The appearance of the Qurʾān brought about a gradual, but remarkable change in tone and spirit of Arabic literature. An extraordinary admixture of falsehood and truth, it was given to the world by its author as the uncreated and Eternal Word, and as a standing miracle not only of sound doctrine, but of literary style and language. This strange assertion, of course, deterred nearly every attempt at imitation, although it is related that Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, al-Mutanabbi, and a few others, of a sceptical turn of mind, essayed in some of their writings to surpass the style of the Qurʾān. But as the Muslims in all ages have drawn their principles of grammar and rhetoric from the Qurʾān itself, we need not be surprised that these and every other attempt to surpass its excellences have been considered failures.
One circumstance in the earliest history of Islām was of itself instrumental in giving rise to a most extensive literature of a special class. The Qurʾān (unlike the Pentateuch and New Testament) was not a narrative of the life of its author. And yet, at the same time, Muḥammad had left very special injunctions as to the transmission of his precepts and actions. [[TRADITION].] The study of these traditional sayings, together with that of the Qurʾān, gave rise to all the branches of Arabic learning.
The Aḥādīs̤, or “the sayings of Muḥammad,” were considered by his followers as the result of divine inspiration, and they were therefore treasured up in the memories of his followers with the same care which they had taken in learning by heart the chapters of the Qurʾān. They recorded not only what the Prophet said and did, but also what he refrained from saying and doing, his very silence (sunnatu ʾs-sukūt) on questions of doctrine or rule of life being also regarded as the result of divine guidance. It therefore became of paramount importance, to those who were sincere followers of Muḥammad, that they should be in possession of his precepts and practices, and even of the most trifling circumstances of his daily life. The mass of traditions increased rapidly, and became so great that it was quite impossible for any one single person to recollect them.
According to Jalālu ʾd-dīn as-Suyūt̤ī, the first who wrote down the traditional sayings of the Prophet was Ibn Shihāb az-Zuhrī, during the reign of the K͟halīfah ʿUmar II. ibn ʿAbdi ʾl-ʿAzīz (A.H. 99–101); but the Imām Mālik (A.H. 95–179), the compiler of the book known as al-Muwat̤t̤ā is generally held to be the author of the earliest collection of Traditions. (See Kashfu ʾz̤-Z̤unūn, in loco.)
So rapidly did this branch of Muslim learning increase, that when al-Buk͟hārī (A.H. 194–256) determined to make a careful collation of trustworthy traditions, he found not fewer than 300,000 extant, from which he selected 7,275.
The necessity of distinguishing the genuine traditions from the false gave rise to new branches of literature. A just appreciation of the credit to which each traditionist was entitled, could only be formed from a knowledge of the details of his history, and of the moral character of his life. Hence numerous biographical works, arranged in chronological order, containing short accounts of the principal persons connected with the early history of Islām, were compiled. The necessity for tracing the places of their birth and the race from which they sprang, led Muslim critics to the study of genealogy and geography.
The sense of the Qurʾān, with its casual references to contemporaneous as well as to past history, was felt to be difficult and obscure, in many places; and this led the learned Muslims to study not only the traditional sayings of Muḥammad already alluded to, but any historical or geographical works which would help them in understanding the text of “the Book.”
In the early days of Islām, general history was regarded with little favour as a subject for study, and many orthodox doctors of Muslim law were led by religious scruples to condemn the study of secular history; and the works of Grecian and Latin poets, philologists, grammarians, and historians, only received their approval in so far as they served to explain the text of the Qurʾān and the traditional records of Muḥammad’s followers.
The real attitude of the leaders of Islām was decidedly hostile towards all literature which was not in strict harmony with the teachings of their religion. If in succeeding ages the Saracens became, as they undoubtedly did, the liberal patrons of literature and science, there cannot be a doubt that in the earliest ages of Islām, in the days of the four “well-directed” K͟halīfahs, not merely the greatest indifference, but the most bigoted opposition was shown to all literary effort which had not emanated from the fountain of Islām itself. And consequently the wild uncivilized conquerors of Jerusalem, Cæsarea, Damascus, and Alexandria, viewed the destruction of the literary lore of ages which was stored up in those ancient cities with indifference, if not with unmitigated satisfaction. Everything, science, history, and religion, must be brought down to the level and standard of the teaching of the Qurʾān and the life of the Prophet of Arabia, and whatever differed therefrom was from the Devil himself, and deserved the pious condemnation of every true child of the faith.
But the possession of power and riches gave rise to new feelings, and the pious aversion to intellectual pursuits gradually relaxed in proportion as their empire extended itself. The possession of those countries, which had for so long been the seats of ancient literature and art, naturally introduced among the Muslims a spirit of refinement, and the love of learning. But it was not the outcome of their religious belief, it was the result of the peculiar circumstances which surrounded their unparalleled conquest of a civilized world. Their stern fanaticism yielded to the mild influence of letters, and, “by a singular anomaly,” says Andrew Crichton, “in the history of nations, Europe became indebted to the implacable enemies of her religion and her liberties for her most valuable lessons in science and arts.” In this they present a marked contrast to the Goths and Huns; and what is most remarkable is, not that successful conquerors should encourage literature, but that, within a single century, a race of religionists should pass from a period of the deepest barbarism to that of the universal diffusion of science. In A.D. 641, the K͟halīfah ʿUmar is said to have destroyed the Alexandrian library. In A.D. 750, the K͟halīfahs of Bag͟hdād, the munificent patrons of literature, mounted the throne. Eight centuries elapsed from the foundation of Rome to the age of Augustus, whilst one century alone marks the transition from the wild barbarism of the K͟halīfahs of Makkah to the intellectual refinement of the K͟halīfahs of al-Kūfah and Bag͟hdād. The Saracens, when they conquered the cities of the West, came into possession of the richest legacies of intellectual wealth, and they used these legacies in such a manner as to earn for themselves the most prominent place in the page of history as patrons of learning. But the truth is, the literature of the great Byzantine empire exercised a kind of patronage over Saracenic kings. If the Saracens produced not many original works on science, philosophy, or art, they had the energy and good sense to translate those of Greece and Rome. (See the list of Arabic works in the Kashfu ʾz̤-Z̤unūn.)