The Library of Arabic Literature is a new series offering Arabic editions and English translations of key works of classical and pre-modern Arabic literature, as well as anthologies and thematic readers. Books in the series are edited and translated by distinguished scholars of Arabic and Islamic studies, and are published in parallel-text format with Arabic and English on facing pages. The Library of Arabic Literature includes texts from the pre-Islamic era to the cusp of the modern period, and encompasses a wide range of genres, including poetry, poetics, fiction, religion, philosophy, law, science, history, and historiography.

Supported by a grant from the New York University Abu Dhabi Institute, and established in partnership with NYU Press, the Library of Arabic Literature produces authoritative Arabic editions and modern, lucid English translations, with the goal of introducing the Arabic literary heritage to scholars and students, as well as to a general audience of readers.

Philip F. Kennedy

General Editor, Library of Arabic Literature

For Susu and Suraya,

who love Muḥammad

Foreword

Scholars of Arabic literature and readers with an interest in Arabic and Islamic civilization are now most fortunate to have available to them the works being published as the Library of Arabic Literature, the first series to attempt a systematic coverage of the Arabic literary heritage. The editors have already shown good judgment in selecting books for the series, and the present volume, The Expeditions, an early biography of the Prophet Muḥammad by Maʿmar ibn Rāshid, is no exception.

Maʿmar ibn Rāshid (d. 153/770) was a contemporary of Ibn Isḥāq (d. 151/768), author of the famous Al-Sīrah al-Nabawiyyah (The Prophetic Biography), also known as Sīrat rasūl Allāh (The Biography of the Messenger of God), which has come to be widely circulated and is known simply as the Sīrah. Alfred Guillaume’s English translation of Ibn Isḥāq’s Sīrah was published more than fifty years ago,¹ so the English translation of another important early text about the life of the Prophet Muḥammad is well overdue. Indeed, there is a real need for more such texts from the early Islamic period to see the light of day.

It should be pointed out that these two works are not the earliest writings on the subject of the Prophet’s life. In his discussion of the genres of maghāzī and sīrah, the Ottoman literary historian Ḥājjī Khalīfah (d. 1067/1657) reports that Ibn Isḥāq compiled his work from preexisting materials, and goes on to identify ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr (d. 93/711–12) as the earliest to gather material on the topic.² Thus, both Maʿmar ibn Rāshid and Ibn Isḥāq must have taken their information from written sources as well as authenticated oral reports collected by ʿUrwah and others.³

The major contribution of Maʿmar ibn Rāshid and Ibn Isḥāq was to bring the material from different sources together in one place. Other early Muslim scholars immediately recognized the value of this activity. This is why we have Ibn Isḥāq’s work in a recension by the later Ibn Hishām (d. 212/828 or 218/833), and Maʿmar ibn Rāshid’s work in a recension by ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī (d. 211/827). Similarly, written material about the pillars of Islam—including ritual prayer (ṣalāh), the giving of alms (zakāh), fasting in Ramadan (ṣawm), and pilgrimage to Mecca (ḥajj)—cannot be assumed to have appeared for the first time at the end of the first or at the beginning of the second Hijri century. Muslims had been continually engaging in ritual activities, and writing about them, since the time of the Prophet. Nor should it be assumed that hadiths (reports about the Prophet Muḥammad) were only written down when al-Bukhārī (d. 256/870) and the other famous collectors of hadiths of that era produced their great compilations. Nonetheless, the compilation by Maʿmar ibn Rāshid of the present book was significant in its time for preserving the earlier scattered material.

The Arabic edition produced here, carefully edited from the extant manuscripts, as well as the translation into lucid English, have been undertaken by a gifted young scholar. What is more, his detailed introduction contains much useful guidance for the reader. Scholars of early Islam, Arabists, and interested readers will find this volume a welcome addition to the literature available and to their libraries.

Professor M. A. S. Abdel Haleem, obe

School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London

Acknowledgements

The idea for this translation first came to me a decade ago while reading through the back matter of Michael Cook’s excellent monograph Muḥammad, published in Oxford University Press's now-defunct “Past Masters” series in 1983. Cook opined that, given the daunting size of the English translation of Ibn Hishām’s redaction of the biography of Muḥammad compiled by Ibn Isḥāq, “an annotated translation of Maʿmar ibn Rāshid’s account as transmitted by ʿAbd al-Razzāq ibn Hammām would be a welcome addition to the literature.”⁴ Reading these words as a first-year graduate student some two decades after they had been written, I presumed that the feat had already been accomplished. In fact, it had not.

That same first year of graduate study at the University of Chicago, I would also face the formidable challenges of translating maghāzī literature for the first time. I was fortunate enough to do so in nearly ideal conditions: in a class supervised by Fred M. Donner. I recall with fondness convening in Prof. Donner’s office in the Oriental Institute. Seated around a large wooden table, my classmates and I pored over every jot and tittle of the text under Donner’s tutelage. It was a great place to begin a journey—a journey made all the more amazing by the instruction I would receive at the hands of two of the finest Arabists I have had the pleasure to know, Prof. Wadād al-Qāḍī and Prof. Tahera Qutbuddin. To all three of these mentors, I remain profoundly thankful.

In pursuing this project I have incurred many a debt that, for now, I can only repay with gratitude. I am deeply grateful to Phil Kennedy, James Montgomery, Shawkat Toorawa, and the rest of editorial board of the Library of Arabic Literature (LAL), who were so open to taking my project under their wings and who continued to nurture the project and me as I gradually came to grasp the incredible vision of the series. Chip Rossetti, LAL’s managing editor, was a constant guide and ever helpful throughout the project’s realization. Rana Mikati lent me her keen eye and saved me from a number of errors in translation. Most of all, my project editor, Joseph Lowry, deserves my deepest gratitude. Continually challenging me and pushing me to better refine the translation, Prof. Lowry saved me from many errors and missteps along the way. If this project is any way successful and its fruits deemed praiseworthy, he surely deserves as much of the credit as I. “As iron sharpens iron does one person’s wit sharpen the other’s” (Prov. 20:17). Of course, any faults this work contains are mine alone.

I was fortunate to be able to work on this project unimpeded for the 2012–13 academic year thanks to the generous support of a grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities and the willingness of the University of Oregon’s History Department to grant me a yearlong leave. That this volume joins the ranks of the many illustrious projects funded by the endowment is an especially great honor. It is my hope that the NEH’s support for the flourishing of the humanities, and thus enrichment of all humanity’s heritage, will continue to thrive in the decades and centuries to come.

Many less directly involved in the project also made its current form possible. I must thank Feryal Selim for helping me acquire digital scans of the Murad Mulla manuscript from the Süleymaniye Library, as well as my many undergraduate students who allowed me to try out early drafts of this translation in class and who provided me with interesting and often unexpected feedback. An old friend, Craig Howell, provided me with great conversation and excellent insight into how a nonspecialist might read the text.

To my wife and children, I offer my deepest and most heartfelt thanks. You are beyond all else the inspiration behind my strivings and the center from which I draw my strength.

Introduction

The Expeditions (Ar. Kitāb al-Maghāzī) by Maʿmar ibn Rāshid (d. 153/770) is an early biography of the Prophet Muḥammad that dates to the second/eighth century and is preserved in the recension of his student ʿAbd al-Razzāq ibn Hammām of Sanaa (d. 211/827). The text is exceptional because, alongside Ibn Hishām’s (d. 218/834) redaction of the prophetic biography of Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq (d. 150/767–68),⁵ The Expeditions is one of the two earliest and most seminal examples of the genre of prophetic biography in Arabic literature to have survived.

Early biographies of the Prophet Muḥammad—and by “early” I mean written within two centuries of his death in 10/632—are an extremely rare commodity. In fact, no surviving biography dates earlier than the second/eighth century. The rarity of such early biographies is sure to pique the curiosity of even a casual observer. The absence of earlier biographical writings about Muḥammad is not due to Muslims’ lack of interest in telling the stories of their prophet. At least in part, the dearth of such writings is rooted in the concerns of many of the earliest Muslims that any recording of a book of stories about Muḥammad’s life would inevitably divert their energies from, and even risk eclipsing, the status of Islam’s sacred scripture, the Qurʾan, as the most worthy focus of devotion and scholarship. This paucity of early biographies is also partially the result of the fact that, before the codification of the Qurʾan, the Arabic language had not fully emerged as a medium in which written literary works were produced.

For modern historians enthralled by such issues, the attempt to tease out the consequences of this chronological gap between Muḥammad’s lifetime and our earliest narrative sources about him can be all-consuming. Debates thus continue in earnest over whether we may know anything at all about the “historical Muḥammad” given the challenges presented by the source material. But what is meant exactly by the “historical Muḥammad”? Modern historians speak of the historical Muḥammad as a type of shorthand for an historical understanding of Muḥammad’s life and legacy that is humanistic, secular, and cosmopolitan. This is to say that any talk of a historical Muḥammad is merely an interpretation of his life that is distinct from, but not necessarily incompatible with, either how his faith community imagined him centuries after his death or how rival faith communities viewed him through the lens of their own hostile religious polemic. Yet all modern understandings of Muḥammad inevitably derive from a body of texts written by a faith community, for we have no contemporary witnesses to Muḥammad’s prophetic mission, and the earliest testimonies that do survive are penned by outsiders whose depictions and understanding of Islam in its earliest years are sketchy at best and stridently hostile at worst.⁶ Hence, to speak of a historical Muḥammad is not to speak of the real Muḥammad. We recognize that we seek to understand, explain, and reconstruct the life of a man using the tools and methods of modern historical criticism. Whatever form such a project takes, and regardless of the methodology adopted, there is no escaping the basic conundrum facing all historians of early Islam: they must fashion their reconstruction of Muḥammad’s biography from the memories and interpretations of the community that revered him as Prophet. In other words, historians concerned with such topics must dare wrestle with angels.⁷

Today, many scholars remain steadfastly optimistic that writing a biography of the historical Muḥammad is feasible and worthwhile,⁸ though just as many take a decidedly more pessimistic view. More than a few have dismissed the idea of writing Muḥammad’s historical biography as fundamentally impossible.⁹ This debate remains intractable and scholarly consensus elusive. It is my pleasure then, and in some ways my great relief, to table this contentious debate and instead present the reader with one of the earliest biographies of Muḥammad ever composed. This relatively straightforward task, although not without formidable challenges, allows one to sidestep the fraught questions surrounding the man behind the tradition and permit a broader audience to encounter the early tradition on its own terms.

Much of this book’s contents relate the story one might expect of any telling of Muḥammad’s life. A boy born among the denizens of the Hejaz region of Western Arabia is orphaned by the unexpected deaths of first his parents and then his grandfather. As the child grows into a man, omens portend his future greatness, but his adult life initially unfolds as an otherwise prosaic and humble one, not too atypical for an Arabian merchant whose life spanned the late sixth and the early seventh centuries ad. Working for a widowed merchant woman of modest means, he ekes out an existence in her employ, until he eventually weds her and strives to live a modest, honorable life in a manner that earns him the esteem and admiration of his tribe, the Quraysh. The man’s life forever changes when one night he encounters an angel atop a mountain on the outskirts of his hometown, Mecca. The angel charges him to live the rest of his days as God’s last prophet and the steward and messenger of His final revelation to humankind.

This man proclaims his message to be one with the monotheism first taught by Abraham, the venerable patriarch of the Hebrew Bible and the common ancestor of the Arabs and Jews. Denouncing the cultic practices surrounding Mecca’s shrine, the Kaaba, and the dissolute lives of its patron tribe, the Quraysh, as pagan, idolatrous, and morally corrupt, the man soon finds himself at odds with those who profit both economically and politically from the status quo. The Quraysh reckon the man’s prophetic message a serious threat to their livelihood and power, and soon the prophet and his earliest followers suffer persecutions and tribulations that take them to the precipice of despair. Yet God at last provides succor to His servants: Two warring tribes, the Aws and the Khazraj, living in a city north of Mecca called Yathrib, invite the man and his people to live in their midst, agreeing to submit to whatever peace the Meccan prophet might bring.

Fleeing persecution, the prophet undertakes his emigration to Yathrib, his Hijrah, where he establishes a new community (ummah), united not by tribal affiliation and genealogy but by faith and loyalty to the prophet’s message. Yathrib becomes Medina, “the Prophet’s city” (madīnat al-nabī). The days of persecution now ending, the prophet leads his followers in battle to conquer Arabia and forge a new polity guided by God’s hand. These early conquests augur a greater destiny: the spread of his religion far beyond the deserts of Arabia. Within a hundred years of the prophet’s death, his community stretches from Spain to the steppes of Central Asia, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Though the above biographical details are widely known, few laypersons recognize that none come to us from the Qurʾan. Even if the scripture at times references such events implicitly, it never narrates them. Notwithstanding its inestimable value, the Qurʾan offers little material that might allow the modern historian to reconstruct the life of its Messenger, even in its most basic outlines. Moreover, though Muḥammad, as God’s Messenger, delivered the Qurʾan to his early followers and thence humanity, Muslims did not regard the Qurʾan as a record of the Prophet’s own words or actions—rather, the Qurʾan was solely God’s Word, and with the death of His Messenger, the canon of the scripture closed. For detailed narratives of the lives of Muḥammad and his Companions we are wholly dependent on a later tradition external to the Qurʾan.

Despite its limited utility in reconstructing the biography of Muḥammad, the sacred corpus known as the Qurʾan (Ar. al-qurʾān; lit., the “recitation” or “reading”) is still very likely to be our earliest and most authentic testimony to Muḥammad’s teachings and the beliefs of his earliest followers. The scripture was organized and arranged into a codex (Ar. muṣḥaf), not within the lifetime of Muḥammad but under his third successor, or caliph (Ar. khalīfa), ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān (r. 23–35/644–56). ʿUthmān’s codex was subsequently refined and reworked under the caliph ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān between 84/703 and 85/704.¹⁰ A parallel, albeit much slower and more fraught, process was undertaken by early Muslims to preserve the prophet’s words and deeds, which led to the formation of the second sacred corpus of Islam, known collectively as hadith (Ar. al-ḥadīth; lit., “sayings”), which is distinct from the Qurʾan and is often referred to as “traditions.” Unlike the Qurʾan, which Muslims codified in a matter of decades, the hadith canon took centuries to form.¹¹

The Expeditions belongs to a subgenre of the hadith known as the maghāzī traditions, which narrates specific events from the life of the Prophet Muḥammad and his Companions and whose collection and compilation into a discrete genre of prophetic biography preceded the canonization of hadith considerably.¹² The Arabic word maghāzī does not connote “biography” in the modern sense. It is the plural of maghzāh, which literally means “a place where a raid/expedition (ghazwah) was made.” The English title I have adopted, The Expeditions, is serviceable as translations go, but may lead an English-speaking audience to ask why these traditions are ostensibly gathered under the rubric of Muḥammad’s military campaigns rather than, say, “biography” as such.

As is often the case with translations, the English “expeditions” does not quite do justice to the fullest sense of the Arabic maghāzī, for much of what this book contains has little to do with accounts of military expeditions or the glories of martial feats, although there are plenty of those.¹³ The word maghāzī invokes the discrete locations of key battles and raids conducted by the Prophet and his followers, yet it also invokes a more metaphorical meaning that is not restricted to targets of rapine or scenes of battle and skirmishes. Maghāzī are also sites of sacred memory; the sum of all events worthy of recounting. A maghzāh, therefore, is also a place where any memorable event transpired and, by extension, the maghāzī genre distills all the events and stories of sacred history that left their mark on the collective memory of Muḥammad’s community of believers.

The origins of this particular collection of maghāzī traditions (for there were many books with the title Kitāb al-Maghāzī)¹⁴ begins with a tale of serendipity. As the story goes, Maʿmar ibn Rāshid was a Persian slave from Basra who traveled the lands of Islam trading wares for his Arab masters from the Azd tribe. While traveling through Syria trading and selling, Maʿmar sought out the rich and powerful court of the Marwānids. Seeking this court out required boldness: the Marwānids were the caliphal dynasty that reigned supreme over the Umayyad empire throughout the first half of the second/eighth century. When Maʿmar arrived at the court, it was his good fortune to find the royal family busy making preparations for a grand wedding banquet, and thus eager to buy his wares for the festivities. Though Maʿmar was a mere slave, the noble family treated him generously and spent lavishly on his goods. Somewhat boldly, Maʿmar interjected to pursue a more uncommon sort of remuneration: “I am but a slave,” he protested. “Whatever you grant me will merely become my masters’ possession. Rather, please speak to this man on my behalf that he might teach me the Prophet’s traditions.”¹⁵ That “man” of whom Maʿmar spoke was, by most accounts, the greatest Muslim scholar of his generation: Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī (d. 124/742). Indeed, al-Zuhrī’s stories about Muḥammad and his earliest followers comprise the bulk of the material Maʿmar preserves in this volume.

It is somewhat fitting that this book should have had its inception at a banquet, for the book itself is a banquet of sorts—a feast of sacred memory. This book takes one not only into halls of history but also through the passages of memory. Nostalgia permeates its stories. Sifting through its pages, the flavors of memory wash over the palate: the piquant spice of destiny, the bittersweet flavor of saturnine wisdom, the sweetness of redemption, dashes of humor and adventure, and the all-pervasive aroma of the holy.

The maghāzī tradition in general and Maʿmar’s Maghāzī in particular are therefore not merely rote recitations of events and episodes from Muḥammad’s life. They are more potent than that. The maghāzī tradition is a cauldron in which the early Muslims, culturally ascendant and masters over a new imperial civilization, mixed their ideals and visions of their model man, Muḥammad, and brewed them with the triumphalism of a victory recently savored. Muslims recorded and compiled these traditions as their newborn community surveyed the wonders of a journey traveled to a destination hardly imagined at its outset.

The origins and composition of The Expeditions

The Expeditions is best understood not as a conventionally authored book produced by the efforts of a single person but as an artifact of a series of teacher–pupil relationships between three renowned scholars of the early Islamic period. These scholars are Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī (d. 124/742) of Medina, Maʿmar ibn Rāshid (d. 153/770) of Basra, and ʿAbd al-Razzāq ibn Hammām of Sanaa (d. 211/827). The relationship between the latter two scholars in particular produced a number of books that have survived until our day, this volume being merely one.¹⁶ This serial teacher–pupil nexus is of the utmost importance for understanding not only how this book came into being, but also for reading the book and understanding why its structure unfolds the way it does. Simply put, the traditions contained in The Expeditions represent, for the most part, the lectures of al-Zuhrī recorded by Maʿmar, which Maʿmar in turn supplemented with materials from his other, more minor teachers when lecturing to his own students. Among these students was ʿAbd al-Razzāq, who committed Maʿmar’s lectures to writing and thus preserved the book in the form in which it has survived until today.¹⁷ These methods were, in effect, how most books on topics such as history, law, and religious learning were made in second and third/eighth and ninth centuries, but more on this below.

What this means, of course, is that Maʿmar is not the “author” of this text in the conventional sense, which is not, however, to say that he is not directly responsible for this text. My assignation of authorship to him is not arbitrary; in my estimation he remains the pivotal personality responsible for its content and form, even if speaking of his “authorship” necessarily requires some qualifications. The Expeditions actually contains many authorial voices that are not Maʿmar’s, including those of his teachers and, more rarely, that of his student ʿAbd al-Razzāq. How does one explain this?

The simplest place to begin is to point out a formal characteristic of early Arabic literary texts that dominates most narrative writing from the time of its emergence in the first half of the second/eighth century. This formal characteristic is the isnād-khabar (“chain-report”) form, a crucial couplet that forms the building blocks of sacred, historical, and even literary narratives and that gives rise to the distinctively anecdotal character of Islamic historical writing and much of Arabic literature.¹⁸ The word khabar and its more sacred counterpart ḥadīth convey the sense of “report,” “account,” or even “saying.” (This last meaning is especially true for the word ḥadīth, most frequently used to refer to the sayings of the Prophet.) The word isnād, on the other hand, refers to a chain of supporting authorities that ostensibly certifies the veracity of the account. Every text utilizing this form begins by citing a chain of successive authorities who passed on the story one to another, and only then proceeds to relate the actual narrative.

In practice, the process works like this: Maʿmar’s student ʿAbd al-Razzāq commits to memory and records his teacher’s tradition (i.e., a khabar as related by him) but ʿAbd al-Razzāq also memorizes the chain of authorities (isnād) that Maʿmar cites before he begins relating his tradition. This chain of authorities presumably goes back to eyewitnesses of the events, although in practice this is not always the case. Such chains are also cumulative. On any subsequent occasion in which ʿAbd al-Razzāq relates the tradition, he will begin by citing Maʿmar as his authority for the account and then continue to list all of Maʿmar’s authorities before he relates the text of the account itself. Although citing isnāds is an archaic tradition, it is also a living one: Muslims today still relate such traditions with chains of transmission that reach back to the first generation of Muslims.¹⁹

These narratives are usually fairly short, although a khabar can be rather long in the maghāzī genre. Khabars tend to remain relatively short, for example, in works concerned with Islamic ritual and law. The important point to keep in mind is that they are self-contained textual units that proliferated among early Muslims before the existence of any book or any similar type of systematic compilation gathered them together—that is, their transmission was initially oral and their reception initially aural. Such narratives were gathered and preserved by the earliest compilers like precious pearls, worthy of appreciation on the merits of their individual beauty and value alone. Yet, like any collector of pearls is wont to do, these precious pearls of narrative were also arranged to make literary necklaces of sorts, which became the first books. These books could be arranged according to diverse interests: legal and ritual topics (fiqh), the exegesis of the Qurʾan (tafsīr), or, as in the present case, stories of the Prophet’s life and the experiences of his earliest followers. With this systematic presentation of narrative material, the literary phase of early Islamic historiography begins.²⁰

It is difficult to date the beginnings of maghāzī literature with precision because the earliest exempla of the genre are lost or are only partially preserved, sometimes in highly redacted forms, in later works. Maʿmar ibn Rāshid’s most influential teacher, Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī of Medina, is a crucial trailblazer in the composition of maghāzī traditions, but the Islamic tradition names other scholars who predate al-Zuhrī. Two of these merit particular mention.

Abān ibn ʿUthmān (d. ca. 101–5/719–23), a son of the third caliph ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān (r. 23–35/644–55), is reported as being among the first, if not the first, to write a book containing “the conduct (siyar) of the Prophet and his expeditions (maghāzī).”²¹ The sole person to relate a detailed story of Abān’s writing activities is the Abbasid-era historian al-Zubayr ibn Bakkār (d. 256/870). According to him, Abān’s project to compile the story of Muḥammad’s life was first undertaken in 82/702 at the behest of the Umayyad prince, and later caliph, Sulaymān ibn ʿAbd al-Malik, who even furnished Abān with ten scribes (kuttāb) and all the parchment he required for the project. Sulaymān, however, was incensed when he actually read the fruit of Abān’s labors: the text was bereft of tales of Sulaymān and Abān’s Umayyad ancestors from Mecca and was instead chock-full of the virtues of Muḥammad’s Medinese Companions, the Allies (Ar. al-anṣār). How could this be, the prince demanded, when the Allies had betrayed the caliph ʿUthmān, of blessed memory, and Abān’s father no less! In al-Zubayr ibn Bakkār’s account, Abān retorted that all he had written was true, in spite of whatever culpability they shared in ʿUthmān’s assassination in 35/656. Hearing none of it, Sulaymān consulted his father, the caliph ʿAbd al-Malik, who ordered the book burned to ashes.²² This is all one ever hears of Abān’s book of maghāzī, and scant trace of his writings otherwise remain, if indeed they ever existed.²³

The situation is more promising for the writings of Abān’s contemporary, the prominent scholar of Medina ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr (d. ca. 94/712–13). Like Abān, ʿUrwah was the son of a prominent early Companion of Muḥammad, al-Zubayr ibn al-ʿAwwām (d. 35/656). Furthermore, his mother was the daughter of the first caliph of Islam, Abū Bakr al-Ṣiddīq, and sister to Muḥammad’s favorite wife ʿĀʾishah. Indeed, ʿUrwah’s maternal aunt ʿĀʾishah often serves as a key authority for ʿUrwah’s accounts, if one considers his chain of authorities (isnād) genuine. The man was extraordinarily well connected and deeply imbedded in the circles of the elite of the early Islamic polity.

Although no work of ʿUrwah’s has survived per se, his impact on the works surviving from subsequent generations can be better scrutinized and gauged than can Abān ibn ʿUthmān’s. Modern scholars who have dedicated themselves to excavating later collections for survivals of ʿUrwah’s traditions have concluded that the broad outlines of at least seven events from Muḥammad’s life, ranging from his first revelation and his Hijrah to Medina to his many battles thereafter, can be detected even if the original wording of ʿUrwah’s accounts may be lost.²⁴ Indeed, judging by the citations thereof contained in The Expeditions, this corpus of traditions from ʿUrwah proved to be seminal for Maʿmar’s teacher al-Zuhrī. Several redacted letters attributed to ʿUrwah discussing events from Muḥammad’s life ostensibly also survive in the work of a later historian, Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923). Curiously though, all the letters are addressed to the Umayyad caliph ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān, who is otherwise known for his opposition to such books, preferring instead to promote the study of the Qurʾan and Sunnah (i.e., scripture and religious law), as witnessed in the above story of Abān ibn ʿUthmān’s efforts to compile such traditions.²⁵ Despite considerable advances in our knowledge of ʿUrwah and his corpus in recent decades, the fact remains that his corpus is now lost and its exact contours are the object of speculation (albeit well informed). The authenticity of the ʿUrwah corpus is still being vigorously debated.²⁶

The author of The Expeditions, Maʿmar ibn Rāshid, was born in 96/714 and was active two generations after Abān and ʿUrwah. Maʿmar was a slave-client (Ar. mawlā; pl. mawālī) of the Ḥuddān clan of the Azd, a powerful Arab tribe that had its base of power in Maʿmar’s native Basra as well as Oman. Like many scholars of his generation, Maʿmar was of Persian extraction. However, having lived in the midst of the Islamic-conquest elite all his life, he was deeply entrenched in their culture and had thoroughly assimilated their language and religion, Arabic and Islam, which he claimed as his own. Indeed, his native city of Basra originated not as a Persian city but rather as an Arab military garrison built upon the ruins of an old Persian settlement known as Vaheshtābādh Ardashīr near the Shaṭṭ al-ʿArab river. The early participants in the Islamic conquests constructed their settlement on this site in southern Iraq out of the reed beds of the surrounding marshes in 14/635, soon after they had vanquished the Persian armies of the moribund Sasanid dynasty. Basra continued to function as one of the main hubs of culture for the Islamic-conquest elite throughout Maʿmar’s lifetime. Maʿmar served his Azdī masters not as a domestic slave or fieldworker, but as a trader, probably mostly of cloth and similar fineries. Such was the lot of many slaves in the early Islamic period: they were often skilled as traders, artisans, or merchants of some type, and in bondage would continue to practice their livelihood, only with the added necessity of paying levies on their profits to their masters, who in turn granted them access to the wealth, power, and prestige of the new Islamic-conquest elite.

Maʿmar’s duties to his Arab masters required such remuneration, but the burden does not seem to have hampered his freedom of movement and association. He began to study and learn the Qurʾan and hadith at a tender age as he sought knowledge from the famed scholars of his native Basra, such as Qatādah ibn Diʿāmah (d. 117/735) and al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728–29), whose funeral he attended as an adolescent. Indeed, it was his trading that enabled him to journey afar and pursue knowledge and learning beyond the environs of Basra. In time, his trading took him to the Hejaz, the cultural and religious heart of Islamic society in his era, as well as to Syria, the political center of the Umayyad empire, which stretched from Iberia to Central Asia when he first embarked on his studies of maghāzī traditions. He spent the final years of his life, likely from 132/750 onward, as a resident of Sanaa in Yemen, where he married and where he would pass away in 153/770.

The preponderance of materials transmitted by Maʿmar in The Expeditions derives from his teacher, the Medinese scholar Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī. Al-Zuhrī was a master narrator of the maghāzī genre and, after his most accomplished student Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq (d. 150/767–78), is the most seminal practitioner of the genre in early Islamic history. Maʿmar first encountered al-Zuhrī in Medina, while trading cloth on behalf of his Azdī masters. There, Maʿmar claims, he stumbled upon an aged man surrounded by a throng of students to whom he was lecturing. Already having cut his scholarly teeth when studying with the scholars of his native Basra, the young and inquisitive Maʿmar decided to sit down and join their ranks.²⁷ Maʿmar’s encounter with al-Zuhrī in Medina impressed him profoundly, although it was likely somewhat brief. In Medina, it seems, his encounters with al-Zuhrī were mostly those of a curious young onlooker. It was not until al-Zuhrī had relocated his scholarly activities to the Umayyad court in Ruṣāfah and begun to serve as a tutor to the sons of the caliph Hishām ibn ʿAbd al-Malik (r. 105–25/723–43) that Maʿmar would once again encounter the aged scholar.

Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī was a formidable figure. His origins were at the farthest end of the social spectrum from Maʿmar’s servile class: al-Zuhrī was of the innermost circles of the conquest elite. He was not merely an Arab and a Muslim; he was also a descendant of the Zuhrah clan of Mecca’s Quraysh, from whose loins the religion of Islam and caliphal polity had sprung. The Quraysh dominated the articulation of Islam and the affairs of its polity from an early date. Although many of al-Zuhrī’s students, like Maʿmar, were non-Arab clients of servile origin, al-Zuhrī reputedly preferred, if feasible, to take his knowledge only from the descendants of Muḥammad’s early followers from the Quraysh and from those Arabs who gave Muḥammad’s early followers shelter in Medina.²⁸ Indeed, al-Zuhrī attributed his own vast learning to four “oceans” of knowledge (Ar. buḥūr) he encountered among the scholars of Quraysh who preceded him: Saʿīd ibn al-Musayyab (d. 94/713), ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr (d. 94/712–13), Abū Salamah ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān (d. ca. 94/712–13), and ʿUbayd Allāh ibn ʿAbd Allāh ibn ʿUtbah (d. 98/716).²⁹ Furthermore, al-Zuhrī was deeply entrenched within the Umayyad state apparatus and its elite, and this at a time when many of his fellow scholars looked askance at any association with the state. A contemporary Syrian scholar, Makḥūl (d. ca. 113/731), reportedly once exclaimed, “What a great man al-Zuhrī would have been if only he had not allowed himself to be corrupted by associating with kings!”³⁰

The caliph Hishām brought al-Zuhrī from Medina to his court in Ruṣāfah, where the scholar remained for approximately two decades (i.e., nearly the entirety of Hishām’s caliphate), only leaving the caliph’s court intermittently.³¹ Ruṣāfah, located south of the Euphrates, was once a Syrian Byzantine city named Sergiopolis and was renowned as a destination of pilgrimage for Christian Arabic-speaking tribes visiting the shrine of the martyr St. Sergius as well as for its many churches. Hishām renovated the city and revived the settlement as the site of his court, building a mosque and palaces famous for their cisterns.³² In Ruṣāfah, Hishām compelled al-Zuhrī to begin writing down traditions about the Prophet Muḥammad’s life, as well as about other matters. This was likely against the scholar’s will, as the recording of hadith in writing remained a controversial issue at the time. Part of Hishām’s commission included the employment of state secretaries (kuttāb) to record al-Zuhrī’s lectures as he related them to the Umayyad princes, producing by some accounts a considerable body of written work.³³

It was during al-Zuhrī’s residence at the caliph’s court in Ruṣāfah that Maʿmar journeyed there as a trader hoping to sell his wares. He humbly requested the attendees at a marriage banquet to grant him access to al-Zuhrī and, thus, to the scholar’s famed learning. According to his own testimony, Maʿmar took the majority of his learning from al-Zuhrī while he resided in Ruṣāfah, where Maʿmar claims he had al-Zuhrī nearly all to himself.³⁴ Maʿmar learned al-Zuhrī’s traditions via two means: audition (samāʿ) and collation via public recitation (ʿarḍ)—meaning that once Maʿmar had memorized the traditions he would recite them back to al-Zuhrī for review and correction. The combination of these two features of Maʿmar’s studies with al-Zuhrī rendered his transmission of al-Zuhrī’s materials highly desirable in the eyes of other scholars.³⁵ It is likely that Maʿmar remained in Ruṣāfah, or at least Syria, even beyond al-Zuhrī’s death in 124/742. He testifies to having witnessed al-Zuhrī’s personal stores of notebooks (dafātir) being hauled out on beasts of burden for transfer to some unspecified location after the caliph al-Walīd II ibn Yazīd was assassinated in a coup d’état by Yazīd III in Jumada II 126/ April 744.³⁶

After the coup had toppled Walīd II, Syria descended into a vortex of violence that made life there precarious; even the Umayyad dynasty did not survive the ensuing conflicts that collectively came to be called the Third Civil War (fitnah). The denouement of this conflict in 132/750 also saw the ascendance of a new caliphal dynasty, the Abbasids.³⁷ It was likely this tumultuous series of events that caused Maʿmar to journey far to the south, to Sanaa in Yemen. Scholars of any sort, let alone one of Maʿmar’s stature, seem to have been rare in the region at the time, so the locals quickly made arrangements to marry him to a local woman with the hope of tethering him to the city for the long haul.³⁸

In Yemen, Maʿmar’s most promising and, in due time, most famous pupil was ʿAbd al-Razzāq ibn Hammām al-Ṣanʿānī. Of the twenty-odd years Maʿmar reputedly spent in Yemen until his death in 153/770, his relationship with ʿAbd al-Razzāq spanned the final seven to eight years.³⁹ The importance of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s role in the preservation of Maʿmar’s learning is beyond doubt. This is in part due to the considerable scholarly output of ʿAbd al-Razzāq himself, which included the ten surviving volumes of his own hadith compilation, the monumental al-Muṣannaf. However, ʿAbd al-Razzāq was also the first scholar to transmit and present Maʿmar’s scholarship in a recognizably “book-like” form.⁴⁰

Early Muslim scholars did not usually compose books in order to display their scholarly prowess. Indeed, to possess such books for any purpose except private use could considerably harm one’s scholarly reputation, as it suggested that one’s knowledge (Ar. ʿilm) was not known by heart, and therefore not truly learned.⁴¹ Knowledge was, in this sense, expected to be embodied by a scholar and only accessible by personally meeting and studying under said scholar. As a general rule, books were for private use, not public dissemination. This attitude toward writing and knowledge, indeed, was the root of al-Zuhrī’s alarm when the Umayyad caliph Hishām compelled him to have his knowledge copied into books. Maʿmar, one of al-Zuhrī’s closest students at Ruṣāfah, seems to have first seen al-Zuhrī’s private collection of notebooks only after they were removed from his teacher’s private storage (Ar. khazāʾin) after his death, for al-Zuhrī’s books were largely irrelevant to the interpersonal process of the transmission of knowledge that Maʿmar enjoyed under his tutelage. Books were no substitute for the authenticating relationship between a scholar and his pupil. Those who had derived their knowledge only from books were scorned. Indeed, when a Damascene scholar who had purchased a book by al-Zuhrī in Damascus began to transmit the material he had found therein, he was denounced as a fraud.⁴²

Hence, it was as a compliment to his revered teacher’s learning and to his awe-inspiring ability to recall vast stores of hadith from memory at will that ʿAbd al-Razzāq would remark that he never once saw Maʿmar with a book, except for a collection of long narratives (as one finds in The Expeditions, for instance), which he would occasionally take out to consult.⁴³ However, it would be inaccurate to say that written materials had no role to play whatsoever. Teachers could and did bestow private writings on students or close confidants. Such writings, it seems, would fall somewhere between the “lecture notes” used by scholars as an aide-mémoire and the published books produced by later generations. Maʿmar reputedly composed such a tome (Ar. sifr) for his fellow Basran scholar Ayyūb al-Sakhtiyānī on one occasion,⁴⁴ and for ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī on another.⁴⁵ The Expeditions may have been one such work preserved in the course of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s indefatigable pursuit of knowledge: what Sebastian Günther has designated as a “literary composition.”⁴⁶ Simply put, although The Expeditions was the product of Maʿmar’s lectures to ʿAbd al-Razzāq, the end product was a composition polished enough to be disseminated to others and not restricted to Maʿmar’s private use. Hence, although the work was the product of a teacher’s lessons and granted to a student to transmit as such, The Expeditions, as well as other compositions like it, functioned as a work that conformed to a literary form and was organized according to a topical and well-thought-out presentation of material.

However, such books were not intended to replace the memorization of received knowledge. The practice of memorization was still cultivated with the utmost care. ʿAbd al-Razzāq would fondly recall Maʿmar feeding him the fruit of the myrobalanus plant (Ar. halīlaj), presumably to sharpen his memory.⁴⁷ Memorization would remain the sine qua non of scholarly mastery for some time to come. Yet even ʿAbd al-Razzāq had considerable resources at his disposal to aid his preservation of vast amounts of hadith, exceeding the capacity of even the most prodigious memory. When he attended lectures of learned men alongside his father and brother, ʿAbd al-Razzāq reputedly brought with him an entourage of stationers (Ar. warrāqūn) to record what they had heard via audition.⁴⁸

The preservation of texts such as Maʿmar’s The Expeditions is admittedly not entirely straightforward, but this is in large part due to the fact that the genres of Arabic prose were still inchoate and evolving. With the exception of scattered papyrus fragments that testify to their material existence,⁴⁹ none of the second/eighth-century works of Arabic historical writing survives into modern times, save in later recensions. These recensions themselves are often at least two generations removed from the work’s putative author. Hence, the works of the master architect of the maghāzī genre, the Medinese scholar Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq (d. 150/767–68), survive, but only in abridged, and perhaps even expurgated, versions of later scholars such as Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923), ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Hishām (d. 218/834), and al-ʿUṭāridī (d. 272/886).⁵⁰ That Maʿmar’s Expeditions itself only survives in the larger, multivolume compilation of his student ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī called the Muṣannaf is therefore not in the least atypical.

The two works of Maʿmar and Ibn Isḥāq can be fruitfully compared. Compiled at the behest of the Abbasid caliph al-Manṣūr (r. 136–58/754–75),⁵¹ Ibn Isḥāq’s Book of Expeditions (Kitāb al-Maghāzī) is a massive enterprise, a masterpiece of narrative engineering that recounts God’s plan for humanity’s universal salvation, at the apex of which appears the life of Muḥammad, Islam’s prophet.⁵² Ibn Isḥāq’s work dwarfs Maʿmar’s. The Cairo edition of the Arabic text of Ibn Hishām’s redaction of Ibn Isḥāq’s work, al-Sīrah al-nabawiyyah (The Prophetic Life-Story), runs to over 1,380 pages of printed text. The full version as conceived by Ibn Isḥāq, had it survived, would have been far longer. Originally, the structure of Ibn Isḥāq’s Kitāb al-Maghāzī appears to have been tripartite: al-Mubtadaʾ (“the Genesis,” relating pre-Islamic history and that of the Abrahamic prophets from Adam to Jesus), al-Mabʿath (“the Call,” relating Muḥammad’s early life and his prophet career in Mecca), and al-Maghāzī (“the Expeditions,” relating the events of his prophetic career in Medina until his death). In addition to these three sections, there might have existed a fourth: a Tārīkh al-khulafāʾ, or “History of the Caliphs.”⁵³

Maʿmar’s Expeditions, by contrast, is a far more slender, economical volume, even though it covers similar ground. The Expeditions is a substantial, though probably not exhaustive, collection of al-Zuhrī’s maghāzī materials. Most of the major set pieces are present, though there appear to be some glaring omissions, such as the ʿAqabah meetings between Muḥammad and the Medinese tribes prior to the Hijrah.⁵⁴ Though some scholars have raised questions about these missing pieces from Maʿmar’s Expeditions, which for whatever reason ʿAbd al-Razzāq did not transmit, such traditions are likely to be few and far between, if indeed they ever existed.⁵⁵ Hence, the extensive “editing” of Ibn Isḥāq’s materials that one finds in Ibn Hishām’s version of Ibn Isḥāq’s text, for instance, is sparsely present, if not entirely absent, from ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s recension of Maʿmar’s work.

Furthermore, Maʿmar’s narrative in The Expeditions seems, unlike the grandiose architecture one finds in Ibn Isḥāq’s work, to have been compiled without a strong concern for chronology. It does begin with a solid chronological structure: At the outset, we encounter Muḥammad’s grandfather, ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib, fearlessly facing down the war elephant and troops of the Axumite vicegerent Abrahah as they march against Mecca. Soon thereafter we witness the fame and divine favor he earns for his steadfast commitment to God’s sacred city and its shrine, the Kaaba, when the location of its sacred well, Zamzam, first discovered by Abraham’s son Ishmael, is revealed to him. The narrative marches onward through Muḥammad’s birth, youth, adulthood, call to prophecy, and even episodes from his Meccan ministry prior to undertaking the Hijrah to Medina. However, after this stretch, the narrative’s wheels appear to fall off and we are suddenly witnessing the treaty of al-Ḥudaybiyah some six years after the Hijrah. Its purposeful march seems to halt and then begin to careen from one episode in Muḥammad’s life to the next without a strong interest in chronological order. Still, one must be careful not to overstate the case. The main battles of the Medinese period appear in chronological order, and the stories of Muḥammad’s succession, the conquests, and the Great Civil War (al-fitnah al-kubrā) appear after the story of the Prophet’s death and roughly in chronological succession. As Schoeler observed, chronology is not determinative for the text’s structure; Maʿmar’s approach is, instead, rather ad hoc.⁵⁶ Yet this is not to say that Maʿmar’s approach is not also haphazard. The chapter headings, for instance, seem to reflect Maʿmar’s division of the work. Although some of these headings appear redundant at first glance, a closer reading suggests that the somewhat redundant chapter headings function as a divider to mark off materials Maʿmar transmits from al-Zuhrī from those he transmits from other authorities, such as Qatādah or ʿUthmān al-Jazarī. One must emphasize that even if the chronological arc of Muḥammad’s life does not determine the book's structure, its arc remains implicit within each episode.

In summary, the importance of The Expeditions by Maʿmar ibn Rāshid is multifaceted. As an early written work of the second/eighth century, and as one of the earliest exempla of the maghāzī genre, Maʿmar’s text is a precious artifact of the social and cultural history of a bygone age that witnessed the birth of Arabic as a medium of writerly culture. The text demands the attention of specialist and non-specialist readers alike, due to its intrinsic value as an early source for the lives of Muḥammad and his earliest followers. It is for us moderns an indispensable window onto how early Muslims attempted to articulate a vision of their Prophet and sacred history.

Note on the Text

The English Translation

The two guiding lights of this English translation have been fidelity and readability, and I have sought to balance one against the other. With fidelity to the Arabic text comes the hazard of a rendering so wooden and cold that the translation is alienating or unintelligible. With readability in English comes the hazard of bowdlerization, producing a text so pureed that the hearty textures of its original cultural and historical contexts vanish. My hope is that the reader will find much that is delightful, curious, and surprising in the text but that the idiom of the translation and of the original Arabic will work hand in glove and allow the text to come to life.

Readers uninitiated to the genres of prophetic biography and hadith will likely find some features of the text difficult to adjust to at first, so some words of advice on reading the text are in order. First, the presence of chains of transmission, isnāds, between reports may seem disjointed initially. It may be helpful to view them as a snapshot of the context in which the text was being read aloud—an exchange between a teacher and a pupil. The context remains conspicuous thanks to the chains of transmission, which serve almost as a frame story in which a storyteller relates the narratives about Muḥammad and his Companions.

Second, much of the text is not in chronological order, and for this reason the reader should not feel obligated to read the chapters in the order presented by the text. I have included a timeline of events to aid the reader in ascertaining what events happen when. I have also listed these events according to the calculations attributed to al-Zuhrī, Maʿmar’s teacher. I have done so for pragmatic reasons, not because I believe they are necessarily the most correct. Indeed, al-Zuhrī’s calculations occasionally depart considerably from the standard dates one is likely to find in a textbook. With that being said, and despite Maʿmar’s pragmatic approach to chronology, the first chapter remains, in my opinion, the best place to begin. There the reader will find stories of Muḥammad’s youth, his growth into manhood, and his call to prophecy.

Finally, the bilingual nature of this text has determined many of the decisions I have made along the way, and I have chosen to see the presence of the Arabic edition as freeing rather constricting in making decisions about translation. The reader who is bilingual in Arabic and English, or at least aspiring to be, is advised to note the following:

‍•	Chains of transmission, isnāds, are set in a smaller font, and I have made explicit the teacher–pupil relationship in the translation where the Arabic merely has ʿan (“from”), by translating the preposition as “on the authority of . . .”
‍•	In the Arabic edition, I have retained honorific invocations for the Prophet and his Companions, such as ṣallā Allāhu ʿalayhi wa-sallam (God bless him and keep him) and raḍiya Allāhu ʿanhu (May God be pleased with him), but I have omitted them in most cases from the English translation.
‍•	I freely replace demonstratives and pronouns with their referents to remove ambiguity and vice versa when English style so dictates.
‍•	Transitional phrases and conjunctions (fa-, thumma, ḥattā idhā, baynamā, lammā, etc.) lend themselves to multiple translations; thus, I have taken the liberty to translate their sense into a variety of nonliteral English permutations.
‍•	Dense and idiomatic Arabic expressions that literal translations into English would leave abstruse have been unpacked, and I have often departed from the syntax of the Arabic original in order to render the text into more idiomatic English.
‍•	Similarly, the repetitive use of qāla/qālat, “he/she said,” in the text would try an English speaker's patience if translated literally; therefore, I have freely translated the verb as he or she said, replied, answered, declared, etc.
‍•	Many technical terms are directly translated into English, hence “the Sacred Mosque” for al-masjid al-ḥarām and “Emigrants” and “Allies” rather than al-muhājirūn and al-anṣār. Yet I have also adopted the anglicized equivalents of other technical terms given their widespread use in English—e.g., hajj for ḥajj, rather than “Pilgrimage,” Hijrah for hijrah rather than “Emigration,” and Shura for shūrā rather than “Consultative Assembly”—mostly due to the imprecision of their English equivalents. (“Pilgrimage,” for instance, does not allow one to distinguish efficiently between the seasonal and non-seasonal pilgrimages: the ḥajj versus the ʿumrah.) All such words, likely to be unfamiliar to the nonspecialist reader, can be located in the glossary.
‍•	For quotations from the Qurʾan, I cite the translation of M. A. S. Abdel Haleem; however, I have also significantly modified Abdel Haleem’s translation when his rendering is either at odds with or does not sufficiently illuminate the interpretation of the Qurʾan suggested by the narrative. Also, there is a minor discrepancy in the manner in which citations of the Qurʾan are found in the Arabic edition and the translation that merits the reader's attention. Citations of the Qurʾan often appear in the Arabic edition in a truncated form. This citational practice reproduces the manuscript and reflects the cultural context in which the text was produced, a context that assumed a baseline fluency in the Qurʾan that is now rare among a modern readership, whether Muslim or non-Muslim. I have thus included qurʾanic citations in their entirety in my English translation for the sake of readers lacking an intimate familiarity with the Qurʾan.

A note on Arabic names: The forms of names one encounters in Arabic literature can be quite daunting for the uninitiated, but the system is easy to learn with a little time. A typical full name consists of a personal name (ism) followed by a genealogy (nasab) that starts with one’s father and continues back several generations. The nasab is recognizable by the words ibn and bint, which mean “son” and “daughter,” respectively. Hence, Maʿmar ibn Rāshid literally means “Maʿmar, the son of Rāshid” and Asmāʾ bint ʿUmays means “Asmāʾ, the daughter of ʿUmays.” In spoken address, convention often dictates the use of a kunyah, or teknonym, such as Abū (“Father of”) or Umm (“Mother of”). This means that although ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib or al-ʿAbbās ibn ʿAbd al-Muṭṭalib are referred to as ʿAlī and al-ʿAbbās in the narrative of the text, in formal direct speech they are referred by their kunyahs, Abū l-Ḥasan (Father of al-Ḥasan) and Abū l-Faḍl (Father of al-Faḍl), respectively, unless they are being addressed by an intimate friend.

Other common names are theophoric, meaning that they include a name of God. These names include two parts: the first is ʿabd, meaning “slave/servant,” and the second the name of God. For example, ʿAbd Allāh means “Servant of God” and ʿAbd al-Raḥmān “Servant of the Merciful.” Many names also contain one or more nisbahs, names that end in –ī for men and –iyyah for women. Nisbahs are adjectives that refer to a tribe and place of birth or residence; thus, al-Zuhrī is so called because he comes from the tribe of Zuhrah, and ʿAbd al-Razzāq is called al-Sanʿānī because he comes from the city of Sanaa.

The Arabic Edition

The Expeditions survives only in ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s redaction and is contained in his Muṣannaf. The relevant section of his Muṣannaf survives only in a single, partial manuscript: Murad Mulla 604, fols. 66r–99r [مم], which dates to 747/1346–47 and is currently held at the Süleymaniye Library in Istanbul, Turkey. Relying on a sole extant manuscript is, of course, far from ideal. Fortunately, many of the initial difficulties were mitigated by the previous efforts of two editors: Ḥabīb al-Raḥmān al-Aʿẓamī, who first edited and compiled the surviving portions of the ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s Muṣannaf, a project published by al-Maktab al-Islāmī in Beirut in 1972; and an edition of the The Book of Expeditions produced by Suhayl Zakkār under the title al-Maghāzī al-nabawiyyah and published by Dār al-Fikr in Beirut in 1981. Both editions were significant achievements in their own right, in particular Zakkār’s far superior reading of the text, but both also suffer from a number of shortcomings that I have sought to ameliorate in the present edition.

I have aimed to improve upon the previous editions of the text by judiciously taking into account the different transmissions (Ar. riwāyāt) of the text, no matter how piecemeal. Even here, however, there are hazards. It is significant that the transmission (riwāyah) for the Murad Mulla manuscript of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s Muṣannaf in which the sole transcription of Maʿmar’s Kitāb al-Maghāzī survives is from the Yemeni scholar Abū Yaʿqūb Isḥāq ibn Ibrāhīm al-Dabarī (d. ca. 285–86/898–99). Isḥāq al-Dabarī was a native of Sanaa who seems to have remained in the city throughout his life, establishing a reputation as one of the most important transmitters of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s scholarly corpus. Indeed, of the thirty-three books that survive from the Muṣannaf as cobbled together by its modern editor, al-Aʿẓamī, Isḥāq al-Dabarī’s transmission preserves 90 percent thereof (i.e., twenty-nine of the work’s thirty-three divisions).⁵⁷ Quotations and excerpts from other transmissions of Maʿmar’s Maghāzī via ʿAbd al-Razzāq survive, but only in piecemeal fashion and as small parts of larger, collected works, such as the Musnad of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s student Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal (d. 241/855), and not as an integral book. Isḥāq al-Dabarī, by contrast, transmitted Maʿmar’s Maghāzī from ʿAbd al-Razzāq both as part of the latter’s Muṣannaf and as a standalone work.⁵⁸

There are several indications that Isḥāq al-Dabarī was primed to be a key transmitter of the Muṣannaf from a tender age. His father, Ibrāhīm ibn ʿAbbād al-Dabarī, was the appointed lector for ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s works (qāriʾ al-dīwān) late in the scholar’s life, and he supervised his son’s recording of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s corpus, which his son received via audition (samāʿ).⁵⁹ The main intent of Ibrāhīm al-Dabarī in requiring his son Isḥāq to hear the corpus of ʿAbd al-Razzāq as early as ten, or by some accounts even seven years of age was likely to ensure the durability of his son’s transmission. The most sought-after isnāds for a hadith often had—and continue to have—a property called ʿuluww, a term roughly meaning “height” or “elevation.” There are many reasons an isnād with “height” was the ideal for scholars of the hadith. One pragmatic reason was because such an elevated isnād covers the largest amount of time with the fewest names of scholars, and therefore is easier to commit to memory. More important, however, an elevated isnād contained fewer names between the transmitter (rāwī) and the Prophet, and therefore was “nearer” to the Prophet.⁶⁰ Having heard ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s corpus at such a young age ensured that the isnāds from Isḥāq would have this property of ʿuluww, and his father’s supervision ostensibly assured the accuracy of his transmission.

Most hadith scholars of the subsequent generation indeed recognized Isḥāq al-Dabarī’s transmission as thoroughly reliable;⁶¹ however, it is noteworthy that earlier scholars, in particular older students of ʿAbd al-Razzāq, did question the quality of Isḥāq al-Dabarī’s transmission. Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal, for instance, held that because ʿAbd al-Razzāq had lost his eyesight in 200/815–16, subsequent transmissions from him were of a shoddier quality, given that ʿAbd al-Razzāq could no longer personally review and verify the accuracy of his students’ written notes.⁶² Ibn Ḥanbal’s comments may in fact be directed against Isḥāq al-Dabarī’s transmission, which he began receiving via audition sometime between 202/817 and 205/821, after ʿAbd al-Razzāq lost his eyesight.⁶³ Certainly the fact that Ibrāhīm al-Dabarī supervised his son’s audition of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s corpus mitigates this criticism to some degree; however, at least one scholar of the following century, Ibn Mufarrij (d. 380/990–91), saw fit to compose an entire book detailing and correcting the errors made by Isḥāq al-Dabarī in his transmission of ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s corpus.⁶⁴

The Murad Mulla manuscript upon which I have based my tradition is written in a fine, readable hand, but the text does suffer from the usual array of scribal errors and lacunae that one finds in most manuscripts. As a result, the text in several parts was in need of “reconstruction” inasmuch as I have not regarded the text of the manuscript itself as so “sacred” as to bind me to reproduce slavishly its errors and lacunae. With the exception of a handful of instances, such reconstructions are possible due to the proliferation of texts that directly cite ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s transmission (riwāyah) of Maʿmar’s text. The most important of these are ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s Tafsīr [تع] (which survives in two manuscript testimonies predating the Murad Mulla manuscript),⁶⁵ Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal’s Musnad [ح], and al-Ṭabarānī’s Muʿjam al-kabīr [ط]. Where the readings in these other texts depart from the manuscript in merely iterative or minor ways, I have favored the Murad Mulla manuscript rather than the citations found in other works.⁶⁶

I have consulted further sources appearing in the critical apparatus to the text that play a more marginal role in establishing the text. Hence, less ideally, I have relied occasionally on citations of traditions found in the Kitāb al-Maghāzī from lines of transmission that derive from students of Maʿmar other than ʿAbd al-Razzāq to reconstruct obscure passages. As a means of last resort, I have occasionally drawn upon alternative transmissions of al-Zuhrī’s traditions. Difficult passages often had no clear parallel or citation in other sources, and in such cases I leaned upon my own ijtihād and corrected the text of the manuscript to the best of my ability to guess the original reading in the hope that, indeed, kull mujtahid muṣīb, “every qualified scholar hits the mark.” Whether or not I have succeeded, I leave to my colleagues’ judgment. The intrepid Arabist concerned with such minutiae will find the indications thereof marked in the critical apparatus to the text.

Given the LAL's focus on readability, I have endeavored to make my editorial decisions as transparent as possible while simultaneously unobtrusive to the casual reader. I have also edited my Arabic text with the underlying assumption that it will be read as a bilingual text alongside the English translation. Thus, cosmetic textual features such as section numbering, paragraphing, font size, standardized orthography, and punctuation have been introduced to facilitate easy cross-referencing between the Arabic edition and English translation.

The following sigla designate the sources referred to throughout the textual apparatus (full bibliographic references to the editions used appear in the bibliography):

[بخ] al-Bukhārī, al-Ṣaḥīḥ

[بد] al-Bayhaqī, Dalāʾil al-nubuwwah

[بس] al-Bayhaqī, al-Sunan al-kubrā

[بل] al-Balādhurī, Ansāb al-ashrāf

[تط] al-Ṭabarī, al-Tārīkh

[تع] ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī, al-Tafsīr

[ح] Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal, al-Musnad

[ز] al-Azraqī, Akhbār Makkah

[ط] al-Ṭabarānī, al-Muʿjam al-kabīr

[عب] Ibn ʿAbd al-Barr, al-Durar fī ikhtiṣār al-maghāzī wa-l-siyar or al-Tamhīd li-mā fī l-Muwaṭṭaʾ min al-maʿānī wa’l-asānīd

[لش] Hibat Allāh al-Lālakāʾī, Sharḥ uṣūl iʿtiqād ahl al-sunnah wa’l-jamāʿah

[مم] MS Murad Mulla 604

[ن] Abū Nuʿaym al-Iṣfahānī, Dalāʾil al-nubuwwah

Timeline

Dates and events for the life of Muḥammad are fraught with difficulties; therefore, dates are here given according to al-Zuhrī’s calculations.

After 558 (?)	The “Elephant Troop” and Abrahah, king of Ḥimyar, march against Mecca to destroy the Kaaba
608 (?)	Muḥammad receives his first revelation atop Mount Ḥirāʾ
622, Sept.	Muḥammad’s Hijrah from Mecca to Medina
624, Mar.	Battle of Badr
624, Sept.–Oct.	Expulsion of the Jewish clan al-Naḍīr from Medina
625, Mar.–Apr.	Battle of Uḥud
627, Feb.–Mar.	Battle of the United Clans/the Trench
628, Feb.–Mar.	Treaty of Ḥudaybiyah
630, 3 Jan.	Muḥammad’s Conquest of Mecca
632, 27 May	Muḥammad’s Death
644, Nov.	Assassination of the second caliph ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb
656, June	Assassination of the third caliph ʿUthmān ibn ʿAffān
656–61	The Great Civil War (al-fitnah al-kubrā)
656, Nov.–Dec.	The Battle of the Camel between ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭālib and ʿĀʾishah bint Abī Bakr, al-Zubayr ibn al-ʿAwwām, and Ṭalḥah ibn ʿUbayd Allāh
657, July	The Battle of Ṣiffīn between ʿAlī and Muʿāwiyah ibn Abī Sufyān
661, Jan.	Assassination of ʿAlī
661–750	The Umayyad Caliphate
680–92	Second Civil War—the Marwānid Umayyads emerge victorious over their Zubyarid rivals
685–705	Caliphate of ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān
723–43	Caliphate of Hishām ibn ʿAbd al-Malik
742	Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī dies
744–50	Third Civil War ensues after the assassination of al-Walīd II, leading to the rise of Abbasid dynasty of caliphs
754–75	Caliphate of Abū Jaʿfar al-Manṣūr
768	Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq dies
770	Maʿmar ibn Rāshid dies
827	ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī dies

* Dates and events for the life of Muḥammad are fraught with difficulties; therefore, dates are here given according to al-Zuhrī’s calculations.

Notes to the Frontmatter

Foreword

1	Muḥammad Ibn-Isḥāq, ʻAbd-al-Malik Ibn-Hishām, and Alfred Guillaume. The Life of Muhammad: A Translation of [Ibn] Ishāq’s Sīrat rasūl Allāh (London: Oxford University Press, 1955).
2	Ḥājjī Khalīfah. Kashf al-ẓunūn ʿan asāmī al-kutub wal-funūn, vol. 2. (Beirut: Dār al-ʿIlm, 1994), 604.
3	On ʿUrwah ibn al-Zubayr, see Andreas Görke and Gregor Schoeler, Die altesten Berichte über das Leben Muḥammads (Princeton: Darwin Press, 2008).‎‎

Acknowledgements

4	Muhammad, 91.

Introduction

5	The precise title of Ibn Isḥāq’s work is not certain, though the most likely candidate is Kitāb al-Maghāzī. Ibn Hishām’s redaction is usually referred to as al-Sīrah al-nabawiyyah (Eng. The Prophetic Life-Story), but this title has little to do with Ibn Isḥāq’s original work. See Horovitz, Earliest Biographies, 80 and n. 93 thereto and Schoeler, Biography, 28–29.
6	This is not to say, however, that the earliest testimonies are bereft of historical insight; see Hoyland, “The Earliest Christian Writings on Muḥammad,” and Anthony, “Muḥammad, the Keys to Paradise, and the Doctrina Iacobi.”
7	In the West, scholarship on the historical Muḥammad is inevitably considerably indebted to the tradition of historical Jesus scholarship, a tradition that is now over two centuries old. However, it must be said that historians of early Islam are rarely fluent in the most up-to-date scholarship on the historical Jesus. In the massive literature on the challenges and aims of writing the biography of the historical Jesus, E. P. Sanders’ The Historical Figure of Jesus remains a classic.
8	Hoyland, “Writing the Biography of the Prophet Muhammad.”
9	See Chabbi, “La biographie impossible de Mahomet.” In the most recent decade anglophone scholarship has all but abandoned writing traditional, historical biographies in favor of monographs proposing radical new views of Islamic origins. The two most noteworthy monographs on this score are Shoemaker, The Death of a Prophet, and Powers, Muḥammad Is Not the Father of Any of Your Men. Germanophone and francophone scholars, on the other hand, have been considerably more active in writing more traditional, historical biographies during the last decade; e.g., see Tilman Nagel’s massive Mohammed: Leben und Legende and Allahs Liebling, and Hichem Djaït’s three-volume history La vie de Muḥammad (originally written in Arabic). Although the full impact of the scholarly reception of Djaït’s work has yet to be seen, a positive evaluation of Djaït’s project can be found in Nicolai Sinai, “Hisham Djait.” By contrast, the response to Nagel’s biography has been rather tepid; e.g., see Hagan, “The Imagined and Historical Muḥammad,” and Schoeler's Biography, 11–13 and “Grundsätzliches zu Tilman Nagels Monographie.”
10	Donner, Narratives of Islamic Origins, 35–63; Neuwirth, Der Koran als Text der Spätantike, 235–75; Hamdan, “The Second Maṣāḥif Project”; Comerro, La constitution du muṣḥaf de ʿUthmān; Sadeghi and Goudarzi, “Ṣanʿāʾ 1 and the Origins of the Qurʾān.”
11	An excellent and fluent introduction to hadith as well as the formation of its canon can be found in Brown, Ḥadīth; however, Brown’s treatment of the earliest phases of hadith transmission and collection is a tad tendentious. For an important corrective, see Reinhart, “Juynbolliana,” 436 ff.
12	Cf. Görke, “The Relationship between Maghāzī and Ḥadīth.”
13	The reader may find it surprising that the word jihad (Ar. al-jihād) appears only once in the text; see 13.3.
14	Cf. the list of maghāzī titles gathered in Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, 1:887b–888a.
15	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:393.
16	These works include two collections of prophetic traditions, al-Jāmiʿ and Ṣaḥīfat Hammām ibn Munabbih, and ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s exegesis of the Qurʾan, al-Tafsīr; see EI3, “ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī” (H. Motzki).
17	Boekhoff-van der Voort (“The Kitāb al-maghāzī,” 29–30) recently tabulated the percentage of the materials ʿAbd al-Razzāq derived solely from Maʿmar in the Kitāb al-Maghāzī as 93.9 percent; however, her tabulation is somewhat misleading, as she counts ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s annotations and glosses of Maʿmar’s traditions, which rarely go beyond a sentence or two, as equal to Maʿmar’s fully realized narrations, which stretch on for pages. In fact, all of the narratives derive from Maʿmar except for a short narrative about Abū Bakr (24.3) and two longish narrations that ʿAbd al-Razzāq adds to the end of Maʿmar’s account of the marriage of Fāṭimah (31.2–31.3).
18	Donner, Narratives, 255–70; Robinson, Islamic Historiography, 15–17, 92–93.
19	Brown, Ḥadīth, 4 f.
20	Donner, Narratives, 280 ff.
21	See al-Zubayr ibn Bakkār, Muwaffaqayyāt, 332–35.
22	Cf. Horovitz, Earliest Biographies, 6–11 and esp. n. 30 thereto. The account of Sulaymān ibn ʿAbd al-Malik is from al-Zubayr ibn Bakkār, Muwaffaqayyāt, 332–35. A shorter version appears in Balādhurī, Ansāb, 4/2: 490. The dating of these events by al-Zubayr ibn Bakkār may be off by a year or so; see EI3, “Abān b. ʿUthmān” (Khalil Athamina).
23	Efforts to locate traces of his work have produced little. His material is often confused with that of another author of a Kitāb al-Maghāzī, the early Shiʿite scholar Abān ibn ʿUthmān al-Aḥmar al-Bajalī (d. ca. 200/816), whose work is also lost. Portions of the latter’s work seem to be preserved by Amīn al-Dīn al-Ṭabrisī (d. 548/1154) in the portion of his Iʿlām al-warā dedicated to the biography of Muḥammad. See Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, 130 and Jarrar, “Early Shīʿī Sources.”
24	Görke and Schoeler, Die älteste Berichte, 258 ff., 289; cf. an English summary in Görke, “Prospects and Limits,” 145 f.
25	Balādhurī, Ansāb, 4(2):490; Schoeler posits that ʿAbd al-Malik later had a change of heart, but does not speculate why. See Schoeler, Biography, 31.
26	Shoemaker (“In Search of ʿUrwa’s Sīra”) provides the most thorough critique of the recent attempts to rediscover ʿUrwah’s corpus in later sources; now, cf. the riposte by Görke, Schoeler, and Motzki, “First Century Sources.”
27	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:393.
28	Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt, 2(2):135, “min abnāʾ al-muhājirūn wa’l-anṣār.”
29	Ibn Abī Khaythamah, Tārīkh, 2:127–28; Fasawī, Maʿrifah, 1:479.
30	Cited in Lecker, “Biographical Notes,” 34. As Lecker demonstrates (ibid., 37–40), al-Zuhrī served as a judge (qāḍī) for at least three caliphs, administered the collection of taxes, and was known, moreover, for wearing the clothing of the high-ranking Umayyad soldiery (al-jund).
31	Fasawī, Maʿrifah, 1:636; cf. Lecker, “Biographical Notes,” 32–33 and n. 46 thereto.
32	Guidetti, “Contiguity between Churches and Mosques,” 20 ff.
33	Lecker, “Biographical Notes,” 25–28; cf. Cook, “The Opponents of the Writing of Tradition,” 459–62 and Schoeler, Oral and Written, 140–41 on the controversy.
34	Abū Nuʿaym, Ḥilyah, 3:363; Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:399–400.
35	Ibn Abī Khaythamah, Tārīkh, 1:271, 325–26: Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:412. On collation in the transmission of knowledge, see Déroche, Qurʾans of the Umayyads, 70; Gacek, Arabic Manuscripts, 65 ff.; al-Qāḍī, “How ‘Sacred’ Is the Text of an Arabic Medieval Manuscript,” 28 f.; and Mashūkhī, Anmāṭ al-tawthīq, 47.
36	Ibn Saʿd, Ṭabaqāt, 2(2):136; Fasawī, Maʿrifah, 1:479, 637–38; Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:400; cf. the discussion in Cook, “The Opponents of the Writing of Tradition,” 459–60. The fate of these writings is unknown, but it is significant that they survived al-Zuhrī’s death despite al-Walīd II’s antipathy toward al-Zuhrī. The caliph allegedly declared that he would have killed the scholar had he survived to see his caliphate. See Horovitz, Earliest Biographies, 58–59. The dislike was apparently mutual. According to one account, al-Zuhrī pleaded with Zayd ibn ʿAlī to delay his revolt against Hishām so that he might openly offer Zayd his support once al-Walīd II had come to power. Zayd, of course, did not follow al-Zuhrī’s council and was crucified as a rebel by Hishām in 122/740. See Balādhurī, Ansāb, 2:621 and Anthony, Crucifixion, 46 ff.
37	Cf. Robinson, “The Violence of the Abbasid Revolution.”
38	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:408.
39	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 36:167, 173 f.; cf. Horovitz, Earliest Biographies, 73.
40	This applies not only to the Kitāb al-Maghāzī but also to Maʿmar’s al-Jāmiʿ and, to a lesser extent ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s Tafsīr, or Qurʾan commentary, the bulk of which derives from Maʿmar.
41	See Cook, “The Opponents of the Writing of Tradition”; Kister, “Notes on the Transmission of Ḥadīth”; and Schoeler, Oral and Written, 111–41 et passim on this issue.
42	Ibn Ḥajar, Tahdhīb, 10:220. Indeed, Muḥammad ibn Isḥāq, Maʿmar’s contemporary, courted controversy by merely integrating the books of others into his Kitāb al-Maghāzī rather than only including materials from scholars under whom he directly studied. See Schoeler, Biography, 26.
43	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:417, mā raʾaynā li-Maʿmar kitāb ghayr hādhihi l-ṭiwāl fa-innahu yakhrujuhā bi-lā shakk.
44	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 59:395, 409.
45	Ibn Abī Khaythamah, Tārikh, 1:324; cf. Cook, “The Opponents of the Writing of Tradition,” 469–70 for further material on Maʿmar’s ambivalent attitude toward written materials.
46	Günther, “New Results”; cf. the systematic attempt of A. Elad to apply Günther’s concept of “literary composition” to early Islamic historiography in Syria in his article “The Beginning of Historical Writing,” 121 ff.
47	Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 36:178; according to A. Dietrich, the plant was reputed to confer “a lucid intellect.” See EI2, “Halīladj.”
48	Ibn Abī Khaythamah, Tārīkh, 1:330.
49	The first of these is a papyrus fragment held at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, erroneously attributed to Maʿmar ibn Rāshid by Nabia Abbott (Studies in Arabic Literary Papyri, 1:65–79), and subsequently correctly identified by M. J. Kister as from the work of the Egyptian scholar and judge (qāḍī) Ibn Lahīʿah (d. 175/790). See Kister, “Notes on the Papyrus Text.” A second papyrus, likely dating to the early third/ninth century, is attributed to Wahb ibn Munabbih (d. ca. 101–2/719–20); on which, see Khoury, Wahb b. Munabbih.
50	Schoeler, Biography, 32–34.
51	On Ibn Isḥāq and the Abbasids, see Horovitz, Earliest Biographies, 79–80; Sellheim, “Prophet, Chalif und Geschichte.”
52	Sellheim, “Prophet, Chalif und Geschichte,” 40 f.; Robinson, Islamic Historiography, 135.
53	Horovitz, Earliest Biographies, 80–89. Indeed, Nabia Abbot identified a papyrus fragment from Ibn Isḥāq’s Tārīkh al-khulafāʾ. See Abbott, Studies in Arabic Literary Papyri, 1:80–99. Her comments on the text ought to be supplemented by those of Kister, “Notes on an Account of the Shura.”
54	For traditions ascribed to al-Zuhrī on the ʿAqabah meetings, see Bayhaqī, Dalāʾil, 2:421–23, 454; none of these are Maʿmar traditions, but rather come from Mūsā ibn ʿUqbah. For traditions from Maʿmar on the topic, which however are not related on the authority of al-Zuhrī, see ʿAbd al-Razzāq, Tafsīr, 1:129 (ad Q Nisāʾ 4:103); idem, Muṣannaf, 6: 4, 6–7. For other narrations attributed to al-Zuhrī more generally but not related by Maʿmar, see ʿAwwājī, Marwīyāt al-Zuhrī. Most events listed by ʿAwwājī that Maʿmar does not relate in a narration from al-Zuhrī notably derive either from Ibn Isḥāq or Mūsā ibn ʿUqbah.
55	Maher Jarrar (Die Prophetenbiographie, 29) believed ʿAbd al-Razzāq to have included only a portion of Maʿmar’s maghāzī corpus from Zuhrī, but the evidence he adduces for this assertion is wanting. Of the examples he cites (ibid., 54 n. 158), at least two of them actually do appear in the Kitāb al-Maghāzī, despite his claims to the contrary (Abū Nuʿaym, Dalāʾil, 2:504–5 is 5.1 of this volume; Dhahabī, Tārīkh, 6:20–21 is 1.10); and two other traditions appear in ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s Tafsīr (Abū Nuʿaym, Dalāʾil, 1:224 = ʿAbd al-Razzāq, Tafsīr, 1:169; Dhahabī, Tārīkh, 1:610 = ʿAbd al-Razzāq Tafsīr, 1:288–89). The other examples he cites are minor, short traditions that are certainly related to “maghāzī” concerns, but are not centerpieces of the maghāzī tradition; see Abū Nuʿaym, Dalāʾil, 1:272 (how the Hāshim clan came to reside in the piedmont of Abū Ṭālib); Dhahabī, Tārīkh, 1:575 (Gabriel announces ʿUmar’s conversion), 594 (on Medina’s female diviner Faṭīmah), 642 (on the prayers as revealed in Mecca). More substantial omissions from Maʿmar ibn Rāshid’s maghāzī materials, especially traditions on the reigns of the first four caliphs, can be found throughout Ansāb al-ashrāf of al-Balādhurī (d. 279/892). The scholar al-Wāqidī and his scribe Ibn Saʿd are a potential source, too, for further maghāzī traditions from Maʿmar; however, Wāqidī is known to play fast and loose with his source material, making the prospect of recovering Maʿmar’s authentic material from him slim.
56	Schoeler, Biography, 27.

Note on the Text

57	Motzki, “The Author and His Work,” 181.
58	Ibn Khayr, Fahrasah, 1:153, 289–90; cf. Ibn al-Nadīm, Fihrist, 1:296 and 2:94.
59	Ibn Khayr, Fahrasah, 1:155.
60	The hadith scholar Abū Bakr Ibn Abī Shaybah (d. 235/849) exhorted his fellow scholars that “seeking elevated isnāds is part of religion (ṭalab al-isnād al-ʿālī min al-dīn)”; cited in Brown, Ḥadīth, 47 ff.
61	Dhahabī, Tārīkh, 6:714–15; Ibn Khayr, Fahrasah, 1:154 f.
62	Abū Zurʿah, Tārīkh, 1:457; Ibn ʿAsākir, Dimashq, 36:174. ʿAbd al-Razzāq’s fondess for Ibn Ḥanbal as one of his star students was renowned. See Ibn al-Jawzī, Virtues of the Imam Aḥmad ibn Ḥanbal, 1: 46–7, 280–81, 424–7.
63	Dhahabī, Tārīkh, 6:714; cf. Ibn Ḥajar, Lisān, 2:36 f.
64	Ibn Mufarrij’s work is no longer extant, to my knowledge, but is said to have been titled Kitāb Iṣlāḥ al-ḥurūf allatī kāna Isḥāq ibn Ibrāhīm al-Dabarī yuṣaḥḥifuhā fī Muṣannaf ʿAbd al-Razzāq; see Ibn Khayr, Fahrasah, 1:155.
65	Sezgin, Geschichte des arabischen Schrifttums, 1:99.
66	Cf. al-Qāḍī, “How ‘Sacred’ Is the Text of an Arabic Medieval Manuscript?”

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