universe. Nevertheless, the expression al-samā’ wa-l-’arḍ only occurs fifteen times throughout the Qur’ān, which seems to prefer the plural version of the expression (al-samāwāt wa-l-’arḍ) to convey this meaning. At the same time, the term samā’ also refers to a physical object or body, a precise cosmic layer rather than a whole area of the universe. Examples such as the image of a sky falling into pieces (e. g. Q 17:92), the comparison of the sky to a roof (e. g. Q 21:32), the warning of “the day the sky will split” (e. g. Q 25:25), and many other cases, show us that the Qur’ān tends to bestow upon the term samā’ the meaning of “top of the world”. Nevertheless, in light of biblical cosmological traditions, this reading is not entirely satisfying since most of them will come to make the difference between at least two different skies: the sky and the firmament.

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3.2 Sky vs. Firmament The firmament is probably one of the most important notions in the biblical cosmological system. This cosmic device indeed plays a tremendous role during creation insofar as God creates it in Gen 1:6 – 8 on the second day, to separate the lower and upper waters and therefore to shape out of the united cosmic structure produced during the first day – the equivalent of the Qur’ānic ratq? –, both the celestial and terrestrial worlds. Given the ontological status of this cosmic boundary, it is not a surprise that it came to assume a prominent eschatological and soteriological function both in the Bible (cf. Dn 12:3), and even more in parabiblical literature.⁵⁵⁸ In an attempt to make Greek cosmology fit with the biblical account, some commentators rejected the idea that the “firmament” of Gen 1:6 constituted a “sky” distinct from the others. The majority of the commentators however made a distinction between “sky” and “firmament”, although a large variety of interpretations on the nature of this firmament existed (allegorical, literal, soteriological, etc.).⁵⁵⁹ The centrality of this notion was particularly emphasized in the Antiochene school of exegesis, and especially in Theodore of Mopsuestia’s thought. Theodore indeed developed a system which stressed the division of the universe into two “catastases” (conditions). In his Christian Topography, Cosmas Indicopleustes takes over the classical biblical distinction between the sky and firmament. Whereas he describes the “first sky” (ὁ πρώτος οὐρανoς) – the true one – as encompassing the whole Creation, the “second sky” (ὁ δευτέρος οὐρανoς), the firmament (τὸ στερέωμα), is considered as “similar as regards to its aspect, but not according to its shape, to the first sky”.⁵⁶⁰ The Greek writer continually insists on the vaultshape of the first sky, which was in his eyes fastened to the earth and cut halfway up by the firmament, a flat surface, attached to – or one could say wedged between – the walls formed by the first sky.⁵⁶¹ This cosmological thought made Cosmas’s universe look like a rectangular box surmounted by a flat firmament, on which

 Cannuyer 1987b.  Alexandre 1988, 102– 105.  Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 2:20; see also 3:31; my translation. See also Wolska 1962, 118 – 120.  Cf. Christian Topography 2:17, 4:9. The illustrations present in the extant manuscripts of the Christian Topography clearly display this structure. For the reproduction of these illustrations at the end of Wolska 1962, see especially plates I, IIIa, and IIIb. Cosmas had indeed integrated drawings to his books and although the authenticity of the sketches found in the extant manuscripts has been debated, they correspond very closely to his written description. Cf. Wolska 1962, 233 – 234.

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was superimposed the higher part of the world shaped in a semi-cylinder.⁵⁶² Likewise, both Narsai and Jacob of Sarugh stressed the dualistic worldview defended by Theodore and therefore granted an important cosmic role to the firmament (rqīʿā), which was clearly distinguished from the sky (šmayyā) in their respective Syriac writings. Although numerous occurrences of the word samā’ in the Qur’ān clearly refer to the firmament rather than the sky itself, the Qur’ān does not know any specific term to designate this cosmic layer. In some ways, one could argue that the very presence of this ambiguity shows that the Qur’ān builds on biblical cosmology. Although we saw that the Hebrew Bible had already made a clear distinction on the structural level between the sky/heaven (šāmayim) and the firmament (rāqīaʿ), their analogous status (i. e. “top of something”) entailed from the beginning a certain confusion, which is already grounded in the biblical phraseology itself which reads in Gen 1:8: “And God called the firmament heaven” (MT: wa-yiqrā elōhīm lārāqīaʿ šāmayim; LXX: καὶ ἐκάλεσεν ὁ θεὸς τὸ στερέωμα οὐρανόν; Pesh.: w-qrā alāhā l-rqīʿā šmayyā).⁵⁶³ This twofold meaning of the word “sky”, literally designating the sky but also, by analogy, the firmament, was to remain intact throughout Antiquity. We already mentioned that Cosmas Indicopleustes willingly called the firmament the “second sky” (ὁ δευτέρος οὐρανoς) on the basis of this verse of the Genesis.⁵⁶⁴ Cosmas and his “fellow cosmographers” regarded the firmament as the sky of the terrestrial beings, while the real sky belonged to the celestial ones. In the Syriac tradition, the same confusion was also present. Jacob of Sarugh illustrates the ambiguity when he repeatedly declares that the firmament is “a sky for mankind”.⁵⁶⁵ Perhaps the best example of such a conflation of meaning in Syriac literature appears in the anonymous hymn composed in honour of the newly constructed Edessan church, already studied in the fourth chapter, which compares the architecture of the edifice to the cosmos: Behold! Its ceiling [taṭlīleh] is stretched out like the sky [šmayyā] and without columns [it is] arched and simple, and it is also decorated with golden mosaic, as the firmament [rqīʿā] [is] with shining stars. And its lofty dome – behold, it resembles the highest heaven [šmay šmayyā], And like a helmet, it is firmly placed on its lower [part].⁵⁶⁶

 Cf. Christian Topography 4:8.  Cannuyer 1987a.  For instance, Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 2:20.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:39. Muraoka translates by “a heaven for humans”. Cf. Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies on the Hexaemeron; trans. Muraoka 2018, 67.  Edessan Hymn 5 – 6; trans. McVey 1983, 92– 95.

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Although one should probably not expect the same terminological rigor from a poetic text than from cosmographic accounts, it is worth highlighting here that the ceiling of the church is compared both to the firmament and to the sky in the same strophe. Moreover, the next paragraph informs us that the dome of the church, overhanging its ceiling, is equated to the highest heaven, that is, the real sky. In other words, we find here again that despite being two distinct cosmic items, the sky and the firmament are often referred to interchangeably because of their comparable cosmic function. The possibility that such a phenomenon is at play in the Qur’ān no longer looks far-fetched when read in dialogue with the biblical exegetical sources. Although the Qur’ān does not use a specific word to designate the firmament, it is easy to pin down a number of images precisely dedicated to the illustration of its cosmic function in the text. The mention of the majmaʿ al-baḥrayn (lit. “the confluence of the two seas”) in Q 18:60 – 65 is likely to be an allusion to the firmament, which, as we saw, separates the upper waters from the lower ones in biblical cosmology.⁵⁶⁷ Elsewhere, the two seas are said to be separated by a barzakh (“barrier”), which also endorses other cosmic functions. On the one hand, it refers to an “eschatological barrier” (Q 23:100) preventing “the dead from returning to the world of the living.” On the other hand, it is used to designate the separation between the two cosmic seas (Q 25:53, 55:20), which constitutes a central element of the Qur’ānic cosmology. The same cosmological role of separating those two bodies of water is attributed to a ḥijr maḥjūr, a “forbidden ban” (Q 25:53), and to a ḥājiz, a “partition” (Q 27:61), unless those words are just different epithets of one and the same entity, the barzakh. ⁵⁶⁸ Although these cosmic barriers take on a similar role to the one performed by a firmament, one should stress however that they are never straightforwardly said to separate the heavens from the earth, or to lie at their intersection. Evidence showing that the Qur’ān implied the existence of a firmament in ist cosmological system can be found elsewhere in the text. The best examples buttressing this hypothesis are probably Q 37:6, 41:12, and 67:5, which inform us that God provided “the nearest sky” (al-samā’ al-dunyā) with lights, stars, and guardians. The mention of a “nearest sky”, implying the existence of a “furthest sky”, reminds of the terminology described above, particularly used among Antiochene writers. One could, of course, counter this view in arguing that the expression “nearest sky” might equally refer to the “nearest heaven” (i. e. the first heaven), especially in a multi-heaven system like the one presented by the Qur’ān (cf. below).

 Tesei 2015a, 26 – 29.  Tesei 2017b, 382– 383; Tesei 2015b.

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This interpretation, however, does not stand the test of a synchronic reading of the text. Each of the three verses mentioning this “nearest sky” describes it as decorated with celestial bodies. The case of Q 37:6, for instance, speaks for itself: Surely We have made the sky of this world appear enticing by means of the splendor of the stars, and (We have made them) a (means of ) protection from every rebelling satan. (Q 37:6)

This Qur’ānic comparison can already be found in the embryonic state in Ephrem of Nisibis as Tesei observed, but it certainly a common representation in the biblical tradition as a whole.⁵⁶⁹ The motif is frequently found among Greek and Syriac writers influenced by the Antiochene tradition. Cosmas for instance specifically talks of the sun, the moon, and the stars, with which God “adorned the regions which are under the sky in harmony (κοσμῶν τὰ κατὰ τὴν παναρμόνιον κόσμησιν)” and elsewhere God is also said to have “adorned (κατακοσμήσας) the sky with the luminaries”.⁵⁷⁰ The same comparison is found in the Syriac literature. In a passage quoted above, the anonymous hymn dedicated to the church of Edessa describes the ceiling of this building as “decorated (mṣabbat) with golden mosaic, as the firmament [is] with shining stars (kawkabē nḥīrē)”.⁵⁷¹ Furthermore, whereas Narsai, who uses a rich imagery concerning the firmament, declares that it was adorned “with gleaming gems”,⁵⁷² Jacob of Sarugh, for his part, depicted the firmament as dressed in a garment of flowers and fruits.⁵⁷³ The image of a “decorated” firmament was therefore very well spread in the collective imaginaries on the eve of Islam. Another noteworthy element is the use of the expression al-samā’ al-dunyā (“the nearest sky”). It is twice associated with the concern of barring heaven’s access to the demons (Q 37:6 – 10, 67:5), who would approach too close to the “sky” and try to listen to the “highest assembly” (37:8). In that case, the stars would turn into “piercing” or “burning flames” and chase them (15:18, 37:10; see also 67:5, 72:8 – 9). As argued by Reynolds, those various descriptions of the “sky” are in fact depicting it as a fortress of the heavens, a protecting barrier, which shows that this “nearest sky” was regarded by the author(s) of the Qur’ān as a well-defined limit, a firmament, rather than an interval.⁵⁷⁴

     

Tesei 2017a, 316. Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 3:26, 41. Edessan Hymn 5. Narsai of Nisibis, Homilies on Creation 3:339. Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:58 – 61. Cf. Sony 1989, 213. Reynolds 2010, 54– 64.

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We see that although there is no precise word to designate the firmament in the Qur’ān, its authors envisioned the existence of this cosmic barrier within their worldview. The word samā’ not only refers to the top of the universe, but can also be used in the sense of firmament, which is confirmed by a comparative approach of the text with the late antique literature, especially of Antiochene tradition (e. g. first/second sky, firmament decorated). Just as in this tradition, it is likely that the Qur’ānic terminological opposition between the nearest and the furthest sky ultimately aims at representing the heavenly world as a mirror of the earthly one, as if the universe was in fact represented as a two-tiered cosmic structure. This is not easy to reconcile with another Qur’ānic characteristic, namely the conception of seven heavens to which we now turn.

3.3 Seven heavens The ambiguity of the word samā’ in the Qur’ān is not the only particularity of the Qur’ānic representation of the sky. In eight verses, the text explicitly declares that the heavenly realm is composed of seven heavens (Q 2:29, 17:44, 23:86, 41:12, 65:12, 67:3, 71:15, 78:12). In light of Middle Eastern cosmologies, the conception of a multipartite heavenly realm is certainly not unexpected. As Blacker says, the representation of a multi-storeyed world probably dates back to the 3rd millennium BCE.⁵⁷⁵ We find this imagery in numerous ancient cosmologies of the Mediterranean and beyond.⁵⁷⁶ Scholars have identified a number of late antique texts that feature the motif of seven heavens. I want here to give a bit more nuance to the matter and show that the question of the number of heavens was not inconsequential in Late Antiquity. The number of levels composing heavens was in fact sometimes the subject of debates and polemics. Even though the Qur’ān does not reflect them, the fact that the representation of seven heavens was not a consensus across religious traditions at the time allows us to suggest certain lines of derivation to the exclusion of others.

 Note that Blacker also points out that the common scholarly association of a sevenfold heavenly realm with the architecture of the ziggurats is ill-founded. For the opposite point of view, see Lambert 1975, 61; Jacobs 1975, 83 (n. 27); Wright 2000, 27– 28.  According to the Akkadian text KAR 307, the world was structured in six different layers, three celestial ones and three terrestrial ones. Cf. Wright 2000, 34. The idea of a multi-storeyed universe is not found in Egypt before the Hellenistic period according to Wright 2000, 10. On the seven heavens in ancient Mesopotamia, see Horowitz 2011; Jensen 1890; Lambert 1975; on seven heavens in Indian cosmology, see Gombrich 1975. On seven heavens in Iranian cosmology, see Wright 2000, 108.

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Scholars do not seem to agree on how the representation of a seven-layered heavenly structure emerged in the Jewish and Christian traditions. Some believe that Jewish texts were naturally infiltrated by the seven-heaven motif due to the existence of such ideas in Ancient Mesopotamia.⁵⁷⁷ Others argue that it is in fact the encounter of Judaism with Hellenistic culture that favoured the development of the motif. By the time of this encounter, Greek cosmologists had already constructed systems involving a plurality of heavenly spheres (either geocentric or heliocentric models). The Pythagorean model for instance involved ten of them, while Plato’s Timaeus – a text that proved extremely influential cosmologically speaking throughout Antiquity –, perfected by Ptolemy, had seven planetary spheres revolving around the earth with the outermost layer formed by the heaven of fixed stars.⁵⁷⁸ This hypothesis presents a difficulty, however. The Jewish (and later Christian) texts that talk about seven heavens do not speak of heavenly spheres revolving around a spherical earth but rather of cosmic layers superimposed over a flat land. We would thus have to assume that Jewish (and early Christian) writers did not understand these complex models completely – an unlikely solution in my eyes – or that they adapted them to their own religious agenda.⁵⁷⁹ The Hebrew Bible itself never speculates on the existence of multiple heavens. Scholars have often wondered whether the fact that the word šāmayim (“sky”) in Hebrew only occurs in its plural form⁵⁸⁰ suggests that Ancient Hebrews regarded the heavenly world as constituted of multiple layers.⁵⁸¹ The common interpretation now is rather to suggest that this plural form in fact aims at designating the immensity or vastness of heavens rather than a real multiplicity of heavenly layers.⁵⁸² A similar interpretation of the well-known biblical expression “heaven of heavens” (šmē šāmayim) existed but once again, the purpose of such expressions was to convey the meaning of “the vastness of heaven” rather than alluding to the multiplicity of skies.⁵⁸³ In any case, none of the texts of the Tanakh ever ventures speculations on the number of heavens.

 Janos 2012, 221; Speyer 1961, 11– 13.  Charles 1895, 58.  Wright 2000, 152. See Schäfer 2004 for a criticism of this position.  Note that some understood the ending -ayim as an ancient dual form, suggesting that heavens were working by pair in the Ancient Hebraic mind. This interpretation in fact proved wrong. At the time of the Hebrew Bible redaction, the dual suffix was not in use anymore. The consensus is indeed that it is an irregular plural form (cf. also māyim). Cf. Wright 2000, 54; Fontinoy 1999, 69 – 71; Alfrink 1964, 1– 7; Houtman 1993, 5 – 20.  Such an interpretation can be found in Charles for instance. Cf. Charles 1895, 58 – 59.  Wright 2000, 54– 55; Fontinoy 1999, 71.  Wright 2000, 55.

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Such speculations start appearing in the sources around the 3rd century BCE. A typical example is the Book of Enoch. While it mostly defends the idea of a single heaven, the Parable of Enoch, a section of the former (Book of Enoch 37– 69), bears witness to a paradigm shift at the turn of the 1st century BCE. It seems to build on the biblical expression šmē ha-šāmayim to suggest the existence of multiple layers in heaven through which Enoch is transported.⁵⁸⁴ Though here the author pictures only two heavens, other texts composed roughly at the same time started depicting the heavenly world with a different number of heavens in mind. The Testament of Levi for instance represents three or seven heavens according to different recensions.⁵⁸⁵ There is no need to enumerate here every single text in the Jewish and Christian traditions that developed similar kinds of cosmologies.⁵⁸⁶ Up until the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān, models developing the idea of three, five, seven, eight, ten, and even three hundred and sixty-five heavens appeared. The one that certainly triggered the most commentary is Paul’s visionary account in 2 Corinthians: I must boast; there is nothing to be gained by it, but I will go on to visions and revelations of the Lord. I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven – whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows. And I know that this man was caught up into Paradise – whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows – and he heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter. (2 Cor 12:1– 4)

Beyond his clear conception of a multi-layered heavenly realm, Paul does not provide with any more details on how many heavens exactly he considered the universe was composed of. Whether the third heaven mentioned here is the highest one or only an intermediate level within a taller cosmic structure will always remain debated.⁵⁸⁷ In endorsing such a view anyway, Paul is perfectly in line with his Greco-Roman background.

 Wright 2000, 140 – 142.  Note that Charles, Bietenhard, and Kee claimed that these two different recensions attest to the evolution from a three-tiered heavenly realm to a seven-tiered one. It seems in fact that what happened was the exact opposite. The philological evidence suggests that the Greek version of the Testament (edited by de Jonge) displaying a three-heaven schema is most likely an abbreviated version of the seven-heaven version. Cf. Wright 2000, 143 – 144; Testament of the Twelve Patriarchs, trans. Charles 1912, 2, 304– 306 (also trans. Charles 1960 and trans. Kee 1985, 788); see also Bietenhard 1951, 3 – 4.  Such lists and descriptions of the text can be found for instance in Wright 2000, 139 – 184.  According to Charles, a major argument lies in the fact that the Slavonic Enoch identifies the third heaven with Paradise in a sevenfold heavenly structure, which would mean that Paul had indeed in mind a seven-storied celestial structure. This would mark a rupture with a more com-

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As Wright suggests, the many texts from Jewish and Christian backgrounds “attest different schemas for the structure and appearance of the cosmos.” This implies that “there was no one schema that completely dominated early Jewish and Christian speculations on the overall structure of the cosmos.”⁵⁸⁸ The Talmud attests to the rabbinic speculations about the number of heavens: some argued for two, most of them seem however to have argued for seven.⁵⁸⁹ Very often, rabbinic texts dealing with these matters also give names to the different heavens and sometimes specify their contents.⁵⁹⁰ The topic took a more polemical turn among the Church Fathers. In his Stromata, Clement of Alexandria says he agrees with the cosmology presented in the now lost Apocalypse of Zephaniah. ⁵⁹¹ His student Origen also appears to have agreed with this cosmology. He refers to the conception of seven heavens presented in the last Book of Baruch. ⁵⁹² For him, the seven heavens had to be interpreted as the seven planetary spheres of Greek cosmology although he admits in his Contra Celsum that there is no scriptural support to the idea of seven heavenly layers.⁵⁹³ Nevertheless, the fact that heterodox groups developed models often involving increasing numbers of celestial layers soon led the early Fathers to criticize these views.⁵⁹⁴ Irenaeus and Tertullian argued against the Valentinian conception of seven “intellectual” (i. e. nonphysical) heavens identified with angels.⁵⁹⁵ Other heterodox personalities and religious traditions such as Basilides, the mysteries of Mithras, the Ophites, were also accused of multiplying heavens.⁵⁹⁶ Thus, theologians always had to balance their polemics against heterodox groups with the fact that Scriptures themselves strongly suggested that the world was composed of multiple heavens (Cf. 2 Cor 12:1– 4, plural οὐρανοί, etc.) and that this idea befitted fairly well the Ptolemaic cosmological model. At the end of the 4th century, Philastrius, bishop of Brescia, declares that doubting of the plurality of heavens is it-

mon Jewish tradition according to which Paradise lies in the fourth heaven. Cf. Charles 1895, 115; Wright 2000, 149. Cf. also Gooder 2006.  Wright 2000, 199 – 200.  Babylonian Talmud, Ḥagigah 12b.  Charles 1895, 60.  Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 4:25.  Origen, De principiis 2, 3:6.  Origen, De principiis 2, 2:6; Contra Celsum 6:21.  Charles 1895, 57.  Tertullian, Adversus Valentinianos 20; Irenaeus, Adversus haereses 1, 5:2. They do not really argue against the number of heavens themselves but rather against the whole Valentinian cosmology. In another passage, Irenaeus shows that he indeed believes in the existence of seven heavens (Adversus haereses 2, 30:7).  For instance Origen, Contra Celsum 4:31; Irenaeus, Adversus haereses 1, 30:4– 5.

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self a heresy although one is free to argue for two, three, or seven of them.⁵⁹⁷ Basil of Caesarea similarly argued against those who refuted the idea of a plurality of heavens: We, however, are so far from doubting the second heavens that we even seek for the third, of the sight of which the blessed Paul was considered worthy. The psalm, too, speaking of the heavens of heavens, gives us an idea of even more.⁵⁹⁸

Clearly, this view was not shared by everyone at the time. In what seems to be a charge against Greek cosmologies, John Chrysostom for instance argued against the doctrine of a plurality of heavens, their spherical shape, and rotation.⁵⁹⁹ It seems that on the side of Antiochene authors and those influenced by them later, the representation of the heavenly world as composed of seven heavens was rejected entirely. Theodore of Mopsuestia’s Commentary on the Psalms attests to an attempt by the Interpreter at demoting the plural form of the word “heaven” (οὐρανοί) in certain passages of the Septuagint to the status of mere figures of speech.⁶⁰⁰ Under his influence, the matter is still the object of polemics in the middle of the 6th century as witnessed by the lively opposition between Cosmas Indicopleustes and John Philoponus.⁶⁰¹ It is under Theodore’s influence that later Syriac writers, especially in the Church of the East, insisted on the twofold structure of the universe and discarded the plurality of heavens. The polemic can still be felt in these lines of Theodore bar Koni well after the emergence of the Qur’ān: There is not either three, or seven, or manifold heavens, as teaches the error of the heretics. He indeed called “heaven” this [firmament] as well, because He made it similar to that first one and justly gave it its shape and its name.⁶⁰²

It is noteworthy that the Qur’ānic endorsement of the conception of seven heavens is exactly the opposite of what the consensus among East-Syrian authors was. I do not intend to argue that the Qur’ān develops this conception of the celestial realm in opposition to this tradition. Nevertheless, it is worth highlighting that the Qu-

 Philastrius, Diversarum Hereseon Liber 14.  Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on the Hexaemeron 3:3; trans. Ways 2003, 40.  John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis 4:2; Homilies on the Epistle to the Hebrews 14:1. Cf. Charles 1895, 117.  Hill 2006, 296 – 299.  For a reconstruction of the polemic, see Wolska 1962, 169.  Theodore bar Koni, Scholia 1:76. The numbering displayed for this text is the one found in the French edition and translation of Hespel/Draguet 1981– 1982.

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r’ānic seven-heaven conception is not derived from this East-Syrian Christian tradition to which the Qur’ān proves at times so close. Further elements provided by the Qur’ān allow us to exclude other lines of derivation. One particularly important question is whether the Qur’ān was influenced at all by the Ptolemaic (Hellenistic) worldview with regards to the sevenheaven structure. As Janos reminds, some have at times suggested the influence of Greek astronomy to explain the Qur’ānic seven-heaven model.⁶⁰³ This hypothesis however needs to be discarded for a number of reasons. Most importantly, the Qur’ān talks about the seven heavens as arranged ṭibāqan (Q 67:3, 71:15), “superimposed”, allegedly in a flat way, while the Ptolemaic model involves spheres. Moreover, the Qur’ān suggests that the planets circulate on the lowest heaven (Q 37:6, 41:12) rather than in their respective planetary spheres. Besides, the Ptolemaic model involves the conception of a spherical earth as well, which is clearly at odds with the Qur’ānic assertion that God disposed the earth “as a couch” (firāshan; Q 2:22) or “as dwelling place” (qarāran; Q 40:64). The most ambiguous passage of the text regarding this matter is probably Q 23:17, which speaks of seven ways (ṭarā’iq). It is tempting to read this as a reference to the orbits in which planets navigate. Should this reading prove correct, it hardly demonstrates the endorsement of Ptolemaic cosmology as less scientific cosmological models of the time also recognized the existence of paths through which planets revolve.⁶⁰⁴ Thus, the Ptolemaic hypothesis for the seven-heaven motif in the Qur’ān does not really find any convincing argument in its support. This is hardly surprising as the Qur’ān does not display any knowledge of the Greek philosophical tradition which was always tightly connected to the developments of Greek astronomy.⁶⁰⁵ The Qur’ānic conception of a sky divided into seven heavens must indeed derive from a less scientific tradition than the Greek one. Arguably, the authors of the Qur’ān inherited from the Jewish-Christian imagery mentioned above in which the doctrine of seven heavens developed abundantly from the 3rd century onwards and throughout Late Antiquity. It is difficult, given the scarce details given by the Qur’ān on these seven heavens, to determine from where it inherited it. One thing that completely escapes us is the question of popular cosmologies. Although we can track the development of the seven-heaven motif in Jewish and Christian texts, which allegedly reflect scholarly matters, one wonders what the popular representations of the world were at the time. Our data for the Arabian  Jachimowicz 1975, 147, 149.  Note that the root ṬRQ is usually used in the text to designate the paths leading respectively to hell and paradise in the Qur’ān. This could therefore be a reference to multi-storeyed paradise and hell as found in the above-mentioned late antique apocalyptic literature.  Janos 2012, 220 – 221.

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Peninsula with regards to cosmology is very thin. We indeed know that pre-Islamic Arabs had “a form of rudimentary astronomical knowledge” that in fact reflected meteorological concerns rather than religious cosmological ones, but it is never question of a seven-tiered representation of heaven.⁶⁰⁶ Another way to approach the question would be to ask how the seven-heaven conception serves the overarching theological program of the Qur’ān. The symbolical meaning of the number seven is not made plain in the text. It does not mean of course that the Qur’ānic authors did not know about some sort of symbolism around this figure or that the number of heavens was not linked to other numerical speculations, as it was often the case in Antiquity. Indeed, it is probable that the seven visible planets triggered the Mesopotamian seven-heaven worldview in the first place. In Hellenistic Judaism, the seven planetary spheres of the Hellenistic cosmological model were sometimes the occasion to reflect back on certain biblical features. Well-known in this regard is Philo’s allegorical interpretation of the menorah, the candelabrum with seven branches. The Qur’ān never offers such details however and allegory as a hermeneutical tool was apparently not particularly cherished by its authors. It is quite remarkable that the eight “seven-heaven passages” of the Qur’ān do not seem particularly related to one another. If we except the use of the word ṭibāqan, common to Q 67:3 and 71:15, the vocabulary used in each of these verses, the motifs to which they are connected, and the genre of the passages in which the motif of the seven heavens is conveyed each time, are quite distinct. A point that seems particularly remarkable in my eyes is that several of these passages present particularly noteworthy features that are ultimately rooted in biblical imagery, especially in the Psalms and Isaiah. At the end of the passage Q 41:9 – 12 studied in the beginning of this chapter, after describing the shaping of the celestial realm in seven heavens, the text adds: And [God] inspired each heaven (with) its affair [wa-’awḥā kulli samā’in ’amra-hā]. (Q 41:9 – 12)

This affirmation comes right after a short verbal exchange between God and “heaven and earth” themselves (v. 11): “Come both of you, willingly or unwillingly!” They both said, “We come willingly.” The personification of heavens and earth is a widespread motif in the Bible, and in the Psalms especially.⁶⁰⁷ This short dialogue between God and “heavens and earth” is reminiscent of passages of the Psalms:⁶⁰⁸

 Janos 2012, 222 (n. 7); Pellat 2009; Varisco 1992; Varisco 2000; Varisco 2007; Kunitzsch 1983.  On examples of personification of Creation in the Bible and their interpretation in Christian exegesis, see Blowers 2012, 189 – 193, 216 – 218. The following Qur’ānic verses display the motif of

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The Mighty One, God the Lord, speaks and summons the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting. […] He calls to the heavens above and to the earth, that he may judge his people: “Gather to me my faithful ones [MT: ispū lī ḥa-sīdāy; LXX: συναγάγετε αὐτῷ τοὺς ὁσίους; Pesh.: etkannašw lwateh gbāwhy], who made a covenant with me by sacrifice!” The heavens declare his righteousness for God himself is judge! (Ps 50:1– 6)

A comparable scene is depicted in Isaiah: My hand laid the foundation of the earth, and my right hand spread out the heavens; when I call to them, they stand forth together. “Assemble, all of you, and hear [MT: hiqqābṣū kulkem ū-šamāʿū; LXX: καὶ συναχθήσονται πάντες καὶ ἀκούσονται; Pesh.: etkannašw kulkūn wšmaʿw]! […]” (Is 48:13 – 14)

There is no linguistic correspondence between these biblical texts and Q 41:11 of course, but the motif of God dialoguing with heaven and earth and summoning them is sufficiently precise to suggest that a phenomenon of hypertexuality is involved. Despite the fact that the creation narrative depicted in Q 41:9 – 12 is really odd in light of Genesis 1, the motif presented here is remarkably close to these passages of Isaiah and the Psalms. It goes without saying that these latter two texts contributed to feeding cosmological imageries into the later biblical tradition. Moreover, this passage of Isaiah is also clearly a subtext for other cosmological pericopes of the Qur’ān, especially Q 2:22, 40:64, which both occur in surahs were seven heaven motifs are brought up. In another passage, the text calls Creation as a witness of the necessity to glorify God: The seven heavens and the earth, and whatever is in them, glorify Him, and (there is) nothing that does not glorify (Him) with His praise, but you do not understand their glorifying. Surely He is forbearing, forgiving. (Q 17:44)

Here again, the Qur’ān obviously draws on biblical imagery. The motif of heavens and earth “glorifying” God is found in the Psalms (e. g. Ps 148). More specifically, the idea displayed here that their glorification is not understood by humans and the apparent esoteric knowledge revealed to each heaven is strongly reminiscent of the following excerpt:

personification of cosmic items at various levels: Q 13:13, 13:31, 17:44, 21:79, 22:18, 22:18, 24:41, 33:72, 38:18 – 19, 43:29, 54:29, 55:6, 59:21, 64:1, 71:9.  The two parallel passages from Isaiah and Psalms were already noted in Masson 1967, 927 (n. 11, 2). See also Speyer 1961, 15 – 16.

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The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard. Yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world. (Ps 19:1– 4)

The image that Creation glorifies God in an incomprehensible manner is a common theme in biblical literature, particularly in Paul’s visionary account in 2 Corinthians already studied earlier. One last passage bringing up the motif of seven heaven also seems built on the biblical cosmological repertoire: [God] who created seven heaven in stories (one upon another). You do not see any mistake in the creation of the Merciful. Cast your sight again! Do you see any fissure? Then cast your sight again and again! Your sight will come crawling back to you, worn out. (Q 67:3 – 4)

The invitation to “cast your sight” on high echoes another passage in Isaiah:⁶⁰⁹ To whom then will you compare me, that I should be like him, says the Holy One. Lift up your eyes on high and see: who created these? He who brings out their host by number, calling them all by name; by the greatness of his might, and because he is strong in power not one is missing. (Is 40:25 – 26)

We see that although the motif of seven heavens is not present in the Bible and that it is difficult to determine from where and why the Qur’ān inherits it, at least three of the eight passages conveying this cosmological image seem deeply grounded in the biblical cosmological imagery, especially that developed in Isaiah and the Psalms. In this, the Qur’ān is not particularly original, for we can rest assured that these biblical books largely fed cosmological representations throughout Late Antiquity and well beyond. It is difficult to go much further in our analysis of the seven-heaven conception developed in the Qur’ān. Nevertheless, I would like to point out a final observation concerning the scarcity of occurrences of the motif in the Qur’ān. Though perhaps insignificant in the final analysis, it is noteworthy that the two or three visionary accounts presented in the Qur’ānic text do not use this motif. Neither Q 17:1 nor 53:1– 18 (the latter apparently depicting a celestial ascension) mention the protagonist as ascending through the different heavens. If it is indeed a celestial ascension that is depicted here as the later tradition has it, then this would contrast sharply with the Jewish and Christian apocalyptic tradition in which the sevenheaven model precisely flourished.  The invitation to “lift the eyes” to the sky also calls to mind the episode of Abraham numbering stars in Gen 15:5, but the message conveyed is quite different here.

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3.4 Mirroring heavens and earth: the seven earths of the Qur’ān It is impossible in this study of the Qur’ānic representation of the sky and the sources of its imagery not to draw attention to one of the most unique cosmological features of the Qur’ān. In one of the passages depicting the seven heavens, the text seems to imply the existence of seven earths: It (is) God who created seven heavens, and of the earth a similar (number) to them [allāhu lladhī khalaqa sabʿa samāwātin wa-mina l-’arḍi mithla-hunna]. The command descends between them, so that you know that God is powerful over everything, and that God encompasses everything in knowledge. (Q 65:12)

The phraseology of this passage does not allow us to determine the image that its author sought to convey. While the expression wa-mina l-’arḍi mithla-hunna has been understood as designating seven earths counterbalancing the seven heavens, it could just as much be interpreted in the sense that God created the earth (a single one) as the counterpart to the seven heavens.⁶¹⁰ The least one can say is that if the author of this passage wanted to convey the meaning of seven earths, he could have done so with a more explicit turn of phrase. Nevertheless, let us grant him the benefit of the doubt and see where the motif of seven earths leads us. The depiction of seven earths was much less common than the seven-heaven motif in the cosmologies of Antiquity. It therefore deserves special attention. As Horowitz suggests, a number of Sumerian incantatory texts may preserve the idea of seven earths as counterparts to the seven heavens.⁶¹¹ These texts present their own interpretative issues since they do not explicitly endorse this cosmography either. Such a view therefore needs to remain a conjecture for there does not exist any textual evidence for a sevenfold representation of the world in Mesopotamia. As Horowitz puts it: “No surviving Mesopotamian text preserves a cosmos that includes more than three heavens and earths”.⁶¹² In any case, the possibility of a Mesopotamian influence on the Qur’ān is rather unlikely, despite the fact that popular and oral culture can sometimes preserve subterranean traditions for centuries.⁶¹³

 Droge 2013, 391 (n. 18).  Some believe that it is possible that the symbolism of the number seven (e. g. seven planets, etc.) gave rise in Ancient Mesopotamia to the division of the earth in seven zones leading to the conception of seven heavens. Cf. Charles 1895, 58; Horowitz 2011, 220.  The endorsement of such a motif is not clear-cut and seems to have fallen into disuse by the time some of these texts were translated in Akkadian. Cf. Horowitz 2011, 208 – 220.  Horowitz 2011, 208 – 220.

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As Peter Schäfer admits, “even a cursory glance at the available material immediately reveals that the earlier tradition is much more concerned with heaven and its subsequent multiplication than with the earth and its multiplication”.⁶¹⁴ Besides, he adds, it is important to remember that the expansion of heavens (and earths) is intimately related to the issue of the places where the righteous and the unrighteous ones end up after the final Judgement. The understanding of a distinct location depending on this-worldly individual deeds appears at a late stage, however. It is not yet present in the earlier biblical tradition where everyone ends up in the dark and gloomy sheol regardless of their behaviour.⁶¹⁵ The depiction of a sevenfold earth found new echoes in Late Antiquity in the context of an increasing interest in the depiction of Hell.⁶¹⁶ Part of the problem is to grasp whether the “seven earths” indicate seven different actual earths for humans or if these seven earths form seven layers of hell underneath the earth. The sevenfold division of hell was not unheard of in Late Antiquity. The sources suggest that it particularly flourished in Jewish literature in order to make the underworld mirror the heavenly one.⁶¹⁷ The idea of seven netherworlds is found in the Talmud of Babylon already.⁶¹⁸ Schäfer lists between three different groups of texts developing the idea of multiple earths. The first group is constituted of texts simply stating that the earth possesses several different names (4, 7, or 10). Among them, Midrash Rabbah (Genesis), Avot d-Rabbi Nathan (versions A and B), and Midrash Proverbs. These texts are cautious to mention that the existence of several different words in Hebrew to designate the earth does not imply the actual existence of multiple earths. The second group is formed by texts referring to the names of the seven different compartments of Gehinnom (Hell). Finally, the third group is composed of texts talking about the actual existence of seven earths. Among these rabbinic texts: Pesikta de-Rav Kahana (Mandelbaum and Buber) 23, Leviticus Rabbah 29:11, Targumic Tosefta to Ezekiel 1:1, Sefer Rabbah di-Bereshit (Vatican 288), Sefer Rabbah di-Bereshit (Oxford 741– 766), Midrash Konen. In this last group, the late antique or early medieval Sefer Rabbah di-Bereshit stands alone as the only text that really provides a detailed inventory of the content of each earth according to Schäfer. It depicts them as disposed in a hemispherical fashion so that each

 Schäfer 2004, 252.  Schäfer 2004, 253.  For general studies on the literature in which this motif particularly arises, see Himmelfarb 1985; Bernstein 1993.  The idea of manifold earths is also found in other traditions. Charles mentions the conception of seven earths in Mandaic texts. Manicheism also seems to have conceived the idea of multiple heavens and earths. Cf. Charles 1895, 61; Tardieu 1981, 98.  Babylonian Talmud, Eruvin 19a.

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earth corresponds to a heaven. The other texts conceive heavens and earths as “piled up in both directions like a multi-storey building”.⁶¹⁹ Should Q 65:12 really constitute an attempt to convey the idea of seven earths, it is impossible, given the obscurity of the verse, to determine within which of these three categories mentioned it falls. The best we can do is to note that the available documentation suggests that the representation of multiple earths was a predominantly rabbinic motif. The fact that these seven earths are connected to the seven heavens perhaps indicates that both motifs ultimately hail from a Jewish cosmological imagery. Whereas this book mainly offers to study the Qur’ānic cosmology in dialogue with the Christian literature, the existence of this motif in the Qur’ān illustrates its eclecticism in terms of cosmological repertoire. Arguably, the complexity of this text lies in the fact that it is located at the crossroad of multiple traditions, cosmologies, and worldviews.

4 Cosmological imagery In the last section we studied the Qur’ānic representation of the sky. The study of the text in light of the Bible and biblical exegesis contributed to throw light on the notion of samā’. We then studied the conception of a seven-layered celestial structure which occurs in eight passages of the Qur’ān. We saw that this motif was not particularly developed in the literature which we treated in our analysis, given that the seven-heaven motif in the Qur’ān echoes Jewish sources rather than Christian ones. What seems particularly striking is that these eight passages are very little connected to one another although we suggested that three of them are likely to be rooted in imageries stemming from the Book of Isaiah and the Psalms. They may well thus all go back to a same scribal layer. In the following pages, I analyse two types of metaphors used by the Qur’ān to describe the universe. The first subsection deals with well-known architectural metaphors. Though biblically rooted, this imagery found a renewed interest among Christian writers influenced by the Antiochene scholar Theodore of Mopsuestia. The last subsection analyses a rare cosmological motif used to describe the firmament and its cosmic function, namely the metaphor of the scale.

 Schäfer 2004, 267– 270.

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4.1 Architectural metaphors In a number of passages, the Qur’ān compares the creation of the sky to that of a roof: And We have made the sky as a guarded roof [saqfan maḥfūẓan]. (Q 21:32)

According to what we have said before, it is necessary to determine whether the word samā’ in this sentence refers to the sky or the firmament. The first thing to observe is that the term samā’ is equated to the word saqf, generally translated by “roof ”. It is logical to infer from this comparison a reference to a precise cosmic object, the top of something, a surface, rather than the celestial realm as a whole. Besides, in this verse, the word saqf is said maḥfūẓ, “guarded”, “protected”, or “preserved”. Although the verse does not provide with much contextual material, it can easily be connected to the otherwise well-attested trope of preventing the demons from approaching the firmament to hear the divine council by means of fiery stars chasing them (Q 15:16 – 18, 37:6 – 10, 41:12, 72:8 – 9).⁶²⁰ Each of these verses connects the samā’ to the idea of “protection [against demons]” conveyed by means of the root ḤFẒ. There is little doubt that the word maḥfūẓ is used in the same apotropaic context in Q 21:32 and it can thus safely be assumed that the word samā’ designates here the firmament. So what could we say about this saqf? Although we should probably not overdetermine the etymological evidence, I would argue against Janos that saqf tends to designate a domed ceiling rather than a flat one.⁶²¹ Lane gives two main meanings to the verb saqafa from which the word saqf stems: (1) to make the roof (saqf ) of a house, a chamber, or a tent; (2) to be or become tall and bent, or bowed (said of a man or an ostrich).⁶²² Kazimirski, for his part, gives the following first meaning for the word saqf: “toit bombé, voûté, en talus, et non pas en terrasse (saṭḥ ⁶²³)”.⁶²⁴ Lane and Kazimirski provide two essential characteristics of the word saqf. On the one hand, it applies to building roofs, and may be applied to tent ceilings; and on the other hand, it describes something curved rather than flat.⁶²⁵ If it is to a shape that the text refers here, this sky must have been circular somehow – be it domed, hemispherical or arched.

     

Reynolds 2010, 54– 55. Janos 2012, 216 (n. 1). Lane 1955 – 1956, 1382– 1383; Badawi/Abdel Haleem 2013, 441– 442. Note the use of the verb saṭaḥa in the passive voice in Q 88:20. De Biberstein-Kazimirski 1860, 1108 – 1109. The word is connected to SQF in Sabaic which designates a “roof ”. Cf. Beeston 1982, 127– 128.

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Nevertheless, we should not rule out the possibility that the text does not seek to convey here a “shape” (arched, domed, flat, etc.), but rather a function, namely the function of “covering something” or being the “top of something”. The word conveys an architectural imagery, though it is unclear whether it brings up the more precise imagery of the tent or that of a building. The three other occurrences of saqf in the Qur’ān (Q 16:26, 43:33, 52:5) rather refer to a building roof. However, the imagery of the tent is used in the Qur’ān in cosmological contexts as well. Firstly, the Qur’ān makes use of “tent-related” referents more than once to depict the world insofar as the mountains are compared, in Q 78:6 – 7, to “tent pegs” (’awtād) fixing the earth.⁶²⁶ Secondly, the “tent-imagery” is a common simile for the depiction of the universe in traditional biblical cosmology. Another passage of the Qur’ān describes the sky by means of the simile of the roof: Are you a stronger creation or the sky [‘antum ’ashaddu khalqan ’ami l-samā’u]? He built it [banā-hā]. He raised its roof [rafaʿa samka-hā] and fashioned it. (Q 79:27– 28)

Whether the text targets the sky or the firmament here is hard to determine. It seems that the word samā’ refers to the heavenly realm while the word samk would therefore constitute an allusion to its upper limit (i. e. the real sky not the firmament). Either way, it is remarkable that the Qur’ān conveys once again an architectural motif. The word samk is a hapax legomenon in the Qur’ān. The dictionaries indicate that the root means “to elevate something in the air, be tall”.⁶²⁷ Hans Wehr gives the further meaning of “thickness”,⁶²⁸ but the root seems rather unproductive on the whole. A detour by the Semitic cognates of the word suggests that the root SMK relates to the notion of “supporting, upholding”, but it is also used in Ugaritic to designate the firmament and in Akkadian for the idea of “covering”.⁶²⁹ Taken together, the term samk seems to refer to something elevated rather than a specific architectural element. The representation of the universe in the form of a habitation whatsoever is common to many cultures across the world of course, if not universal. The image of the tent is already used in the Bible several times. Whereas Ps 104:2 describes heavens as being “unfolded as a tent” by God, the most famous biblical passage resorting to this imagery is found in Isaiah:

   

Pietruschka 2006. De Biberstein-Kazimirski 1860, 1141; Lane 1955 – 1956, 1430. Wehr 1979, 503. Zammit 2002, 227– 228.

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It is he who sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers; who stretches out the heavens like a curtain, and spreads them like a tent to dwell in. (Is 40:22)

There is no need to trace this motif in the Christian and Jewish literature. We have already said that the Book of Isaiah made significantly contributed to shape later cosmological representations.⁶³⁰ In the Syriac world, the analogy of the tent was also used to describe heaven. Ephrem often uses the image of the tent in his hymns and speaks about the inner or hidden “Tabernacle/Tent” (maškanā) several times to describe the celestial realm.⁶³¹ Surprisingly, one of the only direct references to a tent (khiyām) in the Qur’ān – the word saqf and samk merely refers to a (tent) ceiling – occurs in an excerpt (Q 55:72), which some have connected to Ephrem’s Paradise imagery.⁶³² However, Ephrem’s language is very poetical⁶³³ and does not really relate to Q 21:32. It has been noted that the comparison of the universe to a tent was one of the characteristic images used by Theodore of Mopsuestia.⁶³⁴ Building on Hebrews 8:5 (“They serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly sanctuary; for when Moses was about to erect the tent [σκηνήν], he was instructed by God, saying, ‘See that you make everything according to the pattern which was shown you on the mountain’”), Theodore compared the universe to the Tabernacle of Moses. It is therefore far from surprising that the Church of the East tradition, which he vastly influenced, adopted the comparison. The allusion to a universe shaped as a tent is everywhere in Cosmas Indicopleustes’ Topography. Building on the temple’s imagery, Cosmas described the firmament as the “veil” (καταπέτασμα) of the temple, separating the terrestrial world (Holy) from the celestial one (Holy of Holies).⁶³⁵ For Syriac Antiochene-influenced

 See for instance Bovon/Geoltrain 1997– 2005, 1, 324, 329, 334, 341, 349; 2, 128.  For example, Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Paradise 3:5, 3:13 – 16, 4:7, 15:15.  Griffith 2008, 112– 113. Two other passages of the text refer to tents in slightly different terminology. Muslim exegesis has generally established that the word bayt in Q 16:80 designates a tent, whereas surādiq in Q 18:79 would indicate tents encompassing evildoers in hell. Finally, the word ẓulla in Q 7:171 has sometimes been understood in the same sense, although the comparison of this word to a mountain is problematic in my eyes. Cf. Pietruschka 2006.  McVey 1983, 112.  Unfortunately, none of the texts expositing Theodore’s cosmology have come down to us. We are thus left with its interpretation in Cosmas and other Antiochene-influenced scholars. With regard to the former, we can suppose that some of the doctrines he ascribes to Theodore are in fact his. It is also possible to deduct some of Theodore’s doctrine from John Philoponus’ criticism. Cf. Wolska 1962, 136.  Look from the index in Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 3, 407– 408.

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scholars, this image was popular as well. Jacob of Sarugh, for instance, addresses God in this way: The world is a great tent [maškanā] that You have pitched for all the species You created, and because of You it hangs established on nothing.⁶³⁶

We should not brush aside too hastily the possibility that the Qur’ānic word saqf could also refer to the roof of a building, an even more typical image conveyed by Antiochene-influenced scholars inheriting from the Mopsuestian simile. Theodoret of Cyrus uses the image in various instances.⁶³⁷ In the Syriac world, Ephrem unfortunately left us with little to nothing about the shape of the cosmos.⁶³⁸ Later writers however start describing the world in fashions that reminds us of the Qur’ānic terminology. Narsai often compares the firmament to a roof (mṭallaltā and taṭlīlā).⁶³⁹ Jacob of Sarugh resorts to the same metaphor several times, as in the following example: And the wisdom of the Most High established it and it emerged on Day Two like a roof [taṭlīlā] for the entire world of humans.⁶⁴⁰

Under Jacob’s influence probably, the aforementioned hymn dedicated to the church Saint Sophia in Edessa describes its ceiling (taṭlīlā) as the firmament.⁶⁴¹ Thus, whether it be interpreted in the sense of “tent ceiling” or in the more general sense of a “building roof ”, the Qur’ānic saqf and samk find counterparts in the late antique literature and even more so in the Antiochene tradition of exegesis. What was the geometric shape of this cosmic roof? The matter was debated in Christian Late Antiquity between scholars – mainly Alexandrians – influenced by the Ptolemaic model, and thus conceiving heavens as a succession of revolving spheres, and others such as Antiochenes, more attached to the literality of the Scriptures, who regarded the firmament as a cosmic separation, conceived as a roof in between floors in a twofold universe. Even in the latter tradition, the shape of the firmament was not entirely set. Antiochenes such as Diodore of Tarsus (d. 393/394) and Severian of Gabala (3rd/

     

Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 4:547; trans. Golitzin 2011, 26 – 27; cf. also Homilies 3:46. Theodoret of Cyrus, Questions on Genesis 11; Commentary on Psalms 115:6. Wolska 1962, 136. Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:55, 85; 2:296; 3:145. Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:41; trans. Muraoka 2018, 69; cf. also Homilies 3:34, 103. McVey 1983, 92– 95.

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4th c.) firmly defended the existence of a flat firmament,⁶⁴² which, as if by symmetry, played in the celestial world the same role as the earth in the terrestrial one, that is, the role of architectural foundations of the upper world. For Antiochene scholars, the firmament was granted the twofold status of “sky of the terrestrial beings” and “ground of the celestial ones”.⁶⁴³ This idea, in combination with the conception of a firmament being the veil of the temple, made it very natural for Antiochene scholars to opt for the idea of a flat firmament. Cosmas Indicopleustes is for instance very clear on that matter,⁶⁴⁴ and although Narsai does not seem interested in the actual shape of this cosmic device, he appears to have defended this view as well.⁶⁴⁵ Jacob of Sarugh, in turn, also described the firmament as the earth of the celestial beings.⁶⁴⁶ Nevertheless, he seems to have constantly wavered between the conception of a spherical firmament (espīrā) and the idea of a hemispherical one, which is the reason why he often depicts it by means of architectural conceits: kaptā and qūbtā (“dome, vault, cupola, arch”).⁶⁴⁷ As for the anonymous aforementioned Syriac hymn dedicated to this church in Edessa, it follows quite closely, as McVey argued, Jacob’s cosmological compromise and therefore advocates the same idea of a curved or arched firmament especially conveyed by the word kpīp. ⁶⁴⁸ This reminds of the vocabulary rather used for the highest sky in the other group of authors. Cosmas Indicopleustes described its form as a cupola (θόλος) or a vault (καμαρώσις).⁶⁴⁹ What Cosmas seeks to convey in using these images is the view that the invisible sky was round (but not spherical or as a

 Later commentators of Theodore of Mopsuestia like Išoʿdad of Merv (d. 852) considered that the firmament had been elevated like a sphere. Cf. Jansma 1966, 420.  Cosmas even speaks about the formation of two houses out of one, thanks to the creation of the firmament. Cf. Jansma 1966, 419; Jansma 1966, 166 – 167; Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 1, 322– 324.  Cosmas never clearly states the shape of the firmament but the language he uses (first sky and second sky, different in shape) and biblical verses he cites (e. g. Ps 103:2) makes it very clear that his firmament is flat. Cf. Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 1, 322– 323; Wolska 1962, 129 – 130.  Narsai’s apparent silence on the shape of this firmament could perhaps be explained by the fact that he was not able to combine the idea of a flat firmament with the motion of the planets, which were supposed to be placed on it. Indeed, he acknowledges that the sun and the moon are “turning night and days around the celestial sphere.” Cf. Gignoux 1962, 487.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:39.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:35, 39 – 40, 81. Cf. Wolska-Conus 1962, 130 – 131; McVey 1983, 116.  Edessan Hymn 5. Cf. McVey 1983, 92, 99.  Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 2:17.

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dome).⁶⁵⁰ Cosmas held that the universe had a cylindrical shape as Wanda Wolska rightly showed.⁶⁵¹ The word samk hardly conveys any geometrical meaning, so that it is impossible to extrapolate from it. The word saqf however, etymologically designates a circular shape rather than a flat one. Supposing that the etymology of the word is indicative of the shape of the firmament as conceived by the author(s) of the Qur’ān rather than its mere function (i. e. a celestial roof ), then the text would lean towards a similar representation of the world as the one proposed by the authors analysed above. The hub of the problem is to determine why the word saqf was introduced: its architectural meaning (upper part of a tent/building), its geometrical meaning (curved shape), or both? Be that as it may, the comparison of the sky to a roof is not the only architectural metaphor conveyed in the Qur’ān. In two passages, the samā’ (sky or firmament?) is compared to a “building” (binā’). The word binā’, the generic term in Arabic to refer to a building, is only attested twice in the text and occurs in almost identical passages: (He it is) who made the earth as a couch [firāsh] for you, and the sky a building [binā].⁶⁵² (Q 2:22) (It is) God who made the earth a stable place [qarār] for you, and the sky a building [binā’]. (Q 40:64)

The use of the word binā’, as opposed to firāsh (“bed”) and qarār (“stable place”) in each of these verses, indicates an opposition between two complementary cosmic entities. This opposition and the fact that both passages occur in a cosmogonic context suggest that the Qur’ān is using here the word samā’ in the sense of sky rather than firmament. The phrasing remotely echoes Isaiah’s turns of phrase some of which have already been mentioned. I quote them here again for recollection: Thus says God, the Lord, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread forth the earth and what comes from it […] (Is 42:5 – 6)

 Indeed, as Wolska mentions, the meaning of word θόλος had much evolved by the time of Cosmas. Cf. Wolska 1962, 295 – 296.  Wolska 1962, 130 – 131; for an artificial reconstruction of the controversy between the Theodorean model defended by Cosmas and the Ptolemaic spherical model of John Philoponus, see 170 – 171.  Droge’s translation slightly emended in both verses. The translation of the word binā’ by “dome” clearly conveys a meaning that is not in the text. Similarly, the word qarār hardly conveys the sense of “dwelling” but rather the idea of “steadfastness, stability”.

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Thus says the Lord, your Redeemer, who formed you from the womb: “I am the Lord, who made all things, who stretched out the heavens alone, who spread out the earth – Who was with me? (Is 44:24)

Though the phrasing of Isaiah and the Qur’ān looks alike, the metaphor of the building is not present here. Through such a comparison, the Qur’ān conveys an opposition (but also a complementarity) between the tallness and elevation of the sky and the flatness of the earth. This is, broadly speaking, the classical biblical conception of Creation, but it demands that this sky be regarded as somehow connected to the earth, just as a building is bound to its basement. One wonders what shape this building would have taken. Once again, I am not entirely convinced that these passages seek to allude to a particular shape. They seem in fact to illustrate a function. In any event the word binā’ is far too generic to infer any particular form.⁶⁵³ The image of the sky constructed as a building is certainly not unique to the Qur’ān. The analogy between the universe and an edifice looks obvious; a direct parallel between the sky and an architectural structure is perhaps less frequent.⁶⁵⁴ As mentioned above, the use of architectural metaphors to talk about the world was particularly developed in the Antiochene school of exegesis, especially for those relying on Theodore of Mopsuestia’s representation of the cosmos as the blueprint of the Tabernacle.⁶⁵⁵ Naturally, the aforementioned Cosmas Indicopleustes and his important reliance on Theodore of Mopsuestia wholeheartedly embraced such an analogy. Besides the fact he regarded the universe as a macrocosmic Tabernacle, Cosmas also affirmed that the sky spans over the whole Creation like a “huge house” (οἶκον παμμεγέθη) and compares it to the classical roof of an antique thermal bath, that is, a rectangular structure on the top of which lies a semi-cylinder.⁶⁵⁶ Such comparisons between the world and buildings were particularly widespread among Syriac authors, whose imagery is usually deemed close to the Qur’ān. Narsai, for instance, readily compares the world to a “royal palace”, and

 The binā’ is derived from the root BNW/BNY, very common in Semitic languages, meaning “to construct, to build”. Cf. Zammit 2002, 102.  We find in Jewish and Christian literatures the idea that the different heavens constitute palaces: for instance, the Syriac apocryphal Acts of Thomas, which relate a narrative on a palace constructed in heaven. Nevertheless, the Qur’ānic conceit does not suggest a palatial imagery. Cf. Bovon/Geoltrain 1997– 2005, 1, 1344– 1350. Concerning the motif of heaven as building in Christian apocrypha, I have systematically consulted the following, using the index: Bovon/Geoltrain 1997– 2005.  Van Bladel 2007, 226.  Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 1:17, 3:13, 4:8.

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also uses the generic word baytā (“house”) and ʿūmrā (“dwelling place”), sometimes accompanied by an adjective putting emphasis on its greatness (rwīḥā).⁶⁵⁷ Likewise, Jacob of Sarugh often resorts to architectural conceits. Besides the “tent-motif ” already mentioned, Jacob makes use of the classical Antiochene “building-comparison” and even, like Narsai, compares the universe to a palace supported by the remzā, of which we have already talked:⁶⁵⁸ The citadel of human species [bīrat ṭuhmē] is mightily built and established, and is suspended by means of the sign [remzā], without foundations or columns.⁶⁵⁹

But whereas this only refers to the universe, Jacob also uses more generic images to speak about the world: [The firmament] is spread as a garment beneath the residences of the Divine and as a roof above the dwelling of humans.⁶⁶⁰

The motif of the building-shaped universe appears quite similarly in the anonymous Syriac hymn mentioned above.⁶⁶¹ This literary piece compares the newly constructed edifice to a microcosm, an imago mundi, and even compares this building with the Tabernacle, the imago mundi “par excellence”. ⁶⁶² The ceiling of the church is depicted as being “stretched out (mtaḥ) like the sky”,⁶⁶³ while the dome of the church is compared to the “highest heaven” (šmay šmayyā).⁶⁶⁴ Nothing suggests that the Qur’ān directly borrows its architectural imagery from these authors. The motifs used by the Qur’ān seems simply rooted in the biblical imagery (tent, etc.). It is certainly worth highlighting that whereas some scholars, especially in the Alexandrian tradition, simply downplayed the accuracy of the Bible in terms of cosmic representations, the Qur’ān rather seems to deploy a cosmology arising from a more literal or historical reading of the Scriptures, thus granting validity to the biblical description and illustration of the sky. In this regard, the text is typologically in line with the Antiochene tradition of thought. Pursuing the hypothesis that the study of the Qur’ānic celestial imagery benefits from

 For instance Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:8, 103; 3:239; 4:290; 6:167; cf. also 5:129. On this, see Jansma 1966, 287– 288.  Jansma 1959, 11.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 4:548; trans. Golitzin 2011, 28 – 29.  Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:38; trans. Muraoka 2018, 65; cf. also Homilies 3:41.  McVey 1983, 107– 109, 111.  Edessan Hymn 11.  Edessan Hymn 5.  Edessan Hymn 6.

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the biblical background and, more specifically, from the Antiochene tradition, I tackle in the next section a last literary motif used by the Qur’ān to depict the firmament, namely the metaphor of the scale.

4.2 A scale balancing in the middle of nowhere A number of reasons contributed to the arousal of interest in the cosmic object named “firmament”. Apart from its function of cosmic separator, the biblical narration of its creation on the second day of the week of creation also raised interests, especially since the second day is the only one where God does not declare at the end that what he created “was good”.⁶⁶⁵ The firmament was also always associated with the element of water because of the fact that the Bible mentions that it served to separate the primordial body of water “between waters and waters” (Gen 1:6). Given this function the firmament was already interpreted in biblical times as being made of crystal, solidified water, or ice.⁶⁶⁶ Although the allusion of the Qur’ān to the “confluence of two seas” (majmaʿ al-baḥrayn) in Q 18:60 is likely to be a reference to the firmament separating the waters, the text does not explicitly talk of the episode of the separation of waters in the beginning of creation. A difficult passage of Q 55 however seems to suggest the imagery of the firmament floating between waters. I quote it in the following table for the purpose of the demonstration that follows: Table 3: The cosmic scale Q : –  [] al-raḥmānu

The Merciful

[] ʿallama l-qur’āna

has taught the Qur’ān.

[] khalaqa l-’insāna

He created the human.

[] ʿallama l-bayāna

He taught him the explanation.

[] al-shamsu wa-l-qamaru bi-ḥusbāni

The Sun and the moon (move) in predictable paths,

Acknowledgement: I am grateful to Guillaume Dye for mentioning this discovery of mine in his article, Dye 2019b, 815 – 822.  On this see Bogaert 1989.  Alexandre 1988, 102– 104.

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Table : The cosmic scale (Continued) Q : –  [] wa-l-najmu wa-l-shajaru yusjidāni

And the star and the tree prostrate themselves.

[a] wa-l-samā’u rafaʿa-hā [b] wa-waḍaʿa l-mīzāna

The sky – He raised it, and he laid down the scale.

[] ’allā taṭghaw fī l-mīzāni

Do not transgress insolently concerning the scale,

[] wa-’aqīmū l-wazna bi-l-qisṭi wa-lā tukhsirū l-mīzāna

But establish the weight in justice, and do not cheat concerning the scale.

[] wa-l-’arḍa waḍaʿa-hā li-l-’anāmi

And the earth – He laid it down for all living creatures.

[] fī-hā fākihatun wa-l-nakhlu dhātu l-’akmāmi

On it (there are) fruit, and date palms with sheaths,

[] wa-l-ḥubbu dhū l-ʿaṣfi wa-l-rayḥāni

and grain with its husk, and fragrant herbs.

[] fa-bi-’ayyi ’ālā’i rabbi-kumā tukadhdhibāni

Which of the blessings of your Lord will you two call a lie?

We mainly focus on Q 55:7– 9 here, but it is important to read them in light of the whole pericope. Whereas the text smoothly starts enumerating God’s wonders in creation from Q 55:3 to Q 55:7a, the text switches abruptly to talk about a “scale” (mīzān) that God is supposed to have laid down (waḍaʿa). The two following verses are dedicated to this mysterious scale before switching back in Q 55:10 to the enumeration of other divine signs in cosmos. The reference to this mīzān in the text is not immediately obvious. It has puzzled commentators and even, as I shall show, one of the Qur’ānic editors himself. Besides the three occurrences of the term in Q 55, mīzān occurs 13 times in the Qur’ān according to two different meanings. In most occurrences, the word mīzān is used metaphorically to refer to the “scale of justice” (Q 6:152, 7:8– 9, 7:85, 11:84– 85, 57:24) often associated with the kitāb as objects sent down by God.⁶⁶⁷ The second context of occurrence is when the text affirms that God “shall lay down the scales of justice for the Day of Resurrection” (Q 21:47; cf. also Q 23:102– 103, 42:17, 83:1– 3, 101:6– 8).

 On the association of the scale of justice with the book, see Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 4:282– 283; cf. also Sony 1979 – 1980, 72– 73.

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Neither of these two meanings really fit within the context of an enumeration of cosmic signs such as the one found in Q 55:1– 13. One indeed hardly understands why the text suddenly introduces a digression on the scales of divine justice in the middle of a list of divine cosmic signs. Hirschfeld, followed by Bell, suggested that the mīzān in Q 55:7 was originally a reference to Libra, a constellation with which the scale is often associated across cultures.⁶⁶⁸ This hypothesis is very astute, but mīzān never has this meaning elsewhere in the text and moreover, the astronomical content of the Qur’ān is rather limited and never used in any other sign passage to my knowledge. Although some affirm the reference to the balance of justice fits with the “subtext underlying the surah”,⁶⁶⁹ many scholars have pointed out that something odd was at play in Q 55:7– 9. Whereas the surah is rhythmically and assonantically well balanced up until Q 55:6 and after Q 55:9, the three mentions in a row of the word mīzān and the tone of Q 55:8 – 9 break the rhythm of the text. An interpolation was therefore suggested early on for this passage although scholars disagree on its exact content. Blachère for instance considers that the interpolation runs from v. 7b to v. 9, thus implying that everything related to the word mīzān belongs to a later scribal activity: Table 4: Q 55:6–10 and the interpolation according to Blachère [] wa-l-najmu wa-l-shajaru yusjidāni

And the star and the tree prostrate themselves.

[] wa-l-samā’u rafaʿa-hā wa-waḍaʿa lmīzāna

The sky – He raised it, and he laid down the scale.

[] ’allā taṭghaw fī l-mīzāni

Do not transgress insolently concerning the scale,

[] wa-’aqīmū l-wazna bi-l-qisṭi wa-lā tukh- But establish the weight in justice, and do not cheat consirū l-mīzāna cerning the scale. [] wa-l-’arḍa waḍaʿa-hā li-l-’anāmi

And the earth – He laid it down for all living creatures.

This hypothesis is not entirely convincing and presents several problems. First of all, once removed, the text looks more coherent from a semantic point of view, but it also entails a break in the rhyme of the text since wa-l-samā’u rafaʿa-hā does not have the “-ān ending” that runs throughout the entire surah. Moreover, it creates a disequilibrium between Q 55:7 and Q 55:10, for nothing counterbalances in Q 55:7 the li-l-’anām of Q 55:10. Most importantly however, one would have to explain

 Bell 1991, 2, 330.  Neuwirth 2010, 757.

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what exactly triggered this excursus on divine justice in a passage exclusively dedicated to the divine signs in the cosmos. Other scholars like Nöldeke and Schwally, suggested that only Q 55:8 – 9 was the interpolation. It is probably more compelling to suggest that the interpolation glosses the very word mīzān in Q 55:7 which formed a cosmological reference whose meaning was lost at the moment the interpolator goes over the original text. The crux of the matter is to determine to what this “scale” refers. The motif of the scale in cosmological context remotely echoes Isaiah 40:12 where it is said that God “weighed the mountains in scales and the hills in a balance”. Yet, the text here does not mention mountains and appears to understand the mīzān as a full-fledged cosmic item rather than a mere tool used by God during his creation. From a logical point of view, the mīzān necessarily needs to designate a cosmic object situated in between the stars and the tree (allegedly the tree of knowledge) described in Q 55:6 and the earth described in Q 55:10 after the digression of Q 55:8 – 9 on the justice. The firmament, as an item precisely situated between the stars and the earth thus constitutes a perfect candidate here. The hypothesis that mīzān refers to this “cosmic partition” finds support in the quite unique imagery of the “scale” found in Narsai’s homiletical corpus. In his first Homily on Creation, Narsai makes reference to the creation of the firmament in these terms: On the second day, the command proceeds forth: “Let there be a firmament!” And it divided the waters, half for the height [i. e. the heavenly realm] and half for the earth. “Let the firmament become a solid instrument in the middle of waters. And let it support the waters above its surface lest it be burnt up.” O Command which stiffened the waters, watery substance, and made them a solid substance that it supports the waters. O Scale [matqālā] which divided the waters, the great cistern, and gathered them in two oceans for the heights and for the abysses.⁶⁷⁰

The same imagery is used elsewhere: As a close roof, He made the firmament in the midst, that it be close for the sight and divide the waters from the waters. O Scale [matqālā] that does not oscillate and equally separated the waters.⁶⁷¹

Although Narsai remains to my knowledge the only pre-Qur’ānic author to explicitly associate the firmament with a scale, it is necessary to highlight that the understanding of the firmament as something in equilibrium between heaven and earth  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:47– 54; my translation.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 3:145 – 148; my translation.

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was not rare. The function of separator of waters given in Genesis to the firmament (Gen 1:6 – 8) led commentators to conceive the firmament as something floating – yet steadily without oscillating – in between waters. Jacob of Sarugh similarly insists on how the firmament is in balance between these two bodies of water in his Homily on the second day of Creation: He made the firmament, a dwelling-place, on Day Two. He commanded the wind which was hovering above the raging sea, and it stood between water and water to separate them. His command went into action and He separated them and weighed them [w-tqal ennūn], and set them in their places as He pleased.⁶⁷²

Here again, although the motif of the scale is not explicitly brought up, the function of the firmament is compared to the movements of a scale weighing up and down the waters it separates. It is likely in my view that the original text of Q 55 resorted to this motif of the firmament as a scale but that a later scribe, who did not understand the metaphor properly, interpolated Q 55:8 – 9 to make the sense clearer in his eyes. We can actually track his operational mode. Whereas the expression waḍaʿa l-mīzāna in v. 7 – belonging in our mind to the original text – does not find any counterpart in the Qur’ānic text, the expressions ’allā taṭghaw fī l-mīzāni (v. 8) and wa’aqīmū l-wazna bi-l-qisṭi wa-lā tukhsirū l-mīzāna (v. 9) both occur in contexts where the Qur’ān makes reference to the scale of justice. The prohibition “Do not transgress insolently concerning the scale” (v. 8) and “do not cheat concerning the scale” are paralleled by the interdiction in Q 11:84: wa-lā tanquṣū l-mikyāla wal-mīzāna and by the accusation of fraud on the markets in Q 83:1– 3 (cf. the use of the verb ’akhsara). As for the injunction to “establish the weight in justice” it is paralleled in Q 6:152 and 11:84 that both use the expression bi-l-qisti “in justice” as in Q 55:9. The most likely solution is that originally, Q 55:6-10* reads something close to what follows: Table 5: Q 55:6-10* [] wa-l-najmu wa-l-shajaru yusjidāni

And the star and the tree prostrate themselves.

[] wa-l-samā’u rafaʿa-hā wa-waḍaʿa l-mīzāna The sky – He raised it, and he laid down the scale. [] wa-l-’arḍa waḍaʿa-hā li-l-’anāmi

And the earth – He laid it down for all living creatures.

 Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:29; Homilies on the Hexaemeron, trans. Muraoka 2018, 50 – 51.

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A subsequent scribe, unaware of the metaphor of the scale to designate the firmament and possibly confused by the twofold meaning of the word samā’ (i. e. “sky” and “firmament”) in the Qur’ān, decided to gloss on the word mīzān on the basis of the other passages of the text where the word mīzān occurred (Q 11:84 and 83:1– 3 especially), leading to Q 55:7– 10 as we have it in the current state of the text. If our hypothesis is correct and that the reference to a mīzān in this passage constitutes an allusion to the firmament, then we might have here a key parallel for our understanding of the origins of the cosmological imagery of the Qur’ān. The comparison of the firmament to a scale is opaque to the one who is not accustomed with biblical imagery and more precisely with the idea that the firmament is oscillating between waters. Despite systematic research and the use of databases,⁶⁷³ we have not been able to trace the metaphor anywhere else than in Narsai’s corpus (and to a certain extent Jacob’s). It therefore seems probable that the author of the original layer of Q 55 was somehow acquainted with the cosmological repertoire on which Narsai builds as well.

5 Conclusion In this chapter, we studied a number of motifs used by the Qur’ān in the context of creation, especially in connection to its representation of the sky. The first part of this analysis showed that despite the Qur’ān’s endorsement of a biblical conception of creation in six days, two of the three passages providing a description of the creation of heavens and earth, hold that the earth was created before the heavens. Although a reading of these verses in light of late antique literature allows for a more nuanced understanding of their meaning, they remain unparalleled in the biblical tradition in terms of sequentiality. The second section of our chapter attempted to disambiguate the Qur’ānic use of the word samā’ and study the Qur’ānic conception of seven heavens. Here again, although the Christian late antique tradition allows for a better understanding of the Qur’ānic terminology on the notion of sky, the Qur’ān remains fairly distinct from it in holding among other things, the idea of seven heavens and perhaps even seven earths. The conception of a seven-layered heavenly realm probably goes back to a distinct Jewish tradition. Nevertheless, the few verses in which this cosmological motif is brought up echo the cosmological imagery of Isaiah and the Psalms. It is difficult to determine how this motif fits within the overarching cosmological system of

 We especially reviewed all the occurrences of the word matqalā in the Syriac database “Simtho”.

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the Qur’ān, but the non-formulaic fashion in which it is conveyed perhaps hints at the fact that it belongs to a distinctive scribal layer. The final section studied metaphors used in the text to designate the sky and the heavens. We suggested that in using architectural metaphors, the Qur’ān makes use of motifs comparable to those used by Christian writers trained in the Antiochene cosmological tradition. We also tried to show that the motif of the scale used in Q 55 probably is a reference to the firmament, a motif that we have only been able to trace back to the writings of Narsai of Nisibis, an author deploying an array of cosmological images to which the Qur’ān proves once again very close. The study of the representation of the sky in the Qur’ān shows the eclectic character of the Qur’ān in terms of cosmological imagery. Whereas a number of motifs can be connected to the biblical text (six days of creation, tent-shape, etc.), the intricacies of the Qur’ānic representations cannot be explained without a detour by the Jewish and the Christian exegetical literatures (seven heavens, scale, etc.). It is probable that a thorough analysis of the Qur’ānic cosmology in light of other religious traditions such as Zoroastrianism or Manichaeism would shed new light on the topic as well. It is also crucial not to forget that the Qur’ān conserves at times its originality in displaying cosmological features unmatched in the extant cosmological literature of Late Antiquity (e. g. the sequence of creation earth then sky), even though the authors of the text never make plain the reasons for this parting of ways with previous traditions.

Chapter 6 On the Creation of Angels and Men 1 Introduction In the previous chapters, we have successively studied the universe’s purpose according to the Qur’ān, the ways and means to experience the divine in the world, the doctrine of creation, and the motifs revolving around the representation of heavens. It is now time to address the question of some of the living beings that populate this world: angels, demons, and humans. We already touched upon a few aspects of the Qur’ānic angelology and anthropology, especially in studying the story of the refusal of angels to bow in front of Adam. We focus here on the question of their creation and their cosmological function. There exists a very large scholarship on angels and men in the Qur’ān. In this chapter, I do not want to repeat what has already been said numerous times before. A substantial number of studies dedicated to this subject have tackled the famous narrative of the rebellious angels from an intertextual perspective (Enochic traditions, Cave of Treasures, Life of Adam and Eve).⁶⁷⁴ This chapter studies the creation of angels and man through the prism of biblical exegesis and patristics. The reading of the Qur’ān in light of this literature highlights new meanings and details on the Qur’ānic angelogonical and anthropogonical narratives. We show that the Qur’ān demonstrates acquaintance with exegetical debates on issues surrounding the question of the creation of men and angels in the Bible. Our analysis suggests that the text sometimes subtly engages in the reframing of traditional biblical conceptions for its own theological purposes.

2 Creation of angels 2.1 Time of angelic creation The Qur’ān mentions twice that angels were created by God “out of fire” (min nār; Q 7:12, 38:76).⁶⁷⁵ Before commenting on the fiery elements itself, it should be pointed out that this affirmation de facto implies that the angels are created beings for the authors of the Qur’ān. We saw in our third chapter that in polemical context,  See for instance Reynolds 2010, 39 – 53.  Two other passages mention the creation of jinns out of fire (Q 15:27, 55:15). https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-008

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the Qur’ān opposes the creatorship of God to the createdness of angels. In making such claims, the Qur’ān draws from a repertoire of polemical Christian tropes frequently addressed at groups, regarded as heterodox, that had a tendency to ascribe a role in the creation of the world to angels alongside God.⁶⁷⁶ The absence of information about the creation of angels in the creation narrative of Genesis (and pretty much everywhere else in the Bible) particularly encouraged speculation on this topic. The earliest commentators tried to make sense of this very odd silence. The question of the origins of angels does not seem to have puzzled Jewish writers too much at an early stage. The Book of Jubilees (2:2), composed somewhere around the end of the 2nd c. BCE, bears witness to one of the first attempts to overcome the issue in suggesting that angels had been created on the first day of creation.⁶⁷⁷ We will see that the first day was the date appointed by some Christian Fathers for the birth of angels, but the idea was apparently not retained by rabbis.⁶⁷⁸ In the beginning of the rabbinic period however, the need to be more specific on this issue was felt. Certain groups, especially Gnostics and Manicheans, had started arguing that angels existed prior to creation and even participated with God in the creation of the world.⁶⁷⁹ In reaction to such tendencies, rabbis attempted to steer away from the idea that angels were created in the beginning of the week of creation. The early Jewish tradition indeed massively endorsed the view that angels were created on the second day of the creation week. This is the case not only in the Piyyut, but also in other texts such as the Targum Pseudo-Jonathan (Gen 1:26) and the later Midrash Rabbah, which records Rabbi Yoḥanan and Rabbi Ḥanina’s diverging opinions on the topic:⁶⁸⁰ R. Luliani b. Ṭabri said in R. Isaac’s name: Whether we accept the view of R. Ḥanina or that of R. Joḥanan, all agree that none were created on the first day, lest you should say, “Michael stretched [the world] in the south and Gabriel in the north, while the Holy One, blessed be He, measured it in the middle”; but “I am the Lord, that maketh all things; that stretched forth the heavens alone; that spread abroad the earth by Myself ” (Is. 44:24) : mi itti (“who was with Me”) is written: “who was associated with Me in the creation of the world?”⁶⁸¹

 On this, see for instance Van Reeth 2010.  Bogaert 1989, 140.  The opinion that angels were created on the first day reappears in medieval mystic Jewish midrash. Cf. Bogaert 1989, 140; Granat 2015, 72.  Granat 2015, 79 – 80, see especially nn. 43 – 44, which provides references towards Gnostic literature in this regard. Cf. also Petit 1903, 1193.  Alexander 1972, 69. The tradition according to which angels were created on the second day is based on the observation that the second day is the only one about which God does not say that it “was good”. On this, see Bogaert 1989.  Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 1:3; trans. Freedman 1961.

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The second day was eventually preferred over the fifth in this tradition.⁶⁸² Either way, it is clear that the necessity of being more specific on the creation of angels was less aroused by “scientific interest” than by theological concerns. It would probably be wrong to assume that such discussions constituted “preventive theology” meant to avoid what rabbis would have regarded as potential pitfalls. On the contrary, Philip Alexander affirms that “it is hard […] not to suspect that they were setting themselves against some group which assigned to angels excessive importance and powers.”⁶⁸³ Alexander reminds us that esoteric and gnostic groups particularly put angels on a pedestal, which often translated into superstitious practices in the common stratum of the population.⁶⁸⁴ Such concerns had already been raised in the 1st century CE, as the Letter to the Colossians already warns against those who worship angels (2:18). No doubt, Jewish and Christian authorities had to deal with the matter recurrently throughout Late Antiquity. Different opinions existed in the Christian world as well. Some simply argued that Moses had remained silent on this matter because he was dealing with the law of men and not of angels, and thus naturally talked about the creation of the physical world and left out that of incorporeal beings. Some others held that Moses avoided speaking of the angels to the Hebrews who still were in the path of recovering from superstitious beliefs about the climate. They would not have understood a discourse about incorporeal beings.⁶⁸⁵ Besides these innocent arguments however, deeper theological issues were at stake behind this debate. One distinguishes between two broad interpretations concerning the creation of angels among Greek Christian commentators. On the one hand, authors such as Origen, the Cappadocians, Evagrius of Pontus, John Chrysostom, John Philoponus, or later Anastasius of Sinai, regarded angels as preceding Creation.⁶⁸⁶ According to them, the creation narrated in Genesis by Moses was only the second creation, preceded by the first creation, nowhere mentioned, that involved the coming into being of the incorporeal world and the spiritual powers.⁶⁸⁷ Such doctrine was taken over numerous times throughout Late Antiquity, but it was also fiercely attacked for several reasons. It is true that once angels are be-

 Cf. Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 11:9.  Alexander 1972, 69; cf. also Granat 2015, 79 – 80; Tuschling 2007, 47– 48.  Alexander 1972, 69.  Gouillard 1973, 141.  On the Cappadocians, see Robbins 1912, 45, 53. Such traditions are also recorded in early Jewish texts. See Granat 2015.  Devreesse 1948, 8 – 9; Guillaumont 1973, 118 – 119. The idea of a double creation is already present in Philo (De opificio mundi 16). Note that for Origen, this idea of a first creation undetailed by Moses is epitomized by Gen 1:1. Cf. Tuschling 2007, 138 – 139.

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lieved to have been created before heavens and earth, one is not very far from supposing that they helped God in the creation of heavens and earth as some Gnostic groups believed,⁶⁸⁸ even though early Jewish texts had also long suggested that angels were helpers in the creation of the world (1 Enoch 69:15 – 16; 4 Ezra 6:41).⁶⁸⁹ For authors such as Epiphanius (4th c.), Theodoret of Cyrus (5th c.),⁶⁹⁰ Gennadius of Constantinople (5th c.), and others, the belief that the angels existed before Creation was unbearable.⁶⁹¹ In the 6th century, John Philoponus tells us that in his lost Commentary on Genesis, Theodore of Mopsuestia blamed Basil of Caesarea for having endorsed the Origenist position on the matter. The Interpreter had famously argued that through the expression “the heavens and the earth” in Gen 1:1, Moses meant “the heavens, the earth, and everything that is in between”.⁶⁹² Theodore re-interprets these verses within his motif of the angelic classroom of creation. At the moment of the creation of heavens and earth, he says, “there was no one for whom it was fitting to learn anything from his word”, and thus God remained silent.⁶⁹³ By the time of the creation of light (Gen 1:3) however, God – though he did not need to speak to create – uttered his voice to teach the angels who was their Creator.⁶⁹⁴ In the Syriac world, Ephrem’s writings already attest to the complexity of the question, for he is not comfortable with the fact that nothing is said of the creation of angels in the biblical text. In his Commentary on Genesis however, the Syrian acknowledges that Moses only spoke “of those things that were between the firmament and the earth which is within [the womb]”, not mentioning the creation of “spiritual beings”. Ephrem was not at ease with the expression “heavens and earth” in Gen 1:1 and held that nothing more could be inferred from it. He merely admits that Moses “did not record for us the day on which the spiritual beings were created”.⁶⁹⁵ It is only in his Hymns on Nativity that Ephrem overtly mentions that the angels had been created by the second day.⁶⁹⁶

 For instance, Basilides’ view reported in Epiphanius of Salamis, Panarion 24:1, 8 – 9.  Granat 2015, 79 – 80, see especially nn. 43 – 44.  Cf. Theodoret of Cyrus, Questions on Genesis 4  Gouillard 1973, 135 – 136.  Devreesse 1948, 8 – 9; Guillaumont 1973, 118 – 119.  Theodore of Mopsuestia, Fragments 4:18 – 19.  As translated in Becker 2006, 123.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Commentary on Genesis 1:3; trans. Mathews/Amar 1994, 76.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Nativity 26:5. Concerning the possibility that Ephrem’s position hints at his knowledge of Jewish debates over the creation of angels on the second or on the fifth day, see Mathews/Amar 1994, 76 (n. 29); Cramer 1965, 112, 170; Hidal 1974, 67; El-Khoury 1976, 64– 65.

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The idea that angels had been created before the physical world became increasingly popular in Greek Christianity and was also adopted in the Syrian Orthodox Church around the end of the 7th century, especially from Jacob of Edessa (d. 708) onwards. The exegetical line on the matter was rather different in the Eastern Syrian tradition, heavily dependent on Theodore of Mopsuestia. Narsai for instance took over the Theodorean interpretation and regularly affirms that the angels were created at the same time as heavens and earth alongside the elements.⁶⁹⁷ As Theodore, Narsai sees in the utterance of God’s speech in Gen 1:3, the proof that angels had been created at the same time as heavens and earth in Gen 1:1. When God had no one to speak to at that time, he created silently, but by the moment of the creation of light (Gen 1:3) on the morning of the first day, God creates with speech: his interlocutors are the angels.⁶⁹⁸ This argument must have been quite popular in the Syriac world prior to the emergence of the Qur’ān. Ephrem had already argued against the idea that Gen 1:3 is addressed to angels,⁶⁹⁹ suggesting that this interpretation was already in the air at the time, but Jacob of Sarugh takes over the Theodorean argument as well. One might therefore suspect that this was a common angelological position in the School of Edessa where Narsai and Jacob were both trained. Jacob however seems to have been quite an exception among miaphysites for this reading of the scriptures does not seem to have been partaken by other miaphysite writers. The creation of angels on the first day remained a position specific to the Church of the East well into the Middle Ages as attested by the later chain commentaries.⁷⁰⁰ In light of these animated late antique debates, one wonders whether something is said in the Qur’ān about the time of the creation of angels. What seems secure is that the Qur’ān holds that angels were created prior to humans. This is for instance explicit in Q 2:30 where God announces to angels his imminent creation of humans and in the few passages where Iblīs justifies his refusal to bow in front of Adam on the basis that he had been made “out of fire” (Q 7:12, 38:76). But this does not really help position the Qur’ān within the large spectrum of late antique angelological positions, since pretty much everyone thought of the angels as created prior to humans. One easily realises how both the notion of created angels and the precision of the moment of their creation represent high stakes for a text like the Qur’ān. The question of associationism is lurking behind this issue, one of the Qur’ān’s favourite topics. Although the concern is not raised in those Adamic stories, this is pre   

Narsai, Homilies on Creation 2:213 – 220, 338 – 339; 3:105 – 106. Narsai, Homilies on Creation 3:17– 114. Cf. Guillaumont 1973, 119; Becker 2006, 123. Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 6:11. Guillaumont 1973, 120 – 121.

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cisely at stake in several other polemical passages denying the angels’ role of witnesses to the creation of heaven and earth. Whereas angels are used in some places to “bear witness” to certain things such as the doctrine that there is no other god but God (e. g. Q 3:18), making them perfect contemplators and sources of emulation for humans, other verses reflect more nuanced positions on this angelic role and probably hint at their authors awareness of the fact that granting angels the status of witness to God’s oeuvre, potentially diminishes God’s unconditionality. A case in point is Q 4:166, which messily declares that “God bears witness [yashhadu] to what He has sent down to you – He sent it down with His knowledge – and the angels (also) bear witness [wa-l-malā’ikatu yashhadūna]” and adds “Yet God is sufficient as a witness [wa-kafā bi-llāhi shahīdan]”. The same theme is addressed elsewhere in the context of anti-associationist polemics: (Remember) when We said to the angels: ‘Prostrate yourselves before Adam,’ and they prostrated themselves, except Iblīs. He was one of the jinn, and acted wickedly (against) the command of his Lord. Do you take him and his descendants as allies instead of Me, when they are your enemy? Evil is the exchange of evildoers! I did not make them witnesses of the creation of the heavens and the earth, nor of the creation of themselves [mā ’ashhadtu-hum khalqa lsamāwāti wa-l-’arḍi wa-lā khalqa ’anfusi-him]. I am not to take those who lead (others) astray (for) support [wa-mā kuntu muttakhidha l-muḍillīna ʿaḍudan]. On the Day when He will say, ‘Call those who you claimed were My associates,’ they will call them, but they will not respond to them – (for) We have set between them a place of destruction. (Q 18:50 – 52)

The claim is not entirely clear here. The text mainly polemicizes against Iblīs and his fellow demons and affirms that they neither witnessed the creation of heaven and earth, nor their own creation. As the multiple occurrences of the prostration of angels in front of Adam suggest, Satan is regarded in the Qur’ān as a fallen angel (but not necessarily of the same kind as the fallen angels of the Enochic tradition). It implies that until his fall and thus during the week of creation, Iblīs was still an angel (probably just as other demons). Nevertheless, the plea seems less against demons themselves than against any beings besides God, who, celestial as they are, remain corruptible and might well turn out to lead people astray. The fact that the creation of heaven and earth is here articulated with the notion of angels/demons is noteworthy. What does the Qur’ān exactly mean by “to make witness” (ashhada)? The Arabic word does not make it any more explicit than its translation. The argument is slightly distinct from the denial of angelic partnership in the creation of the world found elsewhere in the text. In Q 18:50 – 52 and 4:166, the denial concerns their role as “eyewitnesses” of creation. Arguably the fact that the Qur’ān polemicizes against the possibility that the angels witnessed the creation of heavens and earth suggests that it does not hold that they pre-existed the creation of the world. We thus see that in the background, the text

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probably takes issue with traditions according to which angels pre-existed Creation, either because they are eternal beings or because they were created during the first creation. The target of the polemic is not explicit, but the attacks of the Qur’ān find once again their source in late antique debates.

2.2 Angels and elements While the text simply connects the motif of the refusal to the devil’s arrogance to the fact that he belonged to the group of the disbelievers in Q 2:30 – 39, Satan invokes his material origin in the majority of passages (Q 7:12, 15:26 – 42, 17:61, 38:67– 85), arguing that someone created “out of fire” (min nār) does not deserve to lower himself to prostrate in front of someone created “from clay” (Adam).⁷⁰¹ These latter passages inform us that angels (and therefore demons as well) are understood as being created out of fire in the Qur’ān. The idea of angels as fiery beings is common in biblical literature. The Bible already associates the fiery element with a specific class of angels: the seraphs (e. g. Is 6:2). It is common knowledge that the root SRP in Hebrew in fact refers to the idea of “burning”, hence these angels are called “the burning ones”. Nevertheless, the Qur’ān seems to suggest (though not explicitly) that all the angels are made out of fire. The ambiguity is present in the Hebrew Bible already. The text of Psalm 104:4, one of the most important passages of the Bible (together with Ezek 1 and is 6) concerning the question of angels, is syntactically unclear: [God] who makest the winds thy messengers, fire and flame thy ministers. (Ps 104:4)

As Kaduri notes, the ambiguity of this passage makes it difficult to determine whether the text implies that God’s messengers are made out of wind and fire, or simply turned into wind and fire.⁷⁰² The question of the substance and composition of angels very much bothered antique exegetes. There was a tendency to generalize the seraphs’ association with fire to all angelic classes. All of them were associated with this element, but it was also argued that they were created from it. Such was the case in Jewish apocryphal literature, as attested by 2 Enoch for instance:

 On the treatment of elements in the Qur’ān, see Toelle 1999.  Kaduri 2015, 134– 135.

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And from the rock I [God] cut off a great fire, and from the fire I created the ranks of the bodiless armies – ten myriad angels – and their weapons are fiery and their clothes are burning flames.⁷⁰³ (2 Enoch 29:3 [version J])

Other commentators particularly paid attention to the fact that Psalm 104:4 also mentioned the element of “wind” or “spirit” out of which some of God’s messengers were made. This later element was interpreted in various ways. While some understood it as evidence of the existence of separate classes of angels – some made of fire and some of wind/spirit –,⁷⁰⁴ others took it as a reference to the very nature of angels no matter their hierarchy. Ephrem and Narsai make very clear for instance that angels in general are made both of fire and wind.⁷⁰⁵ As for Jacob of Sarugh, he seems to have taken Psalm 104:4 as a reference to two different classes of angels.⁷⁰⁶ It is surprising that the Qur’ān does not associate “wind” or “spirit” with the nature of angelic beings, especially since in the Syriac Cave of Treasures, one of the apocrypha that offers a retelling of the angels’ refusal to worship Adam, Satan invokes both his fiery and his spiritual origins to justify his behaviour.⁷⁰⁷ The Qur’ānic version is thus slightly different from the one found in this Syriac text and one wonders whether a dogmatic reason lies behind this slight change, or if the version of the story with which the Qur’ānic authors came to be acquainted only mentioned the fiery element and not the spiritual one. To be sure, in the various extant late antique versions of this story, the reason invoked by Satan is not always the same as in the Cave of Treasures. In the Life of Adam and Eve, Satan invokes his temporal priority for instance and not material superiority. In the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, Satan invokes his “spiritual” nature, superior to the “fleshly” one of Adam, rather than his fiery origin as the reason for his jealousy.⁷⁰⁸ Most notably, Satan’s refusal to bow in front of Adam is evoked in another Christian apocryphon, the Questions of Bartholomew written in Greek. Here Satan refuses to bow both because of his temporal priority and his material superiority. In this text, the spiritual element is not mentioned and the clay from which Adam is made is only opposed to the fact that Satan is “fire of fire” (πῦρ ἐκ πυρός).⁷⁰⁹ In the absence of further elements, it is impossible to determine why the Qur’ān choses fire and neglects wind or spirit as elements of       

Trans. Andersen, as quoted in Kaduri 2015, 140. E. g. Apocalypse of Abraham 19:4– 6. Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 55:5; Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:121, 5:287, 5:301– 304. Jacob of Sarugh, Homilies 3:10; trans. Muraoka 2018, 22– 23. Minov 2015, 246. Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 351. Questions of Bartholomew 4:53 – 55; cf. Minov 2015, 247– 248.

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which angels are made. This may reflect a distinctive, perhaps more popular, angelological conception.⁷¹⁰

2.3 Hierarchy of angels Another topic worthy of consideration if we are to understand a bit better the Qur’ānic conception of angels is the question of their hierarchy. Despite the fact that the Qur’ān defends the idea that demons (or pat of them) are fallen angels, and that it thus distinguishes between good and bad angels, one does not find clearly addressed in the text the somewhat related question of the classes of angels. In the Christian world, the fact that the Bible and Paul’s letters especially called the angels by different names entailed the conception of a hierarchy of angelical beings for the early exegetes. The model was not fixed until the writings of Pseudo-Dionysius, but earlier Fathers speculate about the number of classes: Irenaeus talks about six different degrees for instance, while Basil mentions five of them. The number is not fixed in the Syriac tradition either before the emergence of the Qur’ān.⁷¹¹ The Arabic text never talks explicitly about different categories of angels. In this context, it should be noted that the Qur’ān has a remarkably poor and approximative vocabulary to talk about angelic beings. The word usually chosen to designate them is malak (88 occurrences in the Qur’ān), which most likely constitutes a loanword from Aramaic or Hebrew.⁷¹² As the text sometimes speaks of “fiery” angels, one would have expected a word built on the root SRF to occur at some point, but it is not the case to our knowledge. As for the cherubs, they are designated by the name al-muqarrabūn in a few passages: By no means! Surely the book of the pious is indeed in ‘Illiyīn. And what will make you know what ‘Illiyīn is? A written book. The ones brought near bear witness to it [yashhadu-hu l-muqarrabūna]. (Q 83:18 – 21)

 Note that later Jewish texts of the Hekhalot literature seem to have opted for the same idea of angels as fiery beings only. Philip Alexander suggests that one of the reasons why they chose fire over wind (cf. Ps 104:4) is probably that they held the belief that fire was the most spiritual of elements and that heavens, as a “mono-elemental universe” was therefore constructed of fire only. Cf. Alexander 2011, 175.  Weber 1998, 44; Parisot 1903, 1256 – 1259.  Gobillot 2007, 51.

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Despite the rather cryptic character of these verses, we see here the motif already studied of angels “witnessing” celestial phenomena. In another passage, Jesus and the angels are also called al-muqarrabūn (“the ones brought near”; Q 4:172). This designation is very odd, especially ascribed to Jesus. The word muqarrabūn sounds like a deformation of the Hebrew or Syriac word for “cherubs”, kerūbīm/krūbē. The name kerūbīm in the Bible is an Assyrian loanword and designates “those who pray” but the root KRB is not used otherwise in the Bible. The cherubs are specifically said to support God’s throne in the Bible (1 Sam 4:4; 2 Sam 6:2; 1 Ch 13:6; 2 K 19:15; Is 37:16; Ps 80:2, 90:1).⁷¹³ In light of this function, the Qur’ān seems to distort the original Semitic root KRB into QRB so as to give a new meaning to these angels’ name. The cherubs are now muqarrabūn, “the ones close to God”. It is striking – especially given the Qur’ānic affinities with the Syriac sphere of influence – that the text does not present a cognate to the Syriac word ʿīrā (originally designating a “watcher” but in late antique times the term applies to any sort of angels), an extremely frequent name to designate angels in the Syriac-speaking context. The text sometimes refers to the activity of these watchers by means of the active participle ḥāfiẓūn, “those who guard” (Q 15:9, 21:82, 82:10, 83:33, 86:4), but the word is not used as a proper noun. In Syriac, there exists various other names to designate specific classes of angels (“Dominions”, “Thrones”, etc.) and several epithets: rūḥānē (“the spiritual ones”), šmayyānē (“the celestial ones”), and nūrānē (“the fiery ones”). None of these are reflected in the Qur’ān.⁷¹⁴ Despite the lack of vocabulary, one easily finds in the Qur’ān traces of the more complex angelological system in which its authors were navigating. Beyond the numerous different functions attributed to the angels that must reflect different types of angelic beings, at least one passage can decisively be taken as evidence that the Qur’ānic authors envisaged different classes of angels: Praise (be) to God, Creator of the heavens and the earth, (who) makes the angels messengers having two, and three, and four wings [’ūlī ’ajniḥatin mathnā wa-thulātha wa-rubāʿa]. He adds to the creation whatever He pleases. Surely God is powerful over everything. (Q 35:1)

Scholars have sometimes discussed the ambiguous turn of phrase mathnā wa-thulātha wa-rubāʿa in the text. The passage must be a reference to pairs of wings and not wings only as the literal reading has it.⁷¹⁵ We would thus have here a reference to at least three different kinds of angels differentiated by the number of wings: four, six, or eight.

 Lipinski 1987.  Parisot 1903, 1253 – 1254.  Burge 2008, 58 – 62; Van Reeth 2019, 1172– 1173.

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According to the Bible, not every angel has wings.⁷¹⁶ This is a specificity that is only ascribed to seraphs and cherubs originally. The most explicit texts of the Old Testament talking about this are certainly found in Isaiah. The possession of six wings is here ascribed to seraphs: Above him stood the seraphim; each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. (Is 6:2)

The mention that angels possessed four wings is certainly matched in Ezekiel’s vision, allegedly the most detailed scriptural passage on the angelic constituency. Each of the four supranatural beings described by the prophet possesses two pairs of wings: As I looked, behold, a stormy wind came out of the north, and a great cloud, with brightness round about it, and fire flashing forth continually, and in the midst of the fire, as it were gleaming bronze. And from the midst of it came the likeness of four living creatures. And this was their appearance: they had the form of men, but each had four face, and each of them had four wings. Their legs were straight, and the soles of their feet were like the sole of a calf ’s foot; and they sparkled like burnished bronze. Under their wings on their four sides they had human hands. And the four had their faces and their wings thus: their wings touched one another; they went every one straight forward, without turning as they went. As for the likeness of their faces, each had the face of a man in front; the four had the face of a lion on the right side, the four had the face of an ox on the left side, and the four had the face of an eagle at the back. Such were their faces. And their wings were spread out above; each creature had two wings, each of which touched the wing of another, while two covered their bodies. And each went straight forward; wherever the spirit would go, they went without turning as they went. (Ezek 1:4– 12)

Note that whereas the passage from Ezekiel quoted here does not explicitly mention that the description refers to angels, this is how it was interpreted in the later traditions.⁷¹⁷ It is easy to picture how such descriptions fed later iconography. Whereas, angels are not yet classified in different degrees in the Bible as we said, such a classification is fully endorsed by the time of the emergence of Pseudo-Dionysian writings. As Jan Van Reeth mentions, Pseudo-Dionysius, who divides angelic armies into nine angelic classes affirms that the highest degree in the hierarchy is composed of angels having six wings.⁷¹⁸ Once again, the Qur’ān does not offer enough details to determine with precision the number of angelical categories its authors conceived, or the respective

 On angels in the Bible, see Fontinoy 1989; Galopin 1987.  Cf. for instance Muyldermans 1946, 373.  Pseudo-Dionysius, Celestial Hierarchy 13:4.

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functions attributed to each class of angels depending on their number of wings. It describes several angelic activities that could well correspond to different classes of angels. Some angels carry God’s throne (Q 40:7, 69:17) and some stand around it (Q 40:7). One of their important activities is to intercede between God and humans – be they prophets or not – in bringing up the requests for forgiveness (Q 42:5) and in bringing down the divine message to various prophets. They also guard the fire of Gehenna (Q 43:77), chastise unbelievers (Q 8:50), and fight against them along with the believers (Q 8:12). Finally, there also exist angels recording as scribes every human deed (Q 50:17– 21).⁷¹⁹ All these functions would constitute the occasion for the Qur’ān to display a more technical terminology on angels. However, the authors of the text seem to lack the vocabulary and the technicity to express fully the complexity of their angelology.

2.4 Angels and the cosmos As part of the created universe, angels participate in the unfolding of the great drama of the divine economy. Within this context, it is worth having a look at the relation between the angels and the rest of the created world. In a single passage, the text pairs them up with thunder as if they were nothing more than random created objects: The thunder glorifies (Him) with His praise, and the angels (too) out of awe of Him. (Q 13:13)

This constitutes quite an original way of illustrating one of the most important roles of the angels in the world according to the Qur’ān, namely, to praise God constantly (e. g. Q 7:206, 21:19, 40:7, 41:38, 42:5, 69:17). This motif is already found in biblical angelology (e. g. Ps 148:1– 5).⁷²⁰ Similarly, the text mentions that eight angels will carry the throne of God on the Day of Judgement (Q 69:17), an important cosmic function indeed, normally reserved to cherubs more specifically. Although the Qur’ān seems to reflect at times common beliefs on angels, it is also very careful in not echoing beliefs about them that could have led to the diminishing of God’s almighty power in the universe. Not only does the text brush aside the possibility that angels took part in the creation of heavens and earth as we already studied in our third chapter, but they are also never explicitly ascri Other angelic specificities could be mentioned, but they fall out of the scope of the present study. For a good summary on the topic, see Gobillot 2007.  Tesei 2019a, 560. Note that the Book of Jubilees (2:1) also speaks of the “angels of thunders” together with a number of other angelic beings connected to other natural phenomena.

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bed any role in the maintenance of the universe (except perhaps in the ambiguous Q 70:4 discussed in the fourth chapter). Such cosmological views were very much spread in the world of Antiquity. The idea that angels help God maintain the universe is for instance extant in the Book of Jubilees. As Kaduri notes, “the existence of such spirits controlling the weather and other earthly matters was particularly important to Jubilees’ author, since it explained how […] phenomena of Nature could occur on the Sabbath, when, according to Jubilees, God and the highest angels were taking their Sabbath rest.”⁷²¹ The idea certainly percolated early on in the Christian world as well and despite the range of cosmological doctrines developed throughout Late Antiquity aiming at maintaining God’s supremacy and unconditional creative power, such doctrines were not easily defeated. In the middle of the 6th century, Cosmas Indicopleustes for instance, clearly ascribes the motion of the planets to angels,⁷²² a point on which he was violently opposed to Philoponus and the Ptolemaic cosmology as whole.⁷²³ The belief that the angels regulate and maintain the cosmos was adopted in the Church of the East. Narsai abundantly developed the theme in his Homilies on Creation. For him, angels work under the rule of God or rather of his “sign” (remzā). In this context, each angel is ascribed a specific task: the motion of the sun and the moon in its different mansions, the stars, the wind, rain, thunder, etc.⁷²⁴ The fact that angels do not participate in the maintenance of Creation is in line with the Qur’ānic claim that God alone supports the entire creation. Even though angels are not associated with the continuous creation, their role is not entirely disconnected from cosmic phenomena. In four passages, they are said to throw fire balls behind demons attempting to ascend near the firmament in order to listen to the heavenly council: Certainly We have made constellations in the sky [laqad jaʿalnā fī l-samā’i burūjan], and made it appear enticing for the onlookers, and protected it from every accursed satan [shayṭānin rajīmin] – except any who (may) steal in to overhear, then a clear flame pursues him [fa’atbaʿa-hu shihābun mubīnun]. (Q 15:16 – 18) Surely We have made the sky of this world [al-samā’a al-dunyā] appear enticing by means of the splendor of the stars [bi-zīnatin al-kawākibi], and (We have made them) a (means of ) protection from every rebelling satan [wa-ḥifẓan min kulli shayṭānin māridan]. They do not listen

 Kaduri 2015, 147.  Cosmas Indicopleustes, Christian Topography 2:3, 83 – 84; 9:4– 5.  Wolska 1962, 168.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 2:372– 400; 6:25 – 52, 155 – 225. See the discussion and references in Gignoux’s introduction of his edition and translation of the Homilies on Creation: Gignoux 1958, 456.

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to the exalted Assembly, but they are pelted from every side, driven off – for them (there is) a punishment forever – except for the one who snatches a word, and then a piercing flame pursues him [fa-’atbaʿa-hu shihābun thāqibun]. (Q 37:6 – 10) Certainly We adorned the lower heaven [al-samā’a l-dunyā] with lamps [bi-maṣābīḥa], and made them missiles for the satans [wa-jaʿalnā-hā rujūman li-l-shayāṭīni] – and We have prepared for them the punishment of the blazing (Fire). (Q 67:5)

Finally, a last example displays a scene where demons (jinns) repent from having tried to ascend and touch the sky: And that we touched the sky and found it filled with harsh guards [ḥarasan shadīdan] and piercing flames [wa-shuhuban]. And that we used to sit there on seats to listen (in), but whoever listens now finds a piercing flame lying in wait for him [yajidu la-hu shihāban raṣadan]. (Q 72:8 – 9)

These passages all resort to the same motif: demons attempt to ascend near the firmament to listen to the heavenly council and are chased down by piercing flames.⁷²⁵ We learn that the access to the heavenly realm is banned for demons who are thus ascribed the earthly realm as residence. Most importantly, Q 72 gives us a better understanding of how this firmament is protected. While the other verses only speak of burning flames or stars without identifying who throws them, Q 72:8 – 9 says that the firmament⁷²⁶ is filled with guards [ḥaras], who are undoubtedly angels. These passages seek to convey the idea of heaven as a celestial fortress (cf. also Q 41:12). Besides the fact that it is defended by “guards”, the term burūj used in Q 15:16, usually translated as “constellation”, is probably better understood as a reference to “towers” (the term indeed means both “constellations” and “towers” in Arabic).⁷²⁷ As for the image of stars as “piercing flames” and fiery “missiles” pursuing demons, Crone suggested that it was rooted in Middle Eastern cosmological traditions, probably of Iranian and Jewish influence.⁷²⁸ This is not altogether impossible but once again, it is useful to provide here the bigger picture. The idea that angels play the role of sentries or watchman is often seen in scholarly literature as a possible link with the famous Book of Enoch, a section of which is called the Book of Watchers where shooting stars and flashes of light are indeed mentioned.⁷²⁹ Although the reference is not unhelpful, it has     

On the theme of demons eavesdropping on heavens, see Hawting 2007. The text twice speaks of al-samā’ al-dunyā’, “the nearest sky”. Reynolds 2010, 54, 61– 63. Crone 2017a, 307– 310; Tesei 2019b, 592. Hawting 2017, 391.

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been pointed out that the motif is in fact grounded in biblical imagery already.⁷³⁰ In Gen 3:24, the text depicts cherubs as positioned by God at the entrance of paradise after Adam’s fall. The fiery element is already mentioned as their weapon of preference: He drove out the man; and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a flaming sword [MT: lahaṭ ha-ḥereb; LXX: τὴν φλογίνην ῥομφαίαν] which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life. (Gen 3:24)

The motif of paradise guarded by angels and flaming swords is particularly reminiscent of the Qur’ānic motif of angels as “guards” in the Qur’ān. They guard the entrance to a celestial place and have fiery weapons. In this regard, it is important to note that this latter “flaming sword” was rendered in the Peshitta and both the Targum Neofiti and the Targum Pseudo-Johnathan by “sharp sword” or a “sword’s point” (Pesh.: šnānā d-ḥarbā).⁷³¹ This did not prevent the imagery of fire as guarding paradise from demons to develop within those traditions, including the Syriac one. Indeed, the motif of the flaming sword is also extant in other passages of the Bible: If I whet my flittering sword [MT: beraq ḥarbī; LXX: ἀστραπὴν τὴν μάχαιράν μου; Pesh.: saypy ayk barqā], and my hand takes hold on judgment, I will take vengeance on my adversaries, and will requite those who hate me. (Deut 32:41)

As for the idea of the heavenly citadel, it is also developed in the Psalms, in a chapter that has a lot in common with the Qur’ānic cosmological imagery, and in which the motif of the fiery projectiles sent down from heaven is evidently rooted: Out of the brightness before him there broke through his clouds hailstones and coals of fire [MT: bārād we-gaḥalē ʿēš; LXX: χάλαζα καὶ ἄνθρακες πυρός; Pesh.: bardā w-gumrē d-nūrā]. The Lord also thundered in the heavens, and the Most High uttered his voice, hailstones and coals of fire. And he sent out his arrows, and scattered them; he flashed forth lightnings, and routed them. (Ps 18:12– 14)

The image is also found in another Psalm: On the wicked he will rain coals of fire and brimstone [MT: paḥīm ʿēš we-gāperīt; LXX: παγίδας πῦρ καὶ θεῗον; Pesh.: paḥē ayk maṭrā nūrā w-kebrītā]; a scorching wind shall be the portion of their cup. (Ps 11:6)

 Eichler 1928, 31– 32.  Alexandre 1986.

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A few other passages of the biblical text refer to God’s bolts and arrows (e. g. Ps 29; 77:18 – 19; Ex 19:19; Jb 36:29 – 30). None of these authoritative texts speaks explicitly of chasing demons, but they surely fed later traditions and gave rise to a range of cosmological motifs. The New Testament already puts these words in Jesus’ mouth:⁷³² He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning [Gr.: ὡς ἀστραπὴν ἐκ τοῦ οὐρανοῦ; Pesh.: ayk barqā men šmayyā].” (Lk 10:18)

The image conveyed in the Qur’ān ultimately derives from this repertoire of biblical references. The rich imagery of these key scriptural passages indeed led exegetes to propose noteworthy interpretations. Philo, for instance, identified the cherubs of Gen 3:24 and their fiery swords with the two cherubs of the Ark of the Covenant, which he reads as allegories of the planetary spheres. The flaming sword “turning every way” is interpreted by Philo as an allusion to the movement of the celestial bodies.⁷³³ Despite the fact that we are yet far from the Qur’ānic piercing flames chasing demons, it is remarkable that this passage finds at this early stage already a cosmological reading involving the motions of the stars. The image of fallen angels⁷³⁴ trying to approach the firmament in order to listen to the heavenly council is found in the Talmud.⁷³⁵ Crone in fact already notes the presence of the motif in the first-century Greek Testament of Solomon. Here however, demons are not chased by fiery missiles, but they themselves look like shooting stars after falling from the sky out of exhaustion.⁷³⁶ Although a systematic skimming of the sources would probably reveal the presence of the motif of stars chasing demons away from the heavenly council in patristic and Christian apocryphal literature, our sources show that it was still lively in the imagery of the 8th century in the Church of the East. Theodore bar Koni, in his Scolion, discusses the activity of demons:

 Boisliveau 2019a, 1238 – 1239.  Philo of Alexandria, De cherubim 21– 30. Note that Philo also proposes other readings of this motif. Cf. Alexandre 1988, 336.  Patricia Crone regarded the hypothesis that these demons in fact were fallen angels as impossible for “there is absolutely nothing in the tradition on the fallen angels at any time in its long history to suggest that these angels tried to, or even could, fly back to eavesdrop on proceedings in heaven; and the jinn in Q 72 are never actually called angels.” Cf. Crone 2017c, 387– 388. I do not understand the argument here, especially since the jinns themselves affirm in Q 72 that they “used to sit” (kunnā naqʿudu) at the heavenly council in the past. They must have fallen from somewhere.  Babylonian Talmud, Berakhot 18b.  Testament of Solomon 20:11– 12. Cf. Crone 2017a, 309.

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Can the demons ascend to the place on high anyway? They cannot because they are held back by the power of the one who destroyed them. It is not proper that defiled ones approach the Tent of the Saints […]. The fact that our Lord compared him to a lightning means two things: either that he lasted in his domination for the time of the sight of a lightning, or that when while he was shining as a lightning in glory, he was quenched at once and no traces of his splendour was left.⁷³⁷

In fact, the motif of demons chased by flames finds particularly original renderings in the writings of Pseudo-Macarius and that of Syriac mystic authors studied in the second chapter. Building on the motif the inner divine fire that animates the mystic, they hold that it is the flames of this fire that chase away the demons from the heart.⁷³⁸ All in all, we see that Crone’s hypothesis of an eastern origin and development for the motif is quite likely. The image of fire and flames chasing demons away was not only widespread in Jewish circle as witnessed by the Babylonian Talmud, but it was also quite in use in the Church of the East tradition.⁷³⁹

2.5 God’s sons One of the major arguments against which the Qur’ān polemicizes is the idea that they are God’s sons. After having declared God’s unicity in Q 21:25 by means of the traditional monotheistic formula, the next verse (already studied) makes the unbelievers affirm that “the Merciful has taken a son”, a blameworthy argument to which the Qur’ān responds they are mere ʿibād mukramūn: They say, ‘The Merciful has taken a son’ [ittakhadha l-raḥmānu waladan], Glory to Him! No! (They are) honored servants [ʿibādun mukramūna]. (Q 21:26)

The passage is certainly not easy to understand, but I would suggest here that walad works as a collective noun and designates a “progeny”, an “offspring”, rather than a “son” specifically. This is in my view the only explanation that account for the use of the plural ʿibād in the same verse. With Bell, we agree that the presence

 Theodore bar Koni, Scholia 2:73; my translation.  This perhaps needs to be connected to East-Syrian mystics built on the metaphor of the heart as a microcosm and talk about the “firmament of the heart” to describe the luminous sight of the intellect. It is present in Simon the Graceful and the later Joseph Ḥazayya (Centuries 4:39). The motif is also found in Hesychius according to Guillaumont. Cf. Beulay 1987, 48, 67– 68, 205; Guillaumont 1952.  Crone 2017a.

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of the very word ʿibād here rules out the possibility of a reference to Jesus since we would then expect the singular ʿabd. ⁷⁴⁰ Moreover, v. 28 later adds that God allows them to intercede, allegedly between him and humans. The identification with angels is therefore quite certain. As for the possibility that it refers to Jesus, Mary, and the angels altogether, as Droge suggests, it is purely conjectural.⁷⁴¹ As the traditional interpretation has it, this passage probably constitutes an attack on unbelievers who regarded angels as God’s offspring. The theme of angels as God’s offspring, or more specifically God’s daughters, is made explicit elsewhere in the text (Q 16:57, 17:40, 37:149 – 153, 43:16, 52:39, 53:21, 52:37). Making the unbelievers admit their sinful position is a classical polemical strategy in the Qur’ān, but it is difficult to determine whether such claims indeed reflect what the Qur’ānic detractors believed. It is quite clear that the reason why the Qur’ān sees the idea of “sons of God” as problematic is because a “sonship of God” would entail the partaking of his divinity and creatorship.⁷⁴² This reasoning is best exposited in Q 43:15 – 16: Yet they assign to Him a part of His (own) servants [wa-jaʿalū la-hu min ʿibādi-hi juz’an]. Surely the human is clearly ungrateful indeed. Or has He taken (for Himself ) daughters from what He creates [’ami ttakhadha mimmā yakhluqu banātin], and singled you out with sons. (Q 43:15 – 16)

The Qur’ānic obsession with the possibility that one could associate something to God does certainly not arise ex nihilo. Such debates were indeed lively in late antique Christian and Jewish exegeses. In fact, in negating the possibility that God possesses a progeny, the Qur’ān perpetuates a very lively late antique debate stemming from the interpretation of a few scriptural passages. The Bible already makes use in a few places of the expression “sons of God”. It is the case in Gen 6:2, Jb 1:6, 2:1, as well as in Ps 82:6, where the epithet is given by God himself: I [God] say, “You are gods, sons of the Most High [MT: benē ʿelyōwn; LXX: υἱοὶ ὑψίστου; Pesh.: bnawhy d-mrīmā], all of you”.

As far as we know, these biblical epithets were always interpreted as references to angels in the early Jewish tradition, despite the fact that this identification posed great theological problems. As Philip Alexander explains, angelology developed in post-exilic Judaism and under the influence of Iranian traditions. The attribution

 Bell 1991, 1, 545.  Droge 2013, 207 (nn. 26 – 27).  Crone argued along the same line in Crone 2010, 156

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of the epithet “sons of God” to the angels can be seen as a way of subordinating foreign divine entities to the Jewish theological framework.⁷⁴³ Around the middle of the 2nd century CE, however, the identification of the “sons of God” in Genesis with angels became increasingly problematic. The Midrash Rabbah ascribes to the second-century rabbi Simeon b. Yoḥai the interpretation that the expression bnay elōḥīm was to be understood as “sons of the nobles” and not “sons of God” as the literal interpretation would suggest.⁷⁴⁴ Though not unanimously, the identification of “sons of God” to men rather than angels generalized among rabbis. The reaction came later in the Christian tradition. Despite the fact that the author of the Epistle to the Hebrews had already tackled the problem (Heb 1:5: “For to which of the angels did God ever say, ‘You are my Son; today I have begotten you’? Or again, ‘I will be his Father, and he will be my Son’?), some early Christian thinkers such as Justin Martyr conserved the ancient identification of the “sons of God” to angels.⁷⁴⁵ In the wake of the rabbis however, later Church Fathers argued that the “sons of God” were in fact the descendant of Seth and not the angels.⁷⁴⁶ It is the case for instance in John Chrysostom.⁷⁴⁷ In the Syriac world, the exegesis on this epithet took quite a polemical overtone. Ephrem for instance takes issues with Manicheans who were still holding that the “sons of God” were the watchers who had had intercourse with human females.⁷⁴⁸ Ephrem defends that the “sons of God” are the sons of Seth.⁷⁴⁹ For him, the fact that humans have a bodily mortal condition confronts them with their ungodly nature. It is not an issue therefore that they be called “sons of God” since their obvious mortal condition automatically helps them understand this epithet on the metaphorical level. On the contrary, angels could never have been called “sons of God”, Ephrem argues, “because their nature is more exalted than ours”⁷⁵⁰ and that could therefore have mistakenly led men to the conclusion that they were actual gods.⁷⁵¹

 Alexander 1972, 60 – 61.  Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 26:5. Cf. Alexander 1972, 61.  Justin Martyr, Apology 1, 5:2; cf. also Dialogue against Trypho 79:1.  Julius Africanus (c. 160 – 240) is the first known Christian exegete to take aim at the interpretation of the epithet “sons of God” as angels. He identified them as the “the righteous of the line of Seth”. Cf. Alexander 1972, 63.  John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis 22:2.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns against Heresies 7:6 – 7, 19:2– 6; Hymns on Faith 46:8.  Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Nativity 1:22, 48; Hymns against Heresies 7:6, 9; Commentary on Genesis 6:3; Hymns on Faith 46:8; Hymns on Paradise 1:11; Hymns on Fast 2:2. Cf. Kronholm 1978, 163 – 171. Note that Ephrem is particularly taking issue with Mani on this matter (Hymns against Heresies 7). Cf. Ruani 2018, 359 – 360 (n. 1).  Trans. Wickes 2015, 250.

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The argument consisting in negating the sonship of the angels, stressing their createdness, yet conceding their exalted nature echoes quite strikingly the Qur’ān’s affirmation that angels (as well as Jesus) are not sons of God but mere ʿibād mukramūn, a complex expression as we already argued in a preceding chapter. Indeed, our hypothesis that the term ʿibād – usually understood as “servant” – is better read in some cases as “creatures” takes on its full meaning here. In any case, we see once again that in negating the divine sonship of angels, the Qur’ān betrays its knowledge of ancient debates tightly connected to the interpretation of biblical turns of phrase. The fact that the Qur’ān raises this concerns makes one wonder once again who is targeted here. While the negation of Jesus’ divine sonship quite clearly constitutes an attack against Christianity as a whole, the Qur’ānic concern with angel’s divine sonship is more specific. Many leads could be taken here. There may have been people in the Qur’ānic milieu that held such ideas (Manicheans? Gnostics?). Another option would be to consider that the Qur’ān is in fact taking issue with popular practices of angelic worship. By the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān, the veneration of angels in popular culture had long preoccupied ecclesiastical authorities. The Council of Laodicea held around 364 intended to legislate and ban the increasing number of Christian groups that gathered to idolatrously venerate angels at the expense of worshiping God and Christ.⁷⁵² The council never solved the problem apparently. An author like Theodoret of Cyrus informs us, in commenting Col 2:18, that in his times, the cult of the angels (especially Michael) was still lively in Phrygia and Pisidia.⁷⁵³ Similar testimonies are found in Augustine and in various texts of the Middle Ages.⁷⁵⁴ It is not impossible that some sort of cult of angels was going on in the Qur’ānic milieu as well.

2.6 God’s Daughters More specific is the Qur’ānic polemic against the idea that angels are females and that they are the daughters of God. In most of these passages, the polemic seems to go along the same line, namely putting into balance the absurdity of God having daughters with the fact that the supporters of this view would themselves prefer to have sons rather than daughters. This thematic is tackled in five different surahs:    

Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns on Faith 46:8. Cf. Botha 1995 – 1996, 100. Duhr 1936, 607. See Petrucione/Hill’s note in Theodoret of Cyrus, Questions on Genesis 9 (n. 1). Duhr 1936, 608.

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And they assign daughters to God [wa-yajʿalūna li-llāhi l-banāti] – glory to Him! – and to themselves (they assign) what they desire. When one of them is given news of a female (child), his face turns dark and he chokes back his disappointment. (Q 16:57– 58) Has your Lord distinguished you with sons and taken (for Himself ) females from the angels [wa-ttakhadha mina l-malā’ikati ’ināthan]? Surely you speak a dreadful word indeed! (Q 17:40) As them for a pronouncement: Does your Lord have daughters [’a-li-rabbi-ka l-banātu] while they have sons? Or did We create the angels female [’am khalaqnā l-malā’ikata ’ināthan] while they were witnesses? Is it not a fact that out of their own lie they indeed say, ‘God has begotten’? Surely they are liars indeed! Has He chosen daughters over sons? What is (the matter) with you? How do you judge? Will you not take heed? Or do you have any clear authority? Bring your Book, if you are truthful. (Q 37:149 – 157) Or has He taken (for Himself ) daughters from what He creates [’ami ttakhadha mimmā yakhluqu banātin], and singled you out with sons? (Q 43:16) Surely those who do not believe in the Hereafter indeed name the angels with the names of females [la-yusammūna l-malā’ikata tasmiyata l-’unthā]. But they have no knowledge about it. They only follow conjecture, and surely conjecture is of no use at all against the truth. (Q 53:27– 28)

The rhetoric employed by the Qur’ān in a number of these passages is quite original. Beyond the fact that the Qur’ān accuses the unbelievers of ascribing daughters to God, the text also derides them for believing that, should God have chosen to take a progeny for himself, he would not have taken females over males (Q 16:57– 58, 17:40, 37:149 – 157, 43:16). As in the last section, the crux of this polemic is the unicity of God himself who according to the Qur’ān cannot be regarded as having associates of any kind. Several explanations have been suggested. Anne-Sylvie Boisliveau mentions that the allusion to the belief in female angels could well reflect pre-Islamic feminine deities or even Zoroastrian female demonesses.⁷⁵⁵ Grodzki suggested to relate this polemical claim to previous known “heresies” defending such a doctrine. He finds that a female angel was involved in the mythology of the Elchasaite sect and that this group understood the Holy Spirit as a female entity. He then goes on to argue that “although active mostly between the 2nd and the 4th century CE, it seems that their existence might not have entirely ceased in some pockets of the Middle East till the arrival of Islam.”⁷⁵⁶ This latter affirmation seems a bit far-fetched to me. In fact, it looks like the Qur’ān is fusing together different arguments here and that they do not necessarily reflect the actual belief of the mushrikūn in the exis-

 Boisliveau 2019b, 1421.  Grodzki 2017, 320.

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tence of daughters of God. It is in all likelihood a reductio ad absurdum of two distinct beliefs merged into one. The first one has been studied in the last section and consists in the belief that angels are sons to God. The second one concerns the gender of these angels. In Q 53 indeed, it is explicitly the identification of angels with females that is put into question, not the fact that they are God’s daughters. The question of the gender of angels was debated in Late Antiquity. We find in rabbinic sources the explicit mention that angels are protean beings, and that God can turn them into the likeness of women,⁷⁵⁷ as confirmed by Zechariah 5:9 (“Then I lifted my eyes and saw, and behold, two women coming forward!”). Hence, there is no need to resurrect the Elchasaites to make sense of the belief in female angels. While the possibility that angels could be regarded as females did not bother rabbis too much, the topic triggered the interest of some Christian commentators. I quote here Canivet’s French translation of a polemical section dedicated to this topic in Theodoret of Cyrus: Nous ne distinguons pas dans leur nature incorporelle un sexe masculin et un sexe féminin. En effet c’est la nature des êtres tributaires de la mort qui a besoin de cette distinction : puisque la mort fait peser son esclavage sur leur nature, le mariage compense les pertes par le moyen de la procréation ; ainsi c’est comme une sorte d’immortalité restaurée que le Créateur a imaginé en donnant au vivant mortel la création. Voilà pourquoi il est nécessaire à ceux qui ont une nature mortelle de faire usage du sexe féminin, alors que pour ceux qui ont été faits immortels, le sexe féminin est complètement inutile : en effet, ne subissant aucune diminution, ils n’ont pas besoin de s’accroître et, n’étant pas embarrassés d’un corps, ils n’ont pas besoin de se marier. […] l’usage du sexe féminin est superflu pour ces derniers : en tant qu’ils sont immortels, ils n’ont pas besoin de s’accroître et en tant qu’ils sont incorporels ils ne sont pas susceptibles de s’unir.⁷⁵⁸

The discussion revolves around the angelic mode of reproduction. Gregory of Nyssa affirms that angels are sexless and reproduce in an angelical manner, incomprehensible to human mind.⁷⁵⁹ Similar ideas that angels do not need the female sex to reproduce are found in John Chrysostom.⁷⁶⁰ Debates over the gender of angels also existed in the Syriac world. In his Hymns against Heresies for instance, Ephrem attacks the idea of angels as females in a similar trend and adds the argument that should the “sons of God” be identified with angels, this would mean that women gave birth without having sexual intercourse (angels are incorporeal), which is impossible since this would mean

   

Midrash Rabbah, Exodus 25:2. Theodoret of Cyrus, Cure for Pagan Maladies 3:88 – 91; trans. Canivet 2001, 1:196 – 197. Gregory of Nyssa, On the Creation of Man 17:4. John Chrysostom, On Virginity 14. Cf. Floebi 1953, 110 – 111.

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that Mary is not the only female to have done so.⁷⁶¹ The belief that angels were asexual is found in other late antique Syriac texts such the Cave of Treasures for instance.⁷⁶² We see from the above that despite the fact that the Qur’ān does not offer a very detailed account of its angelological conception, the analysis suggests that several of the salient features of the Qur’ānic angelology resonate with Jewish and Christian concerns on the matter. We see how putting the Qur’ān into dialogue with the sources of Late Antiquity helps once again enlighten the meaning of some of the obscurest verses of the text. In the second part of this final chapter, I suggest that the same applies to Qur’ānic anthropogony.

3 Creation of mankind Throughout our six chapters we have repeatedly stressed that the description of the cosmos and its creation falls out of the scope of the Qur’ānic religious program. The story is just the same concerning the creation of man. As highlighted in the second chapter, several passages indicate that humans possess a (spiritual) heart that, when well-trained, leads to the recognition of God’s signs in the cosmos and the acquisition of knowledge about him. Leaving aside the question of human constituency within the ascetic framework promoted by the Qur’ān, we pay here particular attention to details present in various Qur’ānic pericopes dealing with the creation of Adam.

3.1 Man made from clay The Qur’ānic understanding of the creation of man is a confused one. The text suggests as in the Bible that Adam was created from clay in different passages. This is particularly the case when Adam’s creation from clay is invoked by the rebellious angels as an argument to refuse their bowing down in front of him. They are created from fire (nār), an evidently nobler material. The idea that Adam was created from clay is in line with the Bible and more especially with Gen 2:7, where we the text makes a pun in affirming that man, ādām (i. e. Adam), was made from adāmāh, “clay” in Hebrew. Such meanings are hardly preserved in translations and thus the Arabic does not conserve the pun. The first word used to designate the clay in the Qur’ān is ṭīn (Q 6:2, 7:12, 17:61,

 Ephrem of Nisibis, Hymns against Heresies 19:6; cf. also 7:1– 7.  Cave of Treasures 15.

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32:7, 38:71, 38:76). The term is not Arabic but must derive from the Syriac word ṭīnā according to Jeffery.⁷⁶³ This Syriac word however is not the one used in Gen 2:7 according to the Syriac Peshitta, which reads adamtā (to conserve the pun) and ʿaprā (“dust”) in Gen 3:19 (for which the Hebrew uses the term ʿāpār as well). In two occurrences, the text resorts to other expressions, as if it sought to convey a more specific image. In Q 23:12, it speaks of Adam as created from a sulāla min ṭīn. The term sulāla is usually understood by commentators as meaning “an extract”.⁷⁶⁴ This precision is intriguing. What is the exact nuance that the text tries to convey? Masson translates the expression min sulāla min ṭīn by “d’argile fine”, probably under Jewish and Christian exegetical influence. Indeed, she notes that Philo of Alexandria, commenting on the creation of Adam, insisted that the clay chosen by God was “the best from it all, out of pure material taking the purest and most subtly refined”.⁷⁶⁵ The hypothesis is astute, but one wonders whether the Qur’ānic turn does not merely reflect the actual bipartite expression ʿāpār min-hā-adāmāh in Gen 2:7, literally “the dust of the ground”. In any case, the hypothesis that the text is trying to convey the notion of “refined clay” here is conjectural. Even though the biblical expression was indeed understood positively by Philo, it was also quite negatively perceived by other commentators. For authors such as Basil of Caesarea or John Chrysostom, the fact that man is said to have been created out of clay sends him back to his low material origin and forces humility upon him.⁷⁶⁶ Some even furthered the idea that the clay from which he was moulded was not, as Philo affirms, the best and most refined clay, but “the most superfluous and useless” part of the earth.⁷⁶⁷ The stress on the inglorious material origin of man passed into East-Syrian exegesis somehow. It is found in Theodore bar Koni and Ishodad of Merv.⁷⁶⁸

 Jeffery 1938, 208.  I disagree with Neal Robinson and Richard Bell on their interpretation of sulāla as a reference to “semen” in Q 32:8. The Semitic cognates of the word clearly suggest that the meaning of “extract” is close to the original meaning of the word. Cf. Robinson 2001; Bell/Watt 1994, 90 – 91; Zammit 2002, 226.  Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 137; see also Irenaeus, Demonstration of the Apostolic Preaching 11. Cf. Masson 1967, 866 (n. 28, 1)  Basil of Caesarea, On the origin of man 2:2– 3; John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis 12.  Procopius of Gaza, Commentary on Genesis. Cf. Alexandre 1988, 237. Note that despite the fact that the Qur’ān defends the idea that man was created from clay and that as those antique thinkers, the earth is perceived in the text as a less prestigious element than other elements such as fire, the text still argues in several places that the shape given to this clay is “the finest state” (’aḥsan taqwīm) in Q 95:4 (cf. also passages such as Q 40:64, 64:3, 75:36 – 39, 82:6 – 8, 87:2– 3).  Jansma 1958, 138 – 139.

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In another passage, the ṭīn is said to be lāzib (Q 37:11). The term lāzib is not easy to understand and is a hapax in the Qur’ān (the root LZB does not occur at all in the text). The term would seem to refer to something adhesive, but the root does not have any cognate in Semitic languages. Translators variously rendered the expression by “sticky clay” or “clinging clay”. Masson reads “argile durcie”, which is rather odd given that the account of Genesis precisely depicts the watery milieu from which the clay used to shape Adam is taken. Two other terms are used to refer to the clay from which Adam was shaped. The term turāb is indeed almost as frequent as ṭīn. It seems to refer to “dust” rather than “clay” itself. The word is Arabic and attested in pre-Islamic poetry.⁷⁶⁹ The root is not very active in other Semitic languages. It is found in Akkadian (tarbu’tu, turubu) to designate “dust”.⁷⁷⁰ The last word in the text that designates this clay is ṣalṣāl. The root is Arabic and well attested in Semitic languages.⁷⁷¹ It refers to the idea of “making a sound”. Lane gives for the word ṣalṣāl: “dry clay, that makes a sound by reason of its dryness”.⁷⁷² This word is only used four times in the text and especially by the author of Q 15 who uses it three times in a row. In these three occurrences, ṣalṣāl is followed by the expression min ḥamā’ masnūn, “from molded mud” (Q 15:26, 28, 33). Once again, the meaning of the expression is unclear, but on the whole it goes back to the imagery of the potter. Indeed, the only other occurrence of the word ṣalṣāl in the text is found in Q 55:14 where God is said to have “created human from clay like pottery” (khalaqa l-’insāna min ṣalṣālin ka-l-fakhkhāri), a well-known image for readers of the Bible (e. g. Is 28:16; Jer 18:1– 6). Besides, it is unclear whether the three occurrences of min ḥamā’ masnūn in Q 15 constitute appositions meant to gloss on the word ṣalṣāl itself (i. e. the ṣalṣāl is moulded mud) or if the clay used to shape Adam was taken from this ḥamā’ masnūn. It is difficult to go beyond these few commentaries on the matter from which Adam was made according to the Qur’ān. The mention of clay stems from the biblical narrative and does not seem particularly endowed with a positive status. In fact, the argument used by Satan to justify his refusal to bow in front of Adam tells us that clay was regarded as a material of lower nobility by the authors of the Qur’ān.

 E. g. the muʿallaqa of Ṭarafa bin al-ʿAbd (v. 5).  The Ge’ez turāb (“remains of burnt incense”) would seem to be derived from the Arabic. Cf. Zammit 2002, 106 – 107.  Zammit 2002, 257.  Lane 1955 – 1956, 1711.

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3.2 Creation of man: a multistep process Contrary to the creation of the universe, the Qur’ān presents a number of accounts narrating the creation of man in detail. In agreement with Gen 2:7, where it is said that the “Lord formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life”, these passages depict the creation of man as a multiple-stage process, as the text itself acknowledges (cf. Q 71:13). The following pericopes illustrate this motif: (Remember) when your Lord said to the angels: ‘Surely I am going to create a human being from dry clay [’innī khāliqu basharan min ṣalṣālin], from molded mud [min ḥamā’in masnūnin]. When I have fashioned him [fa-’idhā sawwaytu-hu], and breathed some of My spirit into him [wa-nafakhtu fī-hi min rūḥī], fall down before him in prostration.’ (Q 15:28 – 29) That One is the Knower of the unseen and the seen, the Mighty, the Compassionate, who made well everything He created [alladhī ’aḥsana kulla shay’in khalaqa-hu]. He brought about the creation of the human from clay [wa-bada’a khalqa l-’insāni min ṭīnin], then He made his progeny from an extract of despicable water [thumma jaʿala nasla-hu min sulālatin min mā’in mahīnin] then He fashioned him [thumma sawwā-hu] and breathed into him some of His spirit [wa-nafakha fī-hi min rūḥi-hi], and made for you hearing and sight and hearts. Little thanks you show! (Q 32:6 – 9) (Remember) when your Lord said to the angels: ‘Surely I am going to create a human being from clay [’innī khāliqu basharan min ṭīnin]. When I have fashioned him [fa-’idhā sawwaytuhu], and breathed some of My spirit into him [wa-nafakhtu fī-hi min rūḥī], fall down before him in prostration.’ (Q 38:71– 72)

The three passages depict the creation of man with noteworthy details. Although they use different words to name the clay from which Adam was created (ṣalṣālin min ḥamā’in masnūnin vs. min ṭīnin), Q 15:28 – 29 and 38:71– 72 are close in wording. They both in fact occur in retellings of the well-know Qur’ānic account of the rebellious angels refusing to bow in front of Adam. The mention of Adam’s progeny in Q 32:6 – 9 (thumma jaʿala nasla-hu min sulālatin min mā’in mahīnin) is absent from the two other passages and perhaps constitutes an interpolation on the basis of Q 77:20 (’a-lam nakhluq-kum min mā’in mahīnin). In any event, these three passages clearly display a creation of man at the origin as a two-step process. God first shapes the clay and then insufflates (nafakha) “some of his spirit” (min rūḥi-hi) into it so as to vivify matter. This progressive creative process reflects the biblical account in Gen 2:7 where God first shapes then insufflates life.⁷⁷³ The vocabulary of creation used in these passages renders pretty

 This two-step process was already noticed by the third-century philosopher Porphyry who

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well the biblical terminology. The verbs to describe the shaping of dust in the biblical account are in Hebrew yaṣar (“to form, fashion”), in the Septuagint πλάσσω (“to fashion, mold”), and in the Peshitta gbal (“to form, fashion, mould”⁷⁷⁴). In the Qur’ān, the verb sawwā, “to shape”, is used in particular correlation with khalaqa, “to create”, as if they referred to different stages in the creative process (Q 15:28 – 29, 18:37, 32:7– 9, 75:38, 82:7, 87:2). As for the word nafakha, it is cognate with the verb used in Gen 1:7 in the Hebrew (napak) and the Syriac versions (npak). It is important to mention that by using this term, the Qur’ān implicitly conveys twice the motif of Jesus as Second Adam conferring upon him a privileged status and maintaining the virginal conception: And she who guarded her private part – We breathed into her some of Our spirit [fa-nafakhnā fī-hā min rūḥi-nā], and made her and her son a sign to the worlds. (Q 21:91) And Mary, daughter of ʿImrān, who guarded her private part: We breathed into it some of Our spirit [fa-nafakhnā fī-hi min rūḥi-nā], and she affirmed the words of her Lord and His Books, and became one of the obedient. (Q 66:12)

In another well-known apocryphal story retold in the Qur’ān, Jesus shapes clay in the form of a bird and breathes life into it, making him the only human able to vivify matter, an act otherwise reserved to God only (Q 3:49; 5:110). Besides these clear-cut indications that some of the Qur’ānic authors had a good knowledge of the biblical creation account and its terminology, other passages present striking variations.

3.3 Creating man with speech The contrast between the creation of man and the creation of other objects in the biblical account of Genesis triggered the commentary of many ancient interpreters. Particularly striking was the account provided in Genesis 2:7, where God does not talk at all in creating Adam. Basil offers the following exegesis: Mais le récit de l’origine de l’Homme, qui vient d’être lu, a résolu pour moi cette difficulté. Car tout à l’heure nous entendions que “ Dieu prit de la poussière de la terre et modela l’Homme ”. Dans cette parole, j’ai découvert les deux affirmations que l’Homme est néant et que l’Homme est grand. […] Il n’a pas été dit : “ Que l’Homme soit ”, comme il avait été dit : “ Que le firma-

made a connection with the similar creative pattern in the Greek myth of Prometheus (On how embryos are ensouled 11:1). Cf. Alexandre 1988, 234.  Payne-Smith 1903, 59.

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ment soit. ” Mais tu remarques quelque chose de plus en l’homme. Au-dessus de la lumière, au-dessus du ciel, au-dessus des luminaires, au-dessus de tout, il faut placer l’origine de l’Homme. “ Dieu, le Seigneur, prit. ” Il daigne modeler notre corps de sa propre main. Il n’en a pas donné l’ordre à un ange ; ce n’est pas la terre qui, comme les cigales, nous a spontanément engendrés ; Il n’a pas commandé aux puissances qui le servent de faire ceci ou cela. Mais de sa propre main, en artiste, il a pris de la terre. Si tu considères ce qu’il a pris, qu’est-ce que l’Homme ? Mais si tu réfléchis à celui qui a modelé, quelle grande chose que l’Homme ! Ainsi est–il à la fois néant à cause de la matière, et grand à cause de l’honneur.⁷⁷⁵

Basil points out the fact that the creation of Adam as narrated in the Bible happens without God uttering speech but rather in using his own hands. This hints in his eyes to the honorary status given to man in Creation despite his low material origin. This point made by Basil perhaps enlightens the following discussion between God and Iblīs in Q 38. After refusing to bow in front of Adam, God declares: He said, ‘Iblīs! What prevented you from prostrating yourself before what I created with My two hands [bi-yadayya]? Have you become arrogant, or are you one of the exalted? (Q 38:75)

The emphasis that God created Adam “with his two hands” is significant here since it is again not something that is mentioned in the Bible. One wonders whether a similar argument as Basil’s is not at stake behind this expression. Iblīs’ disobedience is even more incomprehensible in the eyes of God given the fact that God lowered himself to shaping Adam with his own hands, a sign of Adam’s exalted nature. Other passages of the Qur’ān echo late antique exegesis on the creation of man. A bit after one of the accounts narrating Jesus’ vivification of a bird of clay, the text displays the Adamic typology already mentioned above: Surely the likeness of Jesus [mathala ʿīsā] is, with God, as the likeness of Adam [mathali ’adama]. He created him from dust [khalaqa-hu min turābin], (and) then He said to him, ‘Be!’ and he was” [thumma qāla la-hu kun fa-yakūnu]. The truth (is) from your Lord [alḥaqqu min rabbi-ka], so do not be one of the doubters. (Q 3:59 – 60)

We already discussed these verses in our analysis of the word ḥaqq in the third chapter. Here, I want to draw attention to the first part of the passage which presents two intriguing details. First of all, it is remarkable that in developing this Adamic typology, the text mentions that as Adam, Jesus was created out of dust, which seems rather odd in light of the fact that the Qur’ān elsewhere affirms the virginal conception. Secondly, it is striking that the expression kun fa-yakūn is used here. We already studied this turn of phrase in the third chapter and showed how

 Basil of Caesarea, On the Creation of Man 2:2; trans. Smets/Van Esbroeck 1970, 228 – 231.

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the Qur’ān reshapes the biblical “Let there be…” formula for theological purposes. Yet, in the Bible, the expression varies slightly when God decides to create Adam. As opposed to Gen 2:7 where God remains silent, Gen 1:26 depicts God using speech in the creation of Adam: Then God said, “Let us make [MT: naʿaseh; LXX: ποιήσωμεν; Pesh.: neʿbad] man in our image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.” (Gen 1:26)

Quite remarkably, God switches here for the first time in the creation narrative of Gen 1:1 from a “Let there be” type of formula to a plural exhortative “Let us make”. In a sense, this echoes Q 3:59 – 60 were God uses the kun fa-yakūn formula in order to create Adam. However, we once again find ourselves in the position where the Qur’ān transforms the jussive into a clear imperative form. It is possible that no significant dogmatical move lie behind this addition. In this case, the existence of such a variant in the Qur’ān probably tells us more about the author’s knowledge of and relationship to the biblical text than it tells us about the Qur’ānic anthropogonical conception. The author of this passage, even though building on clear biblical imagery and terminology, departs from it in a fashion that hints at either his scarce knowledge of the biblical text or the relative degree of attachment he has to the letter of the biblical text. Yet, I would not discard too quickly the possibility that the expression kun fayakūn in this passage bears witness to a desire to depart from Gen 1:26 and make it even clearer that God did not seek help or needed any intermediary between him and his creation. In the third chapter, we suggested that the linguistic particularities of the expression kun fa-yakūn with regards to the biblical “Let there be…” formula constituted an attempt at steering away from what the Qur’ānic authors might have considered “associationist” interpretations of creation. If this hypothesis is correct, then the argument applies even better here. Indeed, in Gen 1:26 the text does not read “Let there be” (MT: yehī; LXX: γενηθήτω; Pesh.: nehwā) but “Let us make” (MT: naʿaseh; LXX: ποιήσωμεν; Pesh.: neʿbad), a turn that the scandalmongers could not only take to suggest the existence of an interlocutor, but also as an invitation to an unknown entity to take part in the creation of man. This phrase proved controversial early on in biblical exegesis. First of all, it is important to note that the rabbinic tradition records variants in Septuagint versions for this passage. One of the variants (not extant anymore) reads: “I will make…” rather than “Let us make…”.⁷⁷⁶ There is a clear attempt here at steering  Alexandre 1988, 169 – 170.

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away from an embarrassing plural. This intriguing turn of phrase led a number of commentators to affirm that God used helpers in the creation of man. Philo for instance builds part of his theodicy on this very detail: So we see why it is only in the instance of man’s creation that we are told by Moses that God said “Let us make,” an expression which plainly shows the taking with Him of others as fellow-workers. It is to the end that, when man orders his course aright, when his thoughts and deeds are blameless, God the universal Ruler may be owned as their Source; while others from the number of His subordinates are held responsible for thoughts and deeds of a contrary sort: for it could not be that the Father should be the cause of an evil thing to His offspring: and vice and vicious activities are an evil thing.⁷⁷⁷

It is noteworthy that the type of exegesis that such biblical turns of phrase offer are precisely those theological positions that the Qur’ān constantly rejects in polemicizing against the belief that God had helpers in creation. The plural of Gen 1:26 very much bothered rabbis throughout Late Antiquity, to the extent that the Midrash Rabbah even depicts a scene where Moses blames God for having used it: When Moses was engaged in writing the Torah, he had to write the work of each day. When he came to the verse, “and God said: ‘Let us make man’, etc.”, he said: “Sovereign of the Universe! Why dost Thou furnish an excuse to heretics?” “Write,” replied He; “whoever wishes to err may err.”⁷⁷⁸

Similar concerns about this wording are raised in the Talmud,⁷⁷⁹ but the question was clearly not set among rabbis. In line with the Philonian interpretations, the Targum of Jerusalem for instance explicitly interprets the passage as a reference to the fact that God consulted his angels for the creation of man. Other interpretations argued that God addressed the entire Creation by this means or that God spoke to his heart, or to his architect, or to his Wisdom.⁷⁸⁰ In Christian hermeneutics, the interpretation of this passage triggered lively polemics against Jews, but also against Gnostics who also held that God had addressed angels. On the whole, the interpretation was always that God addressed the Son, his Verb and Wisdom by means of the expression “Let us make”.⁷⁸¹ In

 Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 75; trans. Colson/Whitaker 1929, 59 – 60.  Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 8:8; trans. Freedman 1961, 59 – 60.  Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 38b.  Midrash Rabbah, Genesis 8:3. Cf. Alexandre 1988, 171.  See for instance, Justin Martyr, Dialogue against Trypho 62; Theophilus of Antioch, Ad Autolycum 2:18; Athanasius, Against Pagans 46.

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later commentaries, the virulent polemic does not tone down at all, especially since the verse became crucial in the debates against Arians. The topic is indeed taken over by Basil of Caesarea, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom, and Theodoret of Cyrus.⁷⁸² Christian exegetes seem to have overwhelmingly opted for the Trinitarian interpretation of the expression “Let us make”. One wonders in light of these lively polemics whether the Qur’ānic affirmation that God created Adam in pronouncing kun fa-yakūn is not, as we already suggested in talking about the creation of heaven and earth, a subtle reframing of a very debated turn of phrase in Late Antiquity. Once again, in transforming the jussive into an imperative (kun), the Qur’ān does not only cut short to the idea that God might have needed angels in the creation of man (a position held by certain Jews and Gnostics), but it also cuts short to the Christian Trinitarian interpretation as well. In light of the number of anti-trinitarian polemical passages in the text and the numerous verses affirming that God did not have helpers in creation, this interpretation does not appear completely farfetched.

3.4 Man and divine spirit In this chapter, we have talked a lot already about the material creation of man. According to the Qur’ān, in line with the Bible, Adam was made from clay. But with the shaping of clay, the text makes clear that man is not yet fully created; it is an empty vessel awaiting vivification. In the passages studied above, this vivification takes the form of an insufflation, an ensoulment, of some of God’s spirit in the shaped clay. The standard expression used in the text for this is nafakha fī-hi min rūḥi-hi, “He breathed into him some of his spirit”. The Qur’ānic expression here is once again biblical in outlook but differs slightly from the biblical rendering. Gen 2:7 does not speak of God’s spirit breathed into Adam, but rather has God breath into Adam’s nostrils “the breath of life” (MT: nišmat ḥayyīm; LXX: πνοὴν ζωῆς; Pesh.: nšamtā d-ḥayyē). The expression “breath of life” triggered the commentary of many later commentators. Does this breath refer to some sort of divine essence? Is it the Holy Spirit breathed into Adam or does it rather simply indicate a vivifying breath providing the substance of the soul? Philo, Origen, and others opted for the first sol-

 Basil of Caesarea, Homilies on Hexaemeron 9:6; On the Creation of Man 1:3 – 4; Gregory of Nyssa, On the Creation of Man 6; John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis 8; Theodoret of Cyrus, Questions on Genesis 19. Cf. Alexandre 1988, 172– 173.

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ution.⁷⁸³ Other exegetes such as Tertullian, Eusebius of Caesarea, and John Chrysostom adopted the second interpretation.⁷⁸⁴ The Qur’ān in indicating that the spirit is God’s, clearly leans towards the first interpretation.⁷⁸⁵ It is difficult to affirm with certitude the meaning of the wording min rūhi-hi, “from his spirit”, given its laconicism, but the enclitic -hi (“his”) suggests that God breathes a divine element in Adam.⁷⁸⁶ The Qur’ān seems close again to the East-Syrian tradition here. Although we do not find discussions of what exactly this “breath of life” was in Narsai or in the Cause, the later chain commentaries unanimously argue that “that which is breathed is sent from within”, thus implying that the soul comes from God.⁷⁸⁷ Most ancient commentators of this passage agreed on the fact that the breathing of life in Adam’s nostrils constituted the carrying out of the divine enterprise of making man in God’s image (cf. Gen 1:26 – 28). The Qur’ān epitomizes the idea of being “in the image of God” by means of the word khalīfa studied in the first chapter. Although we argued that this word reflected a delegation of divine power rather than a complete empowerment of mankind over the world, the Qur’ān does not make explicit the concrete modalities of the divine act of making Adam in God’s image. We can nonetheless assume that the insufflation of God’s rūḥ into Adam says something of the Qur’ān’s understanding of Adam’s divine imageness. Providing that it is to the same rūḥ that the text is alluding in Q 17:85, it is important to highlight that the notion of spirit was apparently a matter of inquiry within the Qur’ānic milieu: They ask you about the spirit [wa-yas’alūna-ka ʿani l-rūḥi]. Say: ‘The spirit (comes) from the command of my Lord [al-rūḥū min ’amri rabbī]. You have only been given a little knowledge (of it).’ (Q 17:85)

The affirmation that the rūḥ comes from the ’amr of God arouses curiosity given what we said in chapter four. This turn is repeated in several other places of the text (Q 16:2, 40:15, 42:52, 97:4). If the word ’amr indeed refers to some sort of divine hypostasis, that the rūḥ comes from it, and that this rūḥ is the same as the one

 Philo of Alexandria, De opificio mundi 134– 135; Origen, Contra Celsum 4:37; On Genesis 2:7.  Tertullian, Against Marcion 2:9; Eusebius of Caesarea, Preparations for the Gospel 7:17– 18; John Chrysostom, Homilies on Genesis 12:14.  For a survey on the word rūḥ in the Qur’ān and the Muslim tradition, see MacDonald 1932.  Macdonald 1932, 26.  Anonymous Commentary 4r:11– 13; Commentary on Genesis-Exodus 1, 2:7; Theodore bar Koni, Scholia 2:53; Ishodad of Merv, Commentary on Genesis 55:13 – 17. Cf. Jansma 1958, 139 – 140.

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from which the insufflation of Adam proceeds, then we have here the rather intriguing affirmation that man bears in him, at least in prelapsarian times, a divine breathing. The fact that the rūḥ is coming from God’s ’amr is in line with what we said in the fourth chapter: it comes from the divine power dedicated to maintaining the universe. From this perspective, the rūḥ of God is not merely a vivifying insufflation, it constitutes a divine sustaining principle continuously re-enacted by God in men.

3.5 Assembling body and soul I want to conclude this chapter with a final example concerning the creation of the inner man that particularly sparked my attention: Human! What has deceived you about your generous Lord, who created you [khalaqa-ka] and fashioned you [fa-sawwā-ka] and balanced you [fa-ʿadala-ka]? He constructed you in whatever form He pleased [fī ’ayyi ṣūratin mā shā’a rakkaba-ka]. (Q 82:6 – 8)

The beginning of this passage presents a classical depiction of the creation of Adam. The verb khalaqa and sawwā have already been studied above and are often used in correlation. The verb ʿadala is slightly more obscure: “he balanced you”. Droge suggests a possible reference to the symmetry of the human form but acknowledges that the meaning is “uncertain”.⁷⁸⁸ It is perhaps the oddity of this later turn that triggered the addition of the next sentence: “He constructed you in whatever form He pleased” (fī ’ayyi ṣūratin mā shā’a rakkaba-ka). Although the sentence here is not difficult to understand, the use of the term rakkaba is puzzling. Usually, the root RKB in the Qur’ān refers to the idea of “riding something”, but this constitutes the only occurrence of the root RKB in the second derived form, a hapax thus in the Qur’ān. In this derived form, the verb seems to designate the act of “assembling” (rather than constructing as Droge translates). Whatever the reason this term occurs here and nowhere else in the text, it is noteworthy that, as Adam Becker pointed out, the Syriac verb rakkeb and its derived forms are specifically used by Narsai to refer to the formation of Adam’s body.⁷⁸⁹ The root conveys the idea of the composite structure of man “assembled” as opposed to God himself who is “without composition” (d-lā rukkābā).⁷⁹⁰ Under the influence of Narsai as well as philosophical terminology developed in the con-

 Droge 2013, 425 (n. 3).  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:135, 146, 152, 164, 167, 174.  Narsai, Homilies on Creation 1:161, 2:29.

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text of the translation into Syriac of Aristotle’s works, the same root RKB occurs many times in the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools studied in the first chapter. The text founds its epistemology on the (Neoplatonic) idea that acquiring knowledge of something amounts to know its parts. From this, we understand the necessity of demonstrating that the world is “composite” (and thus knowable) as opposed to the incomposite nature of God who therefore cannot be known. The constituent elements of the world for the Cause are of course the “simple letters” (ātwātā pšīṭāta) of the celestial alphabet “assembled” (rkab) by God to create the world.⁷⁹¹ It is remarkable that the Qur’ān resorts to the term rakkaba to describe the “construction” of man in Q 82:6 – 8 given the technicity of the root RKB in Narsai and in the Cause. The passage is not detailed of course, but the fact that rakkaba is a hapax in the Qur’ān and that the root RKB is not used in the sense of “creation” elsewhere in the text already tells us something of the origin of the word. Once again, the Qur’ān betrays its authors’ acquaintance with a specific motif that seems to have developed in the East-Syrian exegetical tradition.

4 Conclusion In this final chapter, we showed how the dialogue between late antique exegetical sources of the Bible and the Qur’ān was particularly helpful to understand the Qur’ānic view on the creation of man and angels. The fact that the Qur’ān does not offer a continuous and detailed narrative for the creation of either of these beings does not mean that the authors of the text did not have a good understanding of these issues. Once again, providing its audience with a narrative on the beginning of the world falls outside of the Qur’ānic endeavour. Yet, these angelological and anthropological references made by the Qur’ān in passing sometimes allow to glance at the larger repertoire and worldview of (some of ) its authors. These authors seemed at times to have a good understanding of some of the theological stakes underlying the conception of creation of angels and men. To be sure, some passages merely show that the Qur’ān simply echoes what must have constituted common representations in late antique times (e. g. angels as fiery beings, man made of clay). Nevertheless, other excerpts such as the insistence on angels as created beings, the idea that they did not witness creation, the negation of their divine sonship and their female sex, or God’s spirit breathed into Adam, are probably indicative of the fact that the Qur’ānic authors were acquaint-

 Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 349. Cf. Becker 2006, 135 – 136.

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ed with theological issues surrounding these cosmological topics. What is in fact remarkable is that when we manage to pinpoint, by means of the biblical exegetical traditions, potential theological issues underlying the Qur’ānic cosmological positions, it often seems to be for the best interest of the core theological message of the text. Angels cannot witness creation for that would make them partners with the Creator, they cannot be God’s sons for that would diminish God’s omnipotence. In order to create man, God orders matter, “Be!”, rather than resorting to the problematic biblical “Let there be” or “Let us make”, which – whether one accepts this reading or not – allows the Qur’ān to circumvent theological issues that biblical commentators had been dealing with for centuries. It is important not to overinterpret too much the details of course and it is not impossible that some of the provocative interpretations we offered in this chapter (and the others) pushed at times the “theologization” of the Qur’ānic cosmology further than what its own authors intended. Yet, taken as a whole, the analysis of the cosmological passages studied strongly supports our initial impression: the authors of the Qur’ān, or some of them at least, were sufficiently acquainted with previous debates to draw (though inconsistently) cosmological arguments from an identifiable repertoire of late antique arguments aiming at strenghtening their overarching theological program.

General Conclusion This book offered to read the cosmology of the Qur’ān in light of late antique cosmological tradition, focusing particularly on how the Qur’ānic discourse on the cosmos was framed so as to support the overarching spiritual, theological, and ascetic program of the text. Within that context, we compared the cosmology of the Qur’ān to the previous cosmological traditions of Late Antiquity with a specific focus on Christianity. This reading of the Qur’ān against the background of late antique Christian exegesis both enlightened our understanding of the Arabic text and showed how much the Qur’ān is indebted to late antique cosmological debates and traditions. The first chapter was dedicated to the study of Qur’ānic natural theology. In many different occasions, especially in the so-called “sign passages”, the Qur’ān enjoins its audience to contemplate the world and its natural phenomena, so as to find God’s signs in it. Within this system, Nature, just as Revelation, is seen as replete with points of divine self-revelation (’āyāt), through which the contemplative gains access to the divine. We argued that this instrumentalization of the cosmos to ascetic ends echoes closely a twofold contemplative model (Scripture and Nature) that developed in the Christian tradition in the wake of Platonism and Hellenistic Judaism. This model flourished in the 4th century under the pen of Christian ascetic masters and found particularly original reverberations in the Syriac world, and even more so in the Church of the East tradition. We highlighted many correspondences between the latter and the Qur’ān, not least, a range of lexical and thematic items conveying the imagery of the school. The Church of the East tradition was particularly marked by the Antiochene, and especially Mopsuestian, imagery of the classroom of creation, on which the Qur’ān builds. The second chapter pursued the hypothesis of a link between cosmology and asceticism in relation with the Christian tradition. We showed how the Qur’ānic call for natural contemplation was much more than an invitation to stand in wonderment in front of God’s cosmic oeuvre. It was indeed argued that it constitutes a full-fledged spiritual exercise involving a form of purification allowing the grasping God’s signs in the world. We highlighted that several terms and idioms used in the Qur’ān betray once again a proximity with the late antique Christian spirituality. More specifically, the mystic branch of the Church of the East proved useful here as it witnesses a stage of the development of Christian spirituality at the very moment the Qur’ānic text emerged. Images such as the sight and purification of the heart, notions such as “remembrance of God”, and the insistence on continuous prayer, though developing in earlier Greek asceticism, were particularly developed by sixth and seventh-century Syriac writers such as Simon the Graceful, Isaac https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-009

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of Nineveh, Dadishoʿ Qatraya, and others. The literature of these authors provided us with a heretofore completely underestimated background to the ascetic layers of the Qur’ān. Although the research mainly focused on the cosmological aspect of this system, this huge corpus awaits further investigations to understand fully the ins and outs of the ascetic layers of the Qur’ān. These first two chapters showed how the Qur’ān promotes a spiritual experience of the cosmos, an empirical comprehension of the divine. The next four chapters studied more “theoretical” aspects of the cosmology of the Qur’ān. Chapter three highlighted striking paradoxes in the late antique foundation of the Qur’ānic doctrine of creation. The text indeed clearly betrays its acquaintances with a repertoire of well-known polemical arguments concerning the unconditionality of God in creation. Yet, at the same time, we noted that it surprisingly does not resort to the argument of creation ex nihilo which would have backed its claim to absolute divine omnipotence. This probably tells us less about the Qur’ānic doctrine of creation itself than about the Qur’ānic authors’ fragmentary knowledge of late antique debates. That particularly loud silence apart, the text clearly displays a doctrine of creation oriented towards the defence of the main theological claim of the text, namely God’s omnipotence. The fourth chapter goes very much along the same lines as the third one and studies the Qur’ānic doctrine of the maintaining of the universe, a topic that apparently inspired the authors of the Qur’ān. In this chapter, we mostly focused on original motifs deployed in the text supporting the doctrine of God’s continuous creation of the universe. These motifs were studied in light of the cosmological imagery of Jacob of Sarugh especially. On the one hand, we highlighted a number of shared features between both corpora (sky without columns, blink of the eye, bird suspended in the air), the singularity of which leaves little doubt as to the fact that the Qur’ān builds its cosmological imagery on the same tradition as the one of the Syriac homilist. On the other hand, reading the Qur’ān in light of Jacob’s homilies made particular cosmological notions stand out of the text. Terms such as ’idhn and ’amr most likely refer to divine powers within the Qur’ānic cosmological system, the role of which is illustrated by means of images recalling that used by Jacob of Sarugh in the context of continuous creation. The fifth chapter focused on the representations of heavens. As opposed to other parts of the cosmos, the Qur’ān provides with noteworthy details on the creation of the heavenly realm. Most importantly, we showed how the Qur’ānic celestial imagery is built on different traditions. On the one hand, the text defends a seven-heaven conception that mostly developed in the Jewish tradition according to our sources. On the other hand, the comparison of the sky to a building and the metaphor of the scale to talk about the firmament, point towards Christian sources, most likely of Antiochene influence. We highlighted that the text instru-

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mentalizes the episode of the creation of heavens for its own purposes. Heavens are often seen as sources of emulation for human beings: they were revealed secret knowledge, they obey God’s command, they glorify him constantly. These motifs easily fit within the framework of the ascetic model studied in the first and second chapter. Not only does the cosmos point towards God, but it also provides human beings with a model of orthopraxy. The text thus calls for a kind of natural mimesis. The last chapter studied the Qur’ānic understanding of the creation of angels and men. The text is here often too sparse on details to really narrow down the comparison to specific late antique exegetical traditions. Yet, a general reading of its angelogonical and anthropogonical passages in light of biblical exegesis reveals noteworthy characteristics. In the first part of the chapter, we suggested that several turns phrases in the text show that the Qur’ānic authors knew of important theological matters surrounding the question of creation of angels: they did not witness the creation of heaven and earth, they are not the sons of God, nor can they be regarded as females. Most importantly, in line with the position that God maintains the universe on his own, the text does not link the role of angels to the creatio continua. Yet, at the same time, the study of the Qur’ān in light of late antique discussions about angels shows the limits of the Qur’ānic angelological model. The text does not display any knowledge of a hierarchy of angels, it affirms that angels were created out of fire only, while most texts studied associate also the spiritual element to them. In the second part of this final chapter, we studied the Qur’ānic understanding of the creation of man. With the heavens, man is the only creature whose creation is detailed in the text. We showed how the different anthropogonical narratives of the text hint at a good knowledge of the biblical subtexts (terminology, creation process, etc.), but also display small shifts in formulation from it, suggesting subtle yet important conceptual departures from the biblical archetypal accounts. The use of divine command kun in one of these passages hint at a conscious reframing of the biblical formula “Let us make” in order to avoid the criticism of associationism in the creation of man. Finally, the affirmation that God breathed his spirit into Adam clearly reflects an intriguing interpretation of what it means for Adam to be created in the image of God. Once again, the Qur’ān appears to astutely inflect its biblically grounded cosmology so as to support its theological agenda. The historical reading of the text adopted throughout our study reveals two noteworthy characteristics of to the Qur’ānic conception of the universe. The first one is that, though fragmentary in outlook, many scattered cosmological features displayed in the Qur’ān point on the whole towards a more or less unified cosmology, driven by theological motivations. The second one is that the study of linguistic turns, expressions, motifs, arguments and narratives related to cosmolo-

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gy in the Qur’ān display both continuities and discontinuities with the biblical cosmology and its developments in Christian and Jewish traditions. The assessment of the connection between the Qur’ān and these sources is far from evident. We have roughly encountered three different scenarios. The first scenario is when the Arabic text is clearly indebted to Christian debates over Creation, especially Syriac ones. In several places, the Qur’ān clearly draws cosmological motifs and arguments from an identifiable late antique repertoire. These parallels are often rooted in biblical turns of phrase which were often highly debated in late antique biblical exegesis. Their realisation in the Qur’ānic text suggests a particularly tight connection with the Syriac sphere. More specifically, very particular details such as the example of the sky without columns, the bird in the sky, the scale balancing between heavens and earth, and many other elements, prove connected to the Syriac homiletic corpus of Ephrem, Narsai, and Jacob of Sarugh especially. These results are in line with recent studies concerning the contiguity between this corpus and the Qur’ān. Nevertheless, our study also highlighted particularly close relationships at the structural and conceptual level between the Qur’ān and the natural theological model in the Christian ascetic tradition, both from scholastic and monastic contexts. The second scenario is when the Qur’ān clearly shows an awareness of previous debates and steps in to take an original position within them. The text indeed is not the mere echo chamber of previous cosmological traditions. It often reuses previous arguments for its own rhetorical purposes. These purposes are not always explicitly mentioned in the text, but the synoptic reading of the Qur’ān with the late antique exegetical sources reveals that they mostly turn out to be theological. This is particularly evident in some of the polemical passages against associationism. Yet, in several instances, the departure from the biblical tradition occurs in silence. Examples of this phenomenon are the Qur’ānic account of the creation of Adam, the expression kun fa-yakūn, and the absolute silence over the existence of a seventh day of creation. The third scenario is when the Qur’ān shows no awareness of late antique debates over a specific cosmological issue. The two first scenarios indeed should not make us forget that the number of motifs and arguments used in the Christian sources and absent of the Qur’ān is far bigger than the number of parallels highlighted between them. The absence of evidence hardly proves the evidence of absence of course. Nevertheless, some silences are louder than others. Our study suggests that though building on previous debates, the authors of the Qur’ān only had a fragmentary understanding and knowledge of some of the cosmological issues they engage with. The most striking example in this regard is the question of creatio ex nihilo. Apart from one very ambiguous passage, the text never mentions it, which is surprising considering that it would have been highly profitable to its

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overarching theological agenda. The analysis of other cosmological positions also points towards the limits of the authors’ knowledge of previous cosmological debates: the affirmation that God started creating the world from the earth to the sky, the confused hexaemeral narratives, the absence of words to designate the firmament, the absence of names to designate the different classes of angels, etc. Though “theologizing”, the Qur’ānic cosmology remains rudimentary in the face of Christian and Jewish late antique exegeses. To these three different scenarios, we need to add a fourth one, at which we merely glanced here. Sometimes, the Qur’ānic cosmology seems to draw from other cosmological repertoires than the sole Christian one. Though our work focused on Christian sources, we also once highlighted the presence of a seemingly distinctive Jewish motifs in the text: the seven heavens. Subsequent studies could well highlight the pertinence of other traditions as well (Zoroastrianism, Manicheism, etc.) in the study of the Qur’ānic cosmology. This irremediably adds to the complexity of the equation and shows the eclecticism of the Qur’ānic milieu. How does all this translate in terms of socio-historical context for the production of the Qur’ān? What type of milieu allows for so many continuities, yet some many discontinuities as well, with previous traditions? These questions have been haunting the field of Qur’ānic studies for some time now. It constitutes a very complex multifactorial equation that probably involves a multiplicity of contexts, different wave(s) of encounters with the Christian sphere(s) (and the others), as well as several authors with varying knowledge of late antique theological and cosmological discussions. This is a debate that needs to take into account the Qur’ān as a whole rather than its cosmology only. I shall limit myself here to providing with a few elements that can help explain the connections highlighted between the Qur’ān and the Christian material studied. It has been proposed for some time that the Christian lore present in the Qur’ān is the fruit of the encounter of the authors of the Qur’ān, and probably their audience (or part of it), with the Christian sphere by means of missionary activities. The possibility that the cultural transfer between both spheres occurred by means of oral contacts indeed helps explain the general trend highlighted in our research according to which the authors of the Qur’ān are in all likelihood acquainted with a Christian background, yet in a non-systematic and fragmentary way. There are indeed no examples in the distinctively Christian cosmological features studied here that can only be explained by means of textual influences. Even when the text uses a motif, a turn, or an argument that can be related to the Bible or one of the texts studied, the Qur’ān never quite quotes them but rather echoes them. The hypothesis of a contact with the Christian sphere in an oral context fits quite well with our analysis of the Christian lore of the Qur’ānic cosmology. Missions to Arabia were undertaken by different Churches and the question of the ori-

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gins of the Christian lore in the Qur’ān would deserve to be studied in a global way. It is obvious that such an analysis must take into account the epigraphic material that continues to be discovered year after year and challenges our understanding of the Christian presence in Arabia on a regular basis. I will therefore only say a few words here of the missionary activities of the Church of the East, whose sources have particularly caught our attention.⁷⁹² The Church of the East was particularly active from this point of view with farreaching missionary activities in the south-eastern part of the Asian world. At the time of the emergence of the Qur’ān, both the Syro-Orthodox Church and the Church of the East were already exerting their influence in the south of the Arabian Peninsula, as the records shows. Most importantly, the Church of the East was established on both sides of the Persian Gulf. From the end of the 4th century at least, Christian communities had settled in the region called Beth Qatraye, covering a large zone of the eastern part of the Arabian Peninsula. Recent archaeology shows that several monasteries existed along the coast and in the islands of the Persian Gulf. We know that these communities were connected with the regions of Sinai and the Byzantine world particularly. Some of the writings emanating from these circles were also translated in Sogdian, Ethiopic, and Arabic from the 7th century onwards.⁷⁹³ Connections between the Church of the East and the Qur’ānic milieu, wherever we locate it, must have existed in one way or another. The wide variety of sources on which we suggested the Qur’ān builds its cosmological discourse, points towards what must have constituted the “average East-Syrian monk’s” typical literary repertoire in terms of cosmology: the Scriptures and chiefly the Psalms, scholastic texts such as the Cause of the Foundation of the Schools, biblical commentaries of the most influential writers of this tradition such as Theodore of Mopsuestia, Ephrem, Narsai, Basil of Caesarea, but also ascetic literature to which these monks were so devoted (e. g. Evagrius of Pontus, Isaac of Nineveh, Dadishoʿ Qatraya, Simon the Graceful). Beyond the individual examples of Christian “lore” in the Qur’ān highlighted throughout this book, it is important to stress that, taken as whole, the substratum identified in the text cannot be explained by anecdotal encounters of Syriac preachers with the cultural milieu in which the sacred text of Islam emerged. We showed throughout the analysis that the Qur’ānic cosmology was more than a mere catalogue of cosmographical features inherited from Late Antiquity. The Qur’ānic cosmology is framed for and subsumed to the theological agenda of its

 Briquel Chatonnet/Débié 2017, 118 – 125; Jullien 2019, 385.  Briquel Chatonnet/Débié 2017, 83.

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authors. Most importantly, the Qur’ān inherited from the Christian ascetic tradition the idea that the world is the theatre of the encounter between men and God. Just as in the Christian tradition, this encounter with God, which mostly consists in grasping his signs, has a price of course. It is only made possible by means of intense spiritual exercises of remembrance of God, prayer, and purification of the heart. More than a mere transfer of cosmic representations, this encounter with the Christian sphere therefore had a sufficiently high level of intensity so as to trigger in the Qur’ānic milieu “powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations”⁷⁹⁴ to actively engage in the contemplation of the universe and train themselves in the redeeming path of God. *** Connecting the discontinuous dots of the cosmology of the Qur’ān by the detour of Late Antiquity, we can only be struck by the extreme modernity of its message. In times of pandemic and ecological crisis, the text indeed invites its audience to contemplate the universe and find emulation in it. It exhorts man to be humble in the face of the world, it reminds him to acknowledge that he benefits from it and enjoins him to be thankful for it. Man did not create this universe. Just like every other thing down here, he is but one of its creatures. Yet, at the same time, man is invited to stop burying his head in the sand. He has been offered a prominent place in this world. Whether he likes it or not, in his quality as God’s successor (khalīfa), he is granted, for the moment of his lifetime only, the opportunity to prove that he is worthy of this distinction, to demonstrate that he can behave in a godly manner, that he can divinise himself by dint of cultivating his free will, and thereby be rewarded for eternity.

 Geertz 1993, 90.

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Online resources Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage, Electronic Edition: https://gedsh.bethmardu tho.org/index.html Qur’an Gateway’s website: https://info.qurangateway.org/ Quranic Arabic Corpus: https://corpus.quran.com/ Sefaria: https://www.sefaria.org/?home Simtho: https://simtho.bethmardutho.org/bonito/run.cgi/first_form

Indexes Qur’ānic references Q2 – 2:2 36, 63 – 2:10 63 – 2:21 36 – 2:22 36, 190, 192, 202 – 2:26 100 – 2:29 36, 177 – 179, 185 – 2:30 50, 216 – 2:30 – 33 50 – 2:30 – 39 218 – 2:31 49 – 2:32 49 – 2:39 49 – 2:54 115 – 2:65 166 – 2:74 63 – 2:88 63 – 2:90 20, 57 – 2:97 150 – 2:99 90 – 2:102 150 – 2:116 – 117 118 – 2:117 115, 118 – 2:118 62 – 2:129 60 – 2:151 60 – 2:164 62 – 2:176 134 – 2:179 63 – 2:197 63 – 2:198 72 – 2:200 72 – 2:203 72 – 2:213 134 – 2:221 73, 150 – 2:230 62 – 2:249 150 – 2:251 49, 150 – 2:255 91, 150, 163 – 2:269 63 – 2:272 94 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110794083-011

– 2:282

49

Q3 – 3:3 134 – 3:7 19, 63, 86, 89 – 3:13 17 – 3:18 217 – 3:33 52 – 3:44 85 – 3:45 135 – 3:47 118 – 3:48 49 – 3:49 101, 114, 150, 238 – 3:53 49 – 3:58 81 – 3:59 114, 118 f., 121, 124, 133 f. – 3:59 – 60 239 f. – 3:70 19 – 3:97 90 – 3:102 – 103 56 – 3:145 150 – 3:152 150 – 3:164 60 – 3:166 150 – 3:179 85 – 3:181 49 – 3:189 – 191 17 f. – 3:190 40, 63 – 3:190 – 191 18, 37 f., 40, 79 Q4 – 4:47 – 4:49 – 4:64 – 4:78 – 4:84 – 4:103 – 4:105 – 4:113 – 4:119 – 4:142

166 59, 61 150 62 96 72, 78 f. 134 20, 49 15 78

276

Indexes

– 4:154 166 – 4:155 63, 65 – 4:162 87 – 4:166 217 – 4:171 135 – 4:171 – 172 106 f. – 4:172 221 Q5 – 5:4 49 – 5:7 72 – 5:10 72 – 5:13 63 – 5:15 – 16 150 – 5:20 72 – 5:48 134 – 5:50 62 – 5:52 63 – 5:58 62 – 5:83 49 – 5:91 74 – 5:100 63 – 5:110 49, 101, 114, 150, 238 Q6 – 6:1 14, 36 – 6:2 114, 234 – 6:14 115 – 6:39 56 – 6:43 63 – 6:52 94 – 6:59 43, 85 – 6:73 118, 133 f. – 6:79 115 – 6:80 73 – 6:95 – 99 18 – 6:96 36, 143 – 6:96 – 99 17 – 6:97 62 – 6:98 62 – 6:99 62 – 6:101 115 – 6:105 62 – 6:114 14, 134 – 6:118 – 119 72 – 6:121 72 – 6:126 62, 73

– 6:151 – 6:152 – 6:165

151 73, 206, 209 50

Q7 – 7:8 – 9 206 – 7:9 40, 143 – 7:10 36 – 7:12 114, 212, 216, 218, 234 – 7:26 73 – 7:29 114 f. – 7:32 62 – 7:52 62 – 7:54 143, 152, 154, 162, 173 – 7:54 – 58 17 – 7:57 73 – 7:58 19 – 7:69 50, 72 – 7:74 50, 72 – 7:85 206 – 7:99 40 – 7:100 65 – 7:101 65 – 7:130 73 – 7:156 49 – 7:163 166 – 7:171 199 – 7:183 40 – 7:185 17, 19 – 7:188 62 – 7:189 – 195 101 – 7:191 101, 106 – 7:194 101, 106 – 7:203 62 – 7:206 223 Q8 – 8:2 81 – 8:12 223 – 8:22 72 – 8:49 63 – 8:50 223 – 8:52 96 – 8:57 73 – 8:65 62

Indexes

Q9 – 9:6 – 9:11 – 9:13 – 9:14 – 9:87 – 9:93 – 9:111 – 9:125 – 9:127

62 62 114, 134 70 65 65 49 63 62

Q 10 – 10:1 36, 90, 134 – 10:3 73, 141, 150, 152, 154, 162, 173 – 10:3 – 6 17 – 10:4 102, 114, 141 – 10:5 62, 133, 151 – 10:5 – 6 18 – 10:6 18 – 10:14 50 – 10:15 90 – 10:24 62 – 10:31 153 – 10:34 114, 141 – 10:39 91 – 10:57 70 – 10:67 17, 36 – 10:71 81 – 10:73 50 – 10:74 65 – 10:100 150 – 10:101 17, 62 Q 11 – 11:7 17 f., 41, 132, 173 – 11:23 85 – 11:24 73 – 11:30 73 – 11:49 85 – 11:51 115 – 11:61 36 – 11:84 209 f. – 11:84 – 85 206 – 11:105 150 Q 12 – 12:1

36

– 12:6 – 12:21 – 12:37 – 12:39 – 12:42 – 12:68 – 12:76 – 12:101 – 12:102 – 12:111

49 49 49, 62 108 74 49 114 49, 115 85 17, 62 f.

Q 13 – 13:1 14, 36, 94, 192 – 13:2 143 f., 153 f., 162 – 13:2 – 3 17 – 13:2 – 4 18 – 13:3 19, 62 – 13:4 62 – 13:13 192, 223 – 13:16 14, 100 f. – 13:19 63, 94 – 13:19 – 22 94 – 13:28 74 – 13:31 192 – 13:38 32, 150 Q 14 – 14:1 150 – 14:6 72 – 14:10 115 – 14:11 150 – 14:19 17, 133 – 14:23 150 – 14:25 73 – 14:32 – 34 17, 36 – 14:33 143 – 14:52 63 Q 15 – 15:1 36 – 15:8 151 – 15:9 221 – 15:16 225 – 15:16 – 18 197, 224 – 15:18 184 – 15:21 151 – 15:26 236

277

278

Indexes

– 15:26 – 33 114 – 15:26 – 42 218 – 15:27 114, 212 – 15:28 – 29 237 f. – 15:85 18, 133, 151 – 15:86 164 Q 16 – 16:2 243 – 16:3 133 – 16:3 – 16 17 – 16:3 – 18 17, 22 – 16:5 – 8 36 – 16:10 – 18 36 – 16:11 62 – 16:12 62, 143, 152 – 16:13 62 – 16:14 57 – 16:17 73, 100 – 16:20 101 – 16:26 198 – 16:40 118 – 16:52 36 – 16:57 229 – 16:57 – 58 232 – 16:64 62 – 16:65 – 69 17 – 16:66 17 – 16:67 62 – 16:69 62, 70 – 16:77 155, 157 f. – 16:77 – 79 155 – 16:77 – 81 17 – 16:77 – 83 18 – 16:78 64, 157 – 16:79 31, 62, 152, 158, 161 – 16:80 199 – 16:80 – 81 36 – 16:90 73 – 16:103 89 – 16:104 – 105 56 – 16:106 63 – 16:108 65 – 16:123 73 – 16:124 166 – 16:195 89

Q 17 – 17:1 90, 193 – 17:6 92 – 17:12 17, 36 – 17:33 151 – 17:36 – 39 86, 88 – 17:40 229, 232 – 17:41 81 – 17:42 108 – 17:44 185, 192 – 17:46 81 f. – 17:51 115 – 17:61 218, 234 – 17:66 17 – 17:82 70 – 17:85 243 – 17:89 19 – 17:92 180 – 17:99 142 – 17:101 90 – 17:105 134 Q 18 – 18:7 18, 41 – 18:27 – 28 74 – 18:28 94 – 18:37 238 – 18:50 – 52 217 – 18:60 91, 205 – 18:60 – 65 183 – 18:60 – 82 91 – 18:65 49 – 18:66 92 – 18:68 92 – 18:79 199 – 18:83 81 – 18:91 92 – 18:109 43 Q 19 – 19:9 122, 124 – 19:16 72 – 19:34 134 – 19:35 118, 120 f. – 19:41 72 – 19:51 72 – 19:54 72

Indexes

– 19:64 150 f. – 19:66 – 67 123 – 19:67 72, 124 – 19:73 90 – 19:79 49 – 19:90 115 Q 20 – 20:2 36 – 20:5 162 – 20:6 14 – 20:7 85 – 20:14 79 – 20:44 73 – 20:53 – 56 17 – 20:54 – 55 36 – 20:55 102, 142 – 20:72 115 – 20:109 150 – 20:110 92 – 20:113 81 – 20:114 134 – 20:131 41 Q 21 – 21:1 – 10 19 – 21:16 18, 37 – 21:16 – 17 40, 130 f. – 21:17 37 – 21:18 132 – 21:19 223 – 21:22 108 – 21:25 228 – 21:26 107, 228 – 21:30 127 – 129, 174 – 21:30 – 33 17, 19 – 21:32 180, 197, 199 – 21:36 74 – 21:42 74 – 21:47 206 – 21:56 115 – 21:79 192 – 21:79 – 80 17 – 21:80 49 – 21:82 221 – 21:91 238 – 21:94 49

– 21:104

43, 102, 114, 142

Q 22 – 22:5 32 – 22:5 – 7 19 – 22:6 134 – 22:6 – 7 142 – 22:16 90 – 22:18 17, 192 – 22:32 63 – 22:33 – 44 17 – 22:36 – 37 17 – 22:42 – 45 65 – 22:46 65 – 22:47 167 – 22:53 63 – 22:61 17 – 22:62 134 – 22:63 32 – 22:63 – 66 17, 19 – 22:65 36, 144, 149 f., 152, 158 – 22:72 90 – 22:73 100 Q 23 – 23:1 61 – 23:12 19, 114, 235 – 23:12 – 22 17, 19 – 23:14 101 – 23:17 190 – 23:17 – 22 36 – 23:21 17 – 23:44 62 – 23:62 134 – 23:78 64 – 23:78 – 80 17 – 23:78 – 90 19 – 23:80 – 81 142 – 23:85 73 – 23:86 185 – 23:91 101, 108 – 23:100 183 – 23:102 – 103 206 – 23:115 37, 40, 130, 132 – 23:116 134

279

280

Indexes

Q 24 – 24:1 73, 90 – 24:21 59 – 24:27 73 – 24:34 90 – 24:34 – 38 78 – 24:35 92 – 24:37 74 – 24:41 31, 192 – 24:43 – 46 17 – 24:44 17 – 24:46 90 – 24:50 63 Q 25 – 25:3 101 – 25:6 85 – 25:25 180 – 25:45 – 50 17 – 25:47 – 49 142 – 25:48 – 49 32 – 25:53 183 – 25:53 – 54 17 – 25:59 17, 162, 173 – 25:61 – 62 17 – 25:68 151 Q 26 – 26:2 36 – 26:7 – 8 17 – 26:75 143 – 26:80 70 – 26:227 72 Q 27 – 27:1 36 – 27:22 92 – 27:60 – 64 17 – 27:61 183 – 27:62 50 – 27:64 114, 141 – 27:67 – 68 142 – 27:75 85 – 27:84 92 – 27:86 62 – 27:152 62

Q 28 – 28:2 36 – 28:3 62, 90 – 28:36 90 – 28:43 73 – 28:46 73 – 28:51 73 – 28:57 17, 143 – 28:88 94 Q 29 – 29:6 18 – 29:19 17, 102, 141 – 29:19 – 20 114, 142 – 29:24 62 – 29:35 62 – 29:44 133 – 29:45 74, 78, 81 – 29:49 90 – 29:51 62, 81 – 29:60 143 – 29:61 143 Q 30 – 30:8 18, 133, 151 – 30:11 102, 141 – 30:17 – 28 17 – 30:20 114 – 30:21 62 – 30:24 32, 62 – 30:25 152 – 30:27 115 – 30:28 62 – 30:30 15, 115 – 30:37 62 – 30:38 – 39 94 – 30:40 143 – 30:46 57 – 30:46 – 50 17 – 30:46 – 53 18 – 30:59 65 Q 31 – 31:2 36 – 31:10 17, 145 – 31:11 101 – 31:20 17, 85

Indexes

– 31:27 43 – 31:28 142 – 31:29 143 – 31:29 – 32 17 – 31:30 134 – 31:31 18 – 31:34 19 Q 32 – 32:2 36 – 32:4 73, 162, 173 – 32:4 – 5 166 f. – 32:5 153 f., 169 – 32:6 – 9 237 – 32:7 36, 114, 235 – 32:7 – 9 238 – 32:8 235 – 32:9 64 – 32:10 142 – 32:21 72 – 32:27 – 30 19 Q 33 – 33:9 17, 72 – 33:12 63 – 33:32 63 – 33:34 72, 81 – 33:60 63 – 33:72 192 Q 34 – 34:2 85 – 34:3 43 – 34:9 18 – 34:24 143 – 34:43 90 – 34:49 114, 134 Q 35 – 35:1 115, 221 – 35:9 32 – 35:9 – 10 19 – 35:10 142 – 35:11 151 – 35:11 – 13 17 – 35:12 57 – 35:13 143

– 35:27 – 28 17 – 35:39 50 – 35:40 101 – 35:41 144, 149, 152, 158 Q 36 – 36:2 36 – 36:12 49 – 36:22 36, 115 – 36:26 62 – 36:33 142 – 36:33 – 46 18 – 36:33 – 47 18 – 36:69 49, 81 – 36:71 – 73 18, 143 – 36:77 121 – 36:77 – 79 142 – 36:81 141, 164 – 36:82 118 Q 37 – 37:3 81 – 37:6 183 f., 190 – 37:6 – 10 184, 197, 225 – 37:8 184 – 37:10 184 – 37:11 236 – 37:125 101 – 37:149 – 153 229 – 37:149 – 157 232 – 37:155 73 Q 38 – 38:1 36, 81 f. – 38:17 72 – 38:18 – 19 192 – 38:26 50 – 38:27 18, 37 f., 40, 130, 139 – 38:29 63 – 38:32 74 – 38:41 72 – 38:43 63 – 38:45 72 – 38:46 72 – 38:48 72 – 38:67 – 85 218 – 38:71 114, 235

281

282

Indexes

– 38:71 – 72 237 – 38:75 239 – 38:76 114, 212, 216, 235 Q 39 – 39:2 134 – 39:3 – 4 106 – 39:5 133, 143 – 39:5 – 6 18 – 39:6 14, 36 – 39:9 63 – 39:17 – 18 64 – 39:18 63 – 39:21 63 – 39:21 – 22 19 – 39:22 63, 74 – 39:22 – 23 72 – 39:23 74, 81 – 39:27 73, 81 – 39:41 134 – 39:42 62 – 39:46 115 – 39:52 62 – 39:67 43 Q 40 – 40:2 36 – 40:7 223 – 40:15 243 – 40:22 96 – 40:35 65 – 40:54 63 – 40:57 113 – 40:61 – 64 18 – 40:64 190, 192, 202, 235 – 40:67 – 69 18 – 40:68 118, 122 – 40:78 32, 150 – 40:79 – 81 18 Q 41 – 41:3 62 – 41:9 – 11 127, 129, 178 – 180 – 41:9 – 12 128, 174, 177 f., 191 f. – 41:12 183, 185, 190, 197, 225 – 41:37 – 39 18 – 41:38 223

– 41:39 – 41:44 – 41:47 – 41:53

142 70 151 18

Q 42 – 42:5 115, 223 – 42:11 115 – 42:17 134, 206 – 42:29 – 35 18 – 42:32 – 35 18 – 42:52 243 Q 43 – 43:2 36 – 43:11 32, 142 – 43:11 – 12 18 – 43:13 72 – 43:15 – 16 229 – 43:15 – 19 107 – 43:16 229, 232 – 43:19 49 – 43:26 – 27 36 – 43:27 115 – 43:29 192 – 43:33 198 – 43:36 74 – 43:61 151 – 43:77 223 – 43:88 62 Q 44 – 44:2 36 – 44:17 96 – 44:38 18, 37, 40, 130 – 44:38 – 39 132 f. – 44:39 151 – 44:58 73 Q 45 – 45:1 – 6 18 – 45:3 – 13 18 – 45:4 62 – 45:5 62 – 45:7 – 11 56 – 45:12 57 – 45:13 62

Indexes

– 45:20 – 45:21 – 45:22 – 45:23 – 45:25 – 45:29 Q 46 – 46:2 – 46:3 – 46:4 – 46:7 – 46:9 – 46:33

62 72 133 73 90 134

36 133 101 90 115 18, 163

Q 47 – 47:16 65 – 47:20 63, 90 – 47:20 – 24 90 – 47:29 63 – 47:37 – 39 18 Q 48 – 48:21

92

Q 50 – 50:1 36 – 50:2 – 4 142 – 50:6 – 11 18 – 50:7 – 8 72 – 50:9 – 11 142 – 50:15 102, 141, 164 – 50:17 – 21 223 – 50:38 163, 173 – 50:45 81 f. Q 51 – 51:20 – 21 18 – 51:49 73 – 51:58 96 Q 52 – 52:5 198 – 52:31 – 38 125 – 52:35 126 – 52:37 229 – 52:39 229

Q 53 – 53:1 – 18 89, 95, 193 – 53:5 49 – 53:11 64 – 53:11 – 12 65 – 53:21 229 – 53:27 – 28 232 Q 54 – 54:17 – 54:22 – 54:29 – 54:32 – 54:40 – 54:50

81 f. 81 192 81 81 155

Q 55 – 55:1 – 13 207 – 55:1 – 30 18 – 55:2 49 – 55:3 206 – 55:4 49 – 55:6 192, 207 – 209 – 55:7 206 – 208 – 55:7 – 9 206 f. – 55:7 – 10 210 – 55:8 – 9 207 – 209 – 55:9 207, 209 – 55:10 206 – 208 – 55:14 114, 236 – 55:15 114, 212 – 55:20 183 – 55:27 94 – 55:33 151 – 55:72 199 Q 56 – 56:47 – 56:62 – 56:73 – 56:78

142 72 72 85

Q 57 – 57:2 – 6 18 – 57:4 162, 173 – 57:9 90 – 57:16 63, 72, 74

283

284

– 57:20 – 57:22 – 57:24 – 57:27

Indexes

142 115 206 115

Q 58 – 58:5 90 – 58:10 150 – 58:19 74 – 58:22 62 Q 59 – 59:13 – 59:14 – 59:21 – 59:24

62 62 192 115

Q 62 – 62:2 – 4 61 – 62:5 56 – 62:9 74 – 62:9 – 10 79 Q 63 – 63:3 – 63:9

65 74

Q 64 – 64:1 192 – 64:3 14, 133, 235 – 64:11 150

– 67:15 36 – 67:16 – 17 158 – 67:19 31, 158 Q 69 – 69:17 – 69:40

223 96

Q 70 – 70:1 – 4 168 – 70:4 168 f., 224 Q 71 – 71:9 192 – 71:13 237 – 71:13 – 20 18 – 71:15 185, 190 f. – 71:15 – 20 19 – 71:17 – 18 142 Q 72 – 72:8 – 9 184, 197, 225 – 72:17 74 – 72:26 – 27 85 – 72:28 92 Q 73 – 73:8 72 – 73:18 115 Q 74 – 74:31

63

Q 65 – 65:10 – 65:11 – 65:12

63 f. 90 92, 151, 185, 194, 196

Q 75 – 75:3 142 – 75:36 – 39 235 – 75:38 238

Q 66 – 66:12

238

Q 76 – 76:2 – 3 41 – 76:25 72

Q 67 – 67:1 – 4 41 – 67:2 18 – 67:3 14 f., 115, 185, 190 f. – 67:3 – 4 193 – 67:5 183 f., 225 – 67:14 – 26 19

Q 77 – 77:20 237 – 77:20 – 23 18

Indexes

Q 78 – 78:1 – 16 22 – 78:6 – 7 18, 198 – 78:6 – 13 36 – 78:8 – 16 18 – 78:9 94 – 78:12 185 – 78:38 169 Q 79 – 79:5 153 – 79:10 – 11 – 79:26 17 – 79:27 – 28 – 79:27 – 32 – 79:32 – 33 – 79:43 72

142

Q 87 – 87:1 – 4 36 – 87:2 14, 238 – 87:2 – 3 14, 235 – 87:14 – 15 61 – 87:15 72 Q 88 – 88:17 – 20 18 – 88:20 197 Q 89 – 89:23

72

177, 198 178 36

Q 91 – 91:9

18

Q 92 – 92:17 – 21 94 – 92:20 94

Q 80 – 80:24 – 32

Q 82 – 82:1 115 – 82:6 – 8 14, 235, 244 f. – 82:7 238 – 82:10 221 Q 83 – 83:1 – 3 206, 209 f. – 83:18 – 21 220 – 83:33 221 Q 85 – 85:13 102, 114, 141 – 85:21 – 22 43 Q 86 – 86:4 221 – 86:5 – 7 18

61

Q 95 – 95:4

235

Q 96 – 96:4 – 96:5

49 49

Q 97 – 97:4

150, 169, 243

Q 98 – 98:6 – 7 Q 101 – 101:6 – 8

115

206

285

286

Indexes

Proper Nouns and Texts Acts of Thomas 66, 203 Adam 41, 48, 50 – 53, 66, 119 – 121, 124, 133, 212, 216 – 219, 226, 234 – 240, 242 – 245, 249 f. Alexander the Great 165 Anastasius of Sinai 179, 214 Aphrahat 52, 124, 147 Athanasius of Alexandria 46, 139 f. Augustine 156, 164, 231

Jacob of Sarugh 8 – 10, 40, 112, 119, 147 f., 153, 156 – 158, 160, 162, 165 f., 170, 179, 182, 184, 200 f., 204, 206, 209, 216, 219, 248, 250 John Chrysostom 10, 92, 131, 140, 173, 178, 189, 214, 230, 233, 235, 242 f. John Philoponus 112, 118, 189, 199, 202, 214 f. Justin Martyr 37, 111, 139, 230, 241

Basil of Caesarea 11 f., 24, 27, 42, 75 f., 88, 118, 139 f., 146, 148, 159, 163, 179, 189, 215, 235, 239, 242, 252

Maximus the Confessor 27, 29 f., 47, 164 Midrash Rabbah 88, 112, 137, 195, 213 f., 230, 233, 241 Muḥammad 3 f., 71

Cause of the Foundation of the Schools 33, 35 f., 42 – 44, 47, 51 – 53, 92, 219, 245, 252 Cave of Treasures 165, 212, 219, 234 Cicero 108, 110 Clement of Alexandria 12, 23 f., 54, 60, 153, 173, 188 Commentary on Genesis-Exodus 177 – 179, 243 Cosmas Indicopleustes 48, 119, 147, 179, 181 f., 184, 199, 201, 203, 224 Didymus the Blind

163

Edessan Hymn 148, 182, 184, 201, 204 Enūma Eliš 116 Ephrem of Nisibis 9, 23, 25 f., 31, 46 f., 54, 67, 71, 91, 103 – 105, 112, 120, 156, 159, 165, 176, 179, 184, 199, 215 f., 219, 230 f., 234 Eusebius of Caesarea 108, 118, 243 Evagrius of Pontus 11, 25, 27, 29, 32, 42, 44, 46 f., 54, 59, 75, 138, 214, 252 Gregory of Nazianzus 76, 80, 88 f., 108 f., 168 Gregory of Nyssa 11, 29, 42, 58, 60, 139 f., 173, 233, 242 Hekhalot literature Irenaeus of Lyon Isaac of Nineveh 82 f., 97, 248, Ishodad of Merv

159, 220 103, 108, 139 11 f., 27, 39, 48, 55, 69, 77, 252 235, 243

Lactancius

108

Narsai 9, 12, 27, 40, 47, 105 – 107, 112, 119, 148 – 150, 156 f., 176, 179, 182, 184, 200 f., 203 f., 208, 210 f., 216, 219, 224, 243 – 245, 250, 252 Origen 12 f., 23 f., 29, 34, 42, 44, 46, 54, 58, 60, 66 f., 75, 82, 118 f., 136, 139, 164, 173, 188, 214, 242 f. Philo of Alexandria 12, 40 f., 45 f., 54, 110, 117, 151, 155, 163 f., 173, 178, 227, 235, 241, 243 Philoxenus of Mabbug 76 Pseudo-Macarius 11, 27, 67 f., 75 f., 80 f., 228 Questions of Bartholomew

219

Sahdona 27, 55, 68, 76 f., 81, 83 Simon the Graceful 27, 69, 228, 252 Talmud 137, 163, 188, 195, 227, 241 Targum 51, 71, 137, 151, 213, 226, 241 Tertullian 12, 31, 108, 188, 243 Testament of Solomon 227 Theodore bar Koni 147, 189, 227 f., 235, 243 Theodoret of Cyrus 119, 139 f., 173, 179, 200, 215, 231, 233, 242 Theophilus of Antioch 37, 111 f., 136, 139, 178, 241

Indexes

287

Notions, Themes, and Concepts Angel 8, 33 f., 43, 47 f., 50, 52, 68, 92, 95 f., 104 – 107, 119 f., 122, 125 f., 144, 150, 167 – 170, 179, 188, 212 – 227, 229 – 234, 237, 241 f., 245, 249, 251 Animal 41, 48, 50 – 53, 177 Apocryphon 10, 165, 203, 218 f., 227, 238 Bible

6, 10, 14, 22, 28, 44, 49, 52 f., 63, 75, 81, 102, 117 – 119, 145, 163, 177, 180 – 182, 186, 191, 193, 198, 204 f., 213, 218, 220 – 222, 226, 229, 234, 236, 239, 242, 245, 251 Bird 31, 52, 114, 158 – 162, 170, 238 – 240, 248, 250 Book 20, 24, 26, 28 f., 36, 43 – 49, 60 f., 63, 74, 78, 85 f., 91, 101, 104, 106, 115, 134 f., 145 f., 150, 177, 206, 220, 232 Clay 114 f., 124, 157, 218 f., 234 – 239, 242, 245 Contemplation 2, 7, 16, 19 – 27, 30, 36, 42, 45 – 47, 54 – 60, 65 f., 69 – 71, 82, 84, 87 – 90, 93 – 95, 138, 170, 247, 253 Cosmos 1 f., 5 – 8, 13 – 27, 29 – 34, 36 – 57, 59, 62, 65 f., 68, 70 – 73, 77, 83 – 86, 88 – 90, 92 – 94, 97 – 100, 102, 104 f., 107, 109 – 117, 119 – 121, 126 – 132, 136 – 156, 158 – 170, 172 – 176, 179 – 194, 196, 198 – 204, 206, 208 f., 212 – 220, 223 f., 234, 237, 239, 241 – 245, 247 – 253 Creation – Creatio ex nihilo 99, 109 f., 112 f., 118, 121 – 129, 142, 175, 250 – Creation 1 f., 8, 14 f., 18, 21 f., 24, 26, 29 f., 35, 40 f., 45 – 47, 50, 63, 79, 93, 99 – 103, 108 – 124, 126 – 129, 131 – 143, 146, 154, 157, 160, 162 – 181, 192 f., 197 f., 201, 205 f., 208, 210 – 218, 221, 223 f., 234 f., 237 – 242, 244 – 250 Daughters of God 229, 231 – 233, 238 Day – Day 17 f., 45, 63, 75, 78 – 80, 87, 107, 133 f., 142 f., 152, 154, 156, 160, 163, 165 – 170, 176 – 178, 180 f., 193, 200, 205 f., 208 f., 213 – 217, 223, 241 – Seventh Day 147, 162 – 167, 250

– Six Days of Creation 40 f., 47 f., 129, 152, 154, 162 f., 165 – 167, 172 – 174, 177 f., 180, 210 f. Demon – Demon 52, 124 f., 150, 165, 184, 197, 212, 217 f., 220, 224 – 228 – Iblīs 216 f., 239 – Satan 48, 59, 68, 217 – 219, 227, 236 Earth – Earth 14 f., 17 – 19, 32, 37, 41, 43, 45, 50, 53, 63, 65, 72, 78 f., 85 f., 91, 100 f., 103, 107 f., 110, 113 – 116, 118, 123 – 130, 132 f., 136 f., 139, 141, 144 – 147, 149 f., 152, 154 f., 157 f., 160, 163, 166, 172, 174 – 181, 183, 186, 190 – 196, 198 f., 201 – 203, 206 – 211, 213, 215 – 217, 221, 223, 235, 240, 242, 249 – 251 – Seven earths 194 – 196, 210 Eye – Eye 25, 46, 65 – 69, 71, 74, 82 – 84, 155 – 157, 162, 166, 169, 181, 186, 191, 193, 199, 209, 233, 239, 248 – Spiritual eye 20, 67 Firmament 33, 47, 69, 127, 146 f., 161, 174, 180 – 183, 185, 189, 193, 196 – 202, 204 f., 208 – 211, 215, 224 f., 227 f., 248, 251 Heart – Heart 44, 55, 62 – 71, 74, 77 – 80, 83 f., 86 f., 90, 95 – 98, 117, 157, 228, 234, 237, 241, 247, 253 – Prayer of the heart 83 Heaven – Heaven 2, 9, 14, 19, 22, 45, 89, 91, 108, 110, 123, 127 – 129, 145 f., 150, 152, 154, 167, 174 – 180, 182 – 184, 186 – 196, 199, 203 f., 208, 217, 225 – 227, 242, 248 f. – Seven heavens 41, 128 f., 172, 174, 178, 180, 185 – 194, 196, 210 f., 251 Hell 23, 190, 195, 199 Khalīfa 50 – 53, 243, 253 Knowledge 7, 17, 19, 23 – 25, 27, 30, 34, 36, 43, 46, 50, 55 – 58, 62, 69, 74, 77 f., 82, 84 – 95,

288

Indexes

97, 99, 101, 138, 141, 191 – 194, 208, 217, 232, 234, 243, 245, 249 Kun fa-yakūn 118 – 122, 138, 239 f., 242, 250 Letter

17, 33 – 36, 44, 46 f., 52 f., 81, 121, 245

– Moon 17, 29, 68, 133, 152, 154, 184, 201, 205, 224 Nature 16 – 18, 20, 22 – 27, 29 – 32, 34 f., 44 – 48, 54 f., 58, 63, 71, 83 f., 88 – 91, 97, 99, 104, 137, 219, 224, 230 f., 233, 239, 245, 247 Planet 190 f., 194, 201, 224 Power – Amr 151 – 155, 157 f., 162, 166 f., 169 f., 243 f., 248 – Divine Power 16, 18, 23, 31, 34, 47, 51 – 53, 67, 77, 95, 99 – 101, 103, 110 f., 134, 144, 146, 148 – 154, 156 f., 159 f., 162, 164, 169 f., 193, 223 f., 228, 243 f., 248 Prayer 41, 60, 69, 71, 75 – 80, 82 – 84, 87, 94 f., 156, 247, 253 Providence 1, 30, 38, 46, 83, 89, 130 f., 139 f. Psalmody 83 Purification 7, 55, 58 – 61, 64, 71, 84, 93 – 98, 247, 253 Reading 173

Remembrance 18, 50, 55, 60, 71 – 84, 87, 90, 93, 95, 97, 123, 217, 237, 247, 253 Sabbath 15, 19, 68, 104, 107, 109, 141, 162 – 167, 169 f., 175 f., 193, 223 f. Scale 166, 196, 205 – 211, 248, 250 School 7, 10, 16, 23 f., 27 f., 33, 35 f., 42 f., 47 – 54, 82, 139, 181, 203, 216, 247, 250, 252 Scripture 21, 23 – 27, 29 – 32, 34, 36, 39, 43 – 47, 55, 63, 71 f., 77, 82 f., 85, 88, 136, 138, 150, 216, 247 Sea 43, 85, 177, 209, 240 Servant 72, 91 f., 95 f., 105 – 107, 120, 231 Sign 7, 16 – 22, 27 – 36, 44 – 47, 49, 53 – 57, 59 – 63, 65 f., 69, 72 f., 78 f., 81, 83 f., 86 f., 89 f., 93, 95 – 98, 101, 122, 141, 148, 151 f., 156, 158, 170, 204, 206 – 208, 224, 234, 238 f., 247 Sky 8, 14, 17, 19, 43, 45 f., 68, 115 f., 128 – 130, 139, 142 – 149, 152, 155, 158 f., 161, 166, 169 f., 172, 174, 177 – 186, 190 f., 193 f., 196 – 198, 201 – 204, 206 f., 209 – 211, 224 f., 227, 248 – 251 Smoke 128 f., 174, 177 Sons of God 29, 119 f., 229 – 231, 233, 249 Star 17, 29, 68, 78, 95, 136, 152, 154, 170, 182 – 184, 186, 193, 197, 206 – 209, 224 f., 227 Sun 17, 19, 29, 68, 133, 152, 154, 184, 192, 201, 205, 224

3, 26, 47 f., 72, 75 – 77, 81 – 84, 88, 90, Tablet 43 f., 48, 52 Teacher 33, 41