The central conceptual theme pursued in this essay relates to the intersection and interaction of textual traditions such as Qur’an commentaries, ritual performances like oral sermons, and the articulation and formation of religious identity in medieval Islam. I explore this theme through a careful reading of the first extant Persian Qur’an commentary in the Imami Shiʿi tradition, that of the renowned twelfth-century scholar, Abu al-Futuh Razi (d. 1144 CE) titled The Cool Breeze of Paradise and Breath for the Soul (Rawd al-Jinan wa Rawh al-Janan fi tafsir al-Qur’an) (1986), and composed during the reign of the Seljuq dynasty (roughly between 1050–1225 CE). While focusing on Razi’s Qur’an commentary, I explore and highlight some of the ways in which discursive practices like the composition and oral performance of Qur’an commentaries anticipated and generated particular forms of pre-modern publics. More specifically, I will try to highlight ways in which the employment of narrative techniques as part of exegetical performances helped curate particular understandings and imaginaries of the public in this moment. The dramatic literary style, informal Persian idiom, and colorful narrative and poetic content of the tafsir, I argue, are telling signs of the kinds of listeners that the tafsir both addressed and sought to cultivate. The main contribution of this essay lies therefore in elevating our understanding of the mutually reinforcing dynamic between text and ritual in the curation of pre-modern Muslim publics. Namely, through a close reading of Razi’s exegesis I show the interaction of Qur’an exegesis, Shiʿi rituals of remembrance, and the cultivation of distinct sensorial reactions and capacities – an important medium for the narration, transmission, and indeed determination of religious identities.
In this essay, I approach the idea of the public as a narrative category. Rather than ascribe to it an unchanging and fixed reality, I ask how different narrative techniques might be employed for the very assemblage of a public. I focus on Razi’s twelfth-century Persian Shiʿi tafsir to explore this relationship, between features of a narrated public and the text within which it is conceived. I argue that this work is a crucial site for tracking the emergence of a distinct public since it conjoins Qur’anic hermeneutics as an exercise in textual interpretation and oral ritual telling. So, whereas previous commentators may have been writing exclusively for scholarly audiences, a figure like Razi functioned explicitly as a preacher as well, contributing to the vibrant culture of Twelver Shiʿi ritual life during this moment. (Ardehali 2018: 261–2). Razi’s Qur’an commentary thus captures the relocation of the Qur’an from Arabic to Persian, on the one hand, and from written text to public oral sermon, on the other. This work then marks the movement of the “place of exegesis”, from madrasa or the Islamic seminary to the mosque, from the scholar’s podium to the preacher’s pulpit. The central points I want to make by highlighting this shift are as follows. First, that it had the effect of establishing “narrative” as the primary mode through which to interpret the Qur’an. Second, narrative as a hermeneutical device, as a technique for argument, sought to evoke and enlist particular kinds of affective responses (like delight) from the public/audience. And third, that it was precisely through the adoption of Persian as the primary language that both the use of narrative and its evocation of affective responses were achieved.
What are the stakes of a narrative approach to tafsir, particularly when conducted in the Persian vernacular? Scholars have correctly noted its significance with regard to an increase in accessibility, or its ability to reach a wider public. But what are the sensorial and affective stakes, implications, and consequences of a tradition of Qur’an commentary designed for sermonic delivery? More specifically, how do sensorial effects such as the “pleasure of listening” or “delight” it engenders for listeners lend a Qur’an commentary like Razi’s the social currency that in turn contributes to and ensures its circulation? And finally, might the Persian idiom and narrative style also allow for tafsir to generate a rich repertoire of literature in which varied genres are brought together, and in doing so, serve as the collective memory for the public it seeks not only to address but also call into being? These are among the questions taken up and addressed in what follows, through a close reading of major fragments of Razi’s The Cool Breeze. But first, a brief introduction to this text and its context.
Exegetical Performance
Razi’s commentary served the dual role of explanatory written text and oral ritual telling, while establishing its authority in each of these contexts. This it did in the backdrop of a flourishing Qur’an economy of twelfth-century Rayy under the Seljuqs (r. between 1050–1225 CE). By “Qur’an economy”, I mean the immense social capital of the Qur’an as a discursive and material object that moved through society in a host of different mediums and forms. Bringing attention to this context pushes us to approach the production of Persian Qur’an translation and commentary not as independent events relevant only to the textual history of the Qur’an, but as part of a wider development: the significant rise in the Qur’an’s circulation during this period. For instance, while certainly not new phenomena, we see heightened activity at this time in the Qur’an’s movement into various domains of life: its inscription onto artistic objects (Ettinghausen 1970), its translation into other languages, and its being studied in newly established spaces of learning. 1 No doubt, the institutionalization of religious academies during this period further amplified the possible circuits and networks through which the Qur’an could circulate. These varied modes through which the Qur’an traveled critically informed how it was imagined conceptually, approached materially, and performed ritually.
Composed in Razi’s native city of Rayy in northern Iran, The Cool Breeze boasts a series of distinct features that have contributed to its fame and popularity not only at the time of its composition but even today. 2 It is, first and foremost, identified as the earliest Imami tafsir in the Persian language to have survived in its totality. This has made the work a point of scholarly attention and discussion, particularly in relation to how it compares to other Persian commentaries of this period – almost all of which were otherwise composed in the Northeastern province of Khurasan. The very first Persian commentary is the translation of Tabari’s Jami‘ al-Bayan in 962 CE. It was not until a century later that other works followed including the Karrami Tafsir-i-Surabadi of al-Surabadi (d. 1091 CE), the Taj al-Tarajim of al-Isfara’ini (d. 1078 CE), and the Sufi Kashf al-Asrar of al-Maybudi (d. 1135 CE).
A common feature found in Persian exegetical works of this period is that of a concerted attempt to access a public beyond the scholarly elite. This goal also permeated Razi’s exegesis and was facilitated by his role as a preacher in Rayy, a city that was home to numerous institutions of education (al-Qazwini 1980: 34–6, 41; Radawi 2012: 71–86; Ansari 2016: 460–71). Razi composed his exegesis in a context of ever-expanding spaces of pedagogical activity that included Islamic seminaries or madrasas but also multiple other venues. For instance, ʿAbd al-Jalil Qazwini (d. 1170 CE), the famous theologian who was a contemporary of Razi and also a resident of Rayy, informs us in his well-known text, Kitab al-Naqd, that the teaching of religious texts took place in the numerous mosques, colleges and libraries scattered throughout the city. Qazwini further notes that not only did Razi occupy the institutional space of the madrasa; moreover, his intellectual output, such as his twenty-volume Persian Qur’an commentary, traveled along these very same circuits of religious education (al-Qazwini 1980: 41). Thus, textual artifacts circulated and were amplified through their performance in orally mediated public spaces of learning, pedagogy, and intellectual exchange.
In this article I argue that Razi’s role as a preacher inspired the way in which he imagined and organized the written content of his exegesis. At the heart of his exegesis was an attempt to present particular issues and conundrums in the Qur’an in a manner that was not only accessible to a broader public but that also aligned with the art and mode of oral performance. Razi did not concern himself exclusively with explaining the “meaning” of a given verse or with justifying his use of the anecdotes and narratives that he cites. Rather, by employing narrative as a hermeneutical device, Razi sought to evoke and enlist particular kinds of affective responses (like delight) from the audience. Indeed, translation for Razi was not only a means of transferring the Qur’an into a new language. Rather, translation in itself represented a vehicle for rendering the written text of exegesis into an oral performance that might connect with and affect the sensibilities of the audience. To summarize my point: the discursive exercise of composing an exegesis of the Qur’an was inextricably tied with the ritual process and practice of delivering public sermons. Let me illustrate with some examples.
An Oral-Textual Qur’an Commentary
In a telling example, Razi cites a report concerning Junayd Baghdadi as part of his discussion of verse 3:54 (Razi 1988, vol. 4: 346): “The [disbelievers] schemed but God also schemed; God is the Best of Schemers (wa makaru wa makar Allah wa Allah khayr al-makirin)”. A questioner asks Junayd why God was plotting, to which Junayd replies: “I don’t know what you’re asking but let me recite a poem for you”. He proceeded to recite a poem to which the questioner responded, obviously bemused: “I ask you the meaning of Qur’anic verse and you reply with a poem?” Junayd replied that he has to talk to the questioner in the language that the latter can understand. Clearly, Razi’s mobilization of this anecdote was intimately connected to his own use of the Persian and poetic idiom as a way to reach a wider readership, as it was also meant to authorize poetry as a critical component of the exegetical toolkit.
A second feature in the narrative style of Razi’s Qur’an commentary that illustrates particularly well the conjoining of the oral and the textual is reflected in his frequent use of shifting subject voices. Let me explain. On several occasions in the exegesis, Razi’s preacher voice can be discerned. In these moments, the prose acquires a rhythmic quality producing tight and simple echoes. In addition, and perhaps most strikingly, Razi at times goes a step further by taking on the direct voice of God or the Prophet, such that the exegete serves as God’s ventriloquist. For instance, in his commentary on verse 3:5, “nothing on earth or in heaven is hidden from God (inna Allaha la yakhfaʿalayhi shay’un fi al-ardi wala fi al-sama’i)” Razi punctuated the concept of divine sovereignty by adopting the divine voice and declared: “… from a piece of flesh of the eye I make sight; from a piece of the bone of the ear I make hearing; and from a piece of the flesh of the tongue I make speaking and from a drop of blood of the heart I make wisdom” (ibid.: 171). Noteworthy here is the way Razi dramatizes and personalizes here a saying of ʿAli ibn Abi Talib, recorded in the famous Peak of Eloquence (Nahj al-Balagha) which states: “Behold the wonder of the human! He sees with a bit of fat, speaks with a piece of flesh, hears with a shard of bone, and breathes through a tiny hole!” (Qutbuddin 2024: 681).
Thus, by adopting the voice of God, Razi took creative license with the original form and structure of the Qur’an and the sayings of the Imams. In addition, channeling the divine voice allows Razi to convey the meaning of the Qur’an while engaging the audience in direct address. This technique of adopting the divine voice was not unique to Razi. In his important study titled The Vernacular Qur’an, Travis Zadeh has shown (2012) that this was a common feature in other Persian commentaries of the Qur’an of this period as well. Yet, for Razi, the process of weaving in and out of various subject positions represented a particularly effective strategy in the oral setting of the mosque and more specifically the pulpit where his narrative techniques were also being staged.
The Prophetic Ventriloquist
Let me illustrate this point further with another example from Razi’s commentary: his discussion of the iconic and controversial verse 3:7 in Surah Al ʿImran which reads: “No one but God knows the ta’wil of these, and those who have a firm footing in knowledge (Wa ma ya‘lamu ta’wilahu illa Allahu wa al-rasikhun fi’lʿilm)”. The central question that occupied Razi’s (and indeed most interpreters’) exegetical energies with reference to this verse was this: who are these people who are “firm in knowledge”?
Razi’s position on this question is unambiguous. In accordance with his Imami commitments, Razi declares that the “firm in knowledge” refers to the Family of the Prophet. 3 But beyond the question of confirming sectarian commitments, what is particularly worthy of examination is the question of how he makes this point. In assembling his case, Razi first presents a report cited by the noted Sunni scholar and jurist, Malik ibn Anas (d. 795 CE). In it, the Prophet is asked, who are the firm in knowledge? The Prophet responds, not with any names but with the following description: “he whose testimony is truthful, whose tongue is sincere, whose heart is upright, and whose stomach and genitals are pure, this is the person who is firm in knowledge” (Razi 1988, vol. 4: 184–5). Note that Razi first cites this report in Arabic and then translates it into Persian. In the Persian translation, he adds the following statement: “These are the traits of the infallible ones (in sifat-i maʿsuman ast)”.
Next, Razi reports that some scholars say
the firm in knowledge is the person who possesses four characteristics: piety and restraint in regards to that which is between him and God, modesty in that which is between him and humanity, asceticism in regards to that which is between him and the world, and struggle in regards to that which is between him and his lower self. (Razi 1988, vol. 4: 185)
Razi does not cite this report in Arabic but only in Persian. And once again, at the end he adds, “these are also from the traits of the infallible ones (wa in ham az sirat-i ma‘suman ast)” (ibid.). This same report is cited by al-Thaʿlabi in his Kashf al-Bayan and it is the only line that Razi takes from al-Thaʿlabi to explain verse 3:7. This is significant because in most other parts of Razi’s commentary, al-Thaʿlabi’s tafsir is so heavily relied upon that it functions almost like the foundation on which Razi then adds his own exegetical frame. But when it came to explaining 3:7, a verse with obvious sectarian implications, Razi felt it important to depart from al-Thaʿlabi. In short, Razi was avid in his mobilization of Sunni sources while formulating his exegetical arguments. But rather than interpreting this use of rival sources as a case of assimilating to the dominant power structures of his time, I propose that we can read this as a moment when the discursive tools of the powerful are strategically mobilized in order to create “sameness” as a mode of resistance. The objective of such an exercise should be neither to establish Sunni or Muʿtazili “influence” over Shiʿi exegesis nor to uncover an authentic Shiʿism cleansed from external influences. Rather, what is required is a careful reading of how Shiʿi exegetes engaged and wrestled with important themes and questions brought into view by competing schools and particular historical conjunctures.
Razi then cites a powerful excerpt of ʿAli’s advice to Kumayl ibn Ziyad (d. 701CE), one of ʿAli’s most intimate companions, first in its original Arabic to be immediately followed with his Persian translation.
Kumayl ibn Ziyad said that one day ʿAli took my hand and took me outside Kufa and when I reached the desert, he let out a cold sigh from a warm heart and said: our hearts are repositories, the best one is the one which is most vigilant. So preserve well what I will (now) say to you. People are of three types: the noble scholars, the teachers on the path of salvation and then the lowest of men who follows every new trumpeter and follows the wind wherever it blows; they are not enlightened by the light of knowledge and don’t seek refuge in any reliable support. O Kumayl, knowledge guards you while you have to guard wealth; wealth diminishes with spending whereas knowledge increases with spending. Love of knowledge is din because it is through it that you worship God. Your obedience is perfected by it in life and remembrance and praise are made beautiful by it after death. Knowledge is sovereign while wealth is its subject. O Kumayl when the treasurers of wealth are alive, they are [actually] dead, and when the scholars are dead, they are [actually] alive till the end of time. Even though they are physically absent, their imprints exist in hearts. Indeed there is much knowledge here (pointing to his chest), if only I could find someone to carry it; I did find [such a one]; but he was one who could not be relied upon … O God may it never happen that the earth is devoid of your proof over your creation, either explicitly in the form of overt dominance or implicitly in the form of being hidden …(Ibid.: 185–6). 4
In the Persian translation, Razi translates the above in full and then adds, “the explicit in the form of overt dominance refers to the early Imams and the hidden refers to the later Imams”. Crucial to note here is how this statement is made somewhat in passing, which suggests that the audience is presumed to be members of the Imami community who do not need to be persuaded about the Imami significance of the verse, only to be reminded and uplifted by it. The authoritative statements by Muhammad and ʿAli on the identity of the rasikhun invite the listener to dwell on the Qur’anic demonstration of Imami doctrine. In doing so, this discussion paves the way for the rhetorical climax that follows. Razi ends his discussion of 3:7 with a prophetic statement that masterfully ties together the labors of revelation and interpretation:
Rasikh in knowledge is the person who … when he battles the ta’wil with his sword, he is always right. [The Prophet said] “Among you is one who will fight for the Qur’an’s interpretation the way I fought for its revelation (min kum man yuqatilʿala ta’wil al-Qur’an kama qataltuʿala tanzilihi)”. Everyone said I will O Prophet. He [the Prophet] replied “No [not you], but the mender of the sandal”. (Ibid.: 188) 5
In the Arabic version that Razi cites, the hadith ends here. But in the Persian translation, Razi continues in the prophetic voice:
“if he mends my sandal then I will place a crown on his head” (agar u na‘l-i pay-i man pirayad man taj sar-i u pirayam). At this moment Amir al-Mu’minin [ʿAli ibn Abi Talib] came out of a room and emerged with the Prophet’s repaired sandal in his hand.
Razi continues in more rhythmic and rhyming Arabic prose:
So ʿAli was the mender of the Prophet’s shoe, and the Prophet was the exponent of ʿAli’s praise. In war he was a stormy wind, and for the enemies of God he was a thundering force of destruction. (fa kanaʿAli li-naʿlihi khasifan, wa kana nabi li madhihi wasifan, wa kana fi’l harbi rihanʿasifan, wa li-l-aʿda Allah qasiman qasifan). (Ibid: 188)
Thus, Razi’s Persian translation enabled him to interject in an ongoing discourse on the characteristics of the “firm in knowledge” and recast that discourse in a manner most amenable to his own exegetical project. The style of the Persian is a direct address, bringing the experience closer to the sensorial effect of active listening. Moreover, through the effect of delight, Razi’s digressions work to activate the love of the ahl al-bayt in his audience. At the same time, they bring home the resounding message of salvation reserved for the community that comes together through an intimate connection to the ahl al-bayt. 6
Razi’s discussion here highlights the coalescence of the oral and the textual, the written and the performative in his exegesis. Crucial to such a hermeneutical style was Razi’s desire to access and affect an audience that went beyond the scholarly elite, and that also encompassed the broader public. But more importantly, it is not just accessibility that Razi’s style, mode, and venue of delivery achieved, for that would presume that a broad public was already available and simply waiting to be accessed. Rather, a work like Razi’s also played the more crucial role of bringing coherence and consciousness to a community around a shared embodied and affective relationship and intimacy with the Prophet and his family.
Animating the Inanimate
Let me present some further illustrations of the interaction of narrative, scriptural interpretation, and the cultivation of affective moral publics in Razi’s exegesis. In what preceded, I noted the adoption of the divine voice as a crucial element in Razi’s narrative technique. In addition, in the narratives that formed a critical component of Razi’s discussion, he also enlivened a wide array of other characters ranging from trees and stones to angels and the people of heaven. Not only did this produce a more intense and intimate relationship between listener or reader and the narrative, it also conjured for the reader a colorful visual landscape whereby animated characters engage in provocative exchanges. Thus, Razi introduced an element of delight for the reader or audience of his exegesis, one that was achieved not solely through the sophistication of his intellectual argument or the marshaling of weighty hadith but the skillful telling of stories to which he treated his listeners and readers. It might be argued that the delight one experiences through these tellings were critical tools for enabling and cultivating an intimacy with the characters. Here, it was not theological reasoning in support of Imami doctrine that gave the commentary its edge. Indeed, one can argue that the promise of delight was at the heart of Razi’s exegetical labor. Let me offer a few illustrative examples.
Razi gives an important place in his commentary to the merits of reading specific verses and chapters, a body of literature referred to as Virtues of the Qur’an (fada’il al-Qur’an). As is the case with the rest of his Qur’an commentary, here as well Razi borrowed in good measure from the work of al-Thaʿlabi’s exegesis, Kashf al-Bayan. However, while clearly in conversation with al-Thaʿlabi, the precise exegetical directions that Razi takes were distinct and unpredictable. The fada’il literature had a questionable reputation among Qur’an exegetes of this period. Despite this, Razi (and al-Thaʿlabi) drew on it freely. Significantly, rather than engaging in a reasoned defense of his decision to do so, Razi made the narratives themselves speak to the audience’s doubt. Moreover, the fada’il narratives also illustrate key themes central to Razi’s interpretive goals. A good example of this occurs in Razi’s discussion of verse 3:18, known as the testification or shahada verse. Singled out by commentators including Razi as a particularly powerful verse, in it, God himself testifies to his Oneness. It reads:
God bears witness that there is no god but Him, as do the angels and those who have knowledge. He upholds justice. There is no god but Him, the Almighty, the All Wise. (Abdel-Haleem 2005: 35)
Razi lists ten narrative reports that attest to the merits of reciting this verse before turning to its interpretation. In one telling example, Razi uses a fada’il report to address an audience skeptical about these very reports; namely those who might question the veracity of the promise of reward for reciters of specific Qur’anic passages. He says:
One day a preacher, speaking from the pulpit said: whoever reads this verse God will grant him a thousand blessings and will erase a thousand of his sins and will raise him by a thousand degrees. On hearing this, some of the attendees were surprised. That night one of them had a dream in which a speaker said to him: remember the time that you owed money to your creditors and didn’t have anything to give them? You recited for Musa Hazim the following poem: “They all came to me demanding their rightful shares, so I gave to them from Musa ibn Hazim’s possessions”. He asked, “how much is your debt”, you replied “thirty thousand dinars”, to which he said, “I will give it”. This incident did not surprise you! The man awoke from his sleep and repented. (Razi 1988, vol. 4: 223)
The message of this narrative is clear: when Musa Hazim granted the debtor 30,000 dinars in response to his poetic request he did even blink at the disproportionality of the exchange. Yet, he has the audacity to question the generosity of God? The skepticism that the attendees of the sermon in this report express at the promise of ample reward received for reciting this verse was clearly a sentiment shared by Razi’s own readers and listeners. Razi uses this narrative report to both anticipate that reaction and to put it to rest!
Another report also addressed the skeptical reader/listener:
Two angels meet in the heavens; one asks the other, where are you coming from? It says, “I was with a sinning servant; today all day he committed sin and hurt God, now I’m taking the record of his deeds which is blackened with sin to the heavens”; the other angel says, “the strange thing is that I am taking a letter that guarantees his immunity from the fire of hell to earth”. Surprised, the first angel asks “but how?” The second angel replies, “when you came he was reciting the verse of shahada and God said, ‘I have changed his sins to deeds of faith and understanding!’”. (Ibid.: 222)
Continuing on the same theme of the virtues of reciting the shahadah verse (3:18), Razi relates the following anecdote:
Abu Ghalib al-Qatan said he came to Kufa for work and stayed near ʿAmash. At the end of the night, he heard him read this verse and at the end he said, “I testify by what God testified and God entrusted this testification and it is near God an entrustment till it leads to the day of Judgement”. Al-Qatan said to himself, I didn’t hear the end so the next day I asked him what he said after the shahada verse. He said, “I can’t tell you unless you serve me for one year”. I completed my own work and served him for one year. When the year ended, I said, “O shaykh, it’s been one year”. He said, “it was reported to me from Abu Wayil that Abdallah ibn Masʿud said he heard the Prophet say, ‘whoever reads this verse and at the end of it reads’: God said ‘My servant you were loyal to my covenant and fulfilled my trust, which is tawhid, and I am the best keeper of covenants’, the doors of heaven will be opened for him and he will enter it from whichever door he pleases’”. (Ibid.: 221)
This story’s stress on the benefits of reciting verse 3:18 is clear. But also important is how the story conveys the importance of loyalty, a theme central to Razi’s interpretation of verse 3:18. The value of staying true to one’s word is communicated through the plot when al-Qatan fulfills his covenant to serve the shaykh for a specified time. The outcome of the story also conveys this theme, when al-Qatan’s commitment to the shaykh grants him access to the knowledge of God’s commitment or loyalty to those who recite this verse.
Razi’s decision to include another report – which appears quite unrelated at first – becomes clearer when read as part of a discussion on the theme of loyalty:
God says, “O servant of mine, near you is a secret of Mine, and near Me is a secret of yours. My secret that is with you is My Oneness, and your secret that is with Me is your sins and deviations. Since you were mindful and not heedless, I am the better keeper of secrets and will keep your secret hidden”. (Ibid.: 223)
What, we might initially ask, is the connection between the above saying and the merits of reciting verse 3:18? Like the other fada’il literature that Razi cites, the report coheres to the dominant theme of commitment to one’s word. Commitment, as Razi shows, can take varied forms. God is loyal to his creatures when he fulfills the promise of rewarding them for reciting his words. And more intimately, God is loyal to his select servants when he keeps secret their sins in return for the loyalty they show him. Thus, the theme of actors staying true to their word in the fada’il reports is tied to the theme of God fulfilling his promise which in turn is tied to verse 3:18 in which God testifies to himself. How? God’s testification of his Oneness and God’s promise of reward are both speech acts that capture the significance, weight, and binding nature of language. And together, they convey the powerful possibilities of the effects that words can produce in the world, of language as action. What better place then, Razi clearly understood, to make the case for the virtues of reciting God’s words?
Returning to my earlier point about the important work of evoking delight and pleasure in Razi’s hermeneutic, let me highlight a remarkable moment where Razi staged a playful dialogue between God and the angels of heaven when explicating the reference to “horses” in verse 3:14. The verse reads:
The love of desirable things is made alluring for men – women, children, gold and silver treasures piled up high, horses with fine markings, livestock, and farmland – these may be the joys of this life, but God has the best place to return to. (Abdel-Haleem 2005: 35)
After enumerating a series of prophetic reports on the benefit and beauty of horses, Razi relates the following:
when God wanted to create horses, he told the southern wind that he would create something from it – that is to the angels that are entrusted with the southern wind – a creation that will be a source of exaltation for my friends, humiliation for my enemies and beauty for the people of obedience. The angels said, “O God the command is yours”. God created the horse from the southern wind and said I have created you strange, placed blessing on your forehead and booty to be collected on your back. I made your owner affectionate towards you and made you a bird without wings; you are made to chase and run free. I placed on your back people so they may praise and exalt and so you may praise and exalt, and it is said that there is no praise that a horse hears that he doesn’t reply with something similar. When the angels heard this description of the horse and saw its creation they said “O God we are your angels, we praise and exalt you, what is our share?” (Razi 1988, vol. 4: 211–12).
Notice the intimate and deeply personal relationship reflected between God and humanity in these dialogues. Moreover, be it the arguments put forward in defense of a distinctly Shiʿi position, or in the narration of the merits of reading a particular verse, Razi employs a hermeneutic uninterested in establishing the “correct interpretation”. Perhaps not coincidentally, scholar of Islam Michael Sells’s lyrical description of the pre-Islamic Arabic ode beautifully captures Razi’s narrative digressions in his Qur’an commentary. Sells states:
In apparent digression the poetic voice outruns any descriptive point through the indefinite extension of the simile or through chains of similes. The images evoked – spring rains, flowing streams, flowering meadows, desert animals birthing or nursing in poses of idyllic tranquility – are parts of a recalled wholeness. Within the dissembling simile and at odds with its explicit intent – as if the poetic voice were pulled along against its will – the archetype is recollected, re-membered: beloved as lost garden or spring meadow. (Sells 1989: 5)
Quite similarly, the thread in Razi’s commentary goes this and that way, all the while serving the goal of evoking in the reader a sense of delight, which he achieves through tantalizing tales involving suspense, surprise and pithy one-liners. All these examples demonstrate the work of an author avidly self-aware of and interested in amplifying the narrative, affective, and performative potential of his exegetical labor. Exegesis came alive when it manifested in the embodied experience of its recipients, facilitated by affectively charged settings like the sermon and public venues like the mosque. In Razi’s exegetical scheme, the intellectual and discursive content of Qur’an commentary was neither privileged over nor secondary to its translation in oral forms such as the sermon; it is precisely through the interlocking of the textual and the oral that the affective and narrative force of divine speech was unleashed.
Sovereignty, Religious Authority and the Body
Let us look in more detail at a key verse mentioned earlier in this essay: “Nothing on earth or in heaven is hidden from God (Inna Allaha la yakhfaʿalayhi shay’un fi-l-ardi wa la fi’l sama’i)” (Qur’an, 3:5). On the surface, the meaning of the verse is not disputed, in that it affirms the sovereign power of the divine. Yet, it is precisely by repurposing a neutral verse for an Imami argument that makes it rhetorically worthy material for a sermon. How does Razi achieve this? Razi begins in the first person, in the voice of the divine:
I am aware of everything; nothing is hidden from me; that which other agents of power are not capable of, I am capable of; that which others with knowledge are not aware of, I have knowledge of; other creators of the world when they shape something they are wary of water, fearful that their pen touched by water will obscure the image, and are wary of darkness that might render an image unclear; I in my perfect power have created you from three types of darkness: 7 darkness of the back, darkness of the stomach and darkness of the womb of the mother. Other creators are incapable of this and amazed at it. (Razi 1988, vol. 4: 170–1)
Razi continues in the divine voice, bringing the topic of God’s sovereign creative power to the topic of the human body; his discussion here deserves to be quoted in length:
Your body is made on the example of a castle; all the structures of the world have a strong base and foundation and as it proceeds upwards, it diminishes and recedes. I on the contrary challenged this rule and created you such that your body is founded on thin legs, and its upper part is bigger. This is so you would know that what I create, I possess (ta bidani chunanki nigarandeh man-am darandeh man-am). It is through me that they stand not by means of each other so that they would know that my actions are not like the action of any other and that I am not like anything else; I made the foundation of this castle on two delicate feet whereas no building is built on two pillars but rather always on four. From your cavity I made the castle hollow and from your breast I generated in it power and from your heart I placed in it a throne; and on the head of the throne, no, rather in the head of the throne, from the ta’mur 8 of your heart I appointed the prince/commander (amir); this ta’mur is obedient to me even though it is from you. It is the commander of the body and the commander of your good and bad actions. It is the commander of the [entire] structure of the body so that until it does not say so the eye does not see and until it does not signal so the ear does not hear and until it does not wish so the tongue does not speak and until it does not seek so the nose does not smell and until it does not say so the foot does not take a step and until it does not want so the hand does not grip anything. It is a trustworthy commander, the one who grants obedience. When I appointed it the sovereign of your heart, from your sight I made it an observer, from your ear I made it a spy, from your tongue I made it an informant and translator, from your hand I made it a servant, and from your foot I made it a deliverer. It is the king and they are the subjects. (Ibid.: 172)
As we see here, Razi draws a corresponding similitude between the varied offices of the royal court and the many functions of different members of the human body. Razi’s corporeal political theology connected via the human body the hierarchies of monarchical authority with the hierarchies of spiritual authority. The human body served as a simulacrum for the cross-pollination of politics and theology, kingship and the Imamate. He then skillfully connected this discussion about the chief of the human body to the Imam as the head of the believing community.
God from His wisdom did not want that your seventy limbs be without any leader. So, He mandated that the seventy climes cannot exist without an imam/guide. Every age needs an Imam and all subjects need a guide just as sheep need a shepherd. And you are responsible for recognizing that this is a principle from the principles of Islam and that this is a rule from the rules of iman. (Ibid.: 172–3)
At the heart of Razi’s theology and scriptural hermeneutic is the principle of accessibility. According to this logic of arguing for the Imamate, the theological demand for God’s guidance is crucial. In the same way that a leader must guide each individual human body, an Imam must also guide the believing community of Muslims. Now the crucial point in this discussion is this: the position that there must be guidance on earth aligns very well with the view that scripture must be accessible and must be made available. Razi’s position on the nature of the Qur’an was that the Quran consisted of words and sounds and was therefore not eternal, but originated in space and time (as was the view of other Imami and Muʿtazili thinkers). Although Razi argued for the temporal nature of the Qur’an, he continued to uphold the view, like his Imami predecessors, that the Qur’an was inimitable. So, while the sacrality of scripture was preserved through the doctrine of the Qur’an’s inimitability, the belief in its temporal nature was ultimately tied to upholding the doctrine of its accessibility. It is curious to note that though Razi presented the opinions of various Imami scholars on the question of why the Qur’an is understood to be inimitable, he nonetheless refrained from taking any position himself, perhaps on the grounds that the Qur’an’s inimitability is unconnected to the task of its interpretation (Razi, 1988, vol. 1: 162).
Beyond Sectarian Influence
Before drawing this essay to closure, an important conceptual remark is in order. Although in his Qur’an commentary Razi explicitly embraced an Imami identity and theological commitments, his exegetical labor yet does not fit into any predetermined template of a Shi‘i exegesis or one dominated by external influences, as a good deal of the extant scholarship on this text often presumes (Massé 1986: 120). For instance, Razi’s tafsir has been noted on account of its liberal use of Sunni, 9 Sufi 10 and Shiʿi hadith material to support his Imami religious commitments. It has also been said that Razi drew heavily from and was indebted to the commentary of his Imami predecessor Abu Jaʿfar al-Tusi’s (d. 1067 CE) work, Tibyan (McDermott 1983: 292; Ardehali 2018: 321). Along the same lines of identifying by whom it is influenced and who it in turn influenced, it has been noted that Rawd al-Jinan draws heavily from Muʿtazili teachings with respect to theology and from Zamakhshari (d. 1143 CE) with respect to lexicology, grammar and syntax (Ardehali 2018: 243). Finally, it has also been argued that this tafsir has been a source of inspiration for the esteemed Sunni philosopher exegete, Fakhr al-Din al-Razi (d. 1209 CE) (al-Shushtari 1956: 490). With all these influences in place, one might argue that there is little left to say about this work. In his recent entry on Abu al-Futuh Razi in the Encyclopedia of Islam, Robert Gleave does just that (Gleave 2007: 55–6). Gleave opines that Razi
accepts the canonical text of the Qurʾan, though he is always keen to use possible variants to put forward the Shi‘i case. In this sense, apart from its use of Persian, Rawd al-Jinan is not particularly innovative in the tafsir genre.
There is a problematic assumption at work here, namely that if we define the commentary of a twelfth-century exegete as a “Shiʿi” work, influenced by Muʿtazili teachings, in response to a Sunni other, we lose sight of the fact that the “Shiʿi” in question was neither as bounded nor as stable as such terms imply, but was in fact comprised of multiple complementary or competing selves constituted dynamically and relationally in response to shifting cultural, historical and political conditions. The reification of medieval identities in ways that ignores their protean characters has significant implications not only for our understanding of the history of the period but for the way we approach its textual traditions.
Conclusion
This article has shown the interlocking of the oral and the textual and its implications for the formation and assemblage of religious publics in the medieval period through a close reading of select moments of a Qur’an exegesis that was intimately tied to processes of oral pedagogy and moral instruction. Abu al-Futuh Razi’s Qur’an exegesis employed a hermeneutic that does not exclusively focus on positing the “correct interpretation” of a given verse. In fact, his communicative style is not limited to a strictly textual mode of verse-by-verse commentary. Rather it is punctuated by regular moments of rhetorically evocative oral instruction. Through his exegetical labor he aspired to evoke and cultivate particular emotive and affective reactions and capacities that might bring together a community of listeners and readers. It is this triangulation of text, orality, and connected processes of affective formations that I have sought to highlight and capture in this article through an examination of some key aspects of Razi’s exegetical project in The Cool Breeze. Here a clarification is in order. Razi’s focus on fashioning the affective response of his audience through narrative does not mean that he entirely abdicated other more conventional forms of intellectual argument and the presentation of opinions that one usually expects in works of Qur’anic exegesis. That purpose is also plentifully available in his text. It is for this reason that Razi’s exegesis is considered a critical resource for juridical, theological, grammatical and mystical discourses in Muslim intellectual history. But notwithstanding this qualifier, what I have sought to show in this essay is that approaching the literary qualities and assumptions of an exegetical work like Razi’s Qur’an commentaries can open important vistas of inquiry that go beyond and that further nuance strictly interpretive dimensions of such texts.