Persian Mohammedanism—Mohammed—Founding of Islam—Shiahs
and Sunnis—Laxity distinguished from infidelity—Central
doctrines of Islam—The Divine Unity—The prophethood—Behāī
view of the prophethood—The Bab—The Behāu’llah—Behāīism—Its
prospects—Islam—Predestination—Repentance—Savābs—Eating with
unbelievers—Charge of pantheism—Effect of Islam on character.
We have seen that the Yezdis have long been accustomed to have in their
midst professors of three distinct religions, the Jewish, the Zoroastrian
and the Mohammedan. But as the Jews are neither numerous nor influential,
and the Zoroastrian Parsis, though more numerous than the Jews, are
nevertheless not more than a tithe of the population, the religion that
chiefly demands our attention is Mohammedanism, which is the established
faith of Persia. The Mohammedanism of Persia is not quite the same as
that of India or Turkey, and the Persians call themselves _Shiahs_ or
nonconformists. In Persia there is one creed of nonconformity which is
there accepted as orthodox, so those professing this creed will for the
future in these pages be called Shiahs without further qualification.
It must, however, be remembered that the name Shiah is not properly
confined to this one sect, and also that this sect itself, like other
nonconformist bodies, has always shown a great tendency to subdivide. In
Persia besides Shiahs, that is the more orthodox Shiahs, there has always
been one other smaller sect of Mohammedans attracting general attention.
At present the dissenting doctrine most widely taught is that of the
Behāīs, who have laid hold of the popular imagination, partly because of
their great steadfastness under the most terrible persecutions, partly
because of the somewhat popular nature of their teaching, but chiefly
because Persia is now being brought into rather closer touch with Europe,
and the people as a whole feel that the teaching of the Shiah mullas
needs to be modified if Islam is to be preserved. I think one may go
further, and say that there is at present in Persia a period of enquiry
and spiritual awakening, which gives a special opportunity, not only
to Mohammedan sectaries, but also to Christian missionaries. Later on
further allusion will be made to these Behāīs, but we must not forget
that our first task is not so much the study of the complex religious
systems of Persia, as the analysis of those religious influences to which
the Yezdi has been subjected.
The ordinary Yezdi Mussulman is descended partly from the original Aryan
inhabitants of Persia, and partly from their Arabian conquerors: but the
enormous difference in character that exists between him and the purely
Aryan Parsi is certainly due less to race and more to religion, for the
_jadīds_, or converts from Parsiism, often develop all the Mussulman
characteristics in a few generations, without the slightest admixture of
race. So before attempting to describe the character of the people, it
will be necessary to pay as much attention to the religious ideas that
have been brought to bear upon them as we have already paid to the nature
of their country and the seclusion of their town life. Some aspects of
the Yezdi’s religion will be left to a future chapter, and we must at
present content ourselves with trying to understand the essential nature
of Islam, particularly dwelling on those points of Mohammed’s teaching
and example which seem to have produced most impression on the Persian
mind. To do this we must divest ourselves of all pre-judgments of the
prophet’s life and doctrine, and simply study the facts of history,
remembering that the conception of Islam which is to be found amongst the
Sunnis of India and Turkey cannot be allowed to pass unchallenged, for
the Mohammedan world is by no means unanimous about it; and also that the
well-known European theory, that there was a difference in Mohammed’s
aims and objects in Mecca and Medina, and that the Meccan period rather
than the Medinan indicates the essential idea of Mohammedanism, is one
which no educated Mussulman would for a moment tolerate. As for the still
more favourable views that have been lately brought forward by European
authors, I can only pass on a story that was told me of an educated
Mussulman in India who had been shown such a treatise. “This gentleman,
Sahib,” he said, as he handed back the volume, “appears to know very
little about his own religion, and absolutely nothing about ours.”
I myself went to Persia with the intention of making the most of the
good points of the religious systems of the country. With regard to the
Parsis I was not disappointed. Like many other missionaries, I started
with the idea that I should find these people possessed of a great many
radically wrong notions about the nature and power of God, which were
essential to their religion. I now believe that I was wrong, and I have
never heard my right-hand man, Mihraban, who is himself a Parsi, and
also one of the most sincere and earnest Christians whom I have ever
met, speak one word against the real groundwork of Zoroastrianism. In
this religion it is not unteaching but teaching that is required to lead
the people to Christ; but, in Mohammedanism, in spite of its greater
pretensions, almost every apparent truth crumbles into mere truism or
actual falsity the moment that you try to make it the basis of anything
practical. Also the more I read of the life of Mohammed, the more
convinced I am that the radical rottenness of the system is due to his
original teaching. Perhaps this may be a confession of narrowness, but
one cannot be broad all round. Unless we are going to deny the iniquity
and wickedness of modern Islam, we shall have to believe that somebody
is to blame; and, if it is not Mohammed, I suppose it must be either
the mullas or the Mussulman laity. I do not know why we should expend
all our breadth on the big people: I myself have some sympathy with the
little ones: and I firmly believe that the difficulties in the Islam of
to-day are due rather to the essential wrongness of the system than to
its corruption by the masses.
Mohammed was born in Mecca towards the end of the sixth century. He was
a member of the important family who had charge of the Ka’aba, which
was a heathen temple that the Meccans had attempted to make a common
meeting-ground for the whole of Arabia, by including within its limits
the idols and symbols of worship that were respected by the different
tribes. Some of these tribes had adopted Christianity and Judaism; so
pictures even of Jewish and Christian saints were to be found within the
walls of the Meccan temple.
The Mussulman historians of Mohammed’s life tell us that there had
been in Arabia, for some years before the prophet came forward, a set
of reformers called _Hanīfs_, who seem to have been half political and
half religious, but to have been all of them convinced that some form of
religion, purer than that represented by the Ka’aba, was needed to unite
Arabia against its common foes. Some of these _Hanifs_ ended by adopting
Christianity or Judaism; others were inclined to the adoption of a more
essentially national form of monotheism, which should retain the Ka’aba
as its centre. The most notable of the latter party was Zaid ibn Amr,
a man so much admired by Mohammed that he declared him a prophet, and
in other ways professed his complete acceptation of his principles and
teaching.
Mohammed by his marriage with Khadīja was certainly introduced into
this set of reformers. Waraka ibn Nawfal was one of the most prominent
_Hanifs_, and we have indisputable evidence that he was one of Khadija’s
most intimate friends, both at the time of her marriage, and also at the
time when her husband received his first revelation. Mohammed himself had
been from childhood of a hysterical disposition, and was subject to fits,
during which he saw visions, which on recovering consciousness he was
able to recollect; consequently while in this company he became convinced
that he was the expected prophet who was to bind Arabia together by a
politico-religious system.
In placing himself at the head of the _Hanif_ movement, Mohammed
probably gave more prominence to the political aspect than had most of
the former and less successful leaders. This is brought out by Koelle in
his life of Mohammed; and indeed it is obvious that the man who could
allow an unbelieving friend, even though a close relation, to play the
important part in the building of his church that Abbās played in the
second meeting on the eminence, was primarily a politician rather than a
religious reformer: for it was Abbas who on that occasion first proposed
the oath that may almost be called the basis of Islam. A critical study
of Mohammed’s early dealings with the Arabians brings us to a similar
conclusion.
Of the other stories collected by Koelle from Mussulman sources to prove
this point, perhaps the most forcible is that of the discussion between
the prophet, his uncle, Abu Tālib, under whose protection he was then
living, and Abu Jahl. Abu Talib called his nephew and said to him,
“Thou seest the nobles of thy people are assembled here to concede to
thee certain things, and, in return, to receive concessions from thee.”
Mohammed made this reply: “Well, then, give me a word whereby the Arabs
may be governed and the Persians subjugated.” Abu Jahl responded to this
request in the name of his fellow-elders by saying: “Thou shalt have ten
words.” But Mohammed setting him right, and indicating what kind of word
in his opinion could alone answer the purpose, rejoined: “Say, ‘There is
no God except Allah!’ and renounce what you worship besides Him.” This
story Koelle quotes from Ibn Ishāk, the earliest and most trustworthy
biographer.
Certainly the movement from paganism to monotheism, which took place in
Arabia in those days, was in itself a fine thing; and it was accompanied
by much sincerity and religious zeal. It is also obvious that Mohammed
possessed a personality peculiarly attractive to the Arabian, and that
this, as well as his enthusiasm on the subject of his mission, had the
effect of attracting many to the cause.
But not only did Mohammed pay much more regard to politics than can be
possibly excused, he also accepted the religious and ethical teaching of
the _Hanifs_ only in the most superficial manner; and, under the cover
of verbal conformity, retained as much as possible of the original pagan
ideas in which he had been reared. The result is that his followers
are still to be found possessed of what seems at first sight to be
correct doctrine upon fundamentals, and yet are unable to advance by its
assistance along the path of light and progress.
The popular idea, that fanatical intolerance of all professors
of other religions is an essential and fundamental principle in
Mohammedanism, cannot be maintained. The paganism of Mecca was distinctly
latitudinarian, so Mohammed accepted in full the sacred books of the
Jews and Christians, as would have seemed natural to an Arabian of that
age, especially to a monotheistic teacher who was closely connected
with the Ka’aba. This does not mean that he in any way apprehended the
meaning of Judaism and Christianity. The doctrine of the perpetuity of
the moral law never seems to have entered into his mind, even in the
most elementary form. He wished to say that he had himself received a
revelation superseding all former ones by the mandate of God, and he did
not wish to make trouble by pronouncing other religions to be false,
without absolute necessity. His real object was to unite the Arabs by
a reformed religion, and at first he regarded his mission as a purely
national one. Whatever were his ultimate designs upon the Jews and
Christians in Arabia, he intentionally conveyed to them the impression
that, if they recognised him as a prophet to others, he would be content
without their accepting him themselves. Indeed, while he was still at
Mecca, he was even uncertain whether the idolaters who accepted him might
not be allowed to retain some of their idols as intermediaries between
themselves and Allah. He went so far on one occasion as to actually
effect a reconciliation on this basis; but as such a concession must have
greatly damaged his influence with those who were favourably disposed
to the _Hanif_ movement, he afterwards repudiated the transaction, and
declared that he had acted under the influence of the devil. His work
in Mecca was not very successful; and the opposition he encountered
was so strong that he had at last to begin to make attempts to start
work in some other place, and he was finally successful in making a
fresh beginning in Medina. Here he was able to take advantage of a
family connection with some of the principal citizens, and also of a
long-standing rivalry between Medina and Mecca. Although the movement
in Mecca had not been widely successful, Mohammed had gathered amongst
his followers several really prominent men. Consequently, the people of
Medina, although divided on the subject of his prophetic mission, were
unanimous as to the advisability of receiving him and his followers into
their town. Settled in Medina, Mohammed’s fortunes underwent a change.
The chieftancy of the tribe to which his grandmother had belonged fell
vacant, and, as most of the members of this tribe had become Mussulmans,
Mohammed had no difficulty in himself becoming their chief. Considering
himself restrained by no preconception or former revelation of the
moral law, he was able, without dropping for one moment his pretensions
to prophethood, to use every means of fraud and violence which seemed
conducive to his political end. As Koelle has pointed out, there is no
reason to suppose that his principles in any way changed, but under the
altered conditions and environment the utterly non-ethical theory of
revelation held by the prophet became more apparent. This is perhaps most
clearly brought out by his utterly unscrupulous dealing with the Jews,
and also by the story of Zaid and Zainab, in all which affairs Mohammed
professed himself to be acting under Divine direction, nor is it at all
obvious that he did not actually believe it. Finally, before his death,
he succeeded in establishing his religion and political system throughout
the whole of Arabia.
Of course it was impossible for a movement like this to take place
without rival prophets appearing in other parts of the country. Two of
these appeared during Mohammed’s lifetime, and he thought it best to
guard against future schisms of a similar kind by declaring himself the
last of the prophets. Exactly what he meant by this is not very clear: if
the almost universal voice of Islam is to be accepted, he did not mean
that he was the last divinely appointed teacher, for all Mussulmans look
forward to the coming of a Mehdi or Mahdi, who, together with Jesus, the
son of Mary, is to appear in the last days, and spread the doctrines of
Islam throughout the world. Orthodox Mussulmans, however, always look
upon Mohammed as the last great _sāhibi kitāb_, or book-bearer.
The ordinary Sunnis, who are the largest and best-known Mussulman
sect, assert that, as a matter of fact, since the time of Mohammed, no
divinely-appointed teacher has as yet appeared. The Khalīfs were in their
eyes simply appointed by the congregation, and the four great writers of
the _sunnat_, which is to them the only authoritative commentary upon the
doctrines of Islam, were only learned and saintly men. Now, they hold,
these doctrines can only be learnt from this book, and from the _Qurān_
itself; for the _mujtahid_ or high mulla, capable of giving authoritative
decisions on moot points, no longer exists.
The Shiahs have very different tenets. Mohammed according to their
teaching was the first of a hierarchic dynasty of thirteen, consisting
of himself and the twelve great Imāms, of whom the first was Ali, the
son-in-law of the prophet, and who were all as certainly divinely
appointed as Mohammed himself. Mohammed is only the last great
book-bearer, and therefore the founder of the present era. The last of
the Imams was the Mehdi, who according to the Sunnis has not yet been
born, but according to the Shiahs appeared long ago. This man did not
die, but disappeared, remaining at first accessible to his followers
through the medium of four successive Bābs, or gates of knowledge, who
were in touch with him during his concealment. Like the Imams, the Babs
came to an end, for the last of them refused to appoint a successor. All
this of course is very ancient history.
The Shiahs have their own traditionists, for they reject the _sunnat_
altogether. Between the traditions of the Shiahs and the Sunnis there is
not much to choose: there is a certain amount of historical fact embodied
in both, and there is also a great deal of absolute nonsense. However,
many otherwise orthodox Shiahs either reject the traditions altogether,
or interpret them allegorically. There is more freedom of interpretation
amongst the Shiahs than amongst the Sunnis: indeed many Shiahs believe
that some of the most objectionable chapters of the _Quran_ describing
the delights of heaven are entirely parabolic. Of course with _mujtahids_
(supposed to be able to pronounce authoritatively on moot points)
scattered all over Persia, the fixity of doctrine that prevails amongst
Mohammedans of Sunni countries would be impossible.
The tenets of the Shiahs are not derogatory to the mission of Mohammed,
or to the position of the _Quran_, but they make the solitary figure
of the prophet stand out much less prominently. For instance, if a
Persian is told that his religion possesses nothing corresponding to the
vicarious sacrifice of Christ, he will invariably reply by pointing to
the martyrdom of the Imam Husain. Also the Mehdi, or occult Imam, is not
the future, but the present ruler of Islam; and so he is in some ways as
important a personage as the original prophet. Not very long ago the Shah
of Persia used to pay rent for his palace to the Mehdi, the money going
to the _mujtahids_ as the representatives of the Imam: I do not know
whether this practice is still continued, but the theory on which it was
based is certainly not extinct. Again there is a common saying that the
Imam Ali is present in the heart of the true believer, but I think it is
only regarded by the ordinary Yezdi as a poetical expression. The point
to be noted is that the saying is always about Ali, not about Mohammed.
Shiahs invoke the Imams Ali and Husain very much more frequently than
they invoke Mohammed; and though the inscription over a Persian mosque
should be, “_Yā Ali, Yā Muhammad_,” that is, “O Ali! O Mohammed!” the
“_Yā Muhammad_” is often omitted and the “_Yā Ali_” left to stand alone.
The excuse is sometimes brought forward that Mohammed is too great for
constant invocation. Considering the way in which the Shiah uses the
name of God, this must, I think, be regarded as a mere excuse for a habit
due to wholly different causes.
This extreme attachment to the Imams is probably due to two things. In
the first place, there can be no doubt that the cause of Ali and his
sons was taken up in Persia as an outlet to national jealousy, for the
Aryan converts were not sorry when a pretext occurred for differentiating
themselves from the majority of their Arab conquerors. In the Shiah
religion the early Khalifs, who ruled Islam while the holy Imams were
still alive, are held up to the bitterest execration, and Omar in
particular, who, by the way, was the conqueror of Persia, takes much the
same place in the Shiah system that Judas Iscariot does in the Christian.
[Illustration: SMALL SQUARE IN YEZD.
To the left is a small Nakhl, and in the centre a mosque door with the
inscription “Ya Ali.”]
Secondly, the influence of sects of mystics, professedly Mohammedan but
having in their doctrines a distinctly pantheistic tendency, must be
remembered. Ancient Persia was full of pantheism, and when it became
Mussulman the inclination towards such teaching still continued, for
the broader views held by the Shiahs as to freedom of interpretation
in reading the _Quran_ gave a possible status in the country to very
heretical sects. These Persian mystics often preferred to make the
Imams, especially Ali, at least as prominent in their systems as
Mohammed, whose teaching was more difficult to bend to their purposes;
and although the ordinary Yezdi is certainly not a pantheist, they have
undoubtedly intensified his enthusiasm for the personalities of the
Imams, and through their poetry they have familiarised him with religious
expressions of a somewhat unorthodox character. This is in some ways an
advantage to the missionary, but he must beware that it does not give him
a false view of the progress that he is making.
As to the theory of the divinely appointed Imamate it might be urged
that the retention of the whole glory of the early sainthood for the
close relations and descendants of the prophet is an excess of zeal that
Mohammed would have greatly approved. However this may be, the doctrine
is not obviously opposed to Mohammedanism.
The Shiahs are certainly much laxer than the Sunnis with regard to
some of the commandments of the _Qurān_. Painting, and the making of
figures is considered by the Sunnis to be a violation of the law against
idolatry. There is, however, a regular school of Persian painting; and
clay models of men, animals and demons, as well as rag dolls, are given
to the children as toys. The protests made by the mullas against these
things are very faint. They are rather louder in their denunciations of
all forms of music, which amongst orthodox Mohammedans is supposed to
have no purpose but the exciting of the passions. As to the drinking
of wine and spirits, the avoidance of the regular Mohammedan fast in
the month of Ramazān, and the omission of the prescribed prayers, the
Shiah mullas take a view which is at least intelligible. To begin with,
such things do not amount to infidelity unless they are done wilfully
and consistently. A formal acceptation of the whole of the ordinances
is demanded. There must be no drunkenness in the streets, no eating in
Ramazan when anybody is near unless a legitimate excuse can be brought
forward, and if prayers have not been said men must say that they have
said them. Further than this external government does not go; and as a
matter of fact many irreligious Persians secretly drink themselves drunk
in their houses, forget to say their prayers regularly, and make up what
would, if true, be valid excuses for not keeping the fast in Ramazan.
Such people are well aware that they are liable to punishment, but they
also know that, unless they prove disloyal to Islam by accepting some
other faith, they are not in any great danger. It is true that every now
and again the mullas incite the people to join them in cleansing the land
of infidelity, and on such occasions sectaries like the Babis, and those
who are supposed to sympathise with them, may greatly suffer, but those
who have been merely lax in their observance of Islam are apt to make up
for their past deficiencies by a peculiar show of zeal.
It may be asked whether the mullas in Persia are justified in making no
more persistent efforts to enforce Mohammedan law, and whether their
winking at such irregularities is not in itself disloyalty to the system
of Islam. Probably it would be easy for them to show that they were
justified by the example of Mohammed himself. If Mohammed enforced a much
stricter discipline in the town where he was himself present—a matter
which I think is open to doubt—it would be almost impossible to maintain
that he caused such discipline to be enforced among the Arab tribes.
These tribes were generally accepted through the medium of their chief,
who usually came to Mohammed in person, had a short interview with him,
part of which was devoted to political subjects, and often went back to
his tribe on the same day. It is true that Mohammed made a distinction
between hypocrites—_munāfiqīn_, and true believers, but he generally
meant by hypocrites people who were not really on his side against
others, and here the ordinary Shiah is unimpeachable.
The fact is that Islam contains much more than an assortment of
commandments. Otherwise it would never have impressed its adherents in
so distinct and remarkable a manner with special characteristics. The
central idea of the religion is that we are all under the dominion of
an invisible and absolutely powerful God, Who has created all things,
and has willed and ordained everything both good and evil that is to be
found in the universe. It is true that there is a Shiah dogma against the
extreme predestinarianism which characterises the Sunni creed, but I do
not believe that it has in the least affected the fatalistic view of the
ordinary people. In Islam God may be called good because it is our duty
to accept as good whatever He does, and He may also be called by other
names according to the character of His known actions towards us; but
His own nature is absolutely different from that of man; consequently
nothing can be known of His moral character beyond the fact of certain
explicit actions. This God from time to time sends to the world prophets,
whose duty is to teach mankind the doctrine of His unity, the necessity
of worship, and the necessity of doing what is for the time being His
will. According to the popular opinion there have been a hundred and
forty-four thousand of these prophets, but of this number only a few have
been authorised to publish a new code of human duty. Those so authorised
are known as book-bearers, and Adam, Seth, Enoch, Abraham, Moses, David,
Jesus, and Mohammed were all of this class. The Behāīs add the name of
Behāu’llah after that of Mohammed. These book-bearers are always marked
by the possession of some sort of supernatural powers appealing to the
intellect, and also, in the case of the latter ones, by the fulfilment of
signs mentioned by the former prophets. Obedience to them is rewarded by
various degrees of bliss in Heaven, disobedience is punished by Hell. The
prophet must conform to previous revelations in the assertion of God’s
unity, invisibility and omnipotence, but it is not necessary that there
should be any coherence between the directions about human action as set
forth in successive dispensations, nor is any difference made between
ceremonial and moral commandments.
This central doctrine of Mohammedanism concerns God, the prophet, man
and creation; so we come across it under four names, giving the four
possible points of view. First of all there is the name of _tauhīd_, or
assertion of the Divine unity. The Mussulman means by this very much more
than the mere assertion that God is a single Being. He includes in it
the doctrine of the invisibility of God and of His absolutely separate
nature, and it appears to clash with the Christian conception in two
important particulars. There is an absolute denial of the statement,
upon which most Christians more or less consciously base their belief
in the perpetuity and absolute nature of the law of human morals, that
“in the image of God created He man.” Consequently we shall afterwards
find that in Islam there is no belief in the permanency of the moral
law, for nothing is thought by the Mussulman to be necessarily permanent
except things connected with the nature of God; and as our nature
differs entirely from that of the Creator the law given for it cannot
be necessarily permanent. There is also in reality a fundamental
contradiction of Christian doctrine in the Mohammedan’s rendering of
the statement that God is a single Being. This is best explained by a
simple illustration. Supposing a man were to say, “London is one place,”
it is conceivable that he might mean one of two things. Either he might
mean that the City of London was the only true London, and that there
was no other part of the town in Middlesex or Surrey that ought to be
called by the same name; or he might mean that the whole of those places
which go by the name of the County of London are in reality only one
place; and these two statements are not similar statements with a slight
difference, but they are absolutely contradictory. So the Christian says
there is only one God, by which he means to assert the unity of the
all-good Creator, the all-good Personality Who was revealed as the Son,
and the all-good Spirit Who is the only source of good in the heart. As
God to the Christian means the All-good, what he needs is a doctrine
that asserts the essential unity of the All-good wherever he finds it.
The Christian is of course not a pantheist, but his conception of the
one God has to be sufficiently inclusive to cover those Three Who, as
he knows, certainly possess the attributes of Deity. The Mussulman on
the other hand does not pretend to know anything about the attributes of
Deity, excepting that God is one, invisible and omnipotent. Consequently
he frames his definition of the Deity so as to purposely exclude what the
Christian with his larger knowledge knows to be the manifestation of the
same essence.
To pass on to the Mussulman’s conception of his religion as it relates
to the prophet. The _paighambarī_, or the bringing of messages from
the Deity, is in many ways a peculiar idea. Mohammed himself had very
little notion of his message being an advance on what had been given
before, and of the gradual growth of revelation he had no conception
at all. He was content to assert that his teaching was the religion
of Abraham, a phrase of which he frequently made use. It is true that
Mussulmans sometimes say that parts of God’s Word were revealed to former
_paighambars_, but that the complete commandment was given to Mohammed,
and although this is very different from the Christian doctrine of the
growth of revelation, it might possibly be regarded as a substitute for
it; but the fact is that, though it may be traceable to the prophet, it
is quite foreign to the essential system of Islam. We frequently find
such foreign ideas which have been imported into Islam, occasionally by
Mohammed but more frequently by his followers, simply to answer some
specific objection, or to maintain the superiority of the system over
all others. Such importations can as a rule be easily separated from the
essential doctrines of Islam, and in most cases they have not affected
the general character of the religion. This is due to the religion as
first conceived by Mohammed having been clear in its essential points,
and it is these points rather than the accretions that have left such a
strong mark upon the body of Mussulmans. The _paighambari_, more than
any other doctrine or expression of doctrine, brings out with intense
plainness the fundamental distinction between the Mussulman and the
Christian, that enormous divergence of view regarding the moral law which
lies at the root of almost all their differences in subordinate theories
and tenets. So when we are discussing the influence of Mohammedan ideas
upon character, it is well to remember that sects which do not hold this
theory of the _paighambari_ ought to be regarded separately.
There are in Persia sects which are only nominally Mussulman, and
which largely owe their origin to non-Mohammedan sources. The Sūfis,
for instance, are only half Mohammedan, and their philosophy is really
pantheistic. Sufis are to be found in Yezd, but there are not very many
serious ones, and the sect has largely lost its direct influence in the
country. But the Babis, of whom the Behāī branch is rapidly spreading
everywhere throughout the Persian towns, have been influenced by Sufi
ideas to a much greater extent than have the orthodox Shiahs, who, we
agreed, are not pantheistic. Perhaps some professing Behāīs are really
very near to the Sufis in ideas, but this is not the case with the more
orthodox, who, though they have modified the fundamental doctrines of
Mohammedanism in such a way as to remove the gulf between God and the
prophet, have not produced a theology which is free from the obvious
defects of that of Islam. The Behāī appears to hold that the superior
prophet, that is, the book-bearer, is in every case an incarnation of
the Deity, but he goes on to say that there is an absolute distinction
between the prophet and his people; for the book-bearer is God, and the
people are not God; nor are they, so far as I can understand, capable of
receiving the Spirit of God, either from the prophet or directly from God
Himself. They can only be impressed by the prophet as wax is impressed
by a seal. Whether this doctrine is really Behāu’llah’s or not, it was
certainly given to me by men who ought to have known the truth about the
Behāī faith.
The adherents of this sect in Persia are now exceedingly numerous, and
many people believe that in the end the whole country will become Behāī;
so the question whether the Behāīs are more reliable than the orthodox
Shiahs has become an important one. Certainly they teach a cleaner and
purer doctrine on points of ethics; but what Persia needs is not so
much a higher moral teaching, but rather a higher basis for morality. A
religion that puts the commandment not to steal on the same level as the
direction not to stew your dates but to fry them, will never produce the
high characters that are to be found in such communities as the Parsi. It
would be irreverent to compare such a faith with the religion given to us
by the Saviour.
During the late Behāī massacre, I had the opportunity of discussing
what was going on with a Behāī _muballigh_, that is, an authorised Behāī
teacher and missionary. I have no intention of unnecessarily dwelling on
the ghastly horrors that were then being perpetrated, but a few details
are unavoidable. The Behāī sectaries were not at that time being executed
before the _mujtahids_, but were being torn in pieces by the crowd. What
had excited the people was not simply religious feeling, but it was very
largely the statement by the clerical authorities that the goods of
the Behāīs were “lawful,” that is, that any one might plunder them who
cared to do so. The attacks were often made by men who had lived for a
long while in close companionship with the Behāīs, knowing them all the
time to be members of the sect, and yet consorting and eating with them
freely. Holes were bored in the heads of some of these poor wretches
with awls, oil was then poured into the hole and lighted. Other forms
of torture were used about which one cannot write. Women and children
were very seldom actually killed, but were fearfully ill-treated, and
sometimes left to die of starvation. It was reported that in one of the
villages Babi children died within full sight of the villagers, after
waiting for days under the trees where their murdered parents had left
them.
The Behāī _muballigh_ with whom I was talking was certainly well aware,
in a general way, of what was going on; yet I could not get him to see
that these things, done in the name of religion to his own sect, were
in themselves wrong, and that man’s eyes had been opened, or could be
opened, to their essential wrongness. Of course he maintained that the
action of the Mussulmans was evil, but his reason was that, in the first
place, those persecuted were spiritually right, and, in the second
place, even had they not been so, the last book-bearer, the Behāu’llah,
had promulgated a Divine commandment that there was to be no religious
persecution. I then asked him if such persecution could again become
lawful if another book-bearer appeared and promulgated a different
commandment. He answered that it was impossible for another book-bearer
to appear for a long period. I then asked him if he would accept a new
book-bearer, who, besides satisfying the other conditions, exhibited a
text in one of the previously received Scriptures, stating that one day
in God’s sight is as a thousand years. He replied that, if such a verse
could be shown, and the other conditions were satisfied, such a man might
be accepted to-morrow, even although he taught a doctrine similar to that
of Mohammed about religious persecution and other matters of the same
sort.
Now there are three points to be noted by those who expect great things
of the Behāī movement. First of all, the Behāīs accept the whole of the
Jewish and Christian Scriptures, which, of course, include a verse of the
kind above mentioned. Secondly, they have already had three book-bearers;
the Bab, who was the original founder of the Babi sects, and who not
only exhibited a Divine book, but also claimed to be the resurrection of
Mohammed in the same way that Mohammed was the resurrection of Jesus;
Subhi Azal, whom for some years they recognised as the Bab’s successor;
and lastly, Behāu’llah, whom the Behāīs now hold to be the only major
prophet of the three. Thirdly, the Behāīs, in attempting to prove that
the Bab was a lesser prophet and a mere forerunner of the Behāu’llah, and
also that Subhi Azal was never a really great personage, have seriously
falsified their records. The reader who desires further information
on this subject cannot do better than consult Professor E. G. Browne’s
admirable introduction to his translation of the _Tārīkhi Jadīd_.
The Bab, who came forward rather less than a century ago, was a young
Shirazi Persian, a Seyid of the merchant class, whose real name was Ali
Mohammed. The Shaikhi sect were at that time predicting the appearance of
a great religious leader, and the Bab came forward claiming to be this
prophet. He called himself the Bab, or Gate of Knowledge, and was at
first supposed by his followers to be the Gate of Access to the Mehdi;
but he seems to have used these terms in a very broad and allegorical
fashion, and to have held the doctrine of the essential unity of all
book-bearers. He later declared himself to be the Mehdi, and also to be
the Gate of Access to One Whom God should manifest.
The movement caused a great deal of fighting in Persia, and though the
Babis were acting on the defensive, there is very little doubt that they
had harboured political designs. The Bab, however, differs from Mohammed
in having been, so far as we can judge, primarily a religious reformer,
and having done his best to make the movement as spiritual as possible.
His followers were treated with the most barbarous severity, and he
himself was after a few years put to death. Before this he appointed
Subhi Azal, one of his followers, to be his successor, and for a few
years this man was received as “He Whom God should manifest.” Later
on, Subhi Azal’s half-brother, the Behāu’llah, managed to get himself
accepted as head of the sect. Many of the followers of Subhi Azal
were assassinated, and the sect was re-organised with some important
differences. It now purports to be absolutely non-political, and the
teaching has become more simple and practical. The Behāīs are anxious
to retain the use of the _Quran_, so as to preserve their claim to
toleration, although they imagine that the law of the _Quran_ no longer
stands, its place having been taken by a later revelation. Partially to
avoid inconsistency in this matter, and partially to keep before the
minds of the Mussulmans the possibility of one really divine book being
replaced by another, they encourage the reading of all the Scripture
considered divine by Mohammedans, that is, not only the _Quran_, but
also the whole of the Christian Bible, nor do they generally call the
authenticity of the extant version in question.
Behāīism is obviously an attempt to adapt Islam to the exigencies of
modern circumstances, taking advantage of the special tenets of the
Shiahs. The North of Persia is being at present rapidly overrun by
Russia, and even in the South the Persian feels that he is on the eve
of political changes. The Behāīs consider that they have a creed which
enables them to meet the foreigner without continual jar and offence.
In this they are right, for they do not veil their women, they do not
consider infidels unclean, and they go further than does the broadest
Shiah in the matter of respect to other forms of faith. Some orthodox
Shiahs accept the Jewish and Christian Scriptures as they stand, without
pressing the story that the Jews and Christians altered their books to
suit their own purposes. Almost all Persians are open to argument on this
point, though most will say that to those possessed of the _Quran_ the
perusal of former Scriptures is unnecessary. But the Behāīs hold that,
unless started by a real prophet, no religion can possibly survive, and
consequently they allow to even the grossest forms of idolatry a divine
origin, and the possession of a certain substratum of truth.
In Persia there can never have been that almost impenetrable wall of
dogmatic assertion and self-assurance which seems to exist in many
Sunni lands, but something of the kind is to be found throughout Islam.
As the self-satisfaction of the Behāī is almost as strong as that of
the Sunni, and infinitely stronger than that of the Shiah, it seems a
paradox to say that Babiism has given us in Persia a prepared soil for
missionary work. The fact is that the field prepared is not amongst the
Babis themselves, but amongst the Shiahs who have been in touch with
Babis, and are nevertheless unconvinced. Consequently it is a field which
cannot be expected to last for ever, but of which advantage ought to be
taken immediately, for it is very seldom that we find so exceptional an
opportunity given to us for attacking Mohammedanism on its own ground.
In Yezd the Behāīs have attached to themselves many of the most
enlightened Mussulmans. The teaching of the sect about behaviour and
practice is not bad, though, in matters connected with women, there is an
inclination to adopt customs that are rather dangerous considering the
low moral atmosphere. The tendency to minimise the miraculous element
in religion is not altogether wholesome, and some professing Babis are
inclined to a rather crude rationalism, the end of which it is difficult
to foresee. This tendency is perhaps fostered by the peculiar manner of
interpreting the sacred books, a method difficult to describe, as it
fluctuates between the wildest flights of metaphor, and the lowest depths
of puerile literalism, the balance between the two being decided by a
very determined preconception of what ought to be. To give a specimen of
this, it was seriously urged in a Behāī pamphlet, reviewed and summarised
by the Rev. W. A. Rice in the _Church Missionary Intelligencer_, that
Isaiah xxv. 6-9, where God is described as making “unto all people a
feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the lees, of fat things full of
marrow, of wines on the lees well refined,” refers to the entertaining
of visitors by Behāu’llah during his banishment at Acre. The “wines on
the lees well refined” are the tea, which Persians generally pour through
a small strainer. The passage also refers to the fact that God “will
swallow up death in victory,” and will “wipe away all tears from off all
faces; and the rebuke of His people shall He take away from off all the
earth.” To this part only a spiritual interpretation is given.
I tried before I left Persia to find out the impression that the sect
had made upon other Europeans, so as not to give a one-sided opinion
about them. Personally, I came to the conclusion that, in matters
even remotely connected with religion, they were less truthful than
the ordinary Shiah, but that in the ordinary affairs of life they
were a trifle more reliable. Some other missionaries had a lower
opinion of their truthfulness, and most of those who had had business
dealings with them considered that they were not more trustworthy than
ordinary Mussulmans. My conclusion is that, though they may succeed in
establishing their creed in Persia, and may even make the Persians more
easy to deal with, they will not greatly alter the moral character of
the people. They have not done so hitherto, and an examination of their
faith shows that they cling, in the main, to the Mussulman theory of the
_paighambari_, or at any rate have not changed it for a doctrine which
gives a man more cogent reasons for adhering to an approved line of
conduct in times of difficulty.
The name given in Mohammed’s system to the state of the true believer
is _Islām_, which means “Resignation to God.” By this the Mussulman
seems to understand that he must not criticise the prophet, whatever
he may do or teach, and that in the same way he must accept everything
that happens as the will of God. A waiving of personal responsibility,
and an acceptance of all occurrences as the Divine intention, is to the
Persian an undoubted virtue. The steadfast pursuit of a purpose which has
been thwarted will often appear to him actually vicious, although such
persistency might be justified in his eyes by its success, which would
prove it to have been in harmony with God’s will.
The word which expresses the duty of the believer being _Islam_, or
resignation, the corresponding word used by the Mussulman to describe
his theory of the course of events is _taqdīr_, or predestination. There
is, as I have said, in Shiah dogma an attempt to modify the extreme
predestinarian doctrines of the Sunni. But these doctrines are so much an
integral part of Mohammedanism that it is impossible for the Mussulman,
Shiah or otherwise, to be anything but a gross fatalist. This then
completes the list of names under which the essential and fundamental
conceptions of Islam are taught, _Tauhid_, _Paighambari_, _Islam_, and
_Taqdir_.
There are also in Mohammedanism certain other doctrines which seem to
be part of the system, but which are not quite so fundamental as those
that have been stated. Some of these are not quite plain: it is very
difficult, for instance, to understand what was Mohammed’s teaching on
the forgiveness of sins, and there is great confusion of thought on this
point amongst his followers. Certainly an infidel becoming a Mussulman
has his sins forgiven, though he does not expect to receive any peculiar
strength for the future, but only a direction as to what God wants him to
do and to avoid. After this the motives of his actions will be _khauf u
jizā_, that is to say, the fear of Hell and the expectation of Heaven. He
will have to be punished in Hell for his sins according to their assessed
value, unless he has previously wiped them out, either by _savābs_, that
is, by works of merit, or by repentance. Repentance of a real kind is
supposed to have a certain value, though it is hard to state exactly
what that value is. Formal repentance, which does not in the mind of the
common Persian necessarily involve the giving up of such fruits of sin as
stolen articles, has also a certain value. But the most efficient way of
atoning for sin is by _savabs_. Finally no Mussulman, at any rate among
the Shiahs, would consider it justifiable to hold himself free from the
fear of Hell.
Punishment in Hell according to the Mussulman idea is not necessarily
everlasting, for most of the Persians believe that, by the intercession
of Mohammed, all his people will finally get to Heaven. But in Heaven
there are many grades, and the position of the individual will be
determined by the relative weight of his _savabs_ and sins. Properly,
a _savab_ is a work of supererogation considered as possessing merit;
but the word is often used less exactly for any action which will be
put to the account of a man as a good deed. I believe that Persian
Mohammedans when using this word almost universally accept the view that
the performance of a certain number of approved actions makes it less
necessary to adhere to the path of duty. Also, to put it crudely, the
good deed is not regarded as the gift of God to man, but as the gift
of man to God; and I feel convinced that the word is bound up with the
assumption that Heaven-seeking or the fear of Hell are the only possible
motives for right behaviour.
The ordinary Yezdi has no doubt that a non-Mussulman can do a _savab_,
especially if he benefits a Mussulman; and the belief that such a man if
he was a Jew or a Christian, could get to Heaven, would not be considered
very heretical.[4] Some Yezdis might allow that idolaters could get
to Heaven by _savabs_, but this would be considered a more dangerous
doctrine. The fact is that there was in Mohammed’s essential teaching a
very large amount of latitudinarianism, and this comes out in the common
ideas of Mussulmans who are not repressed by a system such as that of the
Sunnis.
The merit of an action is decided by the intention of the doer and not by
its result. This is brought out by a native story, framed for the purpose.
“One day a traveller came to a well, where he dismounted, fastened his
animal to a pin, and satisfied his thirst. As he returned to his animal
it occurred to him that it would be a _savab_ to leave the pin behind,
for other travellers who might wish to tether their beasts. The next to
arrive at the well was a man on foot, who, being very thirsty and in a
hurry, fell over the pin. This man threw the pin down the well, so as
to prevent any one else from having a similar accident. A learned man in
the neighbourhood was asked which of the two did the _savab_, the man who
left the pin or the man who threw it away. He answered, ‘Both, for their
intentions were equally good.’”
That there is truth in this teaching is obvious, but the story ignores
the necessity of taking thought and pains, so that one’s impulses may
not do more harm than good. This is always ignored in Persia, and I
think I am right in putting it down to the teaching connected with the
use of the word. Large sums of money are given for the poor, and yet the
alleviation of poverty is very small; and the same sort of thing happens
in other branches of philanthropy. The gift once given, the donor loses
all interest in its bestowal; funds are squandered on the most paltry
objects, and the general effect seems to be that money given in this
way becomes money wasted. Charity is also much vitiated in Persia by
unpractical, and in many cases superstitious ideas. To give alms to a
Seyid is a greater _savab_ than to help an ordinary beggar, so a large
proportion of the philanthropy of Persia goes to support a begging class,
who are in every way a burden, and in some ways a danger to society. The
Seyids are also more lightly punished, and consider themselves outside
the reach of the very small amount of justice that exists. Again, it is
more meritorious to give on a Thursday, as the eve of the Friday holiday,
or on the eve of a feast, than on an ordinary day; and lastly, the people
expect that they will amass more merit by giving microscopic sums to all
comers than by giving more effective assistance to a limited number.
As I have said, the doctrine connected with _savabs_ acknowledges only
two motives of action, the fear of punishment and the expectation
of reward, and it is not allowed that any other motive can possibly
exist. Persian women are very inquisitive, and one day some of them
were questioning the ladies of the Yezd mission as to what they ate for
breakfast. When it transpired that the others ate eggs and one did not,
the remark was immediately made, “You see she is trying to get a higher
place in Heaven.” At another time when my wife was trying to explain to
some women that we do not look to works of merit to secure salvation, she
was met by the answer, “But the _Hakīm Khānum_ (lady doctor) does; or
why should she have taken all that trouble about the Seyid’s wife when
she was ill?”
Shiahs often consider that by letting others do a _savab_ for them
they confer a favour greater than they themselves receive. One might
imagine that this would only apply to benefactors who agreed with their
religious notions; but even if you can convince a Shiah that you do not
believe in the possibility of winning Heaven by _savabs_, he will reply,
very logically, that your want of faith does not prevent the fact being
true, and that it is absurd to expect him to be grateful because of
your unbelief in facts. I remember trying to make a very badly-behaved
youngster, who was in the school under my charge, see that we had some
reason to expect more gratitude from him, as we had really taken great
trouble with him, and Christians did not think it necessary to do such
things for the sake of their future welfare. His answer was that if we
did not consider that _savabs_ were necessary Mussulmans did.
_Savabs_ are not necessarily good actions, but almost all actions which
are directly kind are included in the term. So although the doctrine
connected with _savabs_ is not in every way a good thing, it still has
a certain value. Of course it is true that men who are anxious to do
big _savabs_ in order to wipe off the sins of very evil lives generally
choose non-ethical ones. During the late Babi massacre a soldier found a
Yezdi who was dragging about another man, and trying to make out whether
he was really a Behāī. “You see,” he said, “I have been a wicked man all
my life, and have never said my prayers or done any other _savabs_, so,
unless I can do a big _savab_, I shall certainly go to Hell. If this
man is a Babi, I mustn’t let him go, for if I kill an infidel of course
I shall go straight to Heaven.” Nevertheless the ordinary _savab_ is a
kind action, and in the idea of their efficacy we get something almost
corresponding to a moral principle. Sometimes indeed the Persian’s
conception of a work of merit tends to correct and check the worse
commandments of his code. For instance, although the killing of a Babi
as an infidel may be considered a _savab_, the saving of a life, even if
it is the life of the same Babi, may also be held a meritorious act of a
different kind.
That the Persian’s notions as to what constitutes an act of merit are a
saving clause in his religion I have no doubt at all. I am, however,
not quite certain whether this saving clause properly belongs to
Mohammedanism, for it bears on the face of it a family likeness to the
doctrines of superior systems, and it will not quite fit into the system
of Islam. The rest of the Shiah ideas about Heaven, Hell, the efficacy of
_savabs_, and repentance, seem to be really Mussulman, though everything
is not quite coherent. Perhaps the fact is that in these points Mohammed
was an opportunist, and taught any doctrine which he thought would make
people obedient to his law. He was careful not to expect too much, and,
while keeping his followers as long as possible in a state of uncertainty
as to their salvation, he tried never to shut the door on hope. So it is
questionable whether either the teaching of the Quran, or the ideas of
the Persians on these subjects, could possibly be presented in a quite
consistent form.
I have tried to enumerate in this chapter just those doctrines which form
the original philosophy or theology upon which everything in Islam rests,
and to show that not only does the ordinary Shiah Yezdi accept them _in
toto_, but that, with the one small exception that has been stated, all
his fundamental beliefs are to be found in this category. Of course
these ideas are a much more serious part of a religion than is a code of
commandments that is not believed to be permanent. Indeed it is quite
possible that greater laxity in the observance of such a code may be due
to a juster appreciation of the notions with which it was promulgated. To
say that Persia has not been greatly influenced by Mohammedanism because
the Persians get drunk in their houses, is shallow criticism. It is still
shallower to imagine that the fact that some of the Shiah ordinances are
in themselves laxer than the Sunni makes it plain that Persians are less
Mussulman than Turks and Indians.
For instance, the Shiahs have a custom of temporary marriages, according
to which it is lawful for a man, besides the four regular wives allowed
by Islam, to have as many inferior wives as he likes, contracting these
marriages for any length of time he pleases, from a few days upwards.
There is, however, a legal fiction by which these women are supposed
to be lowered to the rank of slaves, which ought to entirely remove
the Sunni objection; for, unless it can be proved that the temporary
ownership of a slave is impossible, it is very difficult to understand
why this evasion should not be considered quite legitimate according to
the undoubted principles of Mohammedanism. That there is a certain amount
of latitudinarianism in Shiah Islam is indisputable, but so there is in
the whole of Mohammed’s teaching and practice.
As a matter of fact his attitude towards Jews and Christians, and even
towards the idolaters, was largely opportunist. At one time he made
leagues with the Jews, promising that they should not be disturbed in
their religion; at other times he picked quarrels with them, and put
every one who would not accept Islam to the sword. This latitudinarianism
has found its way into the Quran itself, where a verse is to be found
telling Mohammedans that they may eat the food of “the people of
the book,” that is, of the people holding religions whose origin he
recognised as divine. The strict Shiahs in Yezd interpret this as meaning
dry food. They make a great distinction between wet and dry; only a few
years ago it was dangerous for an Armenian Christian to leave his suburb
and go into the bazaars in Isfahan on a wet day. “A wet dog is worse than
a dry dog.” Nevertheless, there are great differences of opinion on this
point, and most non-clerical Shiahs would take tea at any European’s
house. There was a Shiah woman who used to freely take tea at the house
of a Christian lady, the lady herself making it and pouring it out, but
she refused to use the tea-glasses used in the same house by Babi women.
Another Shiah lent a donkey for a Christian lady, but told her that he
could not use it again if she allowed her Parsi nurse to ride upon it.
And yet it is more easy to get the Mussulmans to eat food with the Parsis
than with the Jews, whose religion ranks higher than Zoroastrianism in
the popular regard, though they themselves are specially despised by
the Mohammedans. This curious mixture of breadth and bigotry is only
explicable on the assumption that the Shiah’s main ideal is exactly that
opportunist position which was taken up by Mohammed during his lifetime.
Perhaps we ought not to leave this subject without discussing rather
more fully the assertion which has been made about the Persian Shiahs,
that they have changed the doctrine of the unity of God for a loose
pantheism, and have dethroned the Quran for the utterance of Sufi poets.
That the Persians as a race have an extreme veneration for Sufi poetry,
which contains expressions of questionable orthodoxy, cannot well be
called in question; but before discussing the more serious part of the
allegation, it is necessary to thoroughly understand about whom it is
stated; for there are small Shiah sects, of whom it is quite true that
they are only half Mussulman, but these are very different from the sect
which is at present predominant in Persia, and which in Yezd at any rate
does not appear to lack veneration for the Quran. One point, however,
must be granted, and that is, that all Persian Mussulmans, orthodox or
otherwise, are often led to express acquiescence in a statement which
appears to be in itself correct, however opposed it may be to the general
tenor of their other beliefs. The fact is that they do not easily see
a contradiction, and this has made it possible for the Shiah to accept
poetry which he would otherwise have absolutely rejected. I do not myself
know a single Christian doctrine to which I could not get most Shiahs
to agree, if I was careful to state it in language with which they were
familiar, and not to dwell on its divergence from the Mussulman idea.
But doctrines so allowed to pass, whether Christian or Sufi, would have
no strength against the system of Islam, which most Yezdis have grasped
as an integral whole. The general plan of Mussulman doctrine, constructed
as it was for inhabitants of a desert, is peculiarly comprehensible to
people like the Yezdis, who are accustomed to isolated objects and ideas,
and are slow at grasping a too elaborately connected argument. For the
system of Islam is not elaborately connected: that there is a general
consistency in it, is true, but the consistency is like that of a certain
housewife’s accounts, in which a large number of items were entered
under the heading of “forgets.” The accounts were true and accurate, but
they were not highly instructive. Similarly in Islam a large variety
of commandments have been labelled, “commandments for the age of
Moses,” or “commandments for the age of Mohammed,” and the doctrine of
the _paighambari_ is so formulated as to make further systematisation
unnecessary. This being a scheme of arrangement which a Persian can
understand, it has laid hold of his mind to a peculiar degree. Phrases
and expressions that are opposed to it, he will often accept, but their
influence on his behaviour is exceedingly small. The thing which
dominates him, and will, unless explicitly resisted and combated, always
continue to dominate him, is Islam and Islam alone.
Before going on to discuss in another chapter some other important
aspects of the Yezdi’s religion, it will be well to consider how the
whole Mussulman theory has affected his character. First of all, it has
made him even more disposed to unconnected and disjunctive views of life
than he would otherwise have been. This becomes plain when we compare him
with his fellow-townsmen who have been in touch with other religions.
Secondly, we find that he possesses a very low view of the value of
morality, which in Mohammedanism has no unique place, but is only one
of the ways of attaining salvation. Another way is through accuracy of
religious observance, and, when a Persian takes to this, he generally
abandons any attempt to live straight. Residents in the country are well
aware of this, and are justly inclined to distrust a man who is very
particular about his prayers and ceremonial duties.
I must ask the reader to pardon me if I have said in this chapter
anything which appears disrespectful to Mohammedanism. In trying to
record facts and to correctly weigh impressions, one cannot avoid frankly
stating what has been forcibly brought before both mind and eyes, even
though the things stated may not be exactly what they are expected to
be. The fact is that Islam has ruined Persia; and it is not fair to the
real character of the people to underrate the effect that this religion
has produced on them. As to Mohammed, I believe that I have stated
nothing about him which is not a matter of common knowledge. Doubtless
the author who starts with the determination to write an interesting and
sympathetic book, will be able, by selecting his incidents, to convey a
more favourable impression, just as a criminal lawyer may be able to find
much in favour of even a guilty client; but the historical critic who
starts on the examination of Mohammed’s history without any pre-judgment
must necessarily find it difficult not to come to a very unfavourable
conclusion. The Arabian prophet headed a monotheistic movement which
had started without him, and which would have probably succeeded to a
very large extent whether he had touched it or not, and to this movement
he did a great deal of damage without making any serious ethical
contribution. It may be readily admitted that Mohammed was an attractive
person, and that he possessed other great gifts, one of which was unusual
eloquence. He seems to have been an enthusiast who in his worst moments
absolutely believed in himself and in his mission, and there is no doubt
that he drew into his company, both by persuasion and violence, men who
might have looked askance at a more spiritual leader. But those who want
to know what Islam does for a people who accept it had better compare
the Yezdi Mussulman with the Yezdi Parsi. The Parsis have a curious and
interesting religion, the main point of which seems to be the belief that
God has created all things of the four elements, and that He therefore
expects from all His creatures a reverential and sympathetic treatment
of one another. The religion is Gospelless, it is coated over with gross
superstitions, and it has the very great defect of being so elementary
in its teaching that there is a strong tendency amongst its professors
to deny revelation altogether, and to become simply rationalists. For
all this the Zoroastrian Parsi possesses, as a rule, a strong moral
character, which, when he becomes a Mohammedan, is almost always lost
in a few generations. Unfortunately, the Behāī movement is just now
attracting a large number of Zoroastrians, and is becoming a serious
danger; for the Behāī, whatever he may say to the contrary, is really
a Mussulman, and his system, in which opportunism takes the place of
the doctrine of the growth of the moral law, retains most of the more
serious defects of Islam. However, as the majority of the Yezdi Parsis
are not likely to become Behāīs, it is a matter for congratulation that
any European power that may have to solve the problem of establishing
good government in Southern Persia will find ready to hand a considerable
community of this intelligent and interesting people in at least one of
the Persian towns.