These facts show that, even in the present day, and with the competition of Christian missionary societies, Islám may be a power for good in poor communities—that it can not only give them a pure instead of a degraded faith, but can raise them socially and intellectually. The effects of a simple form of Islám on these African converts may give one some notion of its influence on its hearers in the early days, before the theologians had corrupted it.
But this good influence is very partial and limited, even among the poorer classes. In communities where all are poor, Islám is an excellent agent for improvement; but in countries where there are many grades of wealth and rank, the poor only ape in a humble manner the vices of those whom they are taught to regard as their ‘betters.’ In all civilised and wealthy countries the social system of Islám exerts a ruinous influence on all classes, and if there is to be any great future for the Mohammadan world, that system of society must be done away.
THE WOMAN’S CAUSE IS MAN’S; THEY RISE OR SINK TOGETHER, DWARFED OR GODLIKE, BOND OR FREE.
The Muslim who reads the Ḳur-án is like the orange-fruit, whose smell and taste are sweet; and the Muslim who reads not the Ḳur-án is like the date, which hath no smell, but its taste is sweet; and the Hypocrite who reads not the Ḳur-án is like the colocynth, without a smell, and with a bitter taste; and the Hypocrite who reads it is like the sweet bazil, whose smell is sweet, but its taste bitter.—_Tradition._
It is an immense merit in the Ḳur-án that there is no doubt as to its genuineness. The ‘Word of the Lord’ came to Moḥammad, and he uttered it, and the people wrote it down or committed it to memory; and that very word we can now read with full confidence that it has remained unchanged through nearly thirteen hundred years.
The revelations came to Moḥammad in many ways and at all times, but never ‘in visions bright, transcendant, exalted. They came ghastly, weird, most horrible. After long solitary broodings, a something used to move Moḥammad, all of a sudden, with frightful vehemence. He “roared like a camel,” his eyes rolled and glowed like red coals, and on the coldest day terrible perspirations would break out all over his body. When the terror ceased, it seemed to him as if he had heard bells ringing, “the sound whereof seemed to rend him to pieces”—as if he had heard the voice of a man—as if he had seen Gabriel—or as if words _had been written in his heart_. Such was the agony he endured, that some of the verses revealed to him well-nigh made his hair turn white.’