Was magic in early Islam a dark art of demonic pacts, or a practical, faith-based system of “supercharged prayer” used to navigate uncertainty?
It was the latter: a deeply integrated part of daily life where believers used “white magic” (sihr) and divination (kihana) as tools to seek God’s protection, healing, and guidance, distinguishing them from “black magic” by the source of power invoked—God and angels versus jinn and demons. Far from being a fringe activity, these practices ranged from complex astrological sciences to simple sand divination, serving as a spiritual toolkit for everyone from kings to commoners.
Medieval scholars categorized these practices into two paths: sihr (magic), which aimed to actively change the world (e.g., healing sickness, ensuring safety), and kihana (divination), which sought to understand the unseen future. Magic relied on the belief that letters and numbers held divine properties. A prime example is the “magic square” of Baduh, where numbers 1-9 are arranged so every row, column, and diagonal sums to 15. This mathematical perfection was believed to channel protective energy, and the phrase “Ya Baduh” became a potent invocation for everything from stomach aches to invisibility. Other tools included Quranic amulets, medicinal bowls, and the science of letter magic (Ilm al-Huruf).
Divination methods varied from the scholarly to the accessible. High-level astrology involved complex mathematics to predict dynastic futures or determine auspicious business days. Conversely, geomancy (ilm al-raml), or the “science of the sand,” used random dots to generate figures, making it popular among the general populace. People also interpreted dreams, read patterns on sheep shoulder blades (scapulomancy), cast lots, or opened the Quran randomly for guidance (fa’l).
The critical boundary between permissible and forbidden practices hinged on the source of power. “White magic” was acceptable if it relied solely on God, angels, or prophets. “Black magic” was illicit and dangerous if it involved summoning jinn, demons, or planetary spirits. This distinction was not merely theoretical; it was a lived reality where divination was a profession, as noted by historian Ibn Khaldun, who observed that many city dwellers turned to sand divination to earn a living.
Ultimately, these practices were not a rejection of faith but an extension of it, reflecting a fundamental human need to control the uncontrollable and understand the unknown. Just as modern society relies on data analytics, weather apps, and financial forecasts to navigate uncertainty, early Muslims used these spiritual tools to find agency and protection in a volatile world, proving that the desire to “know what’s coming” is a timeless human trait.
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