The Qur’an is considered the unaltered word of God, but it’s the hadith and sīra that breathe movement into the text. They are, in many ways, the heartbeat of traditional Islam.
By Dr. Tim Orr
I’ve spent years sitting with Muslims—professors, imams, students, and neighbors—listening to their stories and sharing mine. Often, our conversations come back to a single question: “What does it mean to follow God?” For my Muslim friends, the answer usually involves looking to the Prophet Muhammad—his message and his life. The Qur’an is considered the unaltered word of God, but it’s the hadith and sīra that breathe movement into the text. They are, in many ways, the heartbeat of traditional Islam. Hadith and sīra provide the practical blueprint for everyday Muslim life—offering details on how to pray, fast, marry, conduct business, and resolve disputes—making them essential guides for living out the faith in tangible, embodied ways.
But the more I studied these sources, especially in the context of Islamic feminism and critical historiography, the more I realized something important: these aren’t just devotional texts—they’re historical constructions, shaped by centuries of memory, politics, and power struggles. That means they deserve reverence (as Muslims give them) and an honest, thorough examination.
The term hadith might sound unfamiliar to the outsider, but for the practicing Muslim, hadith are daily companions. They are brief reports about what Muhammad said, did, approved, or reacted to. Each report begins with a chain of narrators (isnād) and ends with the actual content (matn). In Sunni Islam, these were gathered into six major collections, with Sahih al-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim held as the most authoritative.
But Sunni Islam isn’t the only tradition. Shia Muslims take a different route. They accept hadith too, but they elevate the sayings of the Prophet’s family, especially the Twelve Imams, whom they believe are divinely guided. Their collections—like Al-Kāfī—reflect that emphasis. The Imams are not just religious figures but theological authorities, and their interpretations often override those of the Prophet’s other companions.
Then there’s the sīra—the biographical narratives of Muhammad’s life. These are longer, story-driven texts, designed to give Muslims a cohesive narrative about Muhammad’s childhood, his call to prophecy, his struggles in Mecca, his migration to Medina, and his eventual military, political, and spiritual triumph. Ibn Ishaq wrote the most well-known sīra in the 8th century. However, what we have today is filtered through Ibn Hisham, who edited out parts he considered theologically troubling or socially embarrassing. In other words, what we call "the life of Muhammad" is already curated. For example, Ibn Hisham is known to have removed references to Muhammad’s marriage to a Coptic slave girl, comments about poetry deemed crude, and stories that suggested doubt or human frailty. His goal was not simply to transmit history, but to protect the Prophet’s image, highlighting virtues and downplaying episodes that might seem problematic to later generations. This editorial hand reminds us that the sīra was shaped as much by theology as by memory.
For most Muslims—whether Sunni or Shia—hadith and sīra are not optional add-ons to the Qur’an. They are essential. Without them, the Qur’an often reads like a book of principles without instructions. For instance, the Qur’an tells believers to “establish prayer” (salah)—but it doesn’t say how. Hadith explain the posture, timing, and even the number of daily prayers. Likewise, Qur’anic commands like zakāt (almsgiving) or hajj (pilgrimage) are fleshed out through Muhammad’s example in the hadith.
And that’s the key word: example. The Prophet’s life is the “beautiful pattern” (Qur’an 33:21) for all Muslims to emulate. This concept is deeply internalized. A devout Muslim doesn’t just love Muhammad; they imitate him. Whether it’s growing a beard, refusing to eat with the left hand, or praying in specific ways, each action is, ideally, a reenactment of the Prophet’s life.
This makes the hadith and sīra sacred in function, even if not in form. Though not considered divine revelation like the Qur’an, they’re treated as authoritative. The hadith has often been used to override or narrow the open-ended meaning of Qur’anic verses.
This is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable—but also necessary. The reality is, these texts weren’t written down during Muhammad’s lifetime. Most major hadith collections emerged 200–250 years after his death. That’s more time than exists between the U.S. Constitution and today. Imagine if the only biographies we had of George Washington were oral stories compiled by his great-grandchildren’s generation.
Muslim scholars knew the danger of forgery and worked hard to create a science of hadith authentication. They investigated chains of transmission, evaluated narrators’ memory and moral character, and developed categories like sahih (authentic), da'if (weak), and mawdu‘ (fabricated). It’s an impressive system. But it’s also deeply human. Even the most “authentic” hadith can contain ethically troubling or historically implausible content.
For example, Bukhari includes a hadith stating that women are deficient in religion and intelligence (Sahih Bukhari 1:6:301). Another claim is that the sun sets in a muddy spring (Sahih Bukhari 4:54:421). Still others suggest that Muhammad consummated a marriage with a child bride, Aisha, when she was just nine (Sahih Bukhari 7:62:64). These aren’t fringe texts. They’re found in the most authoritative collections.
Modern Muslim scholars like Amina Wadud, Asma Barlas, and Kecia Ali have raised serious questions about the ethical weight of these narrations, especially for women. Feminist critiques have exposed how many hadith reflect patriarchal assumptions more than prophetic wisdom. In my research and publications, I’ve noted how the voices of women were often silenced in transmission, and how male jurists used hadith to reinforce their control over legal and sexual norms.
The sīra presents similar problems. Its vivid storytelling is captivating, but it’s also theologically loaded. For instance, while the Qur’an often describes Muhammad as a warner with a primarily spiritual mission (Qur’an 88:21–26), the sīra casts him in a far more militaristic and political role, especially in later Medinan narratives. This divergence reveals how the biographical tradition may have been influenced by evolving imperial needs rather than the earliest scriptural vision. This leads to a complex tension between the Qur’anic portrait of Muhammad and the expanded persona presented in sīra accounts. The mass execution of the Jewish tribe Banu Qurayza, often cited as proof of Muhammad’s justice or military resolve, has become a rallying point for extremists and antisemites alike. The miraculous elements—like flying horses or water gushing from fingers—raise credibility concerns for historians. And the gaps between Qur’anic chronology and sīra details suggest the story has been shaped more by the needs of the early Muslim empire than by eyewitness accounts.
You might ask, “Why does this matter?” It matters because millions of Muslims are living under systems shaped by these texts—systems that impact women’s rights, legal punishments, religious minorities, and freedom of conscience. Hadiths have been used to justify beatings for disobedient wives, stoning for adultery, child marriage, and punishment for apostasy. These are not abstract problems. They’re personal, lived realities.
It also matters for Muslims seeking the truth. When they examine the hadith critically, I've met many who feel a deep sense of confusion and loss. If Muhammad’s life is the model, but the model is inconsistent or morally troubling, where do you turn?
Here’s where I share, not as a polemicist, but as a fellow seeker: turn to the life of Jesus. Not the Jesus of distorted traditions, but the one preserved in the Gospels—united in witness, confirmed by archaeology, and transforming hearts for centuries. Jesus doesn’t leave us with conflicting narrations. His life, death, and resurrection are stories of love, sacrifice, and truth. As New Testament scholars like Richard Bauckham (2006) have noted, the Gospels were written by eyewitnesses or those directly contacting them, offering historically grounded and theologically coherent testimony. Moreover, archaeological findings and manuscript consistency support the textual integrity of the Gospel accounts (Evans, 2007), reinforcing their reliability as accurate portraits of Jesus’ life and mission.
Unlike the hadith, which depend on generations of transmitters, the New Testament was written by eyewitnesses and close associates within a generation of Jesus’ ministry. Unlike the sīra, which includes morally problematic wartime decisions, the Gospels show a Savior who forgives His enemies and lays down His life. There’s no ambiguity about His character. He is the Word made flesh—not just a prophet, but the visible image of the invisible God (Colossians 1:15).
Sacred memory can inspire, unite, and guide—but when it goes unexamined, it can also obscure, idealize, and even enslave. For many Muslims, the hadith and sīra are not just historical texts but cherished foundations of identity, honor, and continuity. Yet even sacred memory must be tested by truth. When remembrance becomes myth, and myth is elevated to divine law, the cost is not merely theological—it is personal. Women are silenced. Dissent is criminalized. Conscience is stifled under the weight of inherited certainty.
This is why we must ask courageous questions—not to attack but to illuminate, not to deconstruct but to reconstruct on a foundation that cannot be shaken. The gospel of Jesus Christ calls us to this kind of courage, not the courage of rebellion, but the boldness of revelation. In Christ, we are not invited to follow a revered man or a curated memory. We are called into relationship with the living God, revealed in Jesus, who conquered death and speaks with unmatched authority and compassion.
To my Muslim readers, I respect your longing to know and follow God. I urge you to keep seeking, ask the hard questions, and follow truth wherever it leads—even if that path is unfamiliar. Your questions do not threaten the God who made you; He welcomes your search and has revealed Himself most clearly in the person of Jesus Christ.
To my Christian brothers and sisters: let us speak the truth in love, not with triumphalism but with tears. We are not in a war of ideas; we are in a rescue mission. And that mission is grounded not in memory alone, but in a Savior who is alive, forgiving, and sets captives free.
Because memory matters—but only the truth can save.
Ali, K. (2006). Sexual ethics and Islam: Feminist reflections on Qur'an, hadith, and jurisprudence. Oneworld.
Bauckham, R. (2006). Jesus and the Eyewitnesses: The Gospels as Eyewitness Testimony. Eerdmans.
Evans, C. A. (2007). Fabricating Jesus: How modern skeptics distort the gospel. IVP Academic.
Hidayatullah, A. (2014). Feminist edges of the Qur'an. Oxford University Press.
Rahman, F. (1982). Islam and modernity: Transformation of an intellectual tradition. University of Chicago Press.
Schacht, J. (1950). The origins of Muhammadan jurisprudence. Oxford University Press.
Wadud, A. (1999). Qur'an and woman: Rereading the sacred text from a woman's perspective. Oxford University Press.
Tim serves full-time with Crescent Project as the assistant director of the internship program and area coordinator, where he is also deeply involved in outreach across the UK. A scholar of Islam, Evangelical minister, conference speaker, and interfaith consultant, Tim brings over 30 years of experience in cross-cultural ministry. He holds six academic degrees, including a Doctor of Ministry from Liberty University and a Master’s in Islamic Studies from the Islamic College in London.
In addition to his ministry work, Tim is a research associate with the Congregations and Polarization Project at the Center for the Study of Religion and American Culture at Indiana University Indianapolis. His research interests include Islamic antisemitism, American Evangelicalism, and Islamic feminism. He has spoken at leading universities and mosques throughout the UK—including Oxford University, Imperial College London, and the University of Tehran—and has published widely in peer-reviewed Islamic academic journals. Tim is also the author of four books. Media coverage at the time highlighted the agreements' economic scale and diplomatic novelty. Polling conducted by Pew Research Center in 2020 showed that most Republicans supported Trump's foreign policy approach, including his handling of the Middle East (Pew Research Center, 2020). But they also sidelined Israel, empowered dubious allies, and failed to address the ideological engine behind Islamist strategy. In the long run, that’s not a deal—it’s a disaster waiting to unfold.