All active minds are sceptical. Carlyle himself—although he appears to have been unconscious of the fact—was himself a sceptic. But it was peculiarly characteristic of the antagonistic dualism of his nature on the one hand [to hurl innuendoes, anathemas] (and every kind of mental brickbat that he could lay hold of) at what he called scepticism or unbelief. On the other hand, to hold up belief as absolutely essential to human existence. But like all theoretical crotchets, he carried his philosophical speculations too far. In other words, he sometimes overreached himself. According to his particular dogma, in his opinion, the life of man cannot subsist on doubt or denial, it subsists only on belief. But this is altogether beside the mark. Scepticism does not necessarily imply doubt or denial. Belief itself cannot exist without it. It is out of the ashes of scepticism that the immortal Phœnix of belief arises. It is out of the doubt and denial of accepted doctrines that all creeds (including Christianity and Islam) have grown into being. The doubt engendered by scepticism is after all only an investigation or leading into, [an analysis of] the nature of dogmas, doctrines or creeds. It is an investigation that may or may not have a result. It is but a search for or groping after the truth, as the consequence of moral, intellectual or spiritual dissatisfaction. It is also the desire to know, to find out the pros and cons of all the sides to a question. The spirit or element of doubt is the necessary, the essential precursor of improvement and progress. Hence the immense importance and significance of Scepticism. It is the very sum and substance of all human knowledge. As the acorn is to the oak, scepticism is to knowledge—the seed from which has sprung up all we know, and ever shall know. The ever fluent channel through which all the great intellectual giants and reformers of the world have poured out the glowing flash-lights of their intellect into the normal darkness of human minds. It is the moral effluvium out of which our modern civilization has constructed itself. Without it, the dense gloom and black obscurity of ignorance would have reigned supreme. Confused, chaotic, and enigmatic as the world now is—even in the full glare of its sunlight—without it (if it were possible to imagine such a state) the world would have been an enigma, a chaos and confusion worse confounded. For scepticism is, as it were, the sun in all its glory, as compared to the black oblivion of eternal night. If neither Luther nor Mohammed had been sceptics, there would have been no Reformation and no Islam. They did not take everything for granted. They were not satisfied with things as they were. They looked into the heart of them and found much room for improvement. They examined what they could, rejected that which was spiritually objectionable to them, but made use of what was most appropriate to their respective situations. It was only those features that best suited the exigencies of the case that they were prompt to lay hold of.
Yet Mohammed was not of vigorous intellectuality, nor in any sense an original thinker. The constant repetition of formulas and reiteration of the same ideas that occur throughout the Koran show this. It is extremely probable that his mentality was at times overshadowed either by neurasthenic tendencies, or a predisposition to melancholia, and this was more than likely heightened by a life of excessive mental concentration combined with asceticism.
But sincere as he was, Mohammed would not have been a true Arabian, had he not been diplomatic. Thus the commencement of the fourteenth surah is a clever but obvious device on his part; a meeting of his enemies with their own weapons, a flinging back to them of their own words and objections to the truth in their own teeth. It is clear too that here, for the time being, he has resolved on a change of tactics and of front. To prove to them that he is as of old the man to be trusted, he endeavours to disarm their incredulity by his own outspokenness and candour. As the sequel showed, he clearly demonstrates his own perspicacity and knowledge of human nature. He saw that by arguing with his countrymen, by always opposing their doubts with sophistry and argument, would be of little avail—useless, in fact. Such a course would but have encouraged and stimulated their opposition, on the ground that their beliefs, as worth refuting, were also based on truth or at least on strong evidence. Besides, Mohammed was painfully conscious of his own disability and helplessness to convince them by the performance of anything purporting to be miraculous. That on occasions he displayed artfulness and guile—duplicity, in fact—is not to be denied. The invention, e.g., of his night journey from Mecca to heaven viâ Jerusalem, was one of them. When he gave out that Gabriel had revealed to him the conspiracy that had been formed against him, which through ordinary means he had discovered, was another of these pious frauds. But after all, what are these trifles compared with those that in their myriads have been perpetrated by the great Church of Christendom? What are they as compared to a long life of strenuous sincerity, great nobility and earnest effort in the cause of humanity? It is impossible to lose sight of the fact that in working for God, he was all the time raising his countrymen from a lower to a higher level. Besides, the necessity of dissimulation, which is one of the heaviest taxes on a king, and the prerogative of a priest, is one of those idiosyncrasies that human flesh being heir to, even a prophet cannot at times escape from. We are reminded of the phrase: “Qui scit dissimulare, scit regnare”—He is a ruler who can conceal his thoughts—attributed to the Emperor Sigismund by that cultured and ambitious but false and subtle Pontiff Pius II, [known as Æneas Sylvius (Pius Æneas):] also the identical answer that Louis XI is said to have made to those who urged him to give his son Charles a better education, in order that the boy might in his day become a good king.
It was not only that Mohammed’s enemies were sceptical of his powers and his mission, but they mistrusted his intentions. This, indeed, to a sincere and earnest man like himself, was a bitter pill; a pill he found it hard to swallow. For he was conscious of his own sincerity, and as time went on, an increasing following gave him greater confidence in the reality of his mission. Indeed in proportion as his self-confidence developed, his conviction in the power and unity of God became an ever increasing quantity. This increasing consciousness of God’s power and his own sincerity had the gradual effect of making him bolder and more aggressive, so that this outspokenness was a direct outcome of it, until at last Mohammed felt that it was his duty not merely to announce “Islam”—“the true Faith,” but to enforce its acceptance on the people. This, of course, as we know, was after his flight to Medina. True his own people, the Koreish, had driven him out with scorn and violence, had cast contumely and dishonour on him, by rejecting the word, while strangers had hearkened unto him and accepted it. It is equally true that the sustained vindictiveness shown by the Koreish was sufficient in itself to excite the spirit of retaliation, even in a man of Mohammed’s patient and tenacious character. But suggestive as this may be, it is quite certain that he acted on conviction in assuming the offensive. It is obvious, too, that in doing so, he felt that he was acting under divine compulsion. In any case, we must allow that “a man is really of weight in the balance of Fate, only when he has the right on his own account to cause men to be slain.” In Mohammed’s case, however, if conviction counts for anything, his right was a divine right. According to Dumas: “In human nature there are antipathies to be overcome—sympathies which may be forced.” (The italics are mine.) “Iron is not the loadstone; but by rubbing it with a loadstone we make it, in its turn, attract iron.” This may be, but it is not in reality so. It is but a mere figure of speech that the great novelist makes use of, and which he puts into the mouth of René, the poisoner, in support of some theory or argument. It is, of course, possible that antipathies may be overcome by sympathy. This, however, depends entirely on the power of the one and the weakness of the other. But sympathy cannot be forced. To endeavour to force sympathy is to attempt the unnatural. The most that can be expected from such a cause is dissimulation. This certainly was Mohammed’s experience. Although ultimately he and his successors forced the word of God on these his inveterate enemies, he never succeeded in forcing his sympathies upon them. Death and Time alone accomplished what his own personality failed to do. Through the victory he gained by them, he now lives enshrined in the sanctified halo of a sympathy that, emanating from every Moslem heart, forms with his own the great and throbbing soul of Islam.
But Mohammed was not only spiritual. He, like every human being, had a material side to his character. Not only was he a preacher and a prophet; not only was he a lawgiver—a law and a light unto his people to this very day; but as one who himself rigidly practised self-denial and economy and condemned extravagance, who possessed the organizing ability to administer the estate of others, and who could command preferably in peace, but if necessary in war, he was a statesman and an economist. Unquestionably too he looked ahead—he made provision for the future. His whole apostolic life was one long and arduous preparation for coming events. As an instance of this, the ordering of the yearly pilgrimage to Mecca was as much a political as a religious ordinance. By this measure of policy—this master stroke of psychologic insight into human eventualities, Mohammed showed his natural genius. For without a doubt he aimed at preserving to Arabia the point and focus of a religious centre, that would make for national consolidation and unity, and serve as [the sacred réduit and rallying ground] for the world of Islam. So too he showed his capacity for system and organization in legalizing the fifth part of all booty and property confiscated to be paid into the public treasury. In the same way he insisted on the giving of Zakat or alms for charitable purposes, apart from those contributions he received from his followers for maintenance. In making these ordinances appear as divine injunctions, Mohammed showed no more insincerity or inconsistence than he did in claiming the whole Koran as a series of revelations. The political and economic factors were as much a radical part of his entire design, as the religious. The one could not exist without the other. Statesman as he was, he recognized that religious unity could only be firmly established through political co-operation, and that to secure national stability the sinews of war were essential.
It is all through quite obvious that he had the trading instinct of his people. In any case the training he received at the hands and in the employ of his uncle Abu Talib, as well as the subsequent management of Khadija’s business, had imbued him very powerfully with business principles and practical ideas. Abu Talib, like his father and grandfather before him, carried on a considerable trade with Syria and Yemen. He carried to Damascus, to Basra and other places in Syria, the dates of Hijaz and Hijr, and the perfumes of Yemen, bringing back with him in return the products of the Byzantine Empire. Mohammed, as is known, accompanied him, and without doubt laid the foundation of an economic experience, that subsequently proved valuable.
Commerce has always been the greatest of civilizing factors. According to Buckle: “Among the accessories of modern civilization there is none of greater moment than Trade.” So too Hallam says: “Under a second class of events that contributed to destroy the spirit of the Feudal system, we may reckon the abolition of villenage, the increase of commerce, and consequent opulence of merchants and artisans, and especially the institution of free cities and boroughs. This is one of the most important and interesting steps in the progress of society during the Middle Ages, and deserves particular consideration.” But this is all the more important as showing that trade was in reality a more powerful factor for civilization than Christianity, which after several centuries of hold on the people of Europe, had done little more than inflame them with a zeal and a zest for fighting. It is significant also that while Rome rose to her greatest eminence under the Ancestral worship of her founders, when she became Christian, Christianity did not prevent her from declining and falling into pieces. But it is equally significant that while the opulence conferred by commerce on Rome, eventually brought reaction and ruin upon her people, the effect it had upon the barbarians who overthrew the Eternal City, was sufficiently stimulating to encourage them to invade a degenerate empire. For the desire of wealth and plunder was but the first [awakening of the spirit of commerce.] To be sure the crusades gave a great stimulus to trade. But there was more of the militant spirit than Christianity about them. Besides, although commercial prosperity often accompanies war, reaction is certain to supervene. Obviously the essential importance of trade was a truth that the Merchant-Prophet soon recognized. Intuitively, and with the keenness of perception that marked him, he naturally utilized every lesson that it taught him and every advantage that it gave him. Nor has he been the only theologian who saw its utility in a religious light. The Jesuits long afterwards recognized the agency of commerce in promoting and diffusing religious belief, and became great merchants as well as great missionaries. So too it was through commerce, as Draper points out, “that the Papacy first learned to turn to art. The ensuing development of Europe” (in the Renaissance) “was really based on the commerce of upper Italy, and not on the Church. The statesmen of Florence were the inventors of the balance of power.”
Quoting from Syed Ameer Ali’s Spirit of Islam, Fihr, surnamed Koreish, a descendant of Maad—who flourished in the third century—was the ancestor of the tribe that gave to Arabia her prophet and legislator. This fact, trifling as it may appear, is, however, remarkable, if not significant. For this word “Koreish” is derived from “Karash,” to trade; and it appears that Fihr and his descendants were always devoted to commerce. From this it is safe to assume that trading was an inherent instinct in Mohammed.
This apart, to him personally Islam was a something more than a mere creed or belief. It was God’s own religion sealed and delivered to him by God. Not to deliver it to his people as commanded, not to carry it through—by persuasion first of all, by fire and sword if man’s obstinacy and rejection of it made it necessary—would mean that he had failed in his duty to the Most High. The sense and spirit of duty was stronger in Mohammed than in Nelson. In him it was not simply an active and vital principle. It was an impelling force. So inseparable from God, that to him it appeared as God Himself. But with him God always came first. His duty to his country was subordinate to his duty to his Maker. His duty to Him, therefore, was his duty to his country. So in surah xi. he says: “O my people, do ye work according to your condition; I will surely work according to my duty,” i.e. according to God. In numerous passages he points out that God was absolutely averse to profusion and extravagance, equally so to meanness. True liberality in his opinion consisted in the happy mean between the two extremes. “And waste not thy substance profusely; for the profuse are brethren of the devils: and the devil was ungrateful unto his Lord” (surah xvii.). Again in the sixth, “But be not profuse, for God loveth not those who are too profuse”; and in the following the economic instinct shows itself most significantly: “O true believers, consume not your wealth among yourselves in vanity; unless there be merchandizing among you by mutual consent.” Once more Mohammed demonstrates his great profundity and insight into the character, the customs and traditions of his countrymen. All Oriental and African nations from time immemorial have been notably extravagant, especially in regard to marriage ceremonials and funeral rites. Even to this day among the Hindus and most African tribes, it is a code of honour, a sacred injunction of their religion, to spend profusely on marriage and burial feasts. Indeed this is frequently done to the impoverishment, and, in the latter case, even to the ruination of whole families or households. The Arabs, it appears, were no exception to this. At the same time they were a curious blend of meanness and extravagance. To Mohammed, rigid economist as he was, and inspired to the core by the duty that had been intrusted to him, this prodigality was a great sin. Not only did his countrymen squander away their substance in folly and luxury, but they were particularly guilty of extravagance in killing camels, and distributing them by lot merely out of vanity and ostentation. Worse even than this, they were given to the destruction of their female children. Against this evil Mohammed sternly set his face. This in itself shows his great moral superiority over his countrymen. It shows also the possession of a higher and more refined yet practical intelligence, that was able to grasp the economic possibilities which were bound to ensue from the preservation of female children. Essentially an Arab patriarch at heart (which he in some measure proved by his marriages), Mohammed, however, was still more essentially a Humanist. With the moral greatness of a good man, and the mental perception of genius, he felt and recognized that it was against all the laws of God to destroy the fecundity of and the productive in nature. Thus it was that he placed the divine tabu on the abuse and destruction of all that was beneficial to humanity, but especially on men, animals and the produce of the earth.