Paradigmatic Criteria of "Leadership" in Islamic Thought: Subject-formation at Sunnī, Shīʿī, and Ṣūfī Crossroads

Paradigmatic Criteria of “Leadership” in Islamic Thought: Subject-formation at Sunnī, Shīʿī, and Ṣūfī Crossroads Ali N. Moughania Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy under the Executive Committee of the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY 2022 © 2022 Ali N. Moughania All Rights Reserved Abstract Paradigmatic Criteria of “Leadership” in Islamic Thought: Subject-formation at Sunnī, Shīʿī, and Ṣūfī Crossroads Ali N. Moughania The preoccupation of Islamic thinkers with the formation of moral subjects (themselves and others) motivated their deployments of different conceptual frameworks to satisfy paradigmatic moral requirements. These intellectual pursuits are portrayed as technologies involved in “caring for the self,” that is, in forming the subject/agent of the broader community. Reconstructing historical debates that draw on the works of a selection of Islamic authors, mainly between the 10th and 13th centuries CE, this dissertation addresses the related paradigmatic features of various forms of Islamic leadership (e.g. ulū al-amr, mujtahid, ahl al-ḥall, imām, and quṭb). The Qurʾānic world of interconnected meanings related to amr (authority, command, matter…) and those vested with it assumes a concern for the morality, if not outright infallibility, and the intellectual merit of a leader. Through an analysis of types of authorship and terms of discourse, ḥadīth literature on verse 4:59 from the Shīʿī tradition sheds light on the rise of various Sunnī strategies addressing the question of infallible juristic leadership (taṣwīb al-mujtahid). Another case of leadership appears in the Ṣūfī mystical strand of Sunnī thought, where the spiritual leader, or quṭb, may be seen as analogous to the S hīʿī Imām in terms of moral excellence and presence-in-absence (ghaybah). My analyses of these distinct features and forms of leadership culminate with a case study on the Mahdī in modernity, an anticipated savior figure at the crossroads of S unnī, Shīʿī and Ṣūfī thought, in which the adapting of earlier lines of reasoning exhibits strategies for the purpose of subject-formation. Each of these case studies demonstrates not only that the interpretive frameworks of Islamic thinkers were invested in moral subject-formation but also that a holistic reading of such thought can identify their authorial activity itself as one form among the different forms of leadership that revolve around subject-formation. i Table of Contents Abstract .......................................................................................................................................... iii Dedication ....................................................................................................................................... v Preface............................................................................................................................................. 1 Introduction ................................................................................................................................... 18 0.1 The Question........................................................................................................................ 18 0.2 The “Empirical” Context: Islamic “Leadership” ................................................................. 19 0.3 Methodology and Sources ................................................................................................... 23 0.3.1 Library and Archive ...................................................................................................... 24 0.3.2 “The Islamic” as a Discursive Tradition ....................................................................... 26 0.3.3 Training and “Voice” .................................................................................................... 30 0.3.4 Historiography and Memory ......................................................................................... 34 0.4 Interpretive Framework ....................................................................................................... 44 0.4.1 Paradigm Theory ........................................................................................................... 44 0.4.2 Types of Authors ........................................................................................................... 45 0.4.3 Subject-formation .......................................................................................................... 46 0.5 Argument: “Leadership” and Subject-formation in Islamic Thought ................................. 53 0.6 “Library” Evidence .............................................................................................................. 55 0.6.1 Intellectual Technologies and Subject-formation ......................................................... 55 ii 0.6.2 “Leadership” and Subject-formation ............................................................................. 64 0.7 Outline of Chapters .............................................................................................................. 67 Chapter 1: What’s in a Command? And Subject-formation ......................................................... 69 1.1 Qurʾānic Moral Governmentality of Ulū al-Amr ................................................................ 74 1.2 Sunnī Exegesis on the Obedience to Ulū al-Amr Verse ...................................................... 81 1.3 Conceptual Technologies: The Obedience of Yazīd’s Soldiers .......................................... 90 1.4 Conclusion ........................................................................................................................... 96 Chapter 2: Leadership at the Periphery ....................................................................................... 100 2.1 Setting the Stage: Ulū al-Amr in Imāmī Shīʿī Exegetical Literature ................................. 100 2.2 A Window into the Classical Reading: al-Ṭūsī’s al-Tibyān .............................................. 103 2.3 Representative Survey of Early Imāmī Shīʿī Exegetical Literature on Obedience to Ulū alAmr .......................................................................................................................................... 108 2.3.1 Reports that Limit Ulū al-Amr to the Imāmī Imams Explicitly................................... 110 2.3.2 Reports that Identify Ulū al-Amr with the Imāmī Imams but Do Not Explicitly Limit Ulū al-Amr to Them ............................................................................................................. 116 2.3.3 Reports that Specifically Name Ulū al-Amr ............................................................... 125 2.3.4 Miscellaneous Reports Featuring Distinct Qualities of Ulū al-Amr ........................... 136 2.4 A Recent Shift: al-Ṣadr Entertaining Another Possibility ................................................. 142 2.5 Conclusion ......................................................................................................................... 148 Chapter 3: Ahl al-Ḥall wa al-ʿAqd and Infallibility-cum-Taṣwīb ............................................... 150 iii 3.1 Complementing a Diachronic Survey of Ulū al-Amr ........................................................ 150 3.2 Ulū al-Amr as Ahl al-Ḥall wa al-ʿAqd............................................................................... 156 3.3 A Genealogy of Ahl al-Ḥall wa al-ʿAqd ............................................................................ 163 3.4 Reconciling “Their Amr” of Shūrá with “Our Amr” of Imamate ...................................... 174 3.5 Conclusion ......................................................................................................................... 177 Chapter 4: The Axis of Excellence? Paradigmatic Requirements .............................................. 180 4.1 Setting the stage: ʿAlī, the Pivot Point of the Quern ......................................................... 181 4.2 Shifting Emphasis in the Imam’s Role .............................................................................. 184 4.3 The Quṭb in Ṣūfī Strands of Sunnī Thought ...................................................................... 188 4.3.1 The Quṭb in al-Tustarī’s Tafsīr ................................................................................... 188 4.3.2 Al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī’s Khatm al-Awliyāʾ ................................................................. 191 4.3.3 Subsequent Developments Consolidated in Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī’s Quṭb and Immaculate Imam ................................................................................................................. 198 4.4 Conclusion ......................................................................................................................... 213 Chapter 5: The Mahdī in Modernity ........................................................................................... 215 5.1 Leadership of Multiple Forms ........................................................................................... 216 5.2 Qualities of the Mahdī ....................................................................................................... 219 5.2.1 Spreading Justice and Legal Interpretation ................................................................. 219 5.2.2 Presence-in-Absence ................................................................................................... 225 5.3 Epistemological Technologies ........................................................................................... 229 iv 5.3.1 Default Principle of Verification ................................................................................. 229 5.3.2 Practical and Theoretical Reason’s Technologies ....................................................... 231 5.3.3 Qurʾānic Exegetical Technologies .............................................................................. 233 5.3.4 Sunnah Authority Technologies .................................................................................. 238 5.4 Group Feeling (ʿAṣabīyah) without Bigotry (Taʿaṣṣub) ................................................... 240 5.5 Subject-forming Technology vs. Super-imposed Ideology ............................................... 246 5.6 Conclusion ......................................................................................................................... 249 Conclusions and Counterarguments ........................................................................................... 251 Conclusions ............................................................................................................................. 251 Entertaining and Addressing Potential Counterarguments ...................................................... 254 Bibliography ............................................................................................................................... 257 v Dedication To one in distress, reaching for the one with no need... 7 from Najaf and passing through, such as the late ʿAbd al-Sattār al-Ḥasanī. Although it was short - lived, I value the memories from that first year with a distinct esteem, as it was quite a transition for me on multiple levels and I am forever grateful to all those who helped me in the process. I should also like to thank the Joint Committee of Grand Scholars in Najaf (al-Lajnah alMushtarakah bayn al-Marājiʿ fī al-Najaf al-Ashraf), which refers to the leading religious authority, ʿAlī al-Sīstānī, as well as the remaining grand scholars in Najaf, Muḥammad Isḥāq alFayyāḍ, Bashīr al-Najafī, and the late Muḥammad Saʿīd al-Ḥakīm. This committee’s evaluation, drawing on the recommendations of my advisors and teachers, helped secure my residence at the Qawām madrasah, next door, for my subsequent years in Najaf. For my sponsorship throughout my studies in Najaf, not to mention the initial interview opportunity with my to-be advisor there, I am grateful for the support of the Imam Mahdi Association of Marjaeya (I.M.A.M.), based in my hometown of Dearborn, Michigan. When I sought their advice on taking such a journey in 2010, I was wholeheartedly encouraged by Mohammad Baqir al-Kashmiri and Haider Bahar al-Uloom (same name as the aforementioned Ḥaydar Baḥr al-ʿUlūm, related even, but not the same person). Al-Kashmiri and Bahar al-Uloom had both, hitherto, generously shared their knowledge with me by creating a sense of community and collective reflection, in addition to offering formal lectures at different venues. I also benefited immensely from a preparatory-ḥawzah program with Safdar Razi. Before that, I had been motivated by other renowned English speakers on Islam, such as Hassanain Rajabali and Ammar Nakshawani, all of whom humbly accepted the invitation of a younger me requesting that they speak about Islam at Fordson High School. I continue to draw on lessons from sermons by Hassan Qazwini and other Muslim community leaders on the concerns of Muslims as minorities and across the globe. But, in developing my intellectual interests, I have most profoundly tapped into the 8 mentorship of Haider Bahar al-Uloom, including his weekly seminars on Islamic thought in Dearborn, but especially guided readings in Arabic that he would recommend to me based on my questions, and which I passionately studied whenever I was not too preoccupied by my full-time Chemical engineering program at the University of Michigan – Ann Arbor. I have also been honored by his confidence in me, whether in imparting wisdom, or trusting me with sensitive projects related to my research, such as translating Islamic works intended to capture the nuances of technical language. It was actually while rendering Aḥmad al-Ishkiwarī’s al-ʿAqīdah alMahdawīyah (With Mahdī Eyes) into English that the thought of analyzing its material for Chapter 5 of my dissertation occurred to me. Whether at this earlier juncture or during my years of study at the ḥawzah of Najaf, what immeasurably facilitated my access to the available resources in Arabic was that I had already developed fluency in the language thanks to the wise insistence of my parents that my siblings and I spend a few years of our youth immersing ourselves in the Arabic context of our Lebanese heritage. In those years of residence in Lebanon, between 1998 and 2002, I was young enough to catch up with my classmates within a year of attending formal Arabic lessons after normal school hours. But I was old enough to have studied the language sufficiently, by the end of our stay in Lebanon, to continue honing my ability, relatively independently, throughout my life back in the United States. That being said, in the first year, I had the benefit of Samar al-Baṭal’s superb coaching, and, later, was inspired by a number of teachers, such as Sihām Rajab, at what was then known as the Al-Mayadine School in the Hosh area of Tyre/Sour, Lebanon. Although I do not mean for these acknowledgments to be exhaustive, by any means, I do find it appropriate here to express my deep sense of gratitude for the friendship of that educational community, a noteworthy 9 example of which has been the family of Ghassan Farran and Ibtissam Samra, especially their son Wael, over the years. In my time studying at Columbia, I have been fortunate to return to Najaf almost every year, over winter or summer breaks, up until the most recent Covid-19 outbreak. In the summer of 2016, Columbia’s Graduate School of Arts and Sciences (GSAS) and the Middle East Institute (MEI) sponsored my six-week stay in Najaf to focus on advanced readings in Arabic and Islamic studies relevant to my graduate research. Coordinating with Haider Bahar al-Uloom, Muḥammad ʿAlī Baḥr al-ʿUlūm helped facilitate my travel to Iraq and Amjad Riyāḍ was kind enough to arrange my stay at the Najm al-Aʾimmah madrasah for that period. He also facilitated meetings for me to discuss my academic pursuits and relevant texts with ḥawzah teachers. Among the many helpful engagements that summer, in addition to meeting up with some of my previous teachers and peers, I benefited from discussions with Amjad Riyāḍ on an aspect of al-Ṣadr’s Manṭiq al-Istiqrāʾ, Ḥasan al-Ghazālī on Mughnī al-Labīb, Ḥaydar Jāsim al-Ḥasanī al-Ḥillī on Islamic historiographical sources, and from seminars by Muḥ ammad Bāqir al -Sīstānī on methodology in approaching the study of religion. I fondly recall the advice and warm welcome of Muḥammad Ṣādiq al-Khirsān and his family on this trip as well. One memorable (albeit somewhat embarrassing!) moment of that summer’s stay showed me an example of hu mility, which I can hope to live up to, but, falling short of that, can at least learn from. Whether it was due to changing sleep patterns, exhaustion, illness, or some other explanation with a silver lining, I cannot say for sure, but despite taking the expected precautions, I inadvertently slept through an appointment with an honorable ḥawzah teacher, apparently for the first (and hopefully the last!) time in my life. I mention this to highlight the unassuming reaction of Ghazwān al-Khuzāʿī who, instead of storming out in frustration or otherwise snubbing me afterward, as one might expect, gracefully came over with a group of 10 students and knocked on my door to check on me. During my brief stay at Najm al-Aʾimmah, I was enriched not only by its rigorous learning environment, but also by discussions with students and visitors from diverse backgrounds, including two visitors from the United States, Ali Aboukhodr and Younes Makki, who later became friends of mine. About a year prior, in the summer of 2015, I participated in the Najaf Retreat, organized by the Mainstay Foundation, and have joined again in the following winter breaks of 2016, 2017 and 2018. These trips have been priceless opportunities to reconnect with and meet new ḥawzah scholars, visit historical sites, and help introduce a diverse group of participants to the ḥawzah experience from my perspective as a bridge between two worlds. For their sincere and admirable efforts, I appreciate the team of organizers and supporters who have made such programs possible. For this and other commendable work that I have benefited from by the Mainstay Foundation, among those I have known personally for many years, I thank Abathar Tajaldeen, Jalal Moughania, and Mohamed Ali Banoon. In particular, I should like to thank Hassan al-Hakim for his work on the ground and behind the scenes. Al-Hakim’s broader family and network have been a vital resource throughout my years of study in Najaf and beyond. In the Summer of 2018, thanks to a sponsorship facilitated through his contacts, I was also privileged with the opportunity to make a once in a lifetime pilgrimage to the cradle of Islam in Mecca and Medina. In a 2013 correspondence with Hossein Modarressi, he appeared to be surprised that I wished to travel from the ḥawzah of Najaf to study (traditional) Islamic sciences in the USA. But when I explained that my goal was to contribute to the bridge between the ḥawzah study of Islam and the (secular) academic study of it, he shared that this was what he had done years earlier as well, and recommended an MA in a topic like intellectual history as a bridge between science and 11 the humanities. It was during Roy Mottahedeh’s visit to Iraq in 2014, while I was still studying at the ḥawzah of Najaf, that I began to more seriously plan for graduate studies back in the United States. Mottahedeh had been having a meeting with some of my teachers at the Baḥr al-ʿUlūm office and I was asked to translate in the meeting between Jaʿfar al-Ḥakīm and Mottahedeh, among others. After the meeting, upon corresponding with Mottahedeh about potentially pursuing graduate studies on Islam, he recommended that I pursue them at Princeton because of Hossein Modarressi’s presence there. In a corresponden ce with Seyyed Hossein Nasr, he had recommended that I either go to Qum for more advanced study, or come to the United Kingdom, Canada or the United States for graduate work in Islamic studies. While things did not exactly turn out as Mottahedeh suggested, and I was not able to go to Qum (beyond a short visit in the Summer of 2014), as Nasr proposed, I ended up with opportunities to draw on some of the best that the academic study of Islam had to offer both at Columbia and Princeton. For their responsiveness and openness at the time, and in appreciation of how things panned out in retrospect, I am thankful for the advice of these senior specialists, as well as more recently minted ones, such as Soloman Ali Hassan. If this is not the suitable space to mention all of those who have, cumulatively, shared in my academic life and, by extension, its productions, from my humblest beginnings, then I should at least mention some of them who can be located in the context of my graduate studies. Besides the esteemed individuals noted earlier, my graduate studies at Columbia have also benefited from courses or colloquia with Robert Stalnaker, Josef Sorett, David Max Moerman, Katharina Ivanyi, Saeed Honarmand, Xan Holt and Mamadou Diouf. Upon my arrival at Columbia, the advice of several faculty members helped guide my academic trajectory. Some of them who come to mind are Wayne Proudfoot, Katherine Ewing, Michael Como, Muhsin Musawi, Hamid Dabashi, and the 12 late Peter Awn. As a Teaching Fellow appointed by Columbia’s GSAS (2017-2022), in addition to drawing on the example of my professors, I have also appreciated learning from the approaches of several other faculty members, including Rachel McDermott, Matthew Keegan, Elaine van Dalen, Rym Bettaieb and Taoufik Ben-Amor. I should like to thank Elaine van Dalen for sharing feedback on my Prospectus proposal in her first semester at Columbia. I also thank a broader range of colleagues whose writings, comments, or other pieces of advice have contributed to molding my academic experience at Columbia and Princeton between 2015 and 2022. These individuals include, for instance: Omar Farahat, Mohammad Sadegh Ansari, Ibrahim El Houdaiby, Aseel Najib, Ebadur Rahman, Andrew Mclaren, Mohamed Wajdi Ben Hammed, Nora Jacobsen Ben Hammed, Sohaib Khan, Verena Meyer, Navid Zarrinnal, Catherine Ambler, Karim Malak, Dana Lee, Quinn Clark, Fatima-Ezzahrae Touilila, Fidahussain Yamani, Mahmood Gharavi, Rami Koujah, Yasmina Raiani, Zain Shirazi, Thaer Theeb, Omar Abdel-Ghaffar, Saeed Ghadimi, Shabbir Abbas, Elias Taweel, John Halliwell, Max Shmookler, Sarah Hawas, Prashant Iyengar, Basma Radwan, Rana Baker, Hameem Rahman, Doha Tazi Hemida, Dominique Sirgy, Ilona Gerbakher, Awo (Yayra) Sumah, Arthur Zarate, Anna Reumert, Munevver Gulce, Shaunna Rodrigues, John (Nick) Tackes, and Jared Sacks. Indeed, I feel obliged to many of the students I have served as a Teaching Fellow as well. For there has often been a valuable feedback loop shuttling between and/or forming our collective reflections. Librarians, administrators, and others at various locations, have helped make life pleasant on good days and more bearable on others. At Columbia, Princeton, Leiden and the University of Pennsylvania, I should mention, for instance, Kaoukab Chebaro, Kelly Tuttle, Peter Magierski, AnnaLee Pauls, Silvia Vermetten, Astrid Benedek, Michael Fishman, Joanna Hertz, Charles Jester, Hollyann Kozlowski, Meryl Marcus, 13 Sandra Peters, Alyssa Pienciak, and Jessica Rechtschaffer, Thalyana Stathis, Edwin Torres, Sherry Wei, the late Sarah Jackman and the late Gregg Labita. To all the communities of learning, institutions, and individuals that have supported me along the way, whether directly or indirectly, materially or sentimentally, I am forever indebted. But what I accomplish with this milestone is not only thanks to those who have helped me, it is also an achievement for the collective. If not, then this dissertation’s contributions are, in any event, one of the ways I give back, however modestly, to Columbia, to Princeton, to my sponsors at the ḥawzah of Najaf, to William K. and Delores S. Brehm while at the University of Michigan, to my hometown community of Dearborn, to Fordson High School, this year celebrating its 100th anniversary, to those mentioned throughout this section and to many unsung heroes. A comprehensive account of pertinent influences, perhaps even unconscious ones, will have to be postponed or written by others. Nonetheless, I should like to thank the fellow residents at the vicinities of where I have stayed, particularly my current neighbors, the family of Mehdi alRifai and Soha Saleh. I also owe a great debt of gratitude to community leaders and organizers in the New York City region, especially at the Imam Al-Khoei Benevolent Foundation, Al-Ghadeer Benevolent Foundation, and Masjid-e-Ali. I take this opportunity to mention, for instance, Fadhel Al-Sahlani, Maan Al-Sahlani, Rizwan Rizvi, Mohamed Jaafar, Hamid al-Bayati, Hatem Abu Shahba, Imad Haidar Ahmad, Walid Abushahba, Hussein Mhanna, Ahsan Abdul Rassoul, Bashir Krayem, Hassan Yaseen, and Ahmad Cheikhali, but there are many others for whose service to and leadership of the community I am thankful, not to mention the indirect indebtedness to many who have departed, such as the late Tilmiz Rizvi. 14 In transit to and from Najaf, I would usually stop for a few days (occasionally for months) in Lebanon to visit my sister’s family, and in more recent years, my in-laws. I am ever grateful for their hospitality, confidence, and well wishes. The family of Wael Mroueh and Hanann Moughania have been both family and friends at various junctures in my journey. Adnan Nasser and Mona Hodroj have not only welcomed me into their family as a son-in-law since 2012, but have also entrusted me with their cherished daughter, Malak, who has chosen to patiently endure the distance from her parents as I pursued my graduate studies in the USA and to postpone pursuing her academic engineering goals in order to build a family with me. As much as our one-year-old son, Amiri Husayn, has filled our home with joy and light, if it were not for Umm Amiri Husayn’s fulltime passion in looking after him, then I can hardly imagine how I would be able to focus on my research and teaching. Malak still manages to be my valued interlocutor on content ranging from Middle East events, to Islamic studies, and, indeed, to Biomedical Engineering, in which she holds a Master’s degree. Interestingly, Amiri Husayn is often an excellent listener to our conversations over dinner, and one of his playful activities is to check out the books in my library. I should like to thank my in-laws as well as the Ali and Amina Bazzi family for their relentless support and for opening their homes in Beirut to us during the Covid-19 pandemic (not to mention helping to introduce me to my wife-to-be years earlier). Despite the most recent stressful conditions in Lebanon, they still managed to shine in numerous ways, for which I am grateful. I appreciate the family friends who have reached out, each in their own way, with a helping hand when we were struggling with newfound challenges, such as the family of ʿAbd Allāh Shuʿaytū, the family of Muḥammad Zabad and Mariam Nasser, Ibrāhīm Ḥudruj, Maryam Ṣāliḥ, and the late Maryam Ṭabājah ––Malak’s grandmother who we lost so soon after her late grandfather, ʿAbd al-Ḥusayn Ḥudruj. 15 My own grandparents, aunts, uncles, relatives, near and far, and friends, new and old, command my sincere appreciation for their support. I salute them and know that, regardless how our paths crisscross, the roots and values we share make even distant greetings and checking up on one another forms of reunion. Although I was born and raised in America, my Lebanese heritage and, with it, my family name, have privileged me with a legacy of scholarship and a history of globetrotting in pursuit of knowledge, from north Africa (Maghnia, present-day Algeria, according to one origins narrative), and the Levant, to Iraq, and back to the coast of Tyre/Sour (Tayr Debba, to be specific) and the southern hills of Jabal ʿĀmil (Bint Jbeil, to be exact). But my more recent family history –– albeit still cultivating a dedication to learning and a passion for service –– has centered around an honest living through artisanship and trade, from handicraft shoemaking in Beirut and assembly line manufacturing in Detroit, to gourmet pizza baking in Michigan and Lebanon. I recall my late maternal grandfather, Hassan Bazzi, as a generous soul, an example of sincere love for humanity, family, and good character, and of independence from political parties. For much of his bed-ridden illness, he would continue to read scripture, as if reciting from memory. I knew my late paternal grandfather, Abdel-latif Moughnia, to be a man of few words, but the few words that he left me in his Lebanese Arabic dialect, “Allah bi-ydabbir,” were ones of reassurance and optimism, recognizing a greater scheme of things beyond our individual agency. He passed away within a few months after I began my studies in Najaf. They are survived by my maternal grandmother, Alia al-Mīr, who continues to exude a spirit of motivational prayer despite her life struggles, and my paternal grandmother, Rasmīyah ʿUsaylī, whose own challenges have helped me reflect on counting our individual and collective blessings. My mother, Ahlam Bazzi, who earned her doctorate in Education after raising four children, and my father, Naji Moughania, who founded a business in Dearborn to support his family and community after escaping civil war in 16 Lebanon, have been much more than my parents. Being a best friend in childhood, Mama likely helped shape me the most early on. She was my first teacher before I could even remember it and still im parts valuable insights throughout life. Baba’s work ethic, adaptability to changing circumstances, and love for knowledge and its seekers, has driven me to draw on his sacrifices and seek the noble academic opportunities that were not so readily accessible to him. I should dwell on the note that I cannot thank my parents enough rather than make a futile attempt at enumerating instances of their unremitting support throughout my life in this limited space... My siblings have been true friends, and, each in their own way, a role model for me. Their professions in life, thus, suit them ––each is an educator, albeit in different fields. My older sisters, Suzanne and Hanann, had been part of my earliest learning community, and their creativity, ambition, and compassion inspires me still. I should like to thank Suzanne and my younger brother, Jalal, for recently spearheading the revival and revamping of the Alvinos legacy, the business my parents founded, and which enabled the dedication to learning and passion for service they instilled in us. But Jalal has accompanied me in my intellectual journey much more closely (not the least of which being my first trip to Najaf), on the one hand, and uniquely in the relevance of his insider-perspective publications, community service and example to my broader research, on the other. If in his youth he may have looked to my example, however imperfect, to follow in my footsteps, then it is more so true that for insights on a balance between academic, professional, and social life, I look to his. In writing this segment, I have been torn between two options, each with a justifiable reasoning: avoiding the mention of individual names in order to avoid the regret of not having mentioned many other specific individuals at present and/or later; or providing a higher resolution sketch of my journey’s landscape, one which mentions the names of many, if not most, but surely not all, of the significant personalities shaping my experiences. I decided to opt for the latter 23 selection (and which likely sets the stage for a revisionist account of the earliest centuries in a separate study). The contribution of the present study, in part, aims to demonstrate the value of approaching Islamic studies at the crossroads of its diverse “sub-traditions,” rather than limit specialization to focusing on each one or the other in relative isolation. A close examination of key excerpts from works of lasting relevance on Qurʾānic exegesis (tafsīr), jurisprudence (uṣūl al-fiqh), theology (kalām) and/or Ṣūfī writings, related to verse 4:59, paints a nuanced portrait of the paradigmatic features at S unnī, Shīʿī and Ṣūfī crossroads, one that resonates with an argument connecting forms and features of “leadership” to morally-relevant subject-formation. At these crosscroads, conceptual frameworks of infallibility and exemplary guidance culminate with the analysis of a specialized synthesis on the Twelver Shīʿī Imam’s presence-in-absence (ghaybah). 0.3 Methodology and Sources I approach relevant intellectual productions in a manner that is admittedly (at least sometimes), though by no means intentionally or consciously, impacted by the history of influence that has privileged certain authors and works over others in the respective academic spheres I have had the fortune to participate in. My training in various communities of learning (e.g. the University of Michigan, the Ḥawzah al-ʿIlmīyah of Najaf, Columbia University and Princeton University, in that order), has exposed me to a wide range of assumptions and approaches, but has also opened my eyes to this inescapable fact. For even if by an occasion of fate I gravitate toward the intellectual world of some hitherto unfamiliar school of thought, I am almost undoubtedly left without deep engagement with many others due to time/energy constraints and the immensity of surviving human intellectual output. This goes without mentioning lost history and discoveries yet to be made. It is obvious enough, then, that to formulate any reasonable, educated conclusions – 24 or educated questions for that matter – requires some assumptions and, indeed, disclaimers. One of these assumptions I find critical to bring to the surface here is that my citation of excerpts from authors (I mean even academic scholars, let alone the historical scholars being studied) and their respective works does not entail an appropriation of their entire intellectual genealogies or the implications of their theoretical interventions. Rather, I take such excerpts as points of entry into a discourse that recognizes those privileged authors and terms in my specific time and place. From Aristotle to Foucault, terms can be adapted or otherwise engaged with heuristically in order to enable an analytical intervention in a given dynamic sphere of discourse and hopefully learn something that settles well at home in the process. It is, then, quite possible to find insight in a notion or excerpt from the worldview of diverse thinkers without necessarily adopting their respective worldviews. This approach allows for bridge-building in ways that appear to be, otherwise, unsustainable, and makes intellectual enrichment practical when it may be, otherwise, unthinkable. This is all to say that there are may be many additional, valuable works to engage with, learn from, and appropriate, heuristically ––it is just that our paths have likely not crossed sufficiently (yet). 0.3.1 Library and Archive In his Sharīʿah Scripts, Brinkley Messick synthesizes multiple strands of theorizing related to texts, from Bakhtin to Foucault to Asad, in order to appropriate and elaborate a methodology summed up in his distinction between the “library” and the “archive.” These major groupings of texts reflect the cosmopolitan and the “contingent” types of sharīʿah-related histories of each, respectively. 15 Messick further describes the difference between the two in terms of the “author15 Brinkley Messick, Sharīa Scripts : A Historical Anthropology (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018), 21. 25 functions” as opposed to “writer-functions.” Drawing on Foucault’s concept of the “author” (having a distinctly discursive function) as opposed to other “writers,” Messick uses “functions” in the plural form to refer to distinct genres. Just as the library texts characteristically avoid the particularities of “the proper name,” even if a library text can be historicized that does not preclude the “atemporal” nature of its discourse. Moreover, just as a text from the archive is highly particular, its particularity pertains to the identities involved in their contents (e.g. parties in a litigation) and not in the identity of the document writer. 16 While the relationship between library texts and archive texts is that of the general to the specific, the cosmopolitan to the contingent, Messick is careful to warn that, on the one hand, this is relative (i.e. movements back and forth between the library and archive are possible), and that, on the other hand, this relationship is not a return to the “great” and “little” traditions analysis of the 1950s. For, contrary to that trend of analysis, the library and the archive represent, “complementary textual domains,” and are, “co-constitutive of particular locales.” 17 “Modeling” is a principle theme through which Messick thinks of the dialectical relationship between the library and the archive, “one that highl ights the intertextual production and circulation of rules and related language.” In more specific terms, specialized library texts are models of (how practice informs theory) and for (how theory informs practice) particular archival genres. 18 In my research, reflecting on the relative relationship between the Qurʾān and ḥadīth, on the one hand, and commentaries and theoretical readings of those sources, on the other, I extend Messick’s division of library and archive to the two aforementioned types of texts, respectively. Since the latter are library texts relative to a different archive, however, the referential description 16 Messick, Sharīa Scripts : A Historical Anthropology, 23. 17 Ibid, 25-26. 18 Ibid, 45. 26 library/archive, and the entailed “data” of concern, requires attention in each inst ance of use. Similar to how “secondary sources” may be regarded as “primary sources” depending on the scholarly question being explored, a text that is a library text, from one aspect, can be regarded as an archive text, from another depending on the function it has from that aspect. Commentaries and “constitutional law” discussions on verse 4:59 can, thus, be regarded as a contingent archive fo r the cosmopolitan library being quoted (i.e. the Qurʾān). Inspired by the work of M. M. Bakhtin, Messick’s method is to, “read related texts together, to read across genres, and to read for discursive system.” 19 This includes viewing other texts as an important context for a given text, viewing texts as “generative” elements within particular traditions, approaching texts with a “dialogic” conception of them as, “responding to and anticipating responses from other texts,” and a concern for, “how the several types of writings acted as interlocutors.” 20 This approach to texts is especially conducive in the historical anthropologist (or intellectual historian informed by ethnography) 21 reading of Islam as a discursive tradition, which brings me to the next methodological point – understanding Islam as a discursive tradition. 0.3.2 “The Islamic” as a Discursive Tradition In Talal Asad’s seminal article, “The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam,” he first takes issue with the, “familiar representation of essential Islam as the fusion of religion with power.” 22 Significant variations in the beliefs and practices of Muslims problematizes such an essentialist 19 Ibid, 41. 20 Ibid, 41. 21 Disciplinary boundaries are fluid in light of this methodology. 22 Talal Asad, “The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam [1986],” Qui Parle 17, no. 2 (2009): 1–30, 8. 27 reduction. One attempt to address this problem appropriates the Orientalist distinction between orthodox and non-orthodox Islam and adapts it to the categories of Great and Little traditions, thinking of “orthodoxy” as, “merely one (albeit invariable) form of Islam among many, distinguished by its preoccupation with the niceties of doctrine and law, claiming its authority from sacred texts rather than sacred persons.” 23 According to this reading, the correlated social structures, urban orthodoxy and rural/tribal heterodoxy, come to represent parts of a single system, “between whom an unceasing struggle for poli tical dominance takes place .” 24 Asad describes the main difficulty with the aforementioned constructions as being that they rely on, “false conceptual oppositions and equivalences, which often lead writers into making ill-founded assertions about motives, meanings, and effects relating to ‘religion.’” 25 Asad implies that this reading does not guard against reproducing the old reductive contrasts between Islam and Christianity, and makes his invitation toward viewing Islam as a “discursive tradition.” 26 Neither essentialist, nor nominalist, the object of an anthropology of Islam, being a “tradition,” ought to include and relate itself to its “founding texts.” 27 For Asad, a tradition is made up of discourses that inform practitioners regarding the proper form and purpose of a given 23 Ibid, 8. 24 Ibid, 9. 25 Ibid, 18. 26 Ibid, 10. “In approaching this issue, let us consider the followin g interconnected po ints: (1) Narratives about cultur ally distinctive actors must try to translate and represent the historically situated discourses of such actors as responses to the discourse of others, instead of schematizing and de-historicizing their actions. (2) Anthropological analyses of the social structure should focus not on typical actors but on the changing patterns of institutional relations and conditions (especially those we call political economies). (3) The analysis of Middle Eastern political economies and the representation of Islamic "dramas" are essentially different kinds of discursive exercise that cannot be substituted for each other, although they can be significantly embedded in the same narrative, precisely because they are discourses. (4) It is wrong to represent types of Islam as being correlated with types of social structure, on the implicit analogy with (ideological) superstructure and (social) base. (5) Islam as the object of anthropological understanding should be approached as a discursive tradition that connects variously with the formation of moral selves, the manipulation of populations (or resistance to it), and the productio n of appropriate knowledges.” 27 Ibid, 20. 28 practice, which naturally has a history, projected future and intervening/interconnected present. 28 From this aspect, the discursive tradition of Islam includes the “classical” as well as the “modern” readings, and a practice is “Islamic” because it is sanctioned by the discursive traditions of Islam, even if it is only taught by, “an untutored parent.” 29 Orthodoxy, in Asad’s view, is distinctly about a relationship of power to truth and wherever, “Muslims have the power to regulate, uphold, require, or adjust correct practices, and to condemn, exclude, undermine, or replace incorrect ones,” there lies its domain. 30 Moreover, Asad focuses on the role of “reason and argument” in traditional practice, not in the form of formal debate and polemic, but in terms of, “the process of trying to win someone over for the willing performance of a traditional practice.” 31 Asad concludes that Islamic traditions are, thus, not homogenous but that they, “aspire to coherence, in the way that all discursive traditions do.” 32 However, Asad cautions that there can be no, “such thing as a universally acceptable account of a living tradition,” because a researcher’s “particular historical position” toward a tradition will impact the coherence that s/he finds or fails to find. 33 I draw on Asad’s characterization of Islam as a discursive tradition, not mer ely as an object of anthropology but as a category of analysis more generally. Within the broader discursive tradition, several Islamic traditions reside, each with its own discourses, corresponding practices and forms of argumentation. Thus, while Asad’s original formulation of Islam as a discursive tradition may not account for the role of formal debate and polemic in “tra ditional practice,” the 28 Ibid. 29 Ibid, 21. 30 Ibid, 22. 31 Ibid, 23. 32 Ibid. “An an thropology of Islam will therefore seek to understand the historical conditions that enable the production and maintenance of specific discursive traditions, or their transformation––and the efforts of practitioners to achieve coherence.” 33 Ibid, 24. “Declarations of moral neutrality, here as always, are no guarantee of political innocence.” 29 discursive traditions within the tradition of Islam include intellectual/discursive traditional practices that do indeed entail a role even for formal debate and polemic. In the interest of being properly/ethically “initiated” into the discourse of the tradition in question – if not solely to more accurately/objectively access it – learning with/from, and not merely about, masters of Islamic studies within the tradition is pivotal to my research methodology. This includes both Messick’s dialogic approach to texts as well as being informed by lived experience among practitioners of the discursive tradition, gaining ethnographic insights informing a reconstruction of the tradition’s history (see next section). Finally, although I draw on the substantive concept behind “Islam as a discur sive tradition,” I generally avoid using the word “Islam” while describing discursive processes and instead opt for a construction including the word “Islamic.” This is not because, as a researcher, I claim to prescribe an ideal definition of “Islam” that should be distinguished from “Islamic” (mis)interpretations and (mal)practice. Rather, it is because I recognize descriptively/analytically that meaningfulness of such terms is demonstrated when it reflects the usage of an overwhelming majority of Muslims. If I have accumulated ethnographic insight in this regard, it informs that Muslims make a distinction between “Islam” as an ideal (i.e. whatever the Qurʾān truly means and whatever Prophet Muḥammad really meant, generally as well as when applied to specific contexts) vs. discursive (mis)interpretations vs. spatially-temporally-culturally specific (mal)practice. That is despite the plain fact that Muslims may provide different answers when asked to articulate what specific examples embody ideal “Islam” in thought and practice today. This analytical distinction generally does not require me to take a prescriptive/normative position on what “Islam” is or is not in my research but it does require me to be sensitive to what an overwhelming majority of Muslims would take to be normative in my description/analysis. It 30 is critical to note that this lens not only clarifies how I draw on the notion of “Islam as a discursive tradition,” but also partially overlaps with the distinction Marshall Hodgson makes between the “Islamic” and the “ Islamicate.” 34 The “Islamic” label is helpful to designate meaningful engagement with and application of the discursive tradition, as opposed to the thought/practice of Muslims that does not fit such a description and may be labelled “Islamicate,” or as I prefer, “cultural.” 35 As for the gray area in between the “Islamic” and the “cultural,” I find the lens of Islam vs. (mis)interpretations vs. (mal)practice more useful. In light of these terminological choices, when I make arguments regarding “Islamic” authors/thinkers, I have in mind those meaningfully engaging with the discursive tradition ––not merely (or even always) those legally categorized as “Muslim .” 0.3.3 Training and “Voice” “Empirically” speaking, this approach recognizes an inherent layer of inaccessibility to classical Islamic thought due to the limitations of historiography and hermeneutics. However, by virtue of this heritage not being in a vacuum, but instead being part of a discursive tradition still vibrant today, some level of inaccessibility can be ameliorated by a careful deployment of several traditional methods (i.e. studying with and learning from inheritors of the tradition, not merely about them). It goes without saying that my research does not necessarily become part of the 34 As Hodgson wrote, “There has been, however, a culture, centred on a lettered tradition, which has been historically distinctive of Islamdom the society, and which has been naturally shared in by both Muslims and nonMuslims who participate at all fully in the society of Islamdom. For this, I have used the adjective ‘ Islamicate’. I thus restrict the term ‘ Islam’ to the religion of the Muslims, not using that term for the far more general phenomena, the society of Islamdom and its Islamicate cultural traditions.” Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, vol. 1, 3 vols. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974 CE), https://hdl-handle-net.ezproxy.cul.columbia.edu/2027/heb.00894, 58. 35 If for no reason other than that it is a term which does not sound so close to “Islamic” as “Islamicate.” As for descriptions that attempt to locate non-Muslim authors in their Islamicate context, I would suggest labelling them based on their regional and/or lingua franca association (e.g. North African Greco-Arabic philosopher). 31 Islamic discursive tradition simply because I have been trained in traditional circles of learning associated with the ḥawza al-ʿilmīyah 36 in the holy city of Najaf, Iraq. Whether or not this research itself becomes part of the discursive tradition depends on several factors, only one of which is training within that sphere of scholarship. But in order to reasonably claim to have ethnographic 36 Linguistically , “ḥawzah” can refer to a “region/area/side (nāḥiyah),” and is etymologically related to the notion of “collecting/acquiring/accumulating (ḥawz).” For instan ce, see: Ismāʿīl ibn Ḥammād al-Jawharī (d. 393 AH / 1003 CE), Tāj al-Lughah wa Ṣiḥāḥ al-ʿArabīyah, ed. Aḥ mad ʿAbd alGhafūr ʿAṭṭār, 4th ed., vol. 3, 6 vols. (Cairo: Dār al-ʿIlm lil-Malāyīn, 1987), 875-876. Also consid er section “6.3.5. The ḥawza” of the following EI3 article: Sebastian Gü nther, “Education, Gener al (up to 1500),” in Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE, ed. Kate Fleet et al., Encyclopaedia of Islam (Brill, 2017), https://referenceworks.brillonline.com:443/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam3/education-general-up-to-1500-COM_26134. For a discussion of technical definitions that have been proposed for al-ḥawzah al-ʿilmīyah (the ḥawzah associated with knowledge/study/learning), or just ḥawzah for short, see: ʿAlī Aḥmad al-Bahādlī, al-Ḥawzah al-ʿIlmīyah fī al-Najaf: Maʿālimuhā wa Ḥarakatuhā al-Iṣlāḥīyah, 1st ed. (Beirut: Dār al-Zahr āʾ lil-Tibāʿah wa al-Nashr wa al-Tawzīʿ, 1993), 86-94; ʿAdnān Farḥān Āl Qāsim, Tārīkh Al-Ḥawzāt al-ʿIlmīyah Wa al-Madāris al-Dīnīyah ʿind al-Shīʿah al-Imāmīyyah, 1st ed., vol. 1, 6 vols. (Beirut: Sharikat Dār al-Salām, 2016), 92-99. An additional four volumes are expected to be published. While the discussions of technical definitions are informative, the following description (not a definition, but description informed by this author’s ethnographic insight) arguably better captures the range of references to the notion of “ḥawzah” among Twelver Shīʿah Muslims pursuing traditional religious learning. The ḥawzah is a center of knowledge in the traditional Islamic context, a hub for seeking sacred learning that is meant not only to engage the intellect but cultivate the character of its community members. The ḥawzah al-ʿilmīyah is often translated as an Islamic “seminary” of sorts, but it is perhaps more accur ately described as a scholarly commu nity of masters and seekers of knowledge, in which membership and rank depend on both academic merit as well as upright character, including the observance of traditional etiquettes. When used to refer to such a collective network worldwide, the ḥawzah al-ʿilmīyah community has concentrated hubs of intellectual activity centered around historical holy sites, most notably the shrine of Imam ʿAlī in the holy city of Najaf, I raq, and the shr ine of Lady Fāṭimah Maʿṣūmah (d. 201 AH / 816 CE) in the holy city of Qum, Iran. Membership within that broader community would depend more on observ ing its leading sch olars’ widely acce pted approaches and norms than on studying in a particular location. But the phrase “ḥawzah ʿilmīyah” or plainly “ḥawzah” can also refer to specific locations of learning in particular (not just the city hubs, but specific institutions within the city), such that th ere exist a plural “ḥawzāt” throughout the world, typically wherever there are qualified masters from within the tradition who oversee learning circles, teach traditional texts according to the etiquettes/norms of the broader ḥawzah community, and foster an atmosphere of intellectual rigor and spirituality. Members of the ḥawzah community are continuously evaluated by more senior scholars, peers and, potentially, qualified students, on their intellectual achievement and character, and so formal “degr ees/certificates” are not traditionally regarded as the final word on a given community member ’s credentials as a ḥawzah scholar/student. To some extent, this even applies to written or oral license/authorization (ijāzah) of ijtihād because an individual’s intellectual and ethical performan ce would continue to be monitored throughout life for any serious lapses of method or character, potentially disqualifying the person from the aforementioned license/authorization or any other recommendation/endorsement affiliated with the ḥawzah. To sum up a key point here, the word ḥawzah is used to describe: a specific local institution of traditional Twelver Shīʿah religious learning; a community of such learning centered around a holy shrine, including but not limited to the former; and/or the collective global community consisting of the former. 32 “insight” into the intellectual history of the tradition, one that informs readings of primary texts and the reading/writing of secondary texts, traditional training alongside the inheritors of the tradition – in one form or another – is almost indispensable to engagement with the textual dimensions of the tradition, let alone the oral dimensions. 37 Skilled engagement with the tradition is, in this view, analogous to skilled language acquisition, complete with its own world of nuance that requires immersive experience to fully absorb, let alone to fluently express. 38 Still, at the very least, it can be said that playing it safe with regard to this methodical requirement speaks for itself. 39 The relative ease of travel, the affordability of advanced telecommunications and the 37 I write almost because many creative thinkers are bound to come up with ways to contribute to an intellectual discussion despite being completely foreign to its foundational texts and modes of transmission. 38 This is not to say that the tradition is like language in its relatively static body of rules. Rather, the extent of the tradition’s dynamism is to be learned, as language is learned, through the immersive engagement with the tradition’s heirs/masters. While Aria Nakissa pr oposes an “epistemic shift” within the Islamic trad ition ( particularly in the context of the Sunnī al-Azhar and Dār al-ʿUlūm) from language-based conceptions of knowledge toward new conceptions modeled on the natural sciences, this is arguably a point of contestation within the tradition itself – at least within Shīʿī Islam. See: Aria Nakissa, “An Epistemic Shift in Islamic Law: Educational Reform at al-Azhar and Dār al-ʿUlūm,” Islamic Law and Society 21, no. 3 (June 27, 2014): 209–51, https://doi.org/10.1163/15685195-00213p02. Slightly disagreeing with Nakissa, I would argue that the notion of “innovation” is not synonymous to “bidʿah” (heretical innovation) in all contexts of the tradition, and creativity is closely tied not only to versions of ijtihād but also to different types of authorship. Making connections that had not yet been noted, deepening an understanding, renewing relevance to an earlier notion, and other types of developments were not modern inventions to the Islamic tradition. Moreover, limited forms of ijtihād, whether in Sunnī or Shīʿ ī circles, entail an order of interpretation arguably giving rise to internal diversity within each legal school that is comparable to the diversity between the legal schools. With such diversity in practice, the process involved much more creativity than the mere application of rules. This is not to dismiss the existence of an epistemic shift, within specific circles of influence, but it is to problematize equating such a shift with dismissing the existence of a shared notion of creativity across the shift. In other words, 1) there are forms of a creativity shared across the epistemic shift; and 2) the epistemic shift is evident in the post-shift insistence upon particular forms of creativity that assume the yardstick of the natural sciences in order to recognize scholarship as making a valuable contribution. It is not about the utter absence of such creativity pre-shift. Hallaq makes the argument that such creativity was not absent. By doing so, he does not necessarily insist that such creativity is the only form of valuable scholarship. 39 Of course, I realize that this goes up against a trend of anthropolog ical thinking, but as Messick’s wo rk demonstrates, things are changing. As Messick writes, “In contrast, at least until recently this type of thou ght represented unfamiliar terrain for mainstream anthropologists, researchers more attuned to the study of unconscious structures (Lévi-Strauss), commonsense assumptions (Geertz) or implicit dispositions ( Bo urdieu). From Boas’s time forwar d, “native theory,” as it later would be termed, has been viewed askance, as unreliable “secondary” material, even as positively “dangerous.”” Brinkley Messick, Sharīa Scripts : A Historical Anthropology (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018), 44. 39 external/internal evidence overrules such claims to historicity (e.g. claims of those preferring others over ʿAlī ibn Abū Ṭālib), Ibn Qiba writes, Otherwise, there is no sense in abandoning a widely transmitted report whose narrators cannot be accused, and accepting a report that has no safeguard against the suspicion that the narrators colluded over it nor any special characteristic that validates [their narration]. 56 A “special characteristic,” imaginably external evidence or internal incoherence/inconsistency can thus dispel the myth of a received narrative. Ibn Qiba ends the letter with an invitation to reasonable reflection, this time to contemplate the stakes, “with the eye of fear and caution the consequences of unbelief and rejection of the truth.” 57 In a reconstructed debate with the Zaydīyah, Ibn Qiba argues that the Qurʾān, as a source text, cannot be read merely in terms of its linguistic meanings, as there are many terms used in the Qurʾān with Divinely prescribed/coined 58 dimensions, such as, “al-salāṭ, al-zakāt, al-ḥajj and the like.” These require Divine instruction (either through the Qurʾān’s more straightforward verses or through the Prophet and Imams) to understand properly. Ibn Qiba writes, It is, then, not possible to trace the meanings of these things back to the language because in the first place you would need to know that nothing at all was in the words you were trying to interpret that depended on divine instruction in either the summary or the detailed understanding of it. 59 56 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 167. ةصاخ لاو ، هيلع ؤطاوتلا ةمته هيلقنا ىلع نمؤي لا برخ لوبقو هيلقنا ىلع لاو هلقن في ةمته لا رتاوتم برخ كترل نىعم لف لاإو ]...[ نلو ابه نوتبثي مهعم لمأتف . نايرح هئتا لاإ كلذ لعفيالله كدعسأل رظانل ا هب رظني امم كيلإ هب تبتك اميف رظنلا في لَإ راذلحاو ةفيلخا ينعب لمأتلما هداعم في ركفلما ، هنيد ]...[ دوحلجاو رفكلا بقاوع Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 60. 57 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 167. 58 Tawqīf. 59 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 208. 40 This provides a historiographical point of caution in mining the Qurʾān for historical data. Thus, approaching the Qurʾān linguistically within the Arabic language, let alone attempting to derive meaning from etymological connections across different languages, has its limitations from the tradition’s perspective. Instead, to benefit from the Qurʾān as external evidence, as well as to derive internal evidence from it, for much of the Qurʾān there must be an interpreter of sorts, a “mutarjim,” who “expounds” it, “who knows and quotes what God intends.” 60 On internal evidence and reflection, Ibn Qiba writes that, “there will be, in order to understand their falsehood, no need of anything more than their own selfcontradictory, vain contentions.” 61 Ibn Qiba considers rivaling claims and invites his interlocutors to resolve internal inconsistencies. 62 Tawātur, argues Ibn Qiba, sets apart his historical claims from those of his interlocutors, as the mass-transmission of reports by numerous reporters is to such an extent that, “prevalent custom and reliable experience acknowledge that it cannot be all fabricated هليصفت في لاو هلجم في لا ، لصأ فيقوت هيف سيل هلوأتت نأ ديرت يذلا ملكلا نأ ملعت نأ لاو أ جاتتح كنلأ ةغللا ىلع هلحم زويج سيلف . Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 100. 60 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 210. يا ناولدف ]...[د هرذعت فيو رذعتم رمأ اذهو ، اهليوتَ ىلع افيقوتو اصن لدي ام نآرقلا في اهليوتَ في ملعلا لهأ فلتخا ةدحاو ةيآ ىلع ةيديزلا رشعم ليل . حضاو يدنع اذهو ، هب برخيف لَاعت الله دارم ملعي مجترم نم نآرقلل دب لا هنأ ىلع Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 100. 61 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 212. .]كيكرلا[ دسافلا ضقانت لما مهاوعد نم رثكأ لَإ مبهذك ةفرعم في جتنح لم ]...[ Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 103. Also, for example, “It is impossible for a living person to install a dead person as his successor and to delegate the Imāmate to him. This is so clearly wrong that there is no need to say any more to prove its falsity.” Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 217. يلما يلحا فلختسي نأ لالمحا نمو ]...[. لوقلا ةرثك لَإ هرسك في جاتيح نأ نم اداسف ينبأ اذهو ، ةماملإبِ هيلإ يصويو ت Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 107. 62 For example, Ibn Qiba ask s his Zaydī interlo cutor to explain the alternative to the Imāmīyah requirement of naṣṣ and the non-Shīʿī requirement of Ahl al-Ḥall wa al-ʿAqd selection of the Imam. Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 237-238. لا هتمامإ سيلفأملأا نم دقعلاو للحا لهأ عمتيج نم ليبس مكدنع هليبس سيلو مامإ هنأ هب ملعي زجعم ليلد هعم لاو ةيماملاا هلوقت ام ىلع صنلبِ لاإ حصت ة ؟هتفرعم لَإ ليبسلا فكيف : هل ليق ، معن : لاق اذإف ؟ هنوعيابيو هنوراتيخ ثم هرمأ في نورواشتيف Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 121. 41 falsehood.” 63 Ibn Qiba also makes an invitation to “test” claims about historical occurrences by comparing and contrasting the narratives in light of the recorded evidence 64 , referring to the overall picture painted about the impact of certain personalities as external evidence of qualities they had. 65 Lastly, Ibn Qiba points to psychological dimensions to the pursuit of knowledge more broadly, let alone establishing historical facts. Ibn Qiba writes that controversy surrounding the truth does not undermine the validity of one’s argument establishing a truth, for, If the truth were only established by a proof on which there were agreement, no truth would ever be established [….] 66 Furthermore, Ibn Qib a refers to the “habit” of uncritically taking the wo rd of transmitters as a culprit behind the rise of disagreement. 67 In one instance, Ibn Qiba exemplifies a lucid pursuit of evidence, indirectly highlighting the importance of avoiding bigotry/prejudice. As Ibn Qiba puts it, “If there is proof here that refutes what we said, let the Zaydites bring it forward. We have no grudge against the truth. Thank God.” 68 63 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 212. ا دلوم بِذك نوكي نأ زويج لا هلك كلذ نأ ةحيح صلا ةبرجتلاو ةيرالجا ةداعلبِ ملعي ام ]...[ Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 103. 64 Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al -Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 103. 65 Ibid, 104. دنع ينب وه ام هسفن في هلضف نم رهظو ، روهشم نودم وه ام مارلحاو لللحا ملع نم ىسوم نع اولقن دق رثالآا ةلحمو رابخلاا ةاور نادجوو ةماعلاو ةصالخا دجو املف ةماملإا تارامأ يه هذهو. هيخأ نود هيبأ دعب ماملاا هنأ انملع هيرغ نود ىسولم اهنا 66 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 219. قح حص ام هيلع قفتم ليلدب لاإ تبثي لا قلحا ناك ول ادبأ Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 108. 67 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 221. سأ ناكو ، ءلبلا مظع تىح ، نامزلا دعب نامزلاو ، تقولا دعب تقولا في مهيف مهسفن أ اوسلد ينباذك لبق نم وه انمإ ةيماملاا فلتخا نإ نوعجري موق مهفل برخ يوري اروتسم لجر اوأر اذإ اوناكف زيتمو رظن باحصأ اونوكي لمو ، ةيحنا ةملسو داهتجاو عرو لَإ اوكش رهظو اذه رثك املف ، هولبقو نظلا هب اونسحأ ا ]...[ متهداع ىلع اورجو اولعفي ملف هيلع عميج ابم اوذخيأ نبأ ملسلا مهيلع ةمئلأا مهرمأف مهتمئأ لَإ Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 110. 68 Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation, 226. 42 I benefit from Modarressi’s reconstruction of Ibn Qiba’s historiographical approach, not merely to understand sectarian debates, but rather to learn from the Islamic tradition in writing history. Ibn Qiba’s historiographical approach can arguably offer a framework in synchronic conversation with modern Islamic historiography, presenting viable alternatives to source-critical approaches that often arrive at conclusions diametrically opposed to those of received tradition or simply fail to reach “knowledge” at all. This approach informs my research in at least two ways: (1) it provides the b ackd rop for assumptions about the tradition’s development leading up to the period I focus on between the 10th and 13th centuries CE; and (2) it demonstrates a means of problematizing the boundaries between historiography, legal theory and epistemology, all of which play into my analysis of debates pertaining to leadership. In his recent The Rebel and the Imam in Early Islam, Najam Haider proposes and models a way of thinking about early Islamic historical writing which assumes that early Muslim historians, “were more concerned with preserving the meaning of a given event than they were with recording its specific details. In practice, this focus meant that authors were free to embellish and elaborate narrative elements (within certain bounds) in order to endow an event with significance.” 69 Haider argues that there was a baseline for such elaboration – a shared, “core structure of an ev ent or a biography that was familiar to the scholarly audience.” 70 Connecting this model to my methodological discussion above, tawātur would play a role at least in such a “core structure,” regardless of disagreement pertaining to its role in some narr ative elements. 71 From . لله ركشلاو ، ةدناعم قلحا ينبو اننيب امف ، ةيديزلا اهرهظتلف هانلق ام عفدت ةجح انهه ناك نإف Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-Dīn wa Tamām al-Niʿmah, 113. 69 Najam Iftikhar Haider, The Rebel and the Imām in Early Islam : Explorations in Muslim Historiography (New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 259. 70 Haider, The Rebel and the Imām in Early Islam, 259. 71 Each case in question must be considered in light of the source material and historical memory. 43 another angle, however, my project in thi s work complements Haider’s discussion in that it seeks to answer the question: Why were Islamic authors so concerned with preserving such meaning and why would they lead their readers on with such repurposing, embellishing, and possibly even creating reports conveying the importance of an event instead of recording its literal details? What made such techniques/strategies so central to their intellectual investments? The answer is a pivotal aspect of my thesis – a concern for subject-formation. Proposing a model that explains why these Islamic authors (via their writings) function as they do is the common thread of this dissertation in addition to the types of “leading” that relate to verse 4:59 ’s ulū al-amr. The type of explanation I propose arises out of the intellectual “library” most directly drawn on by these authors, despite conditioning (after being conditioned by) community-based considerations. This can be contrasted with approaches, suitable as they may be for their objects of study, that find more relevant explanations in the social conditions of authorship rather than in the contents authored. For example, in the context of explaining the rise of the translation movement, George Saliba presents his revisionist narrative that draws on Abū al-Faraj Muḥammad ibn Abī Yaʿqūb Isḥāq al-Nadīm’s (d. ca 438 AH / 1047 CE), “direct connection between the Islamic Civilization’s appropriation of the ancient sciences and ʿAbd al-Malik’s reforms which were mainly centered around the order to translate the dīwān.” 72 Granted, Saliba studies al-Nadīm’s work as a primary source in its own right and, in that sense, his explanation arises out of the historical object of study itself, but this is arguably a matter of layers referring to different objects of study ––al-Nadīm in this case, “acts more as an intellectual historian who tries to explain hist orical events rather than a historian who simply records them.” 73 It is also because I 72 George Saliba, Islamic Science and the Making of the European Renaissance, Transformations (Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 2007), 68. 73 Saliba, Islamic Science and the Making of the European Renaissance, 30. 44 draw my model from the more immediate intellectual repertoire of authors whose excerpts are studied here that I can postpone the development of more granular, region-specific, models of motivation, such as in the work of Maribel Fierro, who draws on, “dat a for al-Andalus collected in HATA 74 – data obtained from biographical dictionaries, fahāris, historical works, quotations in other works, catalogues of manuscripts and many other sources,” to that end. 75 These alternative approaches would surely complement the type of modeling I propose here –– none can provide the most robust account alone –– but to fully develop such contextual analysis “on the ground” would warrant additional studies beyond the contributions of this dissertation. Because the shared library content for authors in this study is so intertwined with their Muslim/Islamic identity, I opt to model their interventions (the “empirical” reconstructions throughout this dissertation) based primarily on that shared intellectual background rather than other factors, such as financial or political concerns. 76 0.4 Interpretive Framework 0.4.1 Paradigm Theory Wael Hallaq’s theory of paradigms draws on a modified version of Kuhn’s “paradigm,” Foucault’s “order of things,” and, perhaps most influentially, Schmitt’s notion of a “central domain,” in terms of which matters beyond that domain are solved. However, for Hallaq, a central 74 Historia de los Autores y Transmisores de al-Andalus. 75 Maribel Fierro, “Why and What Did Legal Scholars Write in Medieval I slamic Societies?,” Journal of Islamic Law 2, no. 1 (May 27, 2021), https://doi.org/10.53484/jil.v2.fierro. 76 In this vein, upon mentioning an author, and to avoid reducing the author to a perceived geographic and/or sectarian affiliation lacking nuance, I have generally opted not to apply these labels. This is especially important if one entertains how the labels (e.g. “Ṣūfī”) are sometimes taken to mean d ifferent things and/or have developed over time. The fact that an author often travelled in pursuit of knowledge and may have been affiliated with multiple localities is also an important consideration. More specific discussion of an author’s affiliations is better left to studies focusing on the social dynamics at play throughout the stages of a given au thor ’s life. 45 domain, within a paradigm, does not merely dictate the terms of its relationship with the “peripheral domain.” Rather, since both the center and the periphery share a paradigm, they are in a dialectical relationship. Thus, Hallaq’s paradigm involves, “a system of knowledge and practice whose constituent domains share in common a particular structure of concepts that qualitatively distinguishes them from equivalent domains in other systems.” 77 That goes without saying that there remain distinct concepts and practices that make the periphery peripheral and the center central. 0.4.2 Types of Authors In light of this framework, Hallaq proposes a categorization of different types of authors, characterizing the intervention exacted by each form of authorship: (1) The docile author, who knowingly or unknowingly serves the central domain. The critiques of this type of an author pertain to details, never really challenging the central domain’s defining features; (2) The dissenting author, who critiques the defining features of the central domain but does not challenge the core foundations of the governing paradigm. In a sense, the dissenting author reinforces the central domain even when arguing for the peripheral domain because s/he still has not challenged the paradigm; (3) The subversive author, who not only challenges the central domain’s discours edefining features but challenges the foundational assumptions of the entire paradigm shared even by the peripheral domain; (4) The discursive author, who succeeds in subverting the paradigm and ushering in a different discursive formation. Beyond these four types, Hallaq describes an 77 Wael B. Hallaq, The Impossible State Islam, Politics, and Modernity’s Moral Predicament (New York : Columbia University Press, 2014), http://www.columbia.edu/cgi-bin/cul/resolve?clio12458724, 6-12. 46 additional type of author: (5) The “analogical” author, who brings new life to a subversive author’s appeal, with updated relevance. 78 0.4.3 Subject-formation The activity of an author, like other forms of conscious or even unconscious iterative activity, can be modeled as having a subject-forming impact. Indeed, part of the argument I outline below is that the influential Islamic authors I consider have an analogue of this in mind – or at heart – while engaging themselves and their readership. I am not referring to the more obvious impact authors have on forming their subject matter, the topic of their discussion. Rather, I am referring to the operation of the authors on individuals engaging with their writing, not only by the mere acts of writing, reading and reflecting, but by the lines of reasoning invoked and emotional states conjured. Wael Hallaq has opened up a theoretical space for discussing the process of subject-formation as imagined within the Islamic context by framing discussions of its techniques as a sort of (anachronistic), “commentary on what Foucault called the technologies of the self […]” For, in the most relevant sense here, “Foucault was a thoroughgoing Ghazālian.” 79 While the practices described the re are largely part and parcel of the Qurʾānic ethos and Prophetic example, this emphasis on the much later role of Abū Ḥāmid al-Ghazālī (d. 505 AH / 1111 CE) highlights the systematic treatment proffered by his influential Iḥyāʾ ʿUlūm al-Dīn, “a virtuoso exposé o f the art of religious practice and, indeed, of living the good life. It is paradigmatic. If one can say that the modern age is one overshadowed by Kantianism, then the several centuries of middle Islam were overshadowed by Ghazālianism.” 80 One testament to this paradigmatic quality is that 78 Wael B. Hallaq, Restating Orientalism : A Critique of Modern Knowledge (New York: Columbia University Press, 2018), 171-175. 79 Hallaq, The Impossible State, 129. 80 Ibid. 47 centuries later, the Shīʿī scholar Muḥsin al-Kāshānī (d. 1091 AH / 1680 CE) publishes his recension of Ghazālī’s text, mainly editing/replacing what conf lict with the Shīʿī school of thought, which he claims Ghazālī had embraced at the end of his life. 81 C.1. Technologies of the Self To clarify, in his seminar on “Technologies of the Self,” Michel Foucault characterizes a key objective of his life’s work as outlining, “a history of the diff erent ways in our culture that humans develop knowledge about themselves: economics, biology, psychiatry, medicine, and penology. The main point is not to accept this knowledge at face value but to analyze these socalled sciences as very specific ‘truth games’ related to specific techniques that human beings use to understand themselves.” 82 This insight not only serves as a reminder that some of and/or some aspects of our presumed knowledge is fallible, but that specific techniques/”technologies” have a role to play in the process, regardless of the truth/falsehood dichotomy. Foucault identifies four key types of these technologies, each associated with particular modes of training and modifying the skills and/or attitudes of individuals, (1) technologies of production, which permit us to produce, transform, or manipulate things; (2) technologies of sign systems, which permit us to use signs, meanings, symbols, or signification; (3) technologies of power, which determine the conduct of individuals and submit them to certain en ds or domination, an obje ctivizing of the subject; (4) technologies of the self, which permit individuals to effect by their own means or with the help of others a certain number of operations on their own bodies and souls, thoughts, conduct, and way 81 Muḥsin al-Kāsh ānī (d. 1091 AH / 1680 CE) , al-Maḥajjah al-Bayḍāʾ Fī Tahdhīb al-Iḥyāʾ, ed. ʿAlī Akbar alGhaffārī, vol. 1, 8 vols. (Beirut: Manshūrāt Muʾassasat al-Aʿlamī lil-Maṭbūʿāt, 1983 CE), 1. 82 Luther H. Martin, Huck Gutman, and Patrick H. Hutton, eds., Technologies of the Self: A Seminar with Michel Foucault (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1988), https://search-ebscohostcom.ezproxy.cul.columbia.edu/login.aspx?direct=true&db=nlebk&AN=38988&site=ehost-live&scope=site, 17-18. 48 of being, so as to transform themselves in order to attain a certain state of happiness, purity, wisdom, perfection, or immortality. 83 Of primary concern here are the latter, the technologies of the self, and specifically those pertaining to the constitution of the self in relation to ethical concerns and/or codes of morality. Foucault relates such technologies of, “individual domination,” of, “how an individual acts upon himself,” to the Greek epimelesthai * sautou, “to take care of yourself,” “the concern with self,” “to be concerned, to take care of yourself.” 84 Through these technologies, these techniques, these practices, an individual exercises power over him/herself and forms him/herself into a subject with distinct dispositions. C.2. Habitus It is helpful to think of this subject-formation through a notion Aristotle invokes in the context of defining virtue/vice –hexis (ἕξις), in Greek, or, as it is rendered in Latin, habitus, and arguably analogous to malakah 85 in Arabic. One of the most important words in Aristotle’s 83 Ibid, 18. 84 Ibid, 19. 85 It appears that the usage of the word malakah in this sense (or closely related to it) is extant starting with the work of Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī (d. 339 AH / 950 CE). In al-Ḥurūf, al-Fārābī’s commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics, he writes, ]...[ ًئيش لعفي ام لّ وأوكبم وأ ةكلبم[و ةرطفلبِ هيف ةّ وقب لعفي كلذ نم ان لْعيف رّ رك اذإو .ةعانصب لاو كلذ لبق قباس هل دايتعبِ لا ،ةّيع يبط ]ة اّ مإ ،ةّيدايتعا ةكلم هل تثدح ةيرثك ارارم دحاو عون نم ءيش . ةّيعانص وأ ةّيقلخ […] And the first that s/he does something of that [sort] sprouts from a potential that exists within him/her innately and by a natural [capacity or habitus], not due to prior habituation or skill/craft. If s/he repeats an act of the same type many times over, s/he acquires a habituated habitus (malakah) – either of the character type or the skill type. Abū Naṣr al-Fārābī, Kitāb al-Ḥurūf, ed. Muh sin Mahdi (Beirut: Dār al-Mashriq, 1986), 135. Another early instance of malakah usage in this sense is in Tahdhīb al-Akhlāq wa Taṭhīr al-Aʿrāq by Aḥmad Miskawayh (d. 421 AH / 1030 CE) who writes, ينبتو اً ضيأ نأ ةئيلها تيلا ردصت اهنع لاعفلأا ةلداعلا تىم تبسن لَإ اهبحاص تيسم ،ةليضف اذإو تبسن لَإ نم هلماعي ابه تيسم ،ةلادع اذإو تبرتعا اتهاذب تيسم ةكلم ةيناسفن ]...[ Thus, it has also become clear that the condition (hayʾah) from which just actions issue forth [can be considered from different aspects.] Once it is attributed to the doer, it is called a virtue. If it is attributed to 55 of debates which draw on the works of authors mainly between the 10th and 13th centuries CE reveals various forms of leadership that center on subject-formation, albeit related to the particular features in question for the respective form of leadership. 0.6 “Library” Evidence The final section of this introduction paints the first component of these two arguments by drawing on key snapshots from the Islamic “library,” which is presum ed to have informed the habitus of the authors dealt with in the subsequent case studies. 0.6.1 Intellectual Technologies and Subject-formation The preoccupation of Islamic thinkers with a concern for forming moral subjects (themselves and others) explains their deployment of competing conceptual frameworks to satisfy paradigmatic moral requirements. The evidence for this from the “library” of Islam includes its apparent portrayal of these intellectual pursuits as technologies intricately i nvolved in “caring for the self,” fo rming the subject/agent of the broader community. For example 103 , the famous 103 When I cite Qurʾānic verses without referring to exegetical literature, I am only claiming a bare minimum of what aspects of the verse are reasonably understood to mean – intentionally setting aside what might be more open to interpretation/controversy by the Qurʾān’s readers. Making connections by cross-referencing within the Qurʾān itself, then, allows for a reconstruction of what was/is likely internalized, if not brought to the fore, by reflective readers of the Qurʾān, generally speaking, who often committed significant portions of it to memory in addition to reciting it frequently. While this reading is somewhat at the surface, it is not superficial, for it recognizes Qurʾān 3:7’s caution regarding the two types of verses, the muḥkam and the mutashābih, and does not attempt to claim an interpretation of the latter without comprehensive reference to the former (see Chapter 5 of this work for a summary of these distinctions by an author from within the tradition). Therefore, this approach is foundational to avoiding both extremist readings, which superficially read the mutashābih verses without holistic refence to the muḥkam verses, on the one hand, or which take historically specific applications of a verse out of its suitable context. The assumption in my adoption of this approach to the Qurʾān is that it resonates with an accessibility the Qurʾān invites its readers toward, without sacrificing a holistic reading or dismissing the value proffered by generations of commentary on the Qurʾān. The approach here is, thus, a qualified version of what has been called tafsīr al-Qurʾān bil-Qurʾān, an attempt at which can be found in the multi-volume al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān by Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabāṭabāʾī (d. 1981 CE). See: 56 Qurʾānic verse that indicates ther e are two types of verses, one to be navigated in light of the other, describes those who pursue a flawed framework as being unsound of heart (requiring care), َ وُ ه ي ذَّلا َ لَ زنَأ َ كيَلَع َ باتيكلا ُهني م ٌ تياآ ٌ تامَ كُ مُ َّ نُ ه ُّ مُأ ي باتيكلا ُ رَ خُأَ و ٌ تاي بهاشَتُ م اَّ مَأَف َ نيذَّلا في ميي بهولُق ٌ غيَ ز َ نوعيبَّتَ يَ ف ام َهَباشَت ُهني م َءاغيتبا ي ةَنتي فلا َءاغيتباَ و ي هيليوَ تَ امَ و ُمَلعَي ُهَليوَ تَ َّ لايإ َُّ للَّا َ نوخي ساّ رلاَ و ي في ي مليعلا َ نولوقَي اّنَ مآ ي هيب ٌّلُ ك ني م ي دنيع اني ّبَ ر امَ و ُ رَّ كَّ ذَي ّ لايإ وُلوُأ ي بابلَلأا Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān, 20 vols. (Qum: Muʾassasat al-Nashr al-Islāmī, n.d.) This approach, in principle, appears to be acknowledged/taught in reports attributed to prominent figures in the early Muslim community. Perhaps most notably summarizing this principle, for instance, is a quote from a report attributed to ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭ ālib (d. 40 AH / 661 CE), where in the context of addressing superficially perceived contradictions in the Qurʾ ān, ʿAlī states, “Indeed, parts of the Book of God verify the other parts and do not bely the other parts, but you have not been bestowed with the sustenance of reason that you would benefit from […]” بذكي لاو اضعب هضعب قدصيل الله باتك نإ ، اضعب هضعبهب عفتنت لقع قزرت لم كنكلو ]...[ After hearing all of the qu estioner’s perceived contrad ictions in the Qurʾān, ʿAlī proceeds to address them. Toward the end of the repor t, ʿAlī underlines that there is also knowledge beyond what is accessible to the more general reader/listener, saying, “The one with knowledge is not able to explain all knowledge to all people. That is because among them are the strong as well as the weak, and because some of it is bearable and some of it is unbearable except to those among God’s select friends whom He eases it for and has helped to bear it […]” ]...[هرسفي نأ ملعلا بحاص عيطتسي ملعلا لك سيلو قاطي لا ام هنمو هلحم قاطي ام هنم نلأو ، فيعضلاو يوقلا مهنم نلأ سانلا لكل نم لاإ هلحم لهسيهئايلوأ ةصاخ نم هيلع هنا عأو هلحم هل الله ]...[ Abū Jaʿfar Muḥam mad ibn ʿAlī Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq (d. 381 AH / 991 CE), al-Tawḥīd, ed. Hāshim al-Ḥusaynī al -Ṭahrānī (Beirut: Dār al-Maʿrifah, n .d.), 254-270. When I write that the approach I take is a qualified version of what has been called tafsīr al-Qurʾān bil-Qurʾān, I mean that it is arguably less restricting in its claims (e.g. potentially internalized connections vs. definitive exegesis), and that it is open to didactic traditions on how parts of the Qurʾān explain one another, as described in the aforementioned report attributed to ʿAlī. 57 It is He who has sent down to you the Book. Parts of it are muḥkam verses, which are the mother of the Book, while others are mutashābih. As for those in whose hearts is deviance, they follow what tashābaha 104 in it, in pursuit of mischief 105 and in pursuit of its taʾwīl 106 . But no one knows its taʾwīl except God [;] and those firmly grounded in knowledge; they say, ‘We believe in it; all of it is from our Lord.’ And none takes admonition except those who possess intellect. 107 104 Tashābaha; the past tense verb related to mutashābih; linguistically, the word mutashābih is related to the past tense verb tashābaha and the noun tashābuh, which expresses the similarity/resemblance between different matters. This can mean different things, depending on the context. In some contexts, mutashābih describes the consistency between the verses of the Qurʾān (i.e. verse 39:23). However, in other contexts, such as in the v erse quoted here, mutashābih arguably refers to a form of ambiguity which arises when the intended meaning of a Qurʾānic verse is not straightforward in a stand-alone fashion. At first glance, in such verses, there would be multiple possibilities that would seem similar to what must be right, leading to uncertainty. In this sense, the mutashābih verses (as opposed to what are called the “muḥkam” verses) are supposed to be clarified by understanding them with reference to the muḥkam verses, which are already straightforward. The deviant choose to go after the mutashābih verses without referring them back to the muḥkam verses and, thus, end up with twisted interpretations. See on this verse: Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān Fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān, 20 vols. (Qum: Muʾassasat al-Nashr al-Islāmī, n.d.); Nāṣir Makārim al-Shīrāz ī, al-Amthal fī Tafsīr Kitāb Allāh al-Munzal, 20 vols., n.d. 105 Fitnah; depending on the context, can refer to a test or conditions such as calamity, sedition, and temptation. 106 This is a form of interpretation not generally accessible to the typical reader, as the verse indicates. More details on the usage of the word taʾwīl and its significance in Chapter 5 of this work. 107 Qurʾān 3:7. 58 The verse makes it clear that being among “those firmly grounded in knowledge (al-rāsikhūn fī al-ʿilm)” or at least, “those who possess intellect ( ulū al-albāb)” is at odds with having an unsound heart. Noteworthy here is that this language might be an indication of the substantive meaning for habitus before the word “malakah” had been adopted to mean so. That is, the phrase “firmly grounded in (rāsikhūn fī),” depending on the context, can indicate the durable condition of a habitus described earlier. Whether or not the firm grounding means something much deeper than habitus can be pursued in the exegetical li terature. But the phrase, “those who possess (ulū)” in, “those who possess intellect (ulū al-albāb)” appears to be an even more straightforward analogue of habitus in this context. This is not to say that wherever “ulū” appears, it is a giveaway indication of habitus, for the word more generally refers to possession. But in particular contexts describing character traits and skills, the word “ulū” arguably well describes habitus possession. The verse, thus links states of the heart and/or the more durable habitus conditions of the self to the pursuit of conceptual frameworks. According to the verse, the “deviance” of he arts engenders flawed readings, mistaken conceptual frameworks or lines of reasoning (forms of taʾwīl), which in turn take the subject down a path of mischief, presumably consolidating the heart’s condition of deviance – a flawed subject formation. Addressing the very notion of God’s existence, the Qurʾān poses questions, as if inviting the reader to formulate his/her own line of reasoning and “see” the argument(s) to its end him/herself. In a sequence of verses from surah 52, one verses reads, ]...[ َ نوقيلالخا ُمُ ه مَأ ٍ ءيَ ش ي يرَغ ني م اوقيلُ خ مَأ ]...[ 59 […] Were they created from nothing? Or are they [their own] creators? […] 108 Many other verses emphasize the importance of having “evidence/proof (burhān),” for theoretical claims. This is often accompanied by the possessive “your proof,” possibly indicating that it is in some sense subjective but that, nonetheless, a sincere attempt at communicating objective proof is being invited. For instance, ي مَأ اوذََّ تخا ني م ي هينود ًةَي لهآ ۖ لُق اوتاه مُ كَناهرُب ]...[ Have they taken gods besides Him? Say, ‘Produce your proof! […]. 109 Other verses speak of “gods” in a sense that can mean a person sometimes ta kes his own whimsical desires as a god 110 , or takes religious leaders as lords besides God. 111 So the principle in the verse is not addressing polytheists alone, but is rather indicative of a subject-forming intellectual technology across the spectrum. Another verse states, نَ مَ و ُعدَي َ عَ م يَّ للَّا اًٰ لهيإ َ رَ خآ لا َ ناهرُب ُهَل ي هيب اَّ نميإَف ُهُباسي ح َ دنيع ي هي ّبَ ر ُهَّنيإ لا ُ حيلفُي َ نوريفاكلا 108 Ibid, 52:35. 109 Ibid, 21:24. 110 Ibid, 25:43; 45:23. 111 Ibid, 9:31. 60 Whoever invokes besides God another god of which s/he has no proof, his/her reckoning will indeed rest with his/her Lord. Indeed the [unreasonably faithless] 112 will not be felicitous. 113 112 Al-Kāfirūn (sing. al-Kāfir; an agent performing the act of kufr); Although this word is has been translated variably as “inf idels” (e.g. by George Sale), “unbelievers” (e.g. by A. J. Arberry), “disbelievers” (e.g. by M. M. Pickthall), “deniers of the truth” (e. g. by Muhammad Asad) and, “faith less” (e.g. by Ali Quli Qarai), I would argue that its rendering in English should better account for the nuanced valence the word can have in different Qurʾānic contexts, which may at times overlap. Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabāṭab āʾī (d. 1981 CE) writes that, “the apparent meaning of kufr in the Qurʾān is ‘covering up (al-satr),’ in a sense that is inclusive of the terminological usage of kufr [e.g. that demarcating boundaries for legal purposes] as well as the unqualified sense of kufr as opposed to unqualified faith…” ]...[ايحلطصا ارفك نوكي نأ نم معأ ترسلا وه نآرقلا في رفكلا رهاظو قلطلما نايملاا لباقم في اقلطم ارفك وأ ]...[ A-Ṭabāṭabāʾī, al-Mīzān fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān, vol. 2, 110. A much earlier reference within the exegetical traditio n, attributed to the sixth Shīʿī Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq (d. 148 AH / 765 CE), quotes him describing five aspects (awjuh; sing. wajh) of kufr in the Book of God (i.e. the Qurʾān): (1 & 2) the kufr of stubborn rejection (juḥūd), with stubborn rejection having two aspects (i.e. rejecting the true Lord by resorting to insufficiently investigated/evidenced alternative claims; and rejecting what one knows to be true); (3) the kufr of [ingratitude toward] blessings; (4) the kufr of abandoning that which God has commanded; and (5) the kufr of disassociation [from that which displeases God]. ]نع نييلكلا[ ي نَع ٍ حيلاَ ص ي نْب ي رْ كَب ْ نَع هييبَأ ْ نَع َ ميي هاَ رْ بيإ ُ نْب ُّ ييلَعهوُ جُ و ْ نَع ي نيْي برْ خَأ هَل ُ تْلُ ق َ لاَق ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع ي بَِأ ْ نَع ي ّ ييْ يرَبُّ زلا وٍ رْ مَع ي بَِأ ْ نَع َ ديي زَي ي نْب ي مي ساَ قْل ا ي رْ فُ كْلا او ُدوُ حُْ لجا ُ رْ فُ ك اَ هْ ني مَف هُ جْ وَأ يةَ سَْ خَ ىَلَع َّ للَّا ي باَتيك ي في ُ رْ فُ كْلا َ لاَق َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا ي باَتيك ي في ي مَعيّنلا ُ رْ فُ كو يةَءاََ برْلا ُ رْ فُ كو َّ للَّا َ رَ مَأ اَ م ي كَْ تريب ُ رْ فُ كْلاو يْ ينَ هْ جَ و ىَلَع ُدوُ حُْ لج ُ هو َ رَ نا َ لاو َةَّنَ ج َ لاو َّ بَ ر َ لا ُ لوُ قَ ي ْ نَ م ُ لْ وَ ق َ وُ هو يةَّييبوُبُّ رلي بِ ُدوُ حُْ لجا َ وُ هَ ف ي دوُ حُْ لجا ُ رْ فُ ك اَّ مَأَف َ ني م يْ ينَ فْ ني ص ُ لْ وَ ق َ و ( * : َ نوُلوُ قَ ي َ نيي ذَّلا ُ مُ هو ُةَّيي رْ هَّدلا ُ مَُ له ُ لاَ قُ ي يةَقي دَ ناَّ زلا * ) ُ رْ هَّدلا َّ لايإ انُ كيلْ هُ ي امو :ةيثالجا[24] َ نوُلوُ قَ ي اَّي مم ٍ ءْ يَ شيل ٍ قيي قَْ تح َ لاو ْمُ هْ ني م ٍ تُّبَ ثَ ت يْ يرَغ ىَلَع ي ناَ سْ حيتْ سلاي بِ ْمي هي سُ فْ نَلأ هوُعَ ضَ و ٌ نيي د َ وُ هو َق ( * : َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ لا * ) َ نوُّنُظَي َّ لايإ ْمُ ه ْ نيإ[ :ةيثالجا24] ْمُ هْ ري ذْنُ ت َْ لم ْمَأ ْمَُ تهْ رَ ذْنَأأ ْمي هْيَلَع ٌءاوَ س اوُ رَ فَ ك َ نيي ذَّلا َّ نيإ ( * : َ لاَقو َ نوُلوُ قَ ي اَ مَ ك َ كيلَذ َّ نَأ * ) َ نوُني مْ ؤُ ي لا[ :ةرقبلا6] ي نيْعَ ي َّ للَّا ي ديي حْ وَ تيب ي رْ فُ كْلا هوُ جُ و ُ دَ حَأ اَ ذَ هَ ف َ لَاَعَ ت ٍةَفي رْعَ م ىَلَع ي دوُ حُْ لجا َ ني م ُ رَ خلآا هْ جَ وْلا اَّ مَأو]ةفرعم ىلع دوحلج ا وهف[ ي دَق ٌّ قَ ح هَّنَأ ُ مَلْعَ ي َ وُ هو ُ دي حاَْ لجا َ دَ حَْ يج ْ نَأ َ وُ هو اوُ دَ حَ جو ( * : َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ لاَق ْ دَقو هَ دْنيع َّ رَ قَ تْ سا* ) ْمُ هُ سُ فْ نَأ اهْتَ نَ قْ يَ تْ ساو اي به * ) اًّ وُلُعو ًامْلُظ ( * :لمنلا[14] ُلْبَ ق ْ ني م اوُناكو ( * : َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ لاَقو * ) َ نيي ريفاكْلا ىَلَع الله ُةَنْعَلَ ف هيب اوُ رَ فَ ك اوُفَ رَع ام ْمُ هَءاج اَّ مَلَ ف اوُ رَ فَ ك َ نيي ذَّلا ىَلَع َ نوُ حيتْ فَ تْ سَي[لا :ةرقب89] ي رْ فُ كْلا َ ني م ُ ثيلاَّثل ا هْ جَ وْلاو ي دوُ حُْ لجا ي يَ هْ جَ و ُيري سْ فَ ت اَ ذَ هَ ف َأ ُ رُ كْ شَأأ ي نيَ وُلْ بَ ييل ي ّ بَِ ر ي لْ ضَف ْ ني م اذه ( * : ع َ ناَ مْيَلُ س َ لْ وَ ق ييكَْ يح َ لَاَعَ ت هُلْ وَ ق َ كيلَذو ي مَعيّنلا ُ رْ فُ ك يل ُ رُ كْ شَي اَّ نميإَف َ رَ كَ ش ْ نَ مو ُ رُ فْ كَأ ْم ٌّي نيَغ ي ّ بَِ ر َّ نيإَف َ رَ فَ ك ْ نَ مو هي سْ فَ ن * ) ٌيمي رَ ك[ :لمنلا40] * ) ٌ ديي دَ شَل ي بِاذَع َّ نيإ ُْ تُْ رَ فَ ك ْ نيئَلو ْمُ كَّنَ ديي زَلأ ُْ تُْ رَ كَ ش ْ نيئَل ( * َ لاَقو :ميهاربإ[7] ) ي نوُ رُ فْ كَت لاو ي لِ اوُ رُ كْ شاو ْمُ كْ رُ كْذَأ ي نيوُ رُ كْذاَف ( * َ لاَقو * :ةرقبلا[152] َأ ْذيإو ( * : َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّ ا ُ لْ وَ ق َ وُ هو هيب َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ رَ مَأ اَ م ُ كْ رَ ت ي رْ فُ كْلا َ ني م ُ عيباَّ رلا هْ جَ وْلاو َ نوُ جي رُْ تخ لاو ْمُ كَءامي د َ نوُ كي فْ سَت لا ْمُ كَقاثيي م ناْ ذَ خ َ نوُ دَ هْ شَت ْمُتْ نَأو ُْ تُْ رَ رْ قَأ َُّ ثم ْمُ ك ي رياي د ْ ني م ْمُ كَ سُ فْ نَأ يْ ثمي لإي بِ ْمي هْيَلَع َ نوُ رَ هاظَت ْمي هي رياي د ْ ني م ْمُ كْني م ًاقيي رَف َ نوُ جي رُْ تخو ْمُ كَ سُ فْ نَأ َ نوُلُ تْ قَ ت ي ءلاُ ؤه ْمُتْ نَأ َُّ ثم ْمُ كوُتَْ يأ ْ نيإو ي ناوْ دُعْلاو َتو ي باتيكْلا ي ضْعَ بيب َ نوُني مْ ؤُ تَ فأ ْمُ هُ جارْ خيإ ْمُ كْيَلَع ٌ مَّ رَُ مُ َ وُ هو ْمُ هوُدافُت ىراسُأ * ) ْمُ كْني م َ كيلذ ُلَعْ فَ ي ْ نَ م ُءازَ ج امَف ٍ ضْعَ بيب َ نوُ رُ فْ ك[ :ةرقبلا84-85] ي كَْ تريب ْمُ هَ رَّ فَ كَف * َ لاَ قَ ف هَ دْنيع ْمُ هْعَ فْ نَ ي َْ لمو ْمُ هْ ني م هْلَ بْ قَ ي َْ لمو ي ناَيمي لإا َ لَيإ ْمُ هَ بَ سَنو هيب َّلَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ رَ مَأ اَ م ُلَعْ فَ ي ْ نَ م ُءازَ ج امَف ( يةَ مايي قْلا َمْ وَ يو ايْنُّدلا يةايَْ لحا ي في ٌ يْ زي خ َّ لايإ ْمُ كْني م َ كيلذ * ) َ نوُلَ مْعَ ت اَّ مَع ٍ ليفاغيب الله اَ مو ي باذَعْلا يّ دَ شَأ لَيإ َ نوُّ دَ رُ ي :ةرقبلا[85] ييكَْ يح َّلَ جو َّ زَع هُلْ وَ ق َ كيلَذو يةَءاََ برْلا ُ رْ فُ ك ي رْ فُ كْلا َ ني م ُ سي ماَْ لخا هْ جَ وْلاو * : ع َ ميي هاَ رْ بيإ َ لْ وَ ق * ) هَ دْ حَ و للهي بِ اوُني مْ ؤُ ت َّ تىَ ح ًادَبَأ ُءاضْغَ بْلاو ُةَ وادَعْلا ُ مُ كَنْ يَ بو انَنْ يَ ب ادَبو ْمُ كيب ناْ رَ فَ ك ([ :ةنحتملما4] َ ني م هيئاَييلْ وَأ ْ ني م هَتَ ئيْ برَتو َ سييلْبيإ ُ رُ كْ ذَي َ لاَقو ْمُ كْني م َ ناْأََّ برَت ي نيْعَ ي ي سْني لإا يةَ ماَيي قْلا َمْ وَ ي * ) ُلْبَ ق ْ ني م ي نوُ مُتْ ك َ رْ شَأ اي بم ُ تْ رَ فَ ك ي ّ نييإ ( * :ميهاربإ[22] َ مايي قْلا َمْ وَ ي َُّ ثم ايْنُّدلا يةايَْ لحا ي في ْمُ كينْيَ ب َةَّ دَ وَ م ًناثاْ وَأ الله ي نوُد ْ ني م ُْ تُْ ذََّ تخا اََّ نميإ ( * َ لاَقو ية َعْلَ يو ٍ ضْعَ بيب ْمُ كُ ضْعَ ب ُ رُ فْ كَي * ) ًاضْعَ ب ْمُ كُ ضْعَ ب ُ ن :توبكنعلا[25] . ٍ ضْعَ ب ْ ني م ْمُ كُ ضْعَ ب ُأََّ برَتَ ي ي نيْعَ ي 61 This Qurʾānic emphasis on evidence-based conceptual frameworks is the language it chooses to address humanity at large. In that sense, it is paradigmatic and those who arrive – through their own proof – at conclusions diverging from the “central domain” of Islam are “peripheral” relative to that center, but nonetheless share the paradigm. 114 It is a Qurʾānic ideal, then, for the ethical subject to form him/herself intellectually according to evidence-based conceptual frameworks, lines of reasoning that constitute burhān in his/her view. Abū Jaʿfar Muḥam mad ibn Yaʿqūb al-Kulaynī (d. 329 AH / 941 CE), al-Kāfī, ed. ʿAlī A kbar al-Ghaffārī, 5th ed., vol. 2, 8 vols. (Tehran: Dār al-Kutub al-Islāmīyah, 1984 CE), 389-391. In light of these nuanced usages, most relevantly the first three or four, I suggest an English rendering for al-Kāfirūn in this verse that highlights the unreasonable nature of the kufr, hen ce, “the unr easonably faithless.” Perhaps it goes without saying that this also serves as an instance to which the notions of kufr of ingratitude and kufr of abandoning God’s command may apply from different aspects. 113 Qurʾān 23:117 114 See also, for instance: Qurʾān 2:111; 27:64; 28:75; and 4:174. 62 However, while these verses appear to hone in on the principle of having evidence-based lines of reasoning, some might object that this falls short of explaining why competition arises in the process of advocating for some conceptual frameworks as opposed to others. Why would Islamic thinkers be so concerned with sharing their own subject-forming technology, as opposed to being satisfied with a sort of evidence-based, subjective, pluralism of sorts? At least when it comes to jurisprudential discussions, there are Islamic thinkers who would have approximated such a position, albeit with different theoretical formulations. 115 Even in matters of faith, many would invoke Divine Justice to excuse those who – despite due diligence – arrived at different conclusions than those normative to them. 116 However, in principle they would have still been driven to make their nuanced disagreements relevant to subject-formation, arguably because of the following verses. This first verse, for instance, can be understood as a warning against compound ignorance (being oblivious to one’s ignorance, mainly due to some moral lapse of their own), مُ هَءاوهَأ اوعَبَّ تاَ و ي هيلَ مَع ُءوس ُهَل َ ني ّيُ ز نَ مَ ك ي هي ّبَ ر ني م ٍ ةَنيّيَ ب ٰ ىلَع َ ناك نَ مَفَأ 115 See Chapter 3. 116 Setting aside the question of how realistic such a scenario is, deeming the person in the hypothetical scenario excused would be argued either based on invoking rationally perceived good and evil (al-ḥusn wa al-qubḥ alʿaqlīyān) and/or textual arguments, such as Qurʾān 4:98-99. لاَ و ي لاجيّ رلا َ ني م َ ينفَعضَتسُلما َّ لايإ ً ليبَ س َ نودَتهَي لاَ و ًةَليح َ نوعيطَتسَي لا ي نادلي ولاَ و ي ءاسيّن اً روفَغ اًّ وُ فَع َُّ للَّا َ ناكَ و مُ هنَع َ وُ فعَي نَأ َُّ للَّا ىَ سَع َ كيئٰلوُأَف See: Al-Anṣārī (d. 1281 AH / 1864 CE), Farāʾid al-Uṣūl, 23rd ed., vol. 1, 4 vols. (Qum: Majmaʿ al-Fikr al-Islāmī, 1438 AH), 575-576; ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad Riḍā Kāsh if al-Ghiṭāʾ (d. 1350 AH / 1931 CE), al-Nūr al-Sāṭiʿ fī al-Fiqh al-Nāfiʿ, vol. 1, 4 vols. (Najaf: Maṭbaʿat al-Ād āb, 1961 CE), 212; and Jaʿfar al-Subḥānī, al-Īmān wa al-Kufr fī al-Kitāb wa al-Sunnah, 2nd ed., vol. 1, 1 vols. (Qum: Muʾassasat al-Imām al-Ṣādiq, 1427 AH), 93-100. 63 Is s/he who stands on a manifest proof from his/her Lord like someone to whom the evil of his/her conduct is made to seem decorous, and who follow their desires? 117 Additional references 118 clarify that thi s “decorous” façade can lead an individual to actually “see” his (objectively) evil deeds as good deeds, often described as being under a satanic influence. Still, the understanding is that the individual is responsible for falling for the temptation and lapsing into the heedlessness that cultivates his loss of sound vision. Thus, for Islamic thinkers with these verses internalized, the importance of “getting it right” was not to be downplayed, even when their interlocutors appeared to have nominally evidence-based lines of reasoning. As another verse highlights, ُئيّبَ نُ ن لَ ه لُق ً لاامعَأ َ نيرَ سخَلأي بِ مُ ك اًعنُ ص َ نوني سُ يح مَُّ نهَأ َ نوبَ سَ يح مُ هَ و اينُّ دلا يةايَلحا ي في مُ هُ يعَ س َّ لَ ض َ نيذَّلا Say, ‘Shall we inform you about the greatest losers in respect to works? Those whose efforts go astray in the life of this world, while they reckon that they are virtuous in their works. 119 As these references alone illustrate, the “library” of Islam portrays these intellectual pursuits as technologies intricately involved in forming the subject/agent of the broader community. The subject’s relationship to God depends on sincerely considering his/her lines of reasoning and conceptual frameworks, from the most basic fundamentals of his/her worldview to his/her practical devotion to God. Within the Qurʾānic vision, this has impli cations for the 117 Qurʾān 47:14 118 See, for example, Qurʾān 6:43; 8:48: 9:37; 16:63; 27:24; 29:38; a nd 35:8. 119 Ibid, 18:103-104 64 hereafter, let alone the spiritual make-up of the subject/agent as a member of the broader community in day-to-day life. Therefore, this reading of the library supports the contention that the preoccupation of Islamic thinkers with a concern for forming moral subjects (themselves and others) explains their deployment of competing conceptual frameworks to satisfy paradigmatic moral requirements. 0.6.2 “Leadership” and Subject-formation The authorship of the Islamic thinkers considered is one form among the different forms of leadership, which are distinct from authority, and which revolve around subject-formation. The evidence for this from the “library” of Islam includes its apparent portrayal of an all-encompassing sense of leadership as revolving around subject-formation. Consider, for instance, the following Qurʾānic verse, ُ فنَأ مُ كيَلَع اونَ مآ َ نيذَّلا اَ هُّ يَأ يا َ نولَ معَت مُتنُ ك اي بم مُ كُئيّبَ نُ يَ ف اًعيَ جم مُ كُعي جرَ م يَّ للَّا َ لَيإ مُتيَ دَتها اَذيإ َّ لَ ض نَ م مُ ك ُّ رُ ضَي لا ۖ مُ كَ س O you who have faith! Take care of your own souls. He who strays cannot hurt you if you are guided. To God will be the return of you all, whereat He will inform you concerning what you used to do. 120 This verse not only urges each individual to lead his/her own soul down the path of guidance, it is prescribing this leadership in terms of “taking care” of on e’s own soul first and foremost. However, this should not be understood to mean subject-formation is limited to oneself. Another verse expands the sphere of subject-formation to one’s immediate circle. As the verse reads, 120 Ibid, 5:105 71 ]...[ هذه الله هقزر انمإو ،دعب عيشتي لمو بهذلما يّ ماع هفينصت ينح ناك الم دماح بِأ نأ لاإ هرمع رخاوأ في ةداعسلا– امك ّ يلبنلحا يزولجا نبا هب دهشو ينلماعلا ّ رسب ىمسلما هباتك في هرهظأ– ةفرعم وهو ،نايملإا نم ميظع نكر نايب هتاف دق ناك نالجاو سنلإا دي س نم نآرقلبِو مبه كسمتلبِ ةيصولا تءاج نيذلا ينموصعلما ةمئلأا – مهيلعو هيلع الله تاولص ]...[ […] However, because when Abū Ḥāmid authored it he was [a follower] of a Sunnī madhhab and had not yet become Shīʿī – and God only blessed him with this success toward the end of his life, as he revealed in his book called Sirr al-ʿĀlamayn and Ibn alJawzī al-Ḥanbalī testified to it 138 – he had missed explicating a major cornerstone of faith. 138 At first glan ce, I would have taken “Ibn al-Jawzī al-Ḥanbalī” most notably to be a reference to Abū al-Faraj ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʿAlī ibn Muḥammad al-Jawzī (d. 597 AH / 1201 CE), the Ḥanbalī scholar of Baghdad. But, as of yet, I have not come across a reference to Sirr al-ʿĀlamayn in this ʿAbd al-Raḥmān Ibn al-Jawzī’s electronically searchable works. It is possible, however, that al-Kāshānī is referring to Ibn al-Jawzī’s testimony to al-Ghazālī’s suppo sedly Shīʿī change of heart, not in the context of discussing Sirr al-ʿĀlamayn necessarily, but perhaps elsewhere. Following up on this possibility, I would have expected ʿ Abd al-Raḥm ān Ibn al-Jawzī to make mention of such a thing when summarizing al-Ghazālī’s life in his work on h istory. But even though he criticizes aspects of al-Ghazālī’s Iḥyāʾ ʿUlūm al-Dīn and describes his spiritual journey through the end of his life, Ibn al-Jawzī alḤanbalī makes no specific mention of a Shīʿī change in al-Ghazālī’s heart (unless, of course, al-Kāshānī is hinting at what he takes to be the implication of urging “sincerity,” which al-Ghazālī refers to when giving his last will of advice). See: Abū al -Faraj ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʿAlī Ibn al-Jawzī al-Ḥanbalī, al-Muntaẓam fī Tārīkh al-Mulūk wa al-Umam, ed. Muḥammad ʿAbd al-Qādir ʿAṭā, Muṣṭafá ʿAbd al -Qādir ʿAṭā, and Naʿīm Zarzūr, 2nd ed., vol. 17, 19 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmīyah, 1995 CE), 124-127. It is, thus, likely that al-Kāsh ānī is referring to a different “Ibn al-Jawzī al-Ḥanbalī. ” Another prom inent “Ibn alJawzī” would be the former Ibn al-Jawzī’s grandso n through his daughter ––hence known as the “Sibṭ (grandson throu gh one’s daughter)” of Ibn al-Jawzī. Taking this possibility seriously, and since Yūsuf, Sibṭ ibn al-Jawzī (d. 654 AH / 1256 CE), reportedly turned to Ḥanafī jurisprudence, at least apparently, one would have to understand the identifier “al-Ḥanbalī” in “Ibn al -Jawzī al-Ḥanbalī” as referring to his grandfather’s affiliation. In any case, Sibṭ Ibn al-Jawzī does refer to Sirr al-ʿĀlamayn as al-Ghazālī’s work and quotes what may be understood as particularly Shīʿī talking points from that text. This includes a reference to the words of Prophet Muḥammad regarding ʿAlī as mawlá du ring the event o f Ghadīr Khumm, as well as the Prophet Muḥammad’s deathbed request to write a will, which was met with negative reactions from a number of prominent companions. For instance, see: Yūsuf Sibṭ Ibn al-Jawzī al-Ḥanafī, Tadhkirat al-Khawāṣ, ed. Ḥusayn Taqī Zādah, 2nd ed., vol. 1, 2 vols. (Beirut: Markaz al-Ṭibāʿah wa al-Nashr lil-Majmaʿ al-Ālamī li Ahl al-Bayt, 1433 AH), 356-357. Whether or not al-Ghazālī authored Sirr al-ʿĀlamayn does not necessarily put to rest the question of adopting the Shīʿī nar rative. For the reported content is already available in alternative Sunnī-compiled sources (see the footnotes in the aforementioned reference), and Sunnī authors have processed them within the framework of Sunnī worldview assumptions (e.g. the Sunnī claim of consensus th at Prophet Muḥammad did not designate his successor and/or the integrity of the Prophet’s companions in such a way as to require any objectionable b ehavior reported about them to be reinterpreted in light of that presumed integrity). That is, the same core events might be acknowledged but 72 [That cornerstone is] knowing the infallible Imams; it was the will of the Master 139 of humans and genies – may the blessings of God shower upon him and them – to hold onto them along with the Qurʾān […] 140 A separate treatment is required to delve into the types of conceptual and ritual technologies alKāshānī deployed/removed in his version of the work. In this chapter, however, I test the aforementioned hypothesis by examining legal-moral 141 imperatives related to an early event in Muslim history, as remembered by primary sources referenced by Sunnī as well as Shīʿī authors (thus, representing the overwhelming majority of surviving Muslim narrative). By analyzing actions and rationalizing tactics employed in the quotes attributed to figures on the battlefield of Karbalāʾ, on the day of ʿĀshūrāʾ 61 AH / 680 CE, the theoretical disagreement over compliance due to 142 Ulū al-Amr (those vested with the Amr 143 or those to whom the Amr belongs) is mobilized in this “archive” as a subject-forming technology. This technology is portrayed as being partially responsible for the course of action taken on the battlefield (thus forming the soldier of a given side) or at least responsible for the justificatory tactic employed following the battle (hence, contributing to the imagined (im)moral sensibility of the subj ect’s rationalization). Put differently, rationalization/justification is itself portrayed as an act performed by a particular type of subject. different interpretations/significance are layered onto those events. Hence, it is plausible that al-Ghazālī wrote comparable content to that which is in Sirr al-ʿĀlamayn, even if not that specific text itself, without having adopted Shīʿī views. This is not to say that exposure to alternative narratives/arguments would be comfortable for general Sunnī/Shīʿī readersh ip, but it is to highlight that finding content common to one narrative emphasized in a given text does not necessarily suffice to judge that such a text has been written by an author who adopts that associated narrative. 139 This is referring to Prophet Muḥammad. 140 al-Kāshānī, al-Maḥajjah al-Bayḍāʾ fī Tahdhīb al-Iḥyāʾ, vol. 1, 1. 141 For the purposes of this work, I do not delve into a distinction between the moral and the ethical. 142 A distinction can be made between “obedience to / c ompliance due to” an d merely “compliance with” Ulū alAmr. For the latter may be justified by overriding considerations even when no “right” to the former is du e. I do not treat this distinction in detail here, however. 143 The Arabic root AMR, and more specifically the noun Amr, has its own web of interconnected connotations in the Qur ʾān, as I will attempt to hig hlight with references briefly later on; e.g. command, authority, matter, affair, thing, etc… 73 The picture painted is arguably that different types of acts require different types of subjects, and different types of subjects require different types of subject-forming technologies. I argue, then, that the author of the accounts frames the formation of the subject, in part, due to the reflexive performance of specific subject-forming patterns of practice. Iterative rationalization, not merely physical exercise, is can be modeled in this context as leading to habit/internalization, cultivating a habitus and thus forming the subject. Individuals may have performed apparently “the same” technologies of the self, such as prayer, fasting, obedience to Ulū al-Amr, etc… and ended up on opposite sides of the battlefield (or the legal/mystical community spectrum). However, the socalled “same” technologies could not have substantively led to diametrically opposed results, according to this reading of the accounts. Therefore, the technologies are meant to be understood as substantively different. Part of the difference is arguably modeled in a commitment to different forms of disciplined rationalization, resulting in the internalization of a conceptual framework. Before presenting references to early exegetical works, some key usages of the root AMR in the Qurʾān itself can be useful to consider as potentially connected. I am not so much claiming to present an exegesis of the Qurʾānic verse in question through other Qurʾānic verses, but more so drawing attention to potentially internalized connections made by those familiar with the entire Qurʾān. 144 This serves as a window into the sharīʿah-governed community, possibly explaining why subsequent generations of Islamic scholarship overwhelmingly opposed unqualified obedience to immoral commands by those claiming to be Ulū al-Amr. 145 144 See my methodological note in the Introduction on the qualified version of tafsīr al-Qurʾān bil-Qurʾān. 145 At least in theory, this was the ideal, as the coming references attest to. 74 1.1 Qurʾānic Moral Governmentality of Ulū al-Amr Hallaq’s “Qurʾānic Constitutionalism and Moral Governmentality” offers a short but significant take on the interconnectedness of the AMR root as it appears throughout the Qurʾān. As Hallaq writes, […] As in the case with ḥukm and ḥaqq, amr is applied to a wide spectrum of meanings, ranging from an order to create the world ex nihilo to the most specific of commands about a narrowly defined behavioral or “legal” matter. Here as always, there is no terminologi cal distinction between and among the cosmological, metaphysical, physical, moral or legal domains […] 146 In a sense, this observation summarizes what I am about to suggest concerning the appearance of Amr as a noun in various Qurʾānic verses. The demonstration that follows brings to the fore the connection of Ulū al-Amr to broader indic ations of the Qurʾānic Amr. If Qurʾānic usages of the same word (Amr) were internalized as meaningfully interconnected 147 , then, at the very least, “those Vest ed with Amr / those to whom Amr belongs” (Ulū al-Amr), would have been assumed to be vested not only with a legal authority to be obeyed but some minimum moral qualification arguably justifying that authority. As such, obedience to Ulū al-Amr would not have been understood to be blind obedience (i.e. obedience irrespective of the qualifications of the one to be obeyed). Rather, either the obedience was to be limited within the scope of commands not known to be immoral or the Ulū al-Amr must have been known to be infallible. The main verse in question reads as follows in chapter 4 of the Qurʾān, 146 Wael Hallaq, "Qur’ānic Co nstitutionalism and Mo ral Governmentality : Further Notes on the Founding Principles of Islamic Society and Polity," Comparative Islamic Studies [Online], 8, no. 1-2 (July 8, 2014): 17-18. 147 This will become clear by noting the similar phrases/meanings in different verses of the Qurʾān, with each subsequent verse adding a different attribute or layer of meaning. 75 َأَ و ََّ للَّا ْاوُعيي طَأ ْاوُنَ مآ َ نيي ذَّلا اَ هُّ يَأ َ يا ُتنُ ك نيإ ي لوُ سَّ رلاَ و يَّ للَّا َ لَيإ ُهوُّ دُ رَ ف ٍ ءْ يَ ش ي في ْ مُتْعَ زاَنَ ت نيإَف ْ مُ كني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأَ و َ لوُ سَّ رلا ْاوُعيي ط َ نوُني مْ ؤُ ت ْ م ًليي وَْ تَ ُ نَ سْ حَأَ و ٌْ يرَ خ َ كيلَذ ي ري خلآا ي مْ وَ يْلاَ و يَّ للَّي بِ O you who have faith! Obey God and obey the Messenger and Ulū al-Amr among you. And if you dispute regarding anything, refer it to God and the Messenger, if you have faith in God and the Last Day. That is better and more favorable in outcome. 148 In this verse, those who have faith are commanded to obey God, on the one hand, and to obey the Messenger and Ulū al-Amr, on the other hand. The distinction between the obedience due on each of the two “hands” is arguably significant. That is, God designates obedience to Ulū al-Amr on the same “hand” as obedience to the Messenger. If disputes arise, the matter is to be returned back to God and the Messenger. I will refer to exegesis literature on this verse in the next section, but in this section my focus is on potential interconnected usages of the noun Amr throughout the Qurʾān. Verse 83 of the same chapter reads, ْ مَلأا ي لِوُأ َ لَيإَ و ي لوُ سَّ رلا َ لَيإ ُهوُّ دَ ر ْ وَلَ و ي هيب ْاوُعاَذَأ ي فْ وَْ لخا ي وَأ ي نْ مَلأا َ ني ّ م ٌ رْ مَأ ْ مُ هَءاَ ج اَذيإَ و َلاْ وَلَ و ْ مُ هْ ني م ُهَنوُطيبنَتْ سَي َ نيي ذَّلا ُهَ ميلَعَل ْ مُ هْ ني م ي ر ًلييلَق َّلايإ َ ناَطْيَّشلا ُمُتْعَ بَّ تَلا ُهُتَْ حمَ رَ و ْ مُ كْيَلَع يَّ للَّا ُلْ ضَف When an Amr of safety or alarm comes to them, they immediately broadcast it; but had they referred it to the Messenger and to Ulū al-Amr among them, those of them who investigate would have ascertained it. And were i t not for God’s grace upon you and His mercy, you would have surely followed Satan, [all] except a few. 149 148 Qurʾān 4:59 149 Qurʾān 4:83. 76 Regardless of the other elements in this verse, it is clear that Ulū al-Amr are coupled with the Messenger here, as in the earlier verse. However, in this verse, the Messenger and Ulū al-Amr are both reference points to be returned back to (i.e. obeyed as reference points on questions, not merely as those who issue commands). 150 An assortment of other verses, listed here in sequential order as they appear in the Qurʾān, highlights the cosmological, metaphysical, physical, moral and/or legal domains of Amr. Chapter 7 reads, َُّ ثم ٍ مَّ ياَأ ي ةَّتي س ي في َ ضْ رَلأاَ و ي تاَ واَ مَّ سلا َ قَلَ خ يي ذَّلا َُّ للَّا ُمُ كَّبَ ر َّ نيإ َ سْ مَّشلاَ و اًثييثَ ح ُهُبُلْطَي َ راَ هَّ نلا َ لْيَّللا يي شْغُ ي ي شْ رَعْلا ىَلَع ىَ وَ تْ سا َ يني مَلاَعْلا ُّ بَ ر َُّ للَّا َ كَ راَبَ ت ُ رْ مَلأاَ و ُ قْلَْ لخا ُهَل َلاَأ يهي رْ مَي بأ ٍ تاَ رَّ خَ سُ م َ موُ جُّنلاَ و َ رَ مَ قْلاَ و Indeed, your Lord is God, who created the heavens and the earth in six days 151 , and then settled on the Throne. He draws the night’s cover over the day, which pu rsues it swiftly, and [He created] the sun, the moon, and the stars, [all of them] disposed by His Amr. Look! All creation and Amr belong to Him. Blessed is God, the Lord of all the worlds. 152 The latter part of this verse refers to how various cosmological systems are at the disposal of God’s Amr. The khalq (creation) and the Amr belong to God. Another verse indicates that the latter can 150 This connection has been used to argue that the latter part of verse 4:59 does not limit the obedience due to Ulū al-Amr. According to that argument, Ulū al-Amr are to be obeyed in an unrestricted sense, them themselves becoming reference points to knowing the will of God and the Messenger. On the question of obedience, consider the reference to the notion of “majority” here, as well as the highlighting of God’s knowledge regarding who is most guided, َ نوصُ رَ يخ ّ لايإ مُ ه نيإَ و َّ نَّظلا َّ لايإ َ نوعيبَّتَ ي نيإ يَّ للَّا ي ليبَ س نَع َ كوّلي ضُي ي ضرَلأا ي في نَ م َ رَ ثكَأ عي طُت نيإَ و ؛ َأ َ وُ ه َ كَّبَ ر َّ نيإ َ نيدَتهُلمي بِ ُ مَلعَأ َ وُ هَ و ۖ يهيليبَ س نَع ُّلي ضَي نَ م ُ مَلع ؛ َ ينني مؤُ م يهيتياي بِ مُتنُ ك نيإ يهيَلَع يَّ للَّا ُ مسا َ ريكُذ اّي مم اولُ كَف ؛ ُ تُري رُطضا اَ م ّ لايإ مُ كيَلَع َمَّ رَ ح ام مُ كَل َلَّ صَف دَقَ و يهيَلَع يَّ للَّا ُ مسا َ ريكُذ اّي مم اولُ كَ تَ ّ لاَأ مُ كَل امَ و اًيرثَ ك َّ نيإَ و يهيَليإ َ نيدَتعُلمي بِ ُ مَلعَأ َ وُ ه َ كَّبَ ر َّ نيإ ٍ مليع ي يرَغيب مي هيئاوهَي بأ َ نوّلي ضُيَل .[].. Qurʾān 6:116-119. 151 In the sense of time periods, not necessarily equivalent to 24 Earthly hours. 152 Qurʾān 7:54 77 refer to an instantaneous form of bringing about existence (as opposed to the gradual form indicated by khalq). As verses 49-50 of chapter 54 read, ٍ رَ دَ قيب ُهانقَلَ خ ٍ ءيَ ش َّ لُ ك ّ نايإ ي رَ صَبلي بِ ٍ حمَلَ ك ٌةَ دي حاو ّ لايإ ناُ رمَأ امَ و Indeed, We have created everything in a measure, and Our Amr is but one, like the twinkling of an eye. 153 Chapter 16 indicates that God sends down the angels with something 154 related to His Amr unto whom He wills among His servants. As verse 2 reads, ّ رلي بِ َةَ كيئلَلما ُ ليّ زَ نُ ي ي نوقَّتاَف ناَأ ّ لايإ َهٰليإ لا ُهَّنَأ اوري ذنَأ نَأ يهي دابيع ني م ُءاشَي نَ م ٰ ىلَع يهي رمَأ ني م ي حو He sends down the angels with the spirit of His Amr to whomever He wishes of His servants: ‘Warn [the peo ple] that there is no god except Me; so be wary of Me.’ 155 The descending of these angels with something related to God ’s Amr may be related to the descending angels in chapter 97 toward the end of the Qurʾān, as I will note below. God’s Amr appears in another verse that mentions how specific leaders, Imams, guide by His Amr. The verse in Chapter 21 reads, لا ءاَتييإَ و يةلَّ صلا َ ماَقيإَ و ي تاَْ يرَْ لخا َ لْعيف ْ مي هْيَليإ اَنْ يَ حْ وَأَ و َ ناي رْ مَي بأ َ نوُ دْ هَ ي ًةَّ ميئَأ ْ مُ هاَنْلَعَ جَ و َ نيي ديباَع اَنَل اوُناَ كَ و يةاَ ك َّ ز 153 Qurʾān 54:49-50 154 Al-Rūḥ; often translated as “the spirit”. 155 Qurʾān 16:2 78 We made them imams, guiding by Our Amr, and We revealed to them [concerning] the performance of good deeds, the maintenance of prayers, and the giving of alms (zakāt), and they used to worship Us. 156 In this verse, Amr belongs to God and, through/by it, a group of Imams are designated to act as guides. These Imams are inspired by God to perform good deeds, among other things. Yet, there is a clear indication that these Imams warranted God’s designation as having been “lanā ʿābidīn (servants to Us / worshipping Us)” in a distinct sense. The Amr of God in relation to Imams appears again in Chapter 32, َ نوُنيقوُي اَنيتَ ياي بِ اوُناَ كَ و اوَُ برَ ص اَّ مَل َ ناي رْ مَي بأ َ نوُ دْ هَ ي ًةَّ ميئَأ ْ مُ هْ ني م اَنْلَعَ جَ و When they had been patient and had conviction in Our signs, We appointed amongst them imams to guide [the people] by Our Amr. 157 Here the designated Imams also guide through/by God’s Amr, but they appear to have only been designated as such in connection with achieving a threshold of patience and certainty. Thus, there is a suggestion that those having the Amr associated with God are deeply connected to, and rather become qualified by, moral attributes. The subsequent verses I quote here hint at another dimension of the Amr as it appears in relation to Laylat al-Qadr (the Night of Ordainment), which has been described as the night of the Qurʾān’s revelation and, “khayr min alf shahr (better than a thousand months).” Chapter 44 reads, َل ي في ُهاَنْلَ زنَأ َّ نايإ َ نيي ري ذنُ م اَّنُ ك َّ نايإ ٍ ةَ ك َ راَبُّ م ٍ ةَلْ ي ٍ مييكَ ح ٍ رْ مَأ ُّ لُ ك ُ قَ رْ فُ ي اَ هييف 156 Qurʾān 21:73 157 Qurʾān 32:24 79 َ ينيلي سْ رُ م اَّنُ ك َّ نايإ َ ناي دنيع ْ ني ّ م اً رْ مَأ We sent it down on a blessed night; We have been warning. Every definitive/wise Amr is made distinct on [that night], [as] an Amr from Us. We have been sending 158 Chapter 97, the Chapter of al-Qadr, sheds further li ght on the connection between the Qurʾān’s revelation and a specific night during which an Amr descends from and is issued by God. The description of this Amr seems to have cosmological and moral implications in a recurring fashion (i.e. as the present tense [ta]tanazzal, or “descend,” entails). Verses 3-4 read, ٍ رْ هَ ش ي فْلَأ ْ ني ّ م ٌْ يرَ خ ي رْ دَ قْلا ُةَلْ يَل ي نْذيي بِ اَ هييف ُ حوُّ رلاَ و ُةَ كيئلَ مْلا ُ لَّ زَ نَ ت ٍ رْ مَأ ي ّ لُ ك ني ّ م ميي ّ بهَ ر The Night of Ordainment is better than a thousand months. In it the angels and the Spirit descend, by the leave of their Lord, with/for every Amr. 159 Coupled with verse 16:2, quoted earlier, a reader familiar with the entire Qurʾān would have potentially seen connections between those associated with Amr and the annually descending angels during Laylat al-Qadr. Rather, it is not far-fetched to assume, in light of this interconnectedness, that sharīʿah-minded subjects would have seen Ulū al-Amr (whoever they may be) as part of a cosmic order – recipients of the Amr descending annually during Laylat alQadr. Hence, for every age there would be someone from Ulū al-Amr qualified as such. This possibility is likely related to Sunnī ṣūfī and Shīʿī conceptions of a living Quṭb/Imam. 160 158 Qurʾān 44:3-5 159 Qurʾān 97:3-4 160 See Chapter 4 of this work. 80 At least for the purposes of this chapter, however, it is likely that sharīʿah-minded subjects, familiar with the entire Qurʾān (reciting it frequently as a riyāḍah, if not memorizing it), would have internalized the interconnectedness between those to be obeyed for having Amr (Ulū al-Amr) and the inherent morality defining their eligibility and/or directives. In other words, the Qurʾān does not refer to the Amr with morally-neutral language. The language used to describe the place of Amr in the cosmos as well as in the life of human beings is part of the grand scheme of Divine guidance, a care for the morality of one’s choice-making. Those vested with the Amr, the Ulū alAmr to be obeyed, are connected through that Amr to the Divine Amr by which certain Imams (leaders) guide others. Those lead ers had to be knowledgeable and patient, “leading” themselves properly, before leading others. Immoral commands and/or immoral commanders would likely have been seen as antithetical to the spirit of the interrelated usages of God’s Amr in the Qurʾān. This conclusion will prove useful as a conceptual framework for understanding the predominant exegetical positions on the obedience to Ulū al-Amr, beginning with Sunnī thought, but segueing into the crossroads of Sunnī, Shīʿī and Ṣūfī thought in subsequent chapters. In other words, this framework forecasts a paradigmatic feature of “leadership” surviving in later manifestations of Islamic thought. 87 ةعاطب رمأ لَاعت الله نأ كلذ ىلع ليلدلاو ، ةجح ةملأا عاجمإ نأ ىلع نادنع لدي * ) مكنم رملأا لِوأو ( * : هلوق نأ ملعا ، أطلخا نع اموصعم نوكي نأو دب لا عطقلاو مزلجا ليبس ىلع هتعاطب الله رمأ نمو ةيلآا هذه في مزلجا ليبس ىلع رملأا لِوأ نكي لم ول ذإ أطلخا كلذ لعفب ارمأ كلذ نوكيف ، هتعباتبم الله رمأ دق نوكي أطلخا ىلع همادقإ ريدقتب ناك أطلخا نع اموصعم تبثف ، لامُ هناو ، دحاولا رابتعلابِ دحاولا لعفلا في يهنلاو رملأا عامتجا لَإ يضفي اذهف ، هنع يهنم أطخ هنوكل أطلخاو س ىلع رملأا لِوأ ةعاطب رمأ لَاعت الله نأ نوكي نأ بجو مزلجا ليبس ىلع هتعاطب الله رمأ نم لك نأ تبثو ، مزلجا ليب ]...[ اموصعم نوكي نأو دب لا ةيلآا هذه في روكذلما رملأا لِوأ نأ ًاعطق تبثف ،أطلخا نع اموصعم Know that when God says, “and Ulū al-Amr from among you,” in our opini on this indicates that the consensus (ijmāʿ) counts as proof [for establishing the truth of claims]. The proof of this is that God Almighty ordered obedience to Ulū al-Amr in a definitive fashion [without any restriction or qualifier] in this verse. Whoever God orders obedience to in a definitive and decisive fashion [without any restriction or qualifier] must be infallible. For if he were not infallible, then, if he were to make a mistake, God would have ordered that one follow him. Thus, that would be a command to make the mistake. But a mistake is something one is forbidden from doing. Hence, the result is that commanding and forbidding would apply to the same action from the same aspect of consideration, which is impossible. So it is established that God Almighty has ordered obedience to Ulū al-Amr in a definitive fashion [without any restriction or qualifier]; it is also established that whoever God orders obedience to in a decisive fashion [without any restriction or qualifier] must be 88 infallible; therefore, it is definitively established that the Ulū al-Amr [as a unit] mentioned in this verse must be infallible […] 173 Al-Rāzī dismisses the Imāmī Shīʿī reading of Ulū al-Amr being the series of infallible Imams appointed by God because requiring obedience to them assumes that they are known and that they can be reached. Al-Rāzī states his conviction that, ةدافتسا نع نوزجاع ، مهيلإ لوصولا نع نوزجاع ، موصعلما ماملاا ةفرعم نع نوزجاع اذه اننامز في ناأ ةرورضلبِ ملعن ننحو ]...[ مهنم ملعلاو نيدلا And we know – self-evidently 174 so – that we, in this time of ours, are incapable of knowing the infallible imam, incapable of reaching them 175 , incapable of benefitting the dīn and knowledge from them […] 176 Because al-Rāzī does not believe he has the ability to identify the infallible Imam or benefit from his knowledge, the Ulū al-Amr must be a different group – Ahl al-ḥall wa al-ʿaqd. 177 Chapter 2 and 3 demonstrate how Shīʿī interlocutors engage with their Sunnī counterparts on this verse’s implication of infallibility. 178 This partly reveals a shared paradigm, even when the “central” Sunnī domain relegates Shīʿī readings to the “periphery.” A common thread in the aforementioned exegetical readings from the Sunnī tradition is the underlying assumption of morality: either in the domain of Ulū al-Amr’s commands (i.e. only 173 Ibid. 174 Or necessarily. 175 It seems that the plural form is referring to the potential to interpret Ulū al-Amr not as an infallible unit but as multiple infallible imams. 176 Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī, al-Tafsīr al-Kabīr, vol. 10, 144. 177 Ibid. ]...[ا ذإو ناك رملأا كلذك انملع نأ موصعلما يذلا رمأ الله يننمؤلما هتعاطب سيل اضعب نم ضاعبأ ةملأا ، لاو ةفئاط نم مهفئاوط .المو لطب اذه بجو نأ نوكي كلذ موصعلما يذلا وه دارلما هلوقب ( * :لِوأو رملأا * )لهأ للحا دقعلاو نم ةملأا ، كلذو بجوي عطقلا نبأ عاجمإ ةملأا ةجح . 178 For a contemporary example, see Ṭabāṭabāʾī’s al-Mīzān and Makārim’s al-Amthal on verse 4:59. 89 within the sphere of the morally acceptable); or in Ulū al-Amr’s qualifications (i.e. ʿulamāʾ; perhaps even infallible); or both. The preceding section which suggested a model for early internalized Qurʾānic readings resonates well with the morality-embedded Sunnī interpretations of these later generations. With this background in mind, I now turn to an “archive” of early Islamic historical memory, examining obedience to Ulū al-Amr as it manifests in relation to the memory of a particular episode – ʿĀshūrāʾ 61 AH / 680 CE. 90 1.3 Conceptual Technologies: The Obedience of Yazīd’s Soldiers The overwhelming majority of surviving Muslim memory (Sunnī and Shīʿī ) remember the murder of Ḥusayn (d. 61 AH / 680 CE) on the day of ʿĀshūrāʾ as a tragedy. He was the Prophet Muḥammad’s prized grandson, known for his knowledge and iconic spirituality, as recounted in both Sunnī and Shīʿī classical literature. In an apparent attempt to consolidate power and set an example for potential dissidents, Yazīd ibn Muʿāwiyah (d. 64 AH / 683 CE) had Ḥusayn and his vastly outnumbered fellows killed in the battle of Karbalāʾ. In addition to this news, by the end of the year 63 AH the people of Madīnah, where Prophet Muḥammad had found refuge early on and in which he is buried, had become convinced of Yazīd’s corruption in Damascus up close –– corruption to such a disqualifying degree that one of the pious notables of Madīnah reportedly informed the people that he had, “come back from seeing a man [i.e. Yazīd] whom, I swear by God, even if I only had found these sons of mine [as supporters to fight him with] I would engage in a struggle [warring] against him.” 179 According to Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī’s (d. 310 AH / 923 CE) account, people rallied around this battle cry, prompting Yazīd to send an army to force them into submission. In the midst of the fighting on the outskirts, Yazīd’s army manag ed to enter the town from behind, wreaking havoc in the core of the city, and causing the fighters to retreat. When the commander of Yazīd’s army, Muslim ibn ʿUqbah (d. 63 AH / 683 CE), entered Madīnah he called people to pledge allegiance to Y azīd, not as denizens or subjects, but as, “khawal (property/slaves)” of Yazīd ––their lives, wealth, and families at his disposal (i.e. “legitimate” targets for pillaging and rape). 180 There are thus, at least, two opposing schemes of obedience in 179 Muḥammad ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-Umam wa al-Mulūk, vol. 4, 8 vols. (Qum: Maṭbaʿat al-Istiqāmah bilQāhirah , 1939 CE), 380. 180 Al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-Umam wa al-Mulūk, vol. 4, 381. ]...[ةيواعم نب ديزيل لوخ منهأ ىلع ةعيبلل سانل ا اعدف ةنيدلما ةبقع نب ملسم لخدف ام مهيلهأو ملهاومأو مهئامد في مكيح.ءاش 91 these early days as remembered in extant sources: [1] people, like Ḥusayn, who rejected obedience to those with Yazīd’s qu alifications and/or rej ected some of Yazīd’s commands; and [2] those who obeyed Yazīd in killing Ḥusayn and/or ravaging Madīnah. While it may be argued that the soldiers carrying out Yazīd’s orders had not been trained in sharīʿah-minded moral technologies, and thus their actions are explainable exclusively in materialistic terms, a few snapshots recounted here imply that early Islamic authors relaying the account tell a different story. Reports indicate that both sides performed the ritual prayer on the day of ʿĀshūrāʾ. 181 There is little reason to doubt that at least military discipline and peer pressure would have made ritual prayer in congregation a routine. But regardless of the actual fact of the matter, what concerns the argument of this chapter is that the historical writing reconstructing the account makes that out to be the case. Particularly, al-Ṭabarī (d. 310 AH / 923 C E), quoting Abū Mikhnaf (d. 157 AH / 774 CE), reports that, on the day of ʿĀshūrāʾ, a man on Yazīd’s side named ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥajjāj called out, يا نم قرم نم لتق في اوبتارت لاو مكتعاجمو مكتعاط اومزلا ةفوكلا لهأ ماملاا فلاخو نيدلا O’ people of Kūfah, stick to your obedience and your congregation and d o not hesitate in killing those who have deserted the faith (dīn) and opposed the imam. 182 If ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥajjāj’s words are representative of an army -wide sentiment, those fighting Ḥusayn were remembered as at least claiming to have seen their obedience to Yazīd’s chain of command as an act of faith. But, again, whether or not this account speaks to the reality on the ground of the Also see: Khayr al-Dīn al-Ziriklī, al-Aʿlām, 5th ed., vo l. 8, (Beirut: Dār al-ʿIlm lil-Malāyīn, 1980 CE), 189. 181 For example: Aḥmad ibn Yaḥyá al-Balādhurī (d. 279 AH / 892 CE), Ansāb al-Ashrāf, ed. Muḥammad Bāqir Al-Maḥmūdī, 1st ed., vol. 3 (Beirut: Dār al-Taʿāruf Lil-Maṭbūʿāt, 1977 CE), 187. 182 Al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-Umam wa al-Mulūk, vol. 4, 331. 92 battlefield, al-Ṭabarī engages his readers by projecting the stark contrast on the battlefield as being due – at least in part – to competing conceptual frameworks regarding obedience to Ulū al-Amr. The words quoted here invoke iterative “ṭāʿah” (obedience) and sticking to the “jamāʿah” (group/congregation). Moreover, these words portray Ḥusayn and his fellows as heretics who deserve to be put to death because they have opposed “the imam” (i.e. Yazīd). In response to this statement, Ḥusayn is described to have said, مكلامعأ ىلع متمو مكحاورأ تضبق دق ول نملعتل اللهو امأ هيلع متبث متنأو انقرم ننحأ سانلا ضرتح يلعأ جاجلحا نب ورمع يا رانلا يلصب لَوأ وه نمو نيدلا نم قرم انيأ O ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥajjāj, is it against me that you incite the people? Is it us who have deserted while you have been steadfast on [the path of faith]? By God, indeed, once your souls are taken and you have died while engaged in your deeds, you will know which of us has deserted the faith and whom most deserves to burn in hellfire. 183 Al-Ṭabarī recounts this as a prelude to ʿAmr ibn al-Ḥajjāj attacking Ḥusayn and his companions with the right flank of Yazīd’s army (commanded by ʿUmar ibn Saʿd). Afte r some time of combat, “the first of Ḥusayn’s companions,” Muslim ibn ʿAwsajah, is said to have fallen. 184 The response of Ḥusayn lends credence to the argument that invoking the line of reasoning and/or conceptual framework was not significant merely for its form but also for its content. Its content is portrayed as serious enough for subject-formation not only on the battlefield but also in thfe encounter with death and beyond. 183 Ibid. 184 Ibid. See also: Al-Balādhurī, Ansāb al-Ashrāf, vol. 3, 193. 93 Al-Ṭabarī reports that one of Ya zīd’s men by the name of Kaʿb ibn Jābir, after killing Burayr ibn Khuḍayr, Ḥu sayn’s companion who was known as the “master of [Qurʾān] reciters (sayyid al-qurrāʾ),” was scolded by his wife or sister, who promised never to speak to him again for doing so. 185 Kaʿb is quoted saying, ...[] ةفيلخلل عيطم نيبأ * هتيقل امإ الله ديبع غلبأفعماس ]...[ . […] So tell ʿUbayd Allāh [Yazīd’s governor over Kūfah] if you meet him – –that I am obedient to the Caliph, all ears […]. 186 Later in life, he is described as having made the following supplication, دق نمك بر يا انلعتج لف انيفو دق ناإ بر يا ردغ . O’ Lord, indeed we were loyal, so do not make us, O’ Lord, like those who have betrayed. 187 In other words, Kaʿb claimed to be loyal to his imam, Yazīd, and prayed that God not treat him as He would treat those who betrayed Yazīd (and God, he would claim). Whether this individual and his likes truly believed they were in the right or not is arguably beyond the point. Repeating this rationalization is portrayed as having yielded the necessary riyāḍah desensitizing the subject to the immoralities underlying their decisions. By such an account, al-Ṭ abarī reinforces the image that the guise of sharīʿah-mindedness, coupled with the commonplace technologies of ritual prayer, supplication and sticking to the congregation, were the threshold to be overcome for this end. This point is exemplified in reports by other authors describing Shimr ibn Dhī al-Jawshan (d. 66 AH / 686 CE), one of the major figures responsible for killing Ḥusayn, following the battle 185 Al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-Umam wa al-Mulūk, vol. 4, 329; al-Balādhurī, Ansāb al-Ashrāf, vol. 3, 191-192. 186 Al-Ṭabarī, Tārīkh al-Umam wa al-Mulūk, vol. 4, 329. 187 Ibid, 330. 94 of ʿĀshūrāʾ. In his Mīzān al-Iʿtidāl, al-Dhahabī (d. ca 748 AH / 1348 CE) reports that Abū B akr ibn ʿAyyāsh (d. ca 194 AH / 810 CE) relayed that Abū Isḥāq al-Sabīʿī (d. ca 127 AH / 745 CE) said, ىلصي رشم ناك . لِ رفغاف فيرش نىأ ملعت كنإ مهللا : لوقي ثم ، انعم ؟ ملسو هيلع الله ىلص الله لوسر نبا لتق ىلع تنعأ دقو كل الله رفغي فيك : تلق ولو ، مهفلانخ ملف رمبأ ناورمأ ءلاؤه ناءارمأ نإ ؟ عنصن فيكف ! كيحو : لاق اخ .]ءاَّ قَّشلا[ رملحا هذه نم ارش انك مهانفل . فورعلما في ةعاطلا انمإف ، حيبق رذعل اذه نإ : تلق Shimr used to pr ay with us and then would say, “O’ God, indeed you know that I am noble, so forgive me.” [To which] I said, “How will God forgive you when you have helped kill the grandson of God’s Messenger, peace and blessings be upon him?” He then said, “Woe unto you! What are we to have done? Indeed, those commanders of ours gave us an Amr (order), so we did not oppose them. Had we opposed them, we would have been worse than these tall 188 donkeys.” 188 This is likely the correct word as oppo sed to “al-suqāh,” if the word “ḥumur” is a plural form of “ḥimār” (donkey). For an “ashaqq” horse is a tall h orse. The feminine form of “ashaqq” is “shaqqāʾ.” Hence, the non-ʿāq il plural (e.g. donkeys) would be referred to as “shaqqāʾ.” See: Ismāʿīl ibn Ḥammād al-Jawharī (d. 393 AH / 1003 CE), Tāj al-Lughah wa Ṣiḥāḥ al-ʿArabīyah, ed. Aḥmad ʿAbd alGhafūr ʿAṭṭār, 4th ed., vol. 4, 6 vols. (Cairo: Dār al-ʿIlm lil-Malāyīn, 1987 CE), 1503. However, if the word “ḥumur” is a p lural form of “a ḥmar/ḥamrāʾ” ( red), then it is possible that Shimr is d escribing the complexion of servants who served as “suqāh” (water/drink carriers). “Aḥmar” was understood as a reference to some peoples from the Levant, the Roman lands and the Persian lands, and was distinguished: from “abyaḍ” (white), which r eferred to a, “wheat-like color with [somewhat] dark/black beauty featu res”; from “asmar” o r “ādam ” (tanned/brown), which referred to the, “colo r of people from India”; and from “aswad” (black), which referr ed to a mostly [intensely/darker] black complexion. On these distinctions, see: Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad al-Dhahabī (d. ca 748 AH / 1348 CE), Siyar Aʿlām al-Nubalāʾ, ed. Shuʿayb al-Arnaʾūṭ, 9th ed., vol. 2, 23 vols. (Beirut: Muʾassasat al-Risālah, 1993 CE), 168. 95 I then said (qultu), “Indeed, thi s is an ugly excuse; for, indeed, obedience is only due in the [domain of the morally] acceptable.” 189 Ibn ʿAsākir (d. 571 AH / 1176 CE) reports a similar account in his Tārīkh Madīnat Dimashq, but includes several additional figures in his chain of transmission. 190 Being a much earlier compilation, it is possible that al-Dhahabī benefited from Ibn ʿAsākir’s account, if not some other lost text. But since Ibn ʿAsākir’s account does not include the last statement by the reporter above, al-Dhahabī was likely quoting from a separate source or making his own comment. In any case, the use of the combination “kāna” along with the verbs “yuṣallī” and “yaqūl” implies a habitual frequency of prayer in the past followed by the subsequent supplication. Furthermore, the supplication quoted and attributed to Shimr gives insight into the rationalization technology that Shimr is portrayed as likely having trained himself to internalize. Given that the account portrays him as loud enough to be heard and recorded, this justificatory tactic is probably meant to be understood as having served to help find Shimr a space of sharīʿah-legitimacy (at least in his own mind) despite the broad opposition to his decision. Abū Isḥāq’s reply mo dels the characteristic moral sentiment that lasts as the predominant understanding amongst Muslim sharīʿah masters, both S unnī and Shīʿī: Obedience is either due to the morally infallible individual/group or it must be limited to the domain of morally acceptable commands. Different conceptual frameworks, thus, could partially form the subject in ways that morph the notion of refinement (tahdhīb/tazkiyah), of If this latter reading is correct, Shimr may be making a racist (or otherwise condescending) comment, adding an additional layer of immorality to the reasoning he uses to justify killing Prophet Muḥammad’s prized grandson, Ḥusayn. This reading is supported by the use of the word “hāʾulāʾ,” a reference typically reserved for a p lural including ʿāqil males ( instead of the “hādhih i”), which appears in an edition of Ibn ʿAsākir’s account: ʿAlī ibn al-Ḥasan ibn Hibat Allāh Ibn ʿAsākir (d. 571 AH / 1176 CE), Tārīkh Madīnat Dimashq, ed. ʿAlī Shīrī, vol. 23, 70 vols. (Beirut: Dā r al-Fikr lil-Ṭib āʿah wa al-Nashr wa al-Tawzīʿ, 1995 CE), 189. 189 Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad Al-Dhahabī, Mīzān al-Iʿtidāl fī Naqd al-Rijāl, ed. ʿAlī Muḥammad Al-Bajāwī, 1st ed., vol. 2, 4 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-Maʿārif lil-Ṭib āʿah wa al-Nashr, 1382 AH / 1963 CE), 280. 190 ʿAlī ibn al-Ḥasan ibn Hibat Allāh ibn ʿAsākir, Tārīkh Madīnat Dimashq, ed. ʿAlī ʿĀshūr, vol. 2 5, 38 vols. (Beirut: Dār Iḥyāʾ al-Turāth al-ʿArabī, 2001 CE), 128. 96 self-care, into its antithesis. 191 The conceptual frameworks animated serve not only as potential drives for choosing sides on a battlefield but as justificatory tactics forming (and formed by) the subject in the aftermath. The subject/agent makes choices throughout life that contribute to the formation of his/her habitus and, in turn, subjectivity/agency. Iterative practices that the agent applies to him/herself can be physical, making a course of action more habitual, and – I propose here – they can be conceptual, making certain lines of reasoning more agreeable. Through accounts by Islamic authors of history, the reader is led to conceive that even if material interests were the primary movers for Yazīd’s soldiers, they were still clothed with a garb of obedience to God. That is, some subjects/agents make an effort to justify their acts in the name of God. Others do not. Yazīd’s soldiers, in the snapshots presented here, appear to be subjects who yearn for a Divine cover for their choices, even if those choices are driven purely by materialistic considerations in actuality. The type of subject formed by iterative justificatory tactics, appealing to sharīʿah-minded sentiments, is not the same as one lacking such appeal. The latter was arguably doomed to be self-defeating in a sharīʿah-minded community, one in which the sharīʿah had become embedded as a way of life. For any chance at being effective, deviation from the sharīʿah morality would still have required at least lip-service to the sharīʿah’s authoritative texts and principles. 1.4 Conclusion Authors of early Islamic history, like al-Ṭabarī, give us a peek into their own time’s central domain, in terms of which matters of the periphery are resolved. For example, this central domain requires qualified obedience to Ulū al-Amr, one that is limited to the morally acceptable, or 191 See Qurʾān 29:69; 79:35-41; 83:14; and 91:1-10 103 2.2 A Window into the Classical Reading: al-Ṭūsī’s al-Tibyān As I will cite in the next section, extant Imāmī exegetical ḥadīth literature appears to portray Ulū al-Amr as specifically referring to the twelve designated Imams from Prophet Muḥammad’s household/progeny (i.e. Imam ʿAlī, and eleven Imams from his children and subsequent generations of descendants through Prophet Muḥammad’s daughter F āṭimah). There are several indications that these individuals are regarded as immaculate (maʿṣūm), one of which being that the obedience due to them in this verse is unrestricted and on par with obedience to God’s messenger. To situate this reading in the context of a broader Islamic discussion on the verse, it is informative to summarize a common Sunnī position. Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfiʿī (d. 204 AH / 820 CE), is reported to have said the following when commenting on verse 4:59, ]...[ َّ مَأ نيذلا رملأا لِوأ اوعيي طُي نأ اوري مُأف ْ نيإَف " :لاقف ،مهيلعو مله اميف ،ةانْثَ تْ سُ م ةعاط لب ،ةقلطم ًةعاط لا ،الله لوسر مهَ ر ءاسنلا[ "يَّ للَّا َ لَيإ ُهوُّ دُ رَ ف ٍ ءْ يَ ش ي في ْ مُتْعَ زاَنَ ت :59.ءيش في متفلتخا نإ :نيعي ، ] اذهوالله ءاش نإ- ،رملأا لِوأ في لاق امك ُتْعَ زاَنَ ت ْ نيإَف " :لوقي هَّنأ لاإ نيعي ،" ْ م - ملعأ اللهونيعي ،" ي لوُ سَّ رلاَ و يَّ للَّا َ لَيإ ُهوُّ دُ رَ ف " ،مهتعاطب اوري مُأ نيذلا مهؤارَ مُأو مه - ملعا اللهو - .هيلإ مكنم َ لَ صَ و نم وأ ،متلصو اذإ هنع َ لوسرلا متلأس هوفرعت لم نإف ،هومتفرع نإ لوسرلاو الله لاق ام لَإ نلأ َنُ م لا يذلا ُ ضرفلا كلذ َُ له َ نوُ كَي ْ نَأ اً رْ مَأ ُهُلوُ سَ رَ و َُّ للَّا ىَ ضَق اَذيإ ٍ ةَني مْ ؤُ م َ لاَ و ٍ ني مْ ؤُ ميل َ ناَ ك اَ مَ و " :الله لوقل ،هيف مكل ةَعَ زا ُةََ يريْ لخا ْ م بازحلأا[ ْ مي هي رْ مَأ ْ ني م :36 . ] 195 195 Muḥammad ibn Idrīs al-Shāfiʿī (d. 204 AH / 820 CE), al-Risālah, ed. Aḥmad Shākir, 1st ed . (Maktabat al-Ḥalabī, 1940 CE), 80-81. 104 In other words, if obedience due to Ulū al-Amr in this verse is unrestricted (as Imāmīs, for example, say), then why does the verse only refer the faithful back to God and the Messenger in the case of disputes? According to al-Shāfiʿī, it is because the verse commands believers to settle their disputes by referring back to God and the Messenger (omitting any mention of Ulū al-Amr) that the obedience due to Ulū al-Amr must be a restricted form of obedience. That is, al-Shāfiʿī proposes that the occurrence of dispute mentioned in the verse refers to disputes with the same Ulū al-Amr people were commanded to obey. Such disputes are then addressed by reference to the word of God and the Messenger ––for there is no disputing the decree of God and the Messenger. As an example of leading Twelver Shīʿī authority discussing the identity of Ulū al-Amr in verse 4:59, Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Ṭūsī (d. 460 AH / 1067 CE) writes the following in his alTibyān fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān, لَاعت الله بجوأ كلذلف هلآو هيلع الله ىلص دممُ لآ نم ةمئلأا منهأ ) ع ( الله دبع بِأو رفعج بِأ نع انباحصأ ىورو ]...[ اموصعم ناك نم لاإ اقلطم دحأ ةعاط بايجا زويج لاو . كلذك هسفن ةعاطو هلوسر ةعاط بجوأ امك ،قلطلابِ مهتعاط ابح كلذ سيلو ، طلغلاو وهسلا هنم ناومأم ىلع ةلدلأا تلد نيذلا ةمئلأا في بجاو وه انمإو ، ءاملعلا لاو ، ءارملاا في لص سيلو ، رملاا هل نم اوعيطأ هانعم )رملأا لِوأو ( هلوق نلا ، ديعب هلوقف ، ءاملعلا هب دارلما لاق نم اماف ، متهراهطو مهتمصع ف ، ينقمُ اوناك اذإ مهتعاط انيلع بيج : اولاق ناف ، ءاملعلل كلذ صيصتخ اذه : انلق . انيلع مله ةعاط لف قلحا نع اولدع اذإ نود ءيشب ةعاطلا صيصتخ نم لَوأ هيف كلذ حضي نميف ، مومعلا ىلع ةيلآا لحمو . ليلد هيلع لدي لم ةعاطلا بايجا مومعل في متعزانت ناف ( : هلوقو . ءيش نود ءيش في الله ةعاطو لوسرل ا ةعاط بوجو صيصتخ زويج لا امك ءيش لَإ هودرف ءيش نارهم نب نوميمو ، ةداتقو ، دهامج لوقو . هتنس لَإ درلا وه هلوسر لَإ درلاو هباتك لَإ وه الله لَإ درلا نىعمف ) لوسرلاو الله 105 لِوأ لَإو لوسرلا لَإ هودر ولو " ىرخأ ةيآ في لاق كلذلو ، لوسرلاو الله لَإ درلا ىرمج يريج ةمئلأا لَإ درلاو : يدسلاو ، ملاا " مهنم هنوطبنتسي نيذلا هملعل مهنم ر :ءاسنلا[83 ] عرشلل ينظفاح ينموصعم اوناك ثيح نم ةجح ملهوق ناك اذإ هنلأو ]...[ .بابلا اذه في لوسرلا ىرمج اورج 196 This excerpt from al-Ṭūsī directly follows his summary that Ulū al-Amr have been interpreted (by leading non-Shīʿī authorities) to be either the umarāʾ (commanders and governors) or the ʿulamāʾ (erudite scholars). In opposition to those positions, al-Ṭūsī situates the recognized Imāmī understanding: Ulū al-Amr are none other than the immaculate Imams. There appear to be two lines of reasoning in al-Ṭūsī’s exegesis: [1] the reports attributed to the Imams indicate that this is the correct interpretation of the verse in question; and [2] the Qurʾānic language in this verse is unrestricted/unqualified and, thus, the Ulū al-Amr to whom obedience is due in such an absolute fashion must be, “immaculate, safeguarded from absentmindedness and error; and those [qualities] are not present in the umarāʿ or the ʿulamāʾ; rather, they are necessary in the Imams whose immaculateness and purity has been established by the evidence.” 197 It is, thus, possible to delineate two exegetical methodologies in al-Ṭūsī’s reading of the verse. One of the approaches relies mainly on the reports attributed to the Imams, from the get-go, in order to identify the intended meaning or application of the verse, without needing to make a claim about what the Qurʾānic language alone tells the reader about Ulū al-Amr’s immaculate nature. The second approach reads the Qurʾānic language alone to indicate the requirement of ʿiṣmah (immaculateness/infallibility) in the Ulū al-Amr (something some Sunnī scholars, such as 196 Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Ṭūsī (d. 460 AH / 106 7 CE), al-Tibyān fī Tafsīr al-Qurʾān, ed. Aḥmad Ḥabīb Qaṣīr al-ʿĀmilī, 1st ed., vol. 3, 10 vols. (Mak tab al-Iʿlām al-Islāmī, 1409 AH / 1989 CE), 235-236. 197 Translation from excerpt above. 106 Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī, later argue 198 ), and then use other evidence to identify the historical personalities who fit this description. When it comes to the second approach, al-Ṭūsī addresses an argument similar to, but slightly different from, the one attributed to al-Shāfiʿī earlier: the Ulū alAmr do not have to be immaculate because obedience to them is restricted (i.e. contingent on them being righteous or only within the sphere of righteous commands). Al-Ṭūsī’s argument responds saying that there is no evidence to support this restriction and that it runs counter to the apparently general language of the command to obey Ulū al-Amr, coupled with obeying the Messenger and with obeying God. As for the command to refer to God and the Messenger in the case of disputes, al-Ṭūsī understands this merely to mean that the Qurʾān and the Sunnah (Prophetic tradition) are the reference points (i.e. a matter of agreement across Shīʿī and Sunnī schools of thinking). However, al-Ṭūsī points out that referring matters back to the Ulū al-Amr (which he understands to be the twelve Imams) is tantamount to referring things back to God and the Messenger, as evidenced by verse 4:83 (in which matters are referred back to the Messenger as well as to Ulū alAmr) and given that the aforementioned Imams immaculately safeguard the message of the Messenger. Both methodologies detectable in al-Ṭūsī’s discussion provide an intellectual context for understanding Sunnī exegetical interventions reconstructed in Chapter 1. By context, here, I am referring to the implied dialectic nurtured by a periphery’s engagement with the central domain – even though a given central domain does not quote the periphery’s literature directly. In other words, the views expressed by al-Māwardī (d. 450 AH / 1058 CE), qualifying the sphere of obedience to Ulū al-Amr, and al-Juwaynī (d. 478 AH / 1085 CE), identifying Ulū al-Amr with 198 Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī, al-Tafsīr al-Kabīr, vol. 10, 144. 107 the ʿulamāʾ who themselves reinterpret the sharīʿah, can be understood as responses to Shīʿī readings identifying Ulū al-Amr as the immaculate, exemplars of sharīʿah knowledge (the Imams). 199 Furthermore, the influence of the Shīʿī reading seems to make its most pronounced appearance in al-Rāzī’s ( d. 606 AH / 1209 CE) acquiescence regarding the infallibility of Ulū alAmr in 4:59. Cross-references within the Qurʾān, familiar to avid readers of the book, as well as these central-peripheral dialectics, appear to have paved the way for the moral considerations regarding Ulū al-Amr obedience. 200 What follows further demonstrates the plausibility of dialectic influence by reconstructing early Imāmī Shīʿī exegetical literature on Ulū al-Amr. 199 It is not that the Shīʿī views are entirely ignored. If that were the case, the Shīʿī view would likely belong to a different paradigm. Rather, the Shīʿī views appear marginally, within the same paradigmatic discussion, yet arguably misrepresented and/or without full coverage, such as in the introduction to Ghiyāth al-Umam by alJuwaynī. Beyond such engagement, I am arguing that Shīʿī views shaped (and were not only shaped by) contem poraneous Sunnī discourse. The evidence for this presented here is the appar ently shared paradigms assumed, on the one hand, and the alignment of conceptual developments, on the other hand. 200 See Chapter 1. 108 2.3 Representative Survey of Early Imāmī Shīʿī Exegetical Literature on Obedience to Ulū al-Amr In this section, four categories of exegetical ḥadīth literature are compiled as they have survived in works associated with the earliest Imāmī ḥadīth compilations: [1] reports that limit Ulū al-Amr to the Imāmī Imams explicitly; [2] reports that identify Ulū al-Amr with the Imāmī Imams but do not explicitly limit Ulū al-Amr to them; [3] reports that specifically name Ulū alAmr; [4] miscellaneous reports featuring distinct qualities of Ulū al-Amr. While isnād analysis is a useful clue to be taken into consideration when ascertaining the historicity of an original quotation, it suffices for the purposes of this chapter’s argument to reconstruct the relevant references as they are believed to have been accessible to scholars approximately between the 10th and 13th centuries CE. Hence, the presence of these reports in reputable early Shīʿī ḥadīth collections traceable to the period in question makes an isnād analysis unnecessary. This representative survey lends strong support to the dominant Imāmī reading of Ulū al-Amr in verse 4:59 as being limited to the 12 Imams of Twelver Shīʿī thought, assuming a ḥadīth-centric approach. This follows from the fact that categories 2 and 3 are qualified by category 1 and expounded further by category 4. It goes without saying that the authorities being quoted in these reports are not necessarily clarifying the meaning signified by the words of the Qurʾān – for such signification is a convention of usage in the Arabic language, typically already understood by native speakers familiar with the context. Rather, the authority is arguably: either defining the sphere of instances/applications to which the conventional linguistic usage is being applied; or revealing a deeper layer of interpretation, such as by making cross-references and connections where they may be accessible but have not been sufficiently attended to, or by authoritatively identifying symbolic layers of 109 meaning. This does not preclude that, at times, the authority being quoted may clarify a linguistic usage that has been obscured over time or due to other factors, but it is arguably unnecessary, by default, so long as there is an apparent (ẓāhir/ẓuhūr) conventional usage accessible to one sufficiently familiar with Arabic language usage. 201 In addition to the main ḥadīth compilations of al -Kulaynī (d. ca 329 AH / 941 CE), alṢadūq (d. 381 AH / 991 CE), and al-Ṭūsī (d. 460 AH / 1067 CE), references here include one of the earliest extant exegesis works in the Imāmī tradition with commentary on verse 4:59 – the ḥadīth-based Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī. According to the recent Imāmī exegesis authority Muḥammad Ḥusayn al-Ṭabāṭabāʾī (d. 1981 CE), Imāmī authorities have praised and passed down the exegesis work attributed to Muḥammad ibn Masʿūd ibn ʿAyyāsh (d. ca 320 AH / 932 CE), otherwise known as al-ʿAyyāshī, ever since it was written. In those (approximately) 11 centuries, according to alṬabāṭabāʿī, Imāmī exegesis authorities have made no noteworthy criticism of the book’s credibility, despite the fact that the second volume of the two-volume manuscript has not yet been located, and that some copyists abbreviated the original chains of transmission for the reports. 202 Finally, I have also included a limited number of references to al-Iḥtijāj by al-Ṭabrisī (d. ca 6th century AH / 12th century CE), not as much as an authoritative reference 203 but more so to locate 201 See Chapter 5 for a brief synthesis and exposition of these distinctions in the words of a contemporary Twelver Shīʿī scholar, discussing them not in terms of his Shīʿī affiliation but in terms of a legal theory (uṣūl al-fiqh) on approaching constitutional texts. 202 Muḥammad ibn Masʿūd al-ʿAyyāshī (d. ca 320 AH / 932 CE), Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, ed. Hāshim al-Rasūlī alMaḥallātī, vol. 1, 2 vols. (Tehran: al-Maktabah al-ʿIlmīyah al-Islāmīyah), 4-5. 203 Because the chains of transmission for its reports were generally omitted, mainly because its contents were supposed to have been largely established through other means (e.g. consensus, rational argumentation, alternative sources, etc...). See: Abū Manṣūr A ḥmad ibn ʿAlī ibn Abī Ṭ ālib al-Ṭabrisī (d. ca 6th century AH / 12th century CE), al-Iḥtijāj, ed. Muḥammad Bāqir al-Kh arsān, vol. 1, 2 vols. (Najaf: Dār al-Nuʿmān lil-Ṭibāʿ ah wa al-Nashr, 1966 CE), 4. 110 an elaborate application of the Qurʾānic cross-referencing approach to interpreting the multidimensional “Amr” 204 (as seen in Chapter 1) and its bearing on the identity of Ulū al-Amr. 205 2.3.1 Reports that Limit Ulū al-Amr to the Imāmī Imams Explicitly اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ " الله لوق نع هتلأسف ملسلا هيلع رفعج بِأ دنع تنك : لاق ةيواعم نب ديرب نع ]يشايعلا يرسفت نع[ " مكنم رملأا لِوأو لوسرلا :ءاسنلا[59 ] ًبيصن اوتوأ نيذلا لَإ رت لمأ " : لاق نا هباوج ناكف : لاق نونمؤي باتكلا نم ا " توغاطلاو تبلجبِ : ءاسنلا[51] نلفو نلف ً ليبس اونمآ نيذلا نم ىدهأ ءلاؤه اور فك نيذلل نولوقيو " " :ءاسنلا[51 ] ً ليبس مهئايلوأو دممُ لآ نم ىدهأ ءلاؤه رانلا لَإ ةاعدلاو ةلاضلا ةمئلأا ] لوقيو [ الله نعلي نمو الله مهنعل نيذلا كئلوأ " " كللما نم بيصن مله مأ ايرصن هل دتج نلف :ءاسنلا[52 -53 ] ًذإف " ةفللخاو ةماملإا نىعي ًيرقن سانلا نوتؤي لا ا " ا :ءاسنلا[ 53 ] الله نىع نيذلا سانلا ننح " هلضف نم الله مهيتآ ام ىلع سانلا نودسيح مأ " ةاونلا طسو في تيأر تيلا ةطقنلا يرقنلاو :ءاسنلا[54 ] ًعيجم الله قلخ نود ةماملإا نم الله ناتاأ ام ىلع نودوسلمحا نحنف ا ةمكلحاو باتكلا ميهاربإ لآ انيتآ دقف " ُ م مهانيتآو ً كل ً ميظع ا " ا :ءاسنلا[54 ] ميهاربإ لآ في كلذب نورقي فيكف ةمئلأاو ءايبنلأاو لسرلا مهنم انلعجف : لوقي 204 See the category 4 report referenced from al-Iḥtijāj. 205 Ulū al-Amr, according to this Qurʾānic approach, are not only to b e obeyed, but are the recipients of the descending angels carrying the Amr on the blessed night of Laylat al-Qadr, and the Imams who guide others by God’s Amr after having been qualified as distinctly patient and certain of God’s signs. For a more comprehensive compilation of reports, see: Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad Riḍā Al -Qummī al-Mashhadī (d . ca 1125 AH / 1713 CE) , Tafsīr Kanz al-Daqāʿiq wa Baḥr al-Gharāʾib, ed. Ḥusayn Dargāhī, 1st ed., vol. 3-12, 14 vols. (Muʾassasat al-Ṭabʿ wa al-Nashr Wizārat alThaqāfah wa al-Irshād al-Islāmī, 1 407 AH / 1366 SH). 111 و ] ي[ ًيرعس منهبج ىفكو هنع دص نم مهنمو هب نمآ نم مهنمف " هلآو هيلع الله ىلص دممُ ل آ في هنوركن " ا :ءاسنلا[55] لَإ " ليلظ لظ مهلخدنو " هلوق :ءاسنلا[57 ] ً كلم مهانيتآو " ميهاربإ لآ في : هلوق تلق : لاق ً ميظع ا " ا :ءاسنلا[54] ام ثم : لاق ميظعلا كللما وهف ، الله ىصع مهاصع نمو ، الله عاطأ مهعاطأ نم ، ةمئأ مهنم لعج نأ : لاق ؟ ميظعلا كللما " ايرصب اعيسم " لَإ " اهلهأ لَإ تنااملأا اودؤت نا مكرميأ الله نا " :لاق :ءاسنلا[58] دؤي نا نىع ناياإ : لاقي انم لولأا كلا هدعب يذلا ماملاا لَإ لدعلبِ اومكتح نا سانلا ينب متمكح اذإو " حلسلاو ملعلاو بت :ءاسنلا[ "58] مكيديأ في يذلا يقلا موي لَإ يننمؤلما عمجف " اونمآ نيذلا اهيأ يا " سانلل لاق ثم ،]ا [ " مكنم رم لأا لِوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ " ةم :ءاسنلا[59 ] في اعزانت متفخ ناف ةصاخ نىع ناياإ فيكو تلزن اذكه ، مكنم رملأا لِوأو لوسرل ا لَاو الله لَإ اوعجراف رملاا مله ليق نيذلا نيرومأملل كلذ ليق انمإ ، مهتعزانم في مله صخريو رملأا لِوأ ةعاطب مهرم يأ" لِوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ مكنم رملأا :ءاسنلا[ "59 ] 206 This report includes the phrase, “He mea nt us, specifically (iyyānā ʿaná khāṣṣah),” indicating that the Ulū al-Amr to be obeyed in this verse are none other than the Imams of Ahl alBayt, presumably represented at the time by Abū Jaʿfar [Muḥammad al-Bāqir] (d. 114 AH / 733 CE). The plural first person in Shīʿī ḥadīth is typically understood as a reference to the rightful leadership of Prophet Muḥammad’s household, unless there is reason for it to be understood in a 206 Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, 246-247. See also: Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn Yaʿqūb al-Kulaynī (d. ca 329 AH / 941 CE), al-Kāfī, ed. ʿAlī Akbar al -Ghaffārī, 4th ed., vol. 1, 8 vols. (Tehran: Dār al-Kutub al-Islāmīyah, 1984 CE), 205. 112 broader sense. The explicit and exclusive indication comes from the word “specifically (khāṣṣah).” Hence, when the report merely says, “He meant us (iyyānā ʿaná),” without the word “khāṣṣah,” as in the explanation of 4:58, the indication is not explicitly exclusive. That is, the latter case allows for a reading in which the Imams of Ahl al-Bayt are meant but not only they are meant – they would be clear instances to which the verse applies, but there are other instances besides them. As for the former cas e, in which the word “khāṣṣah” is used, it explicitly gives the indication of exclusivity, apparently in the absolute sense. 207 Furthermore, the report appears to address the line of argument advanced by al-Shāfiʿī. For while al-Shāfiʿī took the verse to mean dispute with Ulū al-Amr was possible, and absolute deferral was to God and the Messenger alone, this report argues that it would be nonsensical for God to command them to obey Ulū al-Amr and simultaneously allow them to dispute with them (disobeying them). Rather, this report argues, in the case of a dispute, the deferral is to God and the Messenger – who commanded that obedience be God, His Messenger, and the designated Ulū al-Amr. It is likely that the report was addressing the substantive argument of al-Shāfiʿī in an earlier form circulating at the time. If the argument was known to al-Shāfiʿī then either he was unconvinced by it or his worldview commitments prevented him from accepting its implications. It goes without saying that even if the historicity of this report comes under question, although potentially not pre-Shāfiʿī, it remains an early Shīʿī response to al-Shāfiʿī. 207 It is possible to argue that this exclusivity is only apparently in the absolute sense and that the expression could be merely referring to a relative sense of exclusivity (i.e. that God meant them specifically – at that time – as opposed to others who falsely assumed the position against their will). The implication of such a reading would be to allow for Ulū al-Amr, in principle, to refer to those besides the twelve Imams, so long as they are not excluded by the relative exclusion understood. This line of argument may serve the type of more recent Shīʿī approach discussed later in this chapter. However, such a reading would require sufficient clues within and/or beyond the text to divert the indication away from its apparently absolute exclusivity to the Imams of Ahl al-Bayt. 119 makes her out to be an example for a member of that category to follow – similar to how one would follow the Messenger of God. Furthermore, the report describes Fāṭimah not only as such a great example for all in a general sense, but specifically for the 12th Imam who is writing. Although some might argue that the 12th Imam is merely looking to Fāṭimah’s example in a limited fashion, regarding a dispute over inheritance, such a position is difficult to maintain given the broad/unqualified language used in the letter. Moreover, just as Fāṭimah’s position regarding Fadak is interpreted as symbolic of the succession to Muḥammad in Shīʿī circles, it is not far-fetched that an analogical application to the caliphate is being alluded to here by the 12th Imam. A scholarly Shīʿī readership would have reasonably recognized the similarity between Fāṭimah’s efforts to safeguard her father’s legacy whether in public or behind the scenes, and the 12th Imam being busy with addressing the tyranny of his time behind the scenes. ْيَ رُ ب ْ نَع َةَنْ يَذُأ ي نْب َ رَ مُع ْ نَع ٍْ يرَ مُع ي بَِأ ي نْبا ي نَع هييبَأ ْ نَع َ ميي هاَ رْ بيإ ُ نْب ُّ ييلَع ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ ٍ رَ فْعَ ج وُبَأ َ لَت َ لاَق َةَيي واَعُ م ي نْب ي د * : ع ( * ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ :ءاسنلا[ 59] َ لَيإو َّ للَّا َ لَيإ هوُعي جْ رَأَف ي رْ مَلأا ي في ًاعُ زاَنَ ت ْ مُتْ في خ ْ نيإَف اََّ نميإ ْ مي هيتَعَ زاَنُ م ي في ُ صي ّ خَ رُ يو ْ مي هيتَعاَطيب ُ رُ مَْ يأ َ فْيَ ك َ لاَق َُّ ثم ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأ َ لَيإو ي لوُ سَّ رلا ْ مَُ له َ لييق َ نيي ذَّلا َ نيي روُ مْأَ مْليل َ كيلَذ َ لاَق ( * : * ) َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ 214 214 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 8, 184-185. It is noteworthy that two similar reports appeared in category 1. However, because this report does not use the phrase, “iyāna ʿaná khāṣṣah,” I have included this report in category 2. 120 ينضغبم في متببحأو يرثك نيركنم في متفرع دق : لاق ملسلا هيلع الله دبع بِأ نع ناهدلا يرشب نع ]يشايعلا يرسفت نع[ فيو لله ابح نوكي دقو يرثك مو ، الله ىلع هباوثف هلوسرو الله في ناك امف ايندلا في ابحو هلوسرو الله في سيلف ايندلا في ناك ا انمإ مكناو ، قلحا ىلع هنأ ىري لاا دحأ مهنم سيل جراولخا هذهو ةيردقلا هذهو ةئجرلما هذه نا : لاق ثم هدي ضفن ثم ءيش مكنم رملأا لِوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ " لت ثم ، الله في ناومتببحأ :ءاسنلا[ "59 ] ،"تآ امو]ا[ امو هوذخف لوسرلا مك نه]ا[ اوهتناف هنع مك :رشلحا[ "7] ، " الله عاطأ دقف لوسرل ا عطي نمو :ءاسنلا[ "80] ، " نيوعبتاف الله نوبتح متنك نا الله مكببيح " :نارمع لآ[31 ] 215 نىعي هوذج نم رملاا اذه تُذخأ مكنا : لوقي ملسلا هيلع الله دبع بِأ تعسم : لاق بيللحا نارمع نع ]يشايعلا يرسفت نع[ " مكنم رملاا لَوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ " الله لوق نع ،هلصأ نم :ءاسنلا[59 ] هيلع الله ىلص الله لوسر لوق نمو ولضت نل هب متكستم نا ام : هلآو . نلف لوق نم لاو نلف لوق نم لا ، ا 216 215 Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, vol. 1, 167. The latter part of this report, like others quoted throughout this section, appears to assume that Ulū al-Amr applies to the Imams ( in the Imāmī Shīʿī sense) and employs the methodology of explaining Qurʾān ic verses by cross-referencing other Qu rʾānic verses with the same or synonymous phrases. It is also noteworthy here that the repor t defines the application of Ulū al-Amr not merely in terms of truth-claims – as those are claimed by various groups – but in terms of having sincere love for the sake of God as opposed to worldly aims. 216 Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, vol. 1, 251-252. 121 الله لوق نع هتلأسف : لاق ملسلا هيلع اضرلا نسلحا بىأ ىلع لخد هنا نبِأ نع ]يشايعلا يرسفت نع[ اونمآ نيذلا اهيأ يا " " مكنم رملأا لِوأو لوسرل ا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ :ءاسنلا[59 ]بِأ نب يلع كلذ : : لاقف ثم ملسلا هيلع بلاط لاق ، تكس ، نسلحا ثم : لاق ؟ نم ثم : تلق هتوكس لاط املف : : تلق ، ينسلحا : لاق ؟ نم ثم : تلق هتوكس لاط املف تكس ثم ؟ نم ثم ديعأ تىح دحاو لك دنع تكسي لزي ملف ، تكسو ينسلحا نب يلع ثم : لاق لَإ مهاسم تىح لوقيف ، ةلأسلما ) ع ( .مهرخآ 217 نع ]يشايعلا يرسفت نع[ رملأا لِوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ " هلوق في ملسلا هيلع رفعج بِأ نع نلجع نب الله دبع " مكنم :ءاسنلا[59 ] فيو يلع في يه :لاق هنومريح لاو ائيش نوليح لا منهأ يرغ ءايبنلأا عضاوم الله مهلعج ةمئلأا 218 هيلع الله دبع بِلأ تلق : لاق ميكح نع ]يشايعلا يرسفت نع[ الله رمأ نيذلا رملأا لِوأ نع نيبرخأ كادف تلعج : ملسلا الله اودحماف ناأ رفعجو يلع نب دممُو ينسلحا نب يلعو ينسلحاو نسلحاو بلاط بِأ نب يلع كئلوأ : لِ لاقف ؟ مهتعاطب . سانلا مهدحج ينح مكتداق و مكتمئأ مكفرع يذلا 219 217 Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, vol. 1, 251. Although the report identifies the application of Ulū al-Amr in the persons of the Shīʿī Imams, it does not explicitly limit the application to them. 218 Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, vol. 1, 252. 219 Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, vol. 1, 252. 122 َّ مَُ مُ ُ نْب ُ دَْ حمَأ ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ ي في اَنَلْ وَ ق ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع ي بَِلأ ُ تْ رَ كَذ َ لاَق ي ءَ لَعْلا ي بَِأ ي نْب يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ي نَع ي مَ كَْ لحا ي نْب يّ ييلَع ْ نَع ٍ د َّ نيإ ي ءاَيي صْ وَلأا ا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ ( * َ لَاَعَ ت َّ للَّا َ لاَق َ نيي ذَّلا ُمُ ه ْ مَعَ ن َ لاَ قَ ف َ لاَق ٌةَ ضََ ترْ فُ م ْ مُ هَ تَعاَط * ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رل :ءاسنلا[59] ُمُ هو ) اوُنَ مآ َ نيي ذَّلاو هُلوُ سَ رو الله ُمُ كُّييلَ و اَّ نميإ ( * َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ لاَق َ نيي ذَّلا * :ةدئالما[55 ] 220 يع ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ي نْب َ دَْ حمَأ ْ نَع َ يَْ يح ُ نْب ُ دَّ مَُ مُ ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ ي ّ يي رَ هْ وَْ لجا ٍ دَّ مَُ مُ ي نْب ي مي ساَ قْلا ي نَع يّ ييقَْ برْلا ٍ ديلاَ خ ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ْ نَع ىَ سي ْ مَعَ ن َ لاَق ٌةَ ضََ ترْ فُ م ْ مُ هُ تَعاَط ُءاَيي صْ وَلأا ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع ي بَِلأ ُ تْلُ ق َ لاَق ي ءَ لَعْلا ي بَِأ ي نْب يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ي نَع َ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ لاَق َ نيي ذَّلا ُمُ ه ( * َّ ل * ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ :ءاسنلا[59] َ نيي ذَّلاو هُلوُ سَ رو الله ُمُ كُّييلَ و اَّ نميإ ( * َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َ لاَق َ نيي ذَّلا ُمُ هو َ نوُعيكار ْ مُ هو َةاك َّ زلا َ نوُتْ ؤُ يو َةلَّ صلا َ نوُ ميي قُي َ نيي ذَّلا اوُنَ مآ* ) :ةدئالما[55 ] 221 َُ مُو َ يَْ يح ُ نْب ُ دَّ مَُ مُو ىَ سييع ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ْ نَع ٍ لْ هَ س ْ نَع هُْ يرَغو يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ُ نْب ُ دَّ مَُ مُ ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ ْ نَع ًاعييَ جم يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ُ نْب ُ دَّ م َع ْ نَع وٍ رْ مَع ي نْب ي يمي رَ كْلا ي دْبَعو ٍ ريباَ ج ي نْب َ لييعاَْ سميإ ْ نَع ٍ ناَني س ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ َ لاَق ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع ي بَِأ ْ نَع ي مَلْ يَّ دلا ي بَِأ ي نْب ي ديي مَْ لحا ي دْب]...[ 220 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, 187. 221 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol.1, 189. 123 ]...[ * ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ ( * : َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َ لاَقو :ءاسنلا[59 ] هوُّ دَ ر ْ وَلو ( * : َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َ لاَقو ْ ني م هَنوُطيبْنَ تْ سَي َ نيي ذَّلا هَ ميلَعَل ْ مُ هْ ني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأ لَيإو ي لوُ سَّ رلا ( * َ لَيإو َّ للَّا * ) َ لَيإ * )ْ مُ ه :ءاسنلا[83 ] َ لَيإ ي ساَّنلا َ رْ مَأ َ رْ مَلأا َّ دَ رَ ف ي ةَّ جَ ح ْ ني م ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ عَ جَ ر اَّ مَلَ ف ْ مي هْيَليإ يّ دَّ رلي بِو ْ مي هيتَعاَطيب َ رَ مَأ َ نيي ذَّلا ُمُ هْ ني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأ يا ( * َ لاَ قَ ف ع ُلييئَْ برَ ج هْيَلَع َ لَ زَ ن ي عاَ دَ وْلا ُ سَّ رلا اَ هُّ يَأ يإ ي ساَّنلا َ ني م َ كُ مي صْعَ ي اللهو هَتَلاسي ر َ تْغَّلَ ب امَف ْلَعْ فَ ت َْ لم ْ نيإو َ كي ّبَ ر ْ ني م َ كْيَليإ َ لي زْنُأ ام ْ غيّلَ ب ُ لو َ مْ وَ قْلا يي دْ هَ ي لا الله َّ ن * )َ نيي ريفاكْلا :ةدئالما[67] َّ نُ هُ كْ وَ ش َّ مُ قَ ف ٍ تاَ رُ مَ سيب َ رَ مَأو اوُعَ مَتْ جاَف َ ساَّنلا ىَ داَنَ ف ْ مُ كيب َ لَْ وَأو ْ مُ كُّييلَ و ْ نَ م ُ ساَّنلا اَ هُّ يَأ َ يا ص َ لاَق َُّ ثم َعو هلااَ و ْ نَ م ي لاَ و َّ مُ هَّللا ه َ لاْ وَ م ٌّ ييلَعَ ف ه َ لاْ وَ م ُ تْنُ ك ْ نَ م َ لاَ قَ ف هُلوُ سَ رو َّ للَّا اوُلاَ قَ ف ْ مُ كي سُ فْ نَأ ْ ني م ٍ تاَّ رَ م َ ثَ لَث هاَ داَع ْ نَ م ي دا ]...[ 222 In this report, the “Amr” in Ulū al-Amr is associated with the “Amr” of the people – apparently me aning, “the affair” of the people. They ar e identified by cross-referencing 4:59 and 4:83 as the points to be deferred to for addressing disputes and to be obeyed on par with obedience to God’s Messenger. The specific application of the verse at the time of Muḥammad is associated with the farewell pilgrimage, during/after which Muḥammad designates ʿAlī as the guardian (mawlá) of the people. 223 ُ نْب ُّ ييلَع ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ َّ للَّا ي دْبَع ي بَِأ ْ نَع ٍ قوُ رْ سَ م ي بَِأ ْ نَع ٍ مييكَ ح ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ْ نَع ٍْ يرَ مُع ي بَِأ ي نْبا ي نَع هييبَأ ْ نَع َ ميي هاَ رْ بيإ ع لا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ ( * : َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا ي لْ وَ قيب ْ مي هْيَلَع ُّ جَتْ حَنَ ف َ ساَّنلا ُميّلَ كُن َّ نايإ ُ تْلُ ق َ لاَق َّ ر* ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ س :ءاسنلا[ 222 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol.1, 293-296. 223 Sunnī reports also gen erally confirm this event but interpret it diff erently. 124 59 ] الله ُمُ كُّييلَ و اَّ نميإ ( * : َّ لَ جو َّ زَع هيلْ وَ قيب ْ مي هْيَلَع ُّ جَتْ حَنَ ف َ يااَ رَّ سلا ي ءاَ رَ مُأ ي في ْ تَلَ زَ ن َ نوُلوُ قَ يَ ف ي ةَيلآا ي ري خآ َ لَيإ * ) هُلوُ سَ رو :ةدئالما[ 55 ] ْ ؤُ مْلا ي في ْ تَلَ زَ ن َ نوُلوُ قَ يَ ف ي في َةَّ دَ وَ مْلا َّ لايإ ًارْ جَأ هْيَلَع ْ مُ كُلَ ئْ سَأ لا ْلُق ( * : َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا ي لْ وَ قيب ْ مي هْيَلَع ُّ جَتَْ نحو َ ينيني م * ) بىْ رُ قْلا :ىروشلا[23] ي م هُ رْ كي ذ ي نيَ رَ ضَ ح اَّي مم ًائْيَ ش ْعَ دَأ ْ مَلَ ف َ لاَق َ يني ميلْ سُ مْلا َ بىْ رُ ق ي في ْ تَلَ زَ ن َ نوُلوُ قَ يَ ف اَذيإ ي لِ َ لاَ قَ ف هُتْ رَ كَذ َّ لايإ هي هْبي شو هي ذَ ه ْ ن ْ مُ صو َ لاَق هُّنُظَأو ًثاَ لَث َ كَ سْ فَ ن ْ حيلْ صَأ َ لاَق ُ عَنْ صَأ َ فْيَ كو ُ تْلُ ق ي ةَلَ هاَبُ مْلا َ لَيإ ْ مُ هُعْداَف َ كيلَذ َ ناَ ك ي ناَّبَْ لجا َ لَيإ َ وُ هو َ تْنَأ ْ زُ رْ باو ْلي سَتْغاو ْ ني م َ كَعيباَ صَأ ْ كيّبَ شَف َلأا َّ بَ رو ي عْبَّ سلا ي تاَ واَ مَّ سلا َّ بَ ر َّ مُ هَّللا ي لُقو َ كي سْ فَ نيب ْأَ دْباو هْ في صْنَأ َُّ ثم هيعيباَ صَأ ي في َ نىْ مُيْلا َ كي دَي َي لماَع ي عْبَّ سلا َ يني ضَ ر ي طَ بِ ىَعَّ داو ًاّ قَ ح َ دَ حَ ج ٍ قوُ رْ سَ م وُبَأ َ ناَ ك ْ نيإ َ ميي حَّ رلا َ نَْ حمَّ رلا يةَ داَ هَّشلاو ي بْيَغْلا َُّ ثم ًامييلَأ ًبِاَ ذَع ْ وَأ ي ءاَ مَّ سلا َ ني م ًنااَبْ سُ ح هْيَلَع ْ لي زْنَأَف ًل َّ سلا َ ني م ًنااَبْ سُ ح هْيَلَع ْ لي زْنَأَف ًلي طَ بِ ىَعَّ داو ًاّ قَ ح َ دَ حَ ج ٌ نَ لُف َ ناَ ك ْ نيإو ْلُ قَ ف هْيَلَع َةَ وْعَّ دلا َّ دُ ر َّنيإَف ي لِ َ لاَق َُّ ثم ًامييلَأ ًبِاَ ذَع ْ وَأ ي ءاَ م َ ك .هْيَليإ ي نيُبييُ يج ًاقْلَ خ ُ تْ دَ جَ و اَ م َّ للَّاَ وَ ف هييف َ كيلَذ ىَ رَ ت ْ نَأ ُ ثَبْلَ ت َ لا 224 This report sheds light not only on the citation of 4:59 as part of a Shīʿī argument in the early ḥadīth literature, but also alongside a number of other verses that the Shīʿī utilized in sectarian debates. Still, the report indicates a recognition of anti-Shīʿī (if not Sunnī) counterarguments, in the face of which intellectual engagement may come to a standstill. For example, the report indicates a counterargument identifying Ulū al-Amr as the military commanders. The companion of the 6th Imam, who is being asked for guidance here, complains that at times he utilizes all the arguments he has in his toolbox and yet is still faced with some form of a counterargument. In such a situation, this report resorts to a test/challenge of sincerity and spirituality where the Shīʿī 224 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 2, 513-514. 125 interlocuter invites the other party to a mubāhalah, or a form of invoki ng God’s wrath upon the one who, “denies what is right and claims what is false.” 2.3.3 Reports that Specifically Name Ulū al-Amr 225 َع ٍ دَّ مَُ مُ ُ نْب ُّ ييلَعو َ سُنوُي ْ نَع ىَ سييع ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ْ نَع َ ميي هاَ رْ بيإ ُ نْب ُّ ييلَع ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ ْ نَع ٍ دييعَ س ي بَِأ ٍ دَ ياي ز ي نْب ي لْ هَ س ْ ن ا ي لْ وَ ق ْ نَع ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع َ بَِأ ُ تْلَأَ س َ لاَق ٍ يري صَب ي بَِأ ْ نَع َ ناَ كْ سُ م ي نْبا ي نَع َ سُنوُي ْ نَع ىَ سييع ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ الله اوُعيي طَأ( * : َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّ )ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو* :ءاسنلا[59 ] َ ساَّنلا َّ نيإ هَل ُ تْلُ قَ ف ع يْ ينَ سُْ لحاو ي نَ سَْ لحاو ٍ بيلاَط ي بَِأ ي نْب يّ ييلَع ي في ْ تَلَ زَ ن َ لاَ قَ ف َّ نيإ ْ مَُ له اوُلوُق َ لاَ قَ ف َ لاَق َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا ي باَتيك ي في ع هيتْيَ ب َ لْ هَأو ًاّييلَع ي ّ مَ سُي َْ لم هَل اَ مَف َ نوُلوُ قَ ي ْ تَلَ زَ ن ص َّ للَّا َ لوُ سَ ر َْ لمو ُةَ لَّ صلا هْيَلَع َلَع ْ تَلَ زَ نو ْ مَُ له َ كيلَذ َ رَّ سَف يي ذَّلا َ وُ ه ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ ناَ ك َّ تىَ ح ًاعَبْ رَأ َ لاو ًثاَ لَث ْ مَُ له َّ للَّا ي ّ مَ سُي َ ينيعَبْ رَأ ي ّ لُ ك ْ ني م ْ مَُ له ي ّ مَ سُي َْ لمو ُةاَ ك َّ زلا هْي َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ ناَ ك َّ تىَ ح ٌ مَ هْ ري د ًاَ همْ ري د ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ ناَ ك َّ تىَ ح ًاعوُبْ سُأ اوُفوُط ْ مَُ له ْلُ قَ ي ْ مَلَ ف ُّ جَْ لحا َ لَ زَ نو ْ مَُ له َ كيلَذ َ رَّ سَف يي ذَّلا َ وُ ه ص ْ تَلَ زَ نو * ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ ( * ْ تَلَ زَ نو ْ مَُ له َ كيلَذ َ رَّ سَف يي ذَّلا َ وُ ه َع ي في َ لاَ قَ ف يْ ينَ سُْ لحاو ي نَ سَْ لحاو ٍّ ييل يإَف ي تيْيَ ب ي لْ هَأو َّ للَّا ي باَتيكيب ْ مُ كيي صوُأ ص َ لاَقو ه َ لاْ وَ م ٌّ ييلَعَ ف ه َ لاْ وَ م ُ تْنُ ك ْ نَ م ٍّ ييلَع ي في ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ لا ْ نَأ َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا ُ تْلَأَ س ي ّ ني َّ يَلَع اَُ همَ دي روُي َّ تىَ ح اَ مُ هَ نْ يَ ب َ قيّ رَ فُ ي َ بِ ْ ني م ْ مُ كوُ جي رُْ يخ ْ نَل ْ مَُّ نهيإ َ لاَقو ْ مُ كْني م ُمَلْعَأ ْ مُ هَ ف ْ مُ هوُ ميّلَعُ ت َ لا َ لاَقو َ كيلَذ ي نياَطْعَأَف َ ضْ وَْ لحا ىً دُ ه ي ب اَ هاَعَّ دَ لا هيتْيَ ب ُلْ هَأ ْ نَ م ْي ّ ينَبُ ي ْ مَلَ ف ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ تَ كَ س ْ وَلَ ف ٍ ةَلَ لَ ض ي بَ بِ ي في ْ مُ كوُلي خْ دُي ْ نَلو َّ زَع َّ للَّا َّ نيكَلو ٍ نَ لُف ُ لآو ٍ نَ لُف ُ لآ ْيَ بْلا َ لْ هَأ َ سْ جيّ رلا ُمُ كْنَع َ بي هْ ذُييل الله ُ ديي رُي اَّ نميإ ( * : ص هيّييبَنيل ًاقيي دْ صَت هيباَتيك ي في هَلَ زْ نَأ َّ لَ جو* ) ًايري هْطَت ْ مُ ك َ ريّ هَطُيو ي ت :بازحلأا[ 225 Besides the earlier representative reports that name them. 126 33] ُْ ينَ سُْ لحاو ُ نَ سَْ لحاو ٌّ ييلَع َ ناَ كَف ُ كيل َّ نيإ َّ مُ هَّللا َ لاَق َُّ ثم َةَ مَلَ س ي ّ مُأ ي تْيَ ب ي في ي ءاَ سيكْلا َ تَْ تح ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر ْ مُ هَلَ خْدَأَف ع ُةَ مي طاَفو ي ّ ل يإ ي كَّنيإ َ لاَ قَ ف َ كيلْ هَأ ْ ني م ُ تْ سَلأ َةَ مَلَ س ُّ مُأ ْ تَلاَ قَ ف ييلَ قَ ثو ي تيْيَ ب ُلْ هَأ ي ءَ لاُ ؤَ هو ًلَ قَ ثو ًلْ هَأ ٍ ّي بيَن َ لَ اَّ مَلَ ف ييلْ قيثو ييلْ هَأ ي ءَ لاُ ؤَ ه َّ نيكَلو ٍْ يرَ خ يل هيتَ ماَقيإو ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر هييف َ غَّلَ ب اَ م يةَ رْ ثَ كيل ي ساَّنلي بِ ي ساَّنلا َ لَْ وَأ ٌّ ييلَع َ ناَ ك ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ ضيبُق ٌّ ييلَع ىَ ضَ م اَّ مَلَ ف هي دَييب هي ذْ خَأو ي ساَّنل يلَع ُ عيي طَتْ سَي ْ نُ كَي َْ لم َ لاو ٍّ ييلَع َ نْب َ ساَّبَعْلا َ لاو ٍّ ييلَع َ نْب َ دَّ مَُ مُ َ لي خْ دُي ْ نَأ َ لَعْ فَ ييل ْ نُ كَي َْ لمو ٌّ ي[ ًادي حاَ و] ُ نَ سَْ لحا َ لاَ قَل ًاذيإ هي دْلُ و ْ ني م َ مَ ك اَنيتَعاَطيب َ رَ مَأَف َ كييف َ لَ زْ نَأ اَ مَ ك اَنييف َ لَ زْ نَأ َ لَاَعَ تو َ كَ راَبَ ت َّ للَّا َّ نيإ ُْ ينَ سُْ لحاو َ كييف َ غَّلَ ب اَ مَ ك ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر اَنييف َ غَّلَ بو َ كيتَعاَطيب َ رَ مَأ ا اَّ مَلَ ف هيَ بريكيل اَي به َ لَْ وَأ ع ُ نَ سَْ لحا َ ناَ ك ع ٌّ ييلَع ىَ ضَ م اَّ مَلَ ف َ كْنَع هَبَ هْذَأ اَ مَ ك َ سْ جيّ رلا اَّنَع َ بَ هْذَأو َْ لمو هَ دْلُ و َ لي خْ دُي ْ نَأ ْ عي طَتْ سَي َْ لم َي ّ فيُ وُ ت َي* ) الله ي باتيك ي في ٍ ضْعَ بيب لَْ وَأ ْ مُ هُ ضْعَ ب ي ماحْ رَلأا اوُلوُأو ( * : ُ لوُ قَ ي َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّاو َ كيلَذ َ لَعْ فَ ييل ْ نُ ك :بازحلأا[6 ] ي في اَ هَلَعْ جَيَ ف َ كييبَأ ي ةَعاَطو َ كيتَعاَطيب َ رَ مَأ اَ مَ ك ي تيَعاَطيب َّ للَّا َ رَ مَأ ُْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ لاَ قَل ًاذيإ هي دْلُ و َ بَ هْذَأو َ كييبَأ ي فيو َ كييف َ غَّلَ ب اَ مَ ك ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َّي في َ غَّلَ بو ْ هَأ ْ ني م ٌ دَ حَأ ْ نُ كَي َْ لم ع يْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ لَيإ ْ تَ راَ ص اَّ مَلَ ف َ كييبَأ ْ نَعو َ كْنَع َ بَ هْذَأ اَ مَ ك َ سْ جيّ رلا ي ّ نيَع َّ للَّا هْيَلَع َ ييعَّ دَي ْ نَأ ُ عيي طَتْ سَي هيتْيَ ب ي ل َ ك اَ مَ كاَ ص َُّ ثم َ لَعْ فَ ييل َ ناوُ كَي َْ لمو هْنَع َ رْ مَلأا اَفي رْ صَي ْ نَأ اَ داَ رَأ ْ وَل هييبَأ ىَلَعو هيي خَأ ىَلَع ييعَّ دَي َ وُ ه َ نا ع يْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ لَيإ ْ تَ ضْفَأ َ يني ح ْ تَ ر يك ي في ٍ ضْعَ بيب لَْ وَأ ْ مُ هُ ضْعَ ب ي ماحْ رَلأا اوُلوُأو ( * : ي ةَيلآا هي ذَ ه ُليي وَْ تَ ىَ رَ جَف* ) الله ي بات :بازحلأا[6 ] يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ي دْعَ ب ْ ني م ْ تَ راَ ص َُّ ثم ُ سْ جيّ رلا َ لاَقو ع ٍّ ييلَع ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ َ لَيإ يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ي نْب يّ ييلَع ي دْعَ ب ْ ني م ْ تَ راَ ص َُّ ثم يْ ينَ سُْ لحا ي نْب يّ ييلَعيل اَني ّبَ ر ي في ُّ كُ شَن َ لا َّ للَّاو ُّ كَّشلا َ وُ ه .ًادَبَأ 226 226 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, 286-288. See also: Al-ʿAyyāshī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī, vol. 1, 249-251. 127 I have included this lengthy report in its entirety, without excerpting, because it includes several features of what becomes known as the Imāmī Shīʿī conception of Imamate. There appear to be different dimensions of the Imamate emphasized by reference to the verses or ḥadīths quoted. The report quotes verse 4:59 and identifies Ulū al-Amr with ʿAlī, Ḥasan and Ḥusayn but not with Fāṭimah. The purity/immaculacy of Ahl al-Bayt in verse 33:33, and who never separate from the Book of God, is identified with the three, in addition to Fāṭimah, but to the exclusion of Prophet Muḥammad’s wife Umm Salamah (despite her being commended). The report uses the word “awlá (of greater right/priority),” alluding to a phrase in verse 33:6, in which the Prophet is described as being awlá with regard to the faithful than they are with regard to their very own souls and Ulū alArḥām (those of kinship relations) being awlá with regard to one another. After identifying the first three generations of Ulū al-Amr, immaculately inseparable from the Book of God, 227 the report describes how subsequent applications of Ulū al-Amr (in the sense of awlá al-nās bil-nās) become manifest via the principle that Ulū al-Arḥām are awlá with regard to one another. 228 Hence, 227 With Ḥasan taking precedence over Ḥusayn because of “kibarih.” While this “greatness” gives the indication of being “older,” to an Arabic speaker , clues in the text arguably allow for this greatness to refer more to a greatness of excellence than to age alone. For the d escription of being “awlá” in the sense that the Prophet was “awlá” does not deal with age per se. In any case, it is clear at least from this report that the age consideration – if it is intended here – is only considered after both Ḥasan and Ḥusayn have been deemed awlá than others in terms of their immaculacy as members of the designated Ahl al-Bayt in 33:33. As such, if age is intended, it is likely intended only as a shorthand identifier of the one appointed by God as the subsequent member of Ulū al-Amr, not as a substantive qualification for Divine selection. In support of this reading, consider the following reported exchange with Jaʿf ar al-Ṣādiq, in which he emphasizes the Divine amr/command, as opposed to age, ]...[ َّ للَّا َ مي حَ ر ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع وُبَأ َ لاَ قَ ف ي نَ سَْ لحا ْ ني م اَي به َّ قَ حَأ ُْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ ناَ ك ٍ ءْ يَ ش ي ّ يَي بأ هيلْ وَ ق ْ ني م َ ناَ كو َ نَ سَْ لحا ع َْ ينَ سُْ لحا َّ نَلأ َ لاَق اَ ذَ ه َ تْ رَ كَذ َ فْيَ كو َْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ مي حَ رو َّ للَّا َّ نيإ ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع وُبَأ َ لاَ قَ ف ي نَ سَْ لحا ي دْلُ و ْ ني م يّ نَ سَلأا ي في اَ هَلَعَْ يج ْ نَأ َ لَ دَع اَذيإ هَل ييغَبْ نَ ي َ ناَ ك ٍ دَّ مَُ مُ َ لَيإ ىَ حْ وَأ ْ نَأ اَّ مَل َ لَاَعَ تو َ كَ راَبَ ت َْ لمو َءاَ ش اَي بم هْيَليإ ىَ حْ وَأ ص َّ لايإ هييف ُ لوُ قَ ن اَنْ سَلو هيب َ ري مُأ اَ م َلَعَ فَ ف َءاَ ش اَي بم ع ًاّييلَع ص ٌ دَّ مَُ مُ َ رَ مَأو هي قْلَ خ ْ ني م ًادَ حَأ ْ ري ماَ ؤُ ي ْ نَأ َْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ رَ مَأ َ ناَ ك ْ وَلَ ف هي قيي دْ صَتو هيليي جْبَ ت ْ ني م ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ لاَق اَ م ُ مْلي بِ َ وُ ه اَ مو ُْ ينَ سُْ لحا َ كيلَذ َلَعَ فَل َةَّيي صَ وْلا ي نيْعَ ي اَي همي دْلُ و ي في اَ هَلُ قْ نَ ي ْ وَأ يّ نَ سَلأا ي في اَ هَي ّ يرَ صُيهيب َ ري مُأ اَ ميل ىَ ضَ م هَّنيكَلو َ كيلَذ َ كَ رَ تو َّ لََ و ْ دَ قَلو هي سْ فَ نيل يةَيري خَّ ذلا ي في َ ناَ دْنيع ي مَ هَّ ت ]...[ Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, 359. 228 This arguably does not conflict with other reports that purportedly quote the Prophet Muḥammad naming all the twelve Imams. For the Twelver Shīʿī would argue, for instance, that: (1) the names only provided signposts that still 128 Ḥusayn and the subsequent Ulū al-Amr generations identify awlá al-nās bil-nās who happen to be nurtured from among their descendants and who are pure/immaculate instances of Ahl al-Bayt in verse 33:33. It is noteworthy here that the report explains the purity of verse 33:33 to be one free from the impurity of doubt. That is, this group is described as having impeccable awareness of God, rid of the heedlessness or ignorance that leads to sin. Furthermore, although this report outlines the process by which the broader community becomes aware of each subsequent generation of Ulū al-Amr, it only names them up to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq (d. 148 AH / 765 CE), who is being quoted. قودصلا[ ]لوقي نيدلا لامك في نب رفعج نع ، ماهم نب دممُ انثدح : اولاق انباحصأ نم دحاو يرغ انثدحنب دممُ كلامثرالحا نب دحمأ نع ، ةعاسم نب دممُ نب نسلحا نيثدح : لاق يزارفلا نب سنوي نع ، رمع نب لضفلما نيثدح : لاق : لاق يفعلجا ديزي نب رباج نع ، نايبظ دممُ هيبن ىلع لجو زع الله لزنأ الم : لوقي يراصنلأا الله دبع نب رباج تعسم عيطأ اونمآ نيذلا اهيأ يا "هلآو هيلع الله ىلص لوسر يا " تلق " مكنم رملأا لِوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله او ، هلوسرو الله انفرع الله : ملسلا هيلع لاقف ؟ كتعاطب مهتعاط الله نرق نيذلا رملاا ولوأ نمف يدعب ) نم ( ينملسلما ةمئأو ، رباج يا يئافلخ مه نسلحا ثم ، بلاط بِأ نب يلع ملهوأ ثم ، ينسلحا نب يلع ثم ، ينسلحاو هكردتسو ، رقابلبِ ةاروتلا في فورعلما يلع نب دممُ ىسوم ثم ، دممُ نب رفعج قداصلا ثم ، ملسلا نيم هئرقأف هتيقل اذإف ، رباج يا نب دممُ ثم ، ىسوم نب يلع ثم ، رفعج نبا ثم ، يلع نب نسلحا ثم ، دممُ نب يلع ثم ، يلع با هدابع في هتيقبو ، هضرأ في الله ةجح يينكو ييسم ، يلع نب نسلحا ن required identification and application to particular historical personalities; and (2) what an inner circle knew about the names, and successfully relayed to later generations, may not have been known to the broader community at all times, in the interest of protecting the lives of subsequent Imams due to the security situation. 135 َتَ ي َ لاَ و َ ضَ رَ فو َ لاَ قَ ف هيّييبَنو هي سْ فَ نيب َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا ُمَُ نهَ رَ ق َ نيي ذَّلا َ لاَ قَ ف ي لِ ْ مُ هْ في ص َ ينيني مْ ؤُ مْلا َيري مَأ َ يا ُ تْلُ ق ه اوُنَ مآ َ نيي ذَّلا اَ هُّ يَأ يا ( * : * ) ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لوُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو الله اوُعيي طَأ :ءاسنلا[59 ] ي مَأ َ يا ُ تْلُ ق َ نيي ذَّلا َ لاَ قَ ف ي لِ ْ حي ضْ وَأ َ كاَ ديف َّ للَّا َي نيَلَعَ ج َ ينيني مْ ؤُ مْلا َير ي نْيَ رْ مَأ ْ مُ كييف ُ تْ ك َ رَ ت ْ دَق ي ّ نييإ هْيَليإ َّ لَ جو َّ زَع َّ للَّا هَ ضَبَ ق َ مْ وَ ي هيتَبْطُ خ ي ري خآ ي في ص َّ للَّا ُ لوُ سَ ر َ لاَق اَ ميي به ْ مُتْ كَّ سََ تم ْ نيإ اَ م يي دْعَ ب اوُّلي ضَت ْ نَل - َّ تىَ ح اَقيَ ترْ فَ ي ْ نَل اَ مَُّ نهَأ ََّ لِيإ َ دي هَع ْ دَق َيريبَْ لخا َ فيي طَّللا َّ نيإَف ي تيْيَ ب َ لْ هَأ ي تَِْ تريعو َّ للَّا َ باَتيك هْيَ تَ حيّبَ سُ م َْ ينَب َ عََ جمو يْ ينَتاَ هَ ك َ ضْ وَْ لحا َّ يَلَع اَ دي رَي ْلاو ي ةَ حيّبَ سُ مْلا َْ ينَب َ عََ جمو يْ ينَتاَ هَ ك ُ لوُقَأ َ لاو اوُّلي ضَتَ ف ْ مُ هوُ مَّ دَ قَ ت َ لاو اوُّلي ضَت َ لاو اوُّلي زَت َ لا اَ ميي به اوُ كَّ سَ مَتَ ف ىَ رْ خُلأا اَُ هماَ دْ حيإ َ قيبْ سَتَ ف ىَطْ سُ و 234 Although this report does not explicitly name Ulū al-Amr as the 12 Imams, it describes them in terms that fit well with the model of infallibility/immaculateness. For instance, not recognizing and obeying them are sufficient grounds for being deemed “misguided (ḍāll).” Furthermore, when asked for clarification, the authority quoted describes them as the close kin of Muḥammad who will not separate from the Book of God until they meet Muḥammad in the afterlife. Hence, they are not qualified and/or identified simply by being relatives of Muḥammad but by being embodiments of widely recognized Qurʾānic teachings and guideposts in cases of disagreements over Qurʾānic readings. Holding onto them is described, here, as a guarantee against [inadvertently] slipping and against misguidance, while failing to follow their lead is described as wandering into misguidance. In the context of these interconnected descriptions, then, the Ulū alAmr referred to in 4:59 would likely have been understood as failsafe references for guidance. The broader picture of contemporaneous or subsequent Sunnī theoretical interventions interpreting this 234 Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 2, 414-415. 136 verse with (some form of an) infallibility model, thus, should not be divorced from the backdrop of these early readings in Shīʿī literature. 2.3.4 Miscellaneous Reports Featuring Distinct Qualities of Ulū al-Amr ]نع فياكلا في نييلكلا[ ٍ دَّ مَُ مُ ُ نْب ُّ ييلَع ي نَ كَّ سلا ي نْب ي لْ ضَ فْلا ي نَع َ ناَ رُْ حم ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ْ نَع ىَ سييع ي نْب ي دَّ مَُ مُ ي نْب َ دَْ حمَأ ْ نَع هَ رَ كَذ ْ نَّ مَع ي لِوُأو ي ةَلاَ سيّ رلي بِ َ لوُ سَّ رلاو َّ للَّي بِ َّ للَّا اوُفي رْعا ع َ ينيني مْ ؤُ مْلا ُيري مَأ َ لاَق َ لاَق ع َّ للَّا ي دْبَع ي بَِأ ْ نَع ي رْ مَلأا [ َلأي بِ ي رْ م] ي لْ دَعْلاو ي فوُ رْعَ مْلي بِ ي ناَ سْ حي لإاو . 235 The implication of this report appears to be that there are substantive attributes/identifiers by which one is to recognize Ulū al-Amr (besides the reports of Divine appointment). That is, even within the Imāmī conceptual framework that anticipates Divine appointment/designation, there are still recognizable merits for those whom God chooses as Ulū al-Amr. The report quotes Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq who in turn quotes ʿAlī, enjoining the addresse e to, “recognize God through God, the Messenger through the message, and Ulū al-Amr through [the enjoining of] what is right, justice and the doing of good.” 235 Al-Kulaynī comments on the report as follows, َ راَ وْ نَلأاو َ صاَ خْ شَلأا َ قَلَ خ َّ للَّا َّ نَأ ي نيْعَ ي َّ للَّي بِ َّ للَّا اوُفي رْعا ع هيلْ وَ ق َ نىْعَ مو َ لاو ًامْ سي ج هيبْ شُي َ لا َّ زَعو َّلَ ج َ وُ هو ُ حاَ وْ رَلأا ُ ري هاَ وَْ لجاو ُ ناَ دْبَلأا ُ ناَيْعَلأاَف َ ناَيْعَلأاو َ ري هاَ وَْ لجاو ي حاَ وْ رَلأا ي قْلَي بخ ُديّ رَ فَ تُ مْلا َ وُ ه ٌ بَبَ س َ لاو ٌ رْ مَأ ي كاَّ رَّد لا ي ساَّ سَْ لحا ي حوُّ رلا ي قْلَ خ ي في ٍ دَ حَلأ َ سْيَلو ًاحوُ ر ْ جَلأاو ْ دَ قَ ف ي حاَ وْ رَلأا هَبَ شو ي ناَ دْبَلأا هَبَ ش يْ ينَ هَ بَّشلا هْنَع ىَ فَ ن اَذيإَف ي ماَ س َّ للَّي بِ َّ للَّا ي في رْعَ ي ْمَلَ ف ي روُّنلا ي وَأ ي نَ دَبْلا ي وَأ ي حوُّ رلي بِ هَ هَّ بَ ش اَذيإو َّ للَّي بِ َّ للَّا َ فَ رَع . Al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, 85. Also see: Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, al-Tawḥīd, 285-286. 137 ماكحلأا بيذته في يسوطلا[ ملسلا هيلع قداصلا نع نأ انترمأو كرمأ ةلاو ةعاطب انترمأ كنا انبر ]...[ ] ] ن[ عم نوك مكنم رملأا لِوأو لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ : تلقف ، ينقداصلا :ءاسنلا[59] ينقداصلا عم اونوكو الله اوقتا تلقو ، :ةبوتلا[ 119]ت لاو كئايلولأ ينقدصم ينملسم انفوتو انمادقأ تبثف انبر انعطأو انعمسف ، كندل نم انل بهو انتيده ذإ دعب انبولق غز في انل كرابت نا اعيجم ينلماعلا ىلع مهتلضف يذلبِو مهدنع هتلعج يذلا قلحبِ كلأسأ نيإ مهللا ، باهولا تنأ كنا ةحمر نإف ، اعدوتسم هلعتجو ادبأ هانبلست لاو ارقتسم نادنع هلعتجو كتمعن انيلع متت ناو ، هيف انتمركأ يذلا اذه انموي رقتسم تلق ك عدوتسمو :ماعنلأا[98 ] ، كيبن تيب لهأ نم روصنم داه لِو عم كنيد رصن انقزراو ، اعدوتسم هلعتج لاو ارقتسم هلعجاف كنيد ةرصن ىلعو كليبس في ينقيدص ءادهش هتيار تتحو هعم انلعجاو 236 This report presents an additional instance equating Ulū al-Amr with Wulāt al-Amr, particularly in the context of a Ghadīr day prayer. S uch examples demonstrate how commentary upon Qurʾānic verses can be mined beyond the specific genre of Qurʾānic exegetical ḥadīth and should also include supplication literature (alternatively, the Qurʾānic exegetical ḥadīth should include relevant reports of supplication literature). The “data” pr esent in supplications/visitations is useful for understanding the reception as well as the (re)purposing of Qurʾānic and ḥadīth-related citations. 236 Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn al-Ḥasan al-Ṭūsī, Tahdhīb al-Aḥkām, ed. Ḥasan al-Mūsawī al-Kharsān, 4th ed., vol. 3 , 10 v ols. (Tehran: Dār al-Kutub al-Islāmiyyah, 1985 CE) , 147. 138 ]لوقي عئارشلا للع في قودصلا[نب يلع انثدح : لاق هنع الله يضر لكوتلما نب ىسوم نب دممُ انثدح يدبِآ دعسلا ينسلحا نبا نع ىسيع نب داحم نع هيبأ نع الله دبع بِأ نب دحمأ نع تعسم لاق سيق نب ميلس نع شايع بِأ نب نبِأ نع ةنيذأ لوقي " ع " يننمؤلما يرمأ منهلأ رملأا لِوأ ةعاطب رمأ انمإو رملاا ةلاولو هلوسرلو لجو زع لله ةعاطلا انمإ نورهطم نوموصعم . هتيصعبم نورميأ لاو 237 The language of this report not only equates Ulū al-Amr with Wulāt al-Amr, but explains that the reason for the Divine command regarding obedience to Ulū al-Amr is that they are infallible/immaculate (maʿṣūmūn) and do not issue a command that would be disobedient to God. Another report compiled by al-Ṣadūq in ʿIlal al-Sharāʾiʿ also emphasizes infallibility/immaculacy (ʿiṣmah) while connecting it to the reason why such an Imam is needed at all times. As the report states, ]لوقي عئارشلا للع في قودصلا[انثدح لاق هنع الله يضر نياقلاطلا قاحسإ نب ميهاربإ نب دممُ انثدح ييح نب زيزعلا دبع ورمع نع ةملس نب ءاجر انثدح لاق دممُ نب ةيرغلما انثدح لاق رفعج بِلأ تلق : لاق ، يفعلجا ديزي نب رباج نع ، رشم نبا رقابلا يلع نب دممُ امهيلعش يلأ ملسلا ءي هحلص ىلع لماعلا ءاقبل لاقف ؟ ماملااو هلآو هيلع الله ىلص بينلا لَإ جاتيح لاق مامأ وأ بين اهيف ناك اذإ ضرلأا لهأ نع باذعلا عفري لجو زع الله نأ كلذو تنأو مبهذعيل الله ناك امو لجو زع الله لهلأ نامأ موجنلا هلآو هيلع الله ىلص بينلا لاقو مهيف مسلا لهأ ىتأ موجنلا تبهذ اذإف ضرلأا لهلأ نامأ تييب لهأو ءا نوهركي ام ءامسلا نرق نيذلا ةمئلأا هتيب لهبِ نيعي نوهركي ام ضرلأا لهأ ىتأ تييب لهأ بهذ اذإو مهتعاط لجو زع الله 237 Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al-Ṣadūq, ʿIlal al-Sharāʾiʿ, vol. 1, 123. 139 لوسرلا اوعيطأو الله اوعيطأ اونمآ نيذلا اهيأ يا ( لاقف هتعاطب وموصعلما مهو ) مكنم رملأا لِوأو نوبنذي لا نيذلا نورهطلما ن مهو نوصعي لاو رطقلا لزني مبهو هدلب رمعت مبهو هدابع الله قزري مبه نوددسلما نوقفولما نوديؤلما تاكرب جريخ مبهو ءامسلا نم مهيلع لجعي لاو يصاعلما لهأ لهيم مبهو ضرلأا رقلا نوقرافي لاو هنوقرافي لاو سدقلا حور مهقرافي لا باذعلاو ةبوقعلبِ لاو نآ . ينعجمأ مهيلع الله تاولص مهقرافي 238 While this report would fit under the category of reports that limit Ulū al-Amr to the Imāmī Imams explicitly, it makes sense to have it listed under the miscellaneous reports section for a couple of reasons: (1) limiting Ulū al-Amr to the Imāmī Imams is understood in light of the distinct features of these Imams, as opposed to a general reference to prior knowledge of who are meant by “us,” for instance; and (2) there are distinct features mentioned here that should be highlighted in the context of the other reports in this section. The “ahl al-bayt” in the words attributed to Prophet Muḥammad in the report is explained as meaning, “the Imams,” but specifically the Messenger and Ulū al-Amr whom one is commanded to obey in verse 4:59. The report continues to describe their seemingly unique qualities, such as being infallible/immaculate. 239 The quality that the, “rūḥ al-qudus (holy spirit) never parts with them and they never part with it,” is perhaps only superseded by the description that, “the Qurʾān never parts with them and they never part with it.” 240 This would appear to convey whatever sense of immaculacy that th e Qurʾān has ––not only do they not intentionally part ways with the Qurʾān, 238 Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al -Ṣadūq, ʿIlal al-Sharāʾiʿ, vol. 1, 123-124. 239 Further analysis of the meaning of ʿiṣmah in this report might delve deeper into potential linguistic differences between, “lā yudhnibūn,” and, “lā yaʿṣūn.” But the subsequent descriptions appear to suffice in conveying the highest form of ʿiṣmah imaginable. 240 A similar expression appeared in some of the reports quoted previously. 140 the Qurʾān is with them in an unrestricted sense (as if by grace, regardless of their human limitations). Some of the remaining features attributed to the Ulū al-Amr here are often associated with God’s friends (awliyāʾ), as will be discussed in Chapter 4. In the Shīʿī context, these effects/benefits of a Prophet’s and an Imam’s existence are framed as explaining why the existence of a Prophet and of an Imam are a necessity, thereby connecting the legal-moral dimension of the Imam’s role to tangible effects in the natural world. هيقفلا هرضيح لا نم في قودصلا[ ملسلا هيلع يدالها نع ةمئلأا ىلع ملسلا ]...[ ] ،ةلاولا ةداسلاو ، ةادلها ةداقلاو ، ةاعدلا هتاكربو الله ةحمرو ، هرونو هطارصو هتجحو ، هملع ةبيعو ، هبزحو هتيرخو الله ةيقبو ،رملأا لِوأو ، ركذلا لهأو ، ةاملحا ةداذلاو ]...[ 241 This excerpt is from a visitation (ziyārah) greeting directed toward the Imams. Although there is no direct quotation of verse 4:59 at length, the phrase Ulū al-Amr is a clear reference to the Qurʾānic usage of Ulū al-Amr in verse 4:59. It also includes reference to the Imams as Ahl alDhikr (the people of the remembrance – often understood to be a reference to the Qurʾān and/or other Divine revelations), which appears in verses 16:43 and 21:7. Moreover, the remaining phrases also allude to interconnected Qurʾānic references, painting a picture of the multi-faceted legal-moral-cosmic leadership embodied in the Imams, according to the Shīʿī literature. 241 Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad ibn ʿAlī Ibn Bābawayh al-Qummī al -Ṣadūq, Man Lā Yaḥḍuruh al-Faqīh, ed. ʿ Alī Akbar al-Ghaffārī, 2nd ed., vol. 2, 4 vols. (Qum: Muʾassasat al-Nashr al-Islāmī al-Tābiʿah li-Jamāʿat al-Mudarrisīn, 1404 AH), 610-611. 141 يلع نع جاجتحلاا في يسبرطلا[ ملسلا هيلع نم هَّلمُ ّ لح نمو َّ للَّا لوسر مه : لاق ؟ ججلحا ءلاؤه نم :لئاّ سلا لاق ]... ةلاو مهو ،هسفنل اهنم مهيلع ضرف يذلا لثم مهتعاط نم دابعلا ىلع ضرفو ، هلوسرو هسفنب الله منهرق نيذلا َّ للَّا ءايفصأ ُ سَّ رلا اوُعيي طَأو ًَّ للَّا اوُعيي طَأ « : مهيف َّ للَّا لاق نيذَّلا رملأا » ْ مُ كْني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأو َ لو :ءاسنلا[59 ] ي لوُ سَّ رلا َ لَيإ ُهوُّ دَ ر ْ وَلو : مهيف لاقو » ْ مُ هْ ني م ُهَنوُطيبْنَ تْ سَي َ نيي ذَّلا ُهَ ميلَعَل ْ مُ هْ ني م ي رْ مَلأا ي لِوُأ لَيإو :ءاسنلا[83] لاق ؟ رملأا كاذ ام : لئاّ سلا لاقملّ سلا هيلع - : ئللما لزنت هب يذَّلا ميكح رمأ لك اهيف قرفي تيلا ةليللا في ةك :ناخدلا[4] تومو ةايحو رمعو لمعو لجأو قزرو قلخ نم ، ]...[ هقل خ ينبو هنيب ةر فّ سلاو هئايفصأو َّ للَّ َّ لاإ يغبنت لا تيَّلا تازجعلماو ضرلأاو تاوامّ سلا بيغ ملعو 242 The excerpt from the report relayed is attributed to the first Imam, ʿAlī. Here, there arguably exists an instance of the methodology which assumes that (at least some) Qurʾānic verses can be explained through a web of interconnected and cross-referenced phrases and synonyms. In this case, the term Amr, the Amr possessed by Ūlū al-Amr, is explained as the Amr with which the angels descend on the night described in verses 44:4 and 97:4. It is described as related to the cosmic (annual) event in which every definitive/wise Amr is made distinct – including creation, sustenance, longevity, deeds, knowledge and miraculous demonstrations authorized by God to confirm the emissaries between Him and the rest of creation. Thus, this instance in the Shīʿī literature portrays Ulū al-Amr as guardians of something far beyond political, legal and moral leadership alone. By referencing the usages of Amr throughout the Qurʾān, the report depicts Ulū al-Amr as keepers of a cosmic-moral system, as intermediaries ordained by God in the very order of nature, only one of their roles being described as objects of obedience (4:59 and 4:83). 242 Al-Ṭabrisī, al-Iḥtijāj, vol. 2, 375. 142 Through direct engagement with representative excerpts from early Shīʿī exegetical literature related to verse 4:59, this section has demonstrated that the early Shīʿī literature, read holistically, presents Ulū al-Amr as referring to the 12 Imams commonly associated with Twelver Imāmī Shīʿī Islam. This is despite the fact that individual reports may not make this exclusive application explicit and may not name all of the historical personalities it applies to in every instance. Moreover, the analysis of key features in these reports reconstructs a convincing backdrop for contemporaneous and/or subsequent Sunnī int erpretations of Ulū al-Amr through some model of infallibility (to be discussed further in chapter 3). Fully appreciating how the interventions of Sunnī authors developed would be best informed by considering such a reconstruction of Shīʿī exegetical literature, paying particular attention to the underlying themes noted earlier. This analysis does not require an explicit mention of infallibility/immaculateness (ʿiṣmah), for instance, but does require sufficient textual clues, including cross-referencing, that the features being painted substantively correlate to a notion of infallibility bearing resemblance with S unnī conceptual frameworks applied to related discussi ons. This section has also demonstrated that, besides categorizing relevant reports in terms of how explicitly they identify the historical personalities intended by Ulū al-Amr, opening up to literature beyond the genre of Qurʾānic commentary or ḥadīth dialogue to include supplicatory/visitation devotional literature reveals insights about the reception and (re)purposing of Qurʾānic and ḥadīth citations. 2.4 A Recent Shift: al-Ṣadr Entertaining Another Possibility The next chapter will discuss how Sunnī conceptual frameworks appear to develop in response to this Shīʿī literature, modeling a form of infallibility for Ulū al-Amr and the Islamic 143 legal specialist, if not the imam of a polity. But before moving on, in order to complete the picture of dialectic influence as it manifests in the modern period, I refer in this third section to a notable – albeit minority – position in Shīʿī thought pertaining to verse 4:59. Some recent leading Imāmī authorities have arguably entertainedan alte rnative reading of Ulū al-Amr. 243 This reading can be understood as a broader one, not applying only to the appointed Imāmī Imams, but also more generally. In his discussion on a Qurʿānic verse used to support the Divine prescription of required precaution when in doubt (wujūb al-iḥṭiyāt sharʿan), Muḥammad Bāqir al-Ṣadr (d. 1980 CE) finds an occasion to note two interpretations related to verse 4:59, لِوأو لوسرلاو الله اوعيطأ ( لَاعت هلوق دعب تدرو انهلأ ةماعلا روملأا في رملأا لِوو ةملأا ينب عازنلا ةدارإ ياوق لمتيحو ]...[ انت ناف مكنم رملأا ، تاعزانلما في لوسرلاو الله ميكتح موزلو ةعاطلا ديزلم اديكتَ نوكيف ) لوسرلاو الله لَإ هودرف ءيش في متعز عرفلما في مهتعاطبِ رملأاو مهتيلاو مغر عيرفتلا في رملأا لِوأ فذح عم طقف لوسرلاو الله لَإ ذئنيح درلا صيصتخ في هجولاو : ينضاترفا دحأ نوكي نا نكيم هيلع 243 It is important to note that the more recent case in point here, al-Ṣadr, does not adopt this alternative possibility as his position, apparently. However, he seems to consider it as a viable position, but whether he would accept it in light of the competing reasoning and/or ḥadīth-based counter-arguments requires closer examination. Because of the heritage of exegesis and ḥadīth literature in the Twelver Shīʿī community on verse 4:59, a serious departure from the classical position is prone to invite judgments of error and even excommunicating heresy (takfir) by some prominent scholars familiar with that heritage. Granted, some Shīʿī scholars may refrain from relaying such accounts for pious reasons, such as to avoid unnecessary backbiting, especially if they believe the person in question to have repented or been misunderstood. Others may find it permissible or even necessary to relay such accounts in order to critique the heretical beliefs in question for subsequent generations, to set the record straight with academic rigor/integrity and related issues of overriding importance. The particulars of these sorts of controversies may be contested as misunderstandings and /or mistakes that were amended, b ut the general ethos among traditional Shīʿī scholars is that such departures –– even if resulting from a misunderstanding, and/or are only fictitious tales with didactic aims –– speak to the Shīʿī sen sitivity to and gravity of the issue. For instance, see: Hossein Modarressi Tabataba’ i, Zamīn Dar Fiqh-i Islāmī, vol. 2, 2 vols. (Tehran: Daftar-i Nashr-i Farhang-i Islāmī, 1362 SH), 222-223. (Footnote 84). 144 1 - ا وه ابم رملأا لِوأ لا طقف لوسرلاو الله عجرلما نوكي كلذ لثم فيو ةيمكلحا تاهبشلاو تيابركلا في عازنلا هيلإ روظنلما ن . رملأا لِوأ 2 - ةملأا نم يأ مكنم رملأا لِوأ ةعاطبِ رملأا هيلع عرفلما في روكذلما ناف ، ةملأا نم رملأا لِوأو ةملأا ينب عزانتلا دارلما نا ب دايرف في ارصحنم اضيأ عازنلا اذه لثم لح نوكيف ياورغص وأ ياوبرك متهاراي تخاو ةلاولا طورش في عقي دق يذَّلا عز انتل ا كلذ لوسرلاو الله لبق نم ددتح ةيلاولا نا ةلدأ نم ةيلآا نوكتف ةعزانتلما ةملأا نم ءزج ذئنيح رملأا لِوأ نوكيو لوسرلاو الله ةعجارم ، مهسفنأ سانلا لبق نم لا في طايتحلاا ةلأسم نع ةرلمبِ ةيبنجأو بهذلما لوصأ نم ةماه ةلأسلم ةضرعتم ةيلآا نوكت كلذبو . ةيعرفلا تاهبشلا 244 Al-Ṣadr’s passing reference to verse 4:59 can be regarded as a comment on al-Shāfiʿī’s early response 245 to the Imāmī understanding of Ulū al-Amr. Al-Ṣadr understands the referral back to God and the Messenger as an emphasis on the previously stated obedience due to them, giving them the final say in the case of conflict/dispute. Then why eliminate Ulū al-Amr from mention despite the fact that obedience to them is required? How does al-Ṣadr address this question? Al-Ṣadr forwards two possibilities: [1] the disputes in question are in matters of Islamic legislation, which comes only from God and the Messenger in his capacity as a legislator, not from Ulū al-Amr in their capacity as Ulū al-Amr; or [2] the disputes in question pertain to disagreements between the community and the Ulū al-Amr over qualifications for those in positions of authority 244 Muḥammad Bāqir al-Ṣadr, Buḥūth fī ʿIlm al-Uṣūl - Taqrīr Baḥth al-Sayyid Muḥammad Bāqir al-Ṣadr lil-Sayyid Maḥmūd al-Shāhrūdī, comp. Maḥ mūd al-Shāhrūdī, 3rd ed., vol. 5, 7 vols. (Mu ʾassasat Dāʿirat al-Maʿārif al-Fiqh alIslāmī Ṭibqan li Madhhab Ahl al-Bayt (ʿ), 1426 AH / 2 005 CE), 85-86. 245 In effect, that is, regardless whether he meant for it to be a response or not. 247 invocation of a physical form. However, I argue that a third interpretive model, reconciling the former two, better explains the outlook of authors from the “archive”: proposing that content deemed to be true (or content otherwise harmonious with human nature, fiṭrah), iteratively invoked, is subject-forming, while false content (or content otherwise unharmonious with the fiṭrah), iteratively invoked, is merely superimposed on physically subject-forming technologies. This interpretation fits well with textual evidence from the library of the authors examined in this dissertation, including Qurʾānic references. 470 A final exercise of this dissertation is to bring to the forefront a contemporary insider analysis of this theoretical question, posed by al-Ishkiwarī in the context of identifying factors that lead the masses to be fooled by false claims. For the sake of demonstration, I will quote only two of the seven factors al-Ishkiwarī lists, ]...[ [2او ،رقفلبِ ساسحلإا وه أشنلما اَّ نمإو ،أشنم سيل رقفلا سفن َّ نكل ،رقفلا ] ىلع هباستحاو هليجستو نامرلحاو ،ةيمولظلم .يسفنلا موهولما ساسحلإا وأ ،ةينيدلا ةسسؤلما يه ةيسايسلا ةسسؤلما َّ نأ رابتعا وأ ،ةينيدلا ةسسؤلما ]...[ 470 For example, see: Qurʾān 30:30; 39:53; and 75:14-15. These verses appear to assume that there is an innate human nature surviving whatever damage may result from iterative invocations. This can be juxtaposed with verses indicating that those with truthful claims and consistent upright behavior are resilient in the face of typical causes of worldly fear and sorrow. For example, see: Qurʾān 41:30; and 46:1 3. 248 [5 لقعلا بولسأ لامعتساو ديلقتلاو راركتلا قيرط نع كلذو ،كولسلاو ميق لاو دقتعلماو راكفلأا في ةيصخشلل يجهنلما مدلها ] ا .ةيركفلا دفاورلا ىلع دّ رمتلا حور قلخو ،ينقلتلاو ،ىمعلأا دايقنلااو ،يعملج ]...[ [2] Poverty. But poverty itself is not the cause. Rather, the cause is: to feel poor, oppressed and deprived; to record it and blame it on the religious establishment; or to consider that the political establishment is the religious establishment; or [the cause is] an illusionary psychological feeling. For, indeed, to feel poor – with a negative outlook – can be a cause for the infiltration of this thinking. This is done either: by pumping in masses of wealth and buying people’s souls; or by having poverty be an assisting factor in developing phony spiritual connections – even if only having a numbing effect; or by being incapable of fighting poverty [by eliminating] the natural causes [of poverty] – causing the person to seek out supernatural means, or natural means, in order to overcome [the effects of] poverty or to search for a patron to fight poverty, like a knight in shining armor. […] [5] Systematic destruction of one’s personality – thoughts, beliefs, values and conduct. That is done by repetition, [blind] following, employing the tactic of the 249 herd mentality 471 , blind compliance, indoctrination 472 , and creating a spirit of rebellion against [true] intellectual sources. […] 473 This contemporary Islamic authority is clearly stating that false ideologies can fool the masses when coupled with such physical subject-forming technologies. Do the said factors lead to destruction beyond repair? Perhaps the noti on of “systematic destruction of one’s personality” gives that impression. However, since the context is one of addressing a problem by identifying its causes, it is more likely that the author understands the false ideologies as being superimposed on the physical subject-forming technologies and not that the false ideologies are subject-forming on their own. Presumably, once such physical pressures are reversed, one would not be more attached to one ideology or another except due to inherently appealing features, such as truth. Thus, with true content, subject-formation due to iterative invocation is conceivable because of the natural affinity toward the true content. The recognition of true claims and systematically approaching matters in light of them affords a form of immunity, as al-Ishkiwarī argues. 474 5.6 Conclusion This chapter has treated a case study on a text with technologies of subject-formation related to the Mahdī in Modernity, which in turn served as a case study for the broader thesis of this dissertation: Reconstructing Islamic thought debates on forms of leadership reveals paradigmatic features at Sunnī, Shīʿī and Ṣūfī cro ssroads, conceptual differences between which 471 al-ʿAql al-jamʿī; In a different context, this term might be used in the sense of collective intelligence. 472 al-Talqīn. 473 Al-Ishkiwarī, al-ʿAqīdah al-Mahdawīyah, 202-203. 474 Al-Ishkiwarī, al-ʿAqīdah al-Mahdawīyah, 205-206. 250 can be modeled as intellectual subject-forming moral technologies or ideologies superimposed on physical subject-forming moral technologies. This archival reconstruction has demonstrated the two central contentions of this work by showing: the fact that and the means by which influential Islamic authors use conceptual frameworks/lines of reasoning in devotional contexts where they expectedly serve a subject-forming function; and that the discussions of leadership forms coalescing in the Mahdī of modernity reveal the centrality of subject-formation in an overarching, paradigmatic definition of “leadership,” wherever distinct from authority. Therefore, the concern of Islamic thinkers with forming moral subjects (starting from within) provides a convincing model explaining their employment of competing conceptual frameworks to satisfy paradigmatic moral requirements, on the one hand, and their authorial activity is one form among the different forms of this leadership which are distinct from authority and revolve around subject-formation, on the other hand. The paradigmatic features of subject-formation related to the Mahdī in modernity forecasts future work on case studies supporting these findings and expanding the categorization of subjectforming strategies. Tentative implications of these findings relate to the classification of strategies employed, realizing their interdisciplinary and lasting relevance to understanding texts and communities interacting with those texts (in this study it has been about authors and readers but future research can examine how those texts are transformed into speeches, podcasts, short clips, art, ritual, etc…). 251 Conclusions and Counterarguments Conclusions In fairness to the content analyzed throughout this dissertation, a final conclusions section seems to me not only inevitably reductive but abusive to the aims of direct engagement with reconstructed material in each chapter. The conclusions section at the end of each chapter faces a similar dilemma, albeit perhaps to a lesser degree. There are also nuanced methodological interventions in the Introduction, and in footnotes, which would not be suitably conveyed if merely summarized here. But conclusions must be accounted for, even if only to coherently reign in the most representative threads of analysis in this dissertation. With this disclaimer, some of the key conclusions I can summarize are as follows: -There were paradigmatic features shared by competing conceptual frameworks advanced by excerpts from Islamic authors examined between the 10th and 13th centuries CE. In particular, reconstruction of Chapter 1’s historically-specific archives reveals Ulū al-Amr obedience as a form of “leadership,” with a substantively moral requirement: either in the domain of Ulū al-Amr’s commands or in Ulū al-Amr’s qualifications or both. Potentially internalized Qurʾānic crossreferences resonate well with the morality-embedded conceptual frameworks of Sunnī authors from this period. Based on the Qurʾānic references, it was not the notion of God’s caliph requiring absolute obedience that would have been regarded as exogenous to the discursive tradition, but the requirement of absolute obedience even to immoral commands and/or from those lacking the Qurʾānic qualifications to be God’s deputy, that would likely have been regarded as exogenous. -Holistic surveying of Twelver Shīʿī (Imāmī) ḥadīth literature in Chapter 2 lends credence to the notion that the emphasis in the earliest extant sources identifying Ulū al-Amr was not on blood- 252 line/lineage in and of itself but on Divine selection, substantively based on whatever factors explain Divine action (e.g. humanly recognizable good/wisdom). Lineage would, thus, be better understood in such reports as an identifying feature only after the fact of Divine selection as people were directed to identify/recognize the Divinely intended Ulū al-Amr by the extent of their substantive merits as well. -The classical Shīʿī reading arguably distinguished the absolute obedience to, and implied infallibility of, Ulū al-Amr of verse 4:59 from the lesser-of-two-evils compliance with administrative/military authorities expected more generally and lacking an implication of infallibility. But al-Ṣadr entertains another reading by repurposing a Sunnī line of reasoning to make the Shīʿī conclusion that Ulū al-Amr are to be identified by naṣṣ or Divine appointment. -Chapter 3 discusses Sunnī conceptual frameworks that were notably distinct when compared to one another, let alone when contrasted with the Shīʿī notion of infallibility. For some, pressures outside the Sunnī collective formation of this period (but likely with earlier precursors as well) appear to have induced the adoption of conceptual frameworks particularly suited to privilege a perceived infallibility of that collective formation (i.e. via ijmāʿ). The diverse interventions, whether by exception or by category, can be modeled as sharing the attempt to eliminate error, thereby marking the development (if not uncovering of) a shared paradigmatic feature in Islamic thought on a form of “leadership” after Prophet M uḥammad. -The Sunnī Ṣūfī cosmology of awliyāʾ allowed for the replacement of the living quṭb such that the world is never rid of one, while the Imāmī Shīʿī notion of the Twelfth immaculate Imam’s long life during his incognito existence guaranteed the persistent presence-in-absence of the immaculate “leader” behind the scenes. The conceptualized exemplary nature of these envisioned leaders 253 reveals a more profound perceived need in the Islamic worldview that cannot be summed up in infallibility ––continuity of impeccable guidance after Prophet Muḥammad. -The moral technologies envisioned by Islamic authors as forming and being formed by the subject of their habitus ranged from ritual prayer and Ulū al-Amr obedience to the individual and social exercise of justifying the range of that due obedience. The significance of the latter moral technology is that its content, not only its form, is envisioned as having an influence on subject/agent-formation. Such conceptual frameworks, then, were arguably not conceived merely as political ideologies superadded to a physical exercise of sorts, but were arguably thought of as being essential to a different subject-forming exercise. Using the “library” Qurʾānic concept of resonance with human nature (fiṭrah) as an indicator of truth/falsehood, however, may better account for how these Islamic authors viewed the relationship between iterative invocation of conceptual content and otherwise physical technologies in different “archival” instances. -Islamic authors used conceptual frameworks/lines of reasoning in devotional contexts where they likely expected them to serve a subject-forming function. Discussions of “leadership” forms, coalescing in the Mahdī of modernity, reveals the centrality of subject-formation in an overarching, paradigmatic definition of “leadership” (wherever distinct from authority). This arguable preoccupation provides a model for their employment of the aforementioned conceptual frameworks to satisfy paradigmatic moral requirements, on the one hand, and a model for considering their authorial activity as one form among the different forms of subject-forming “leadership.” 254 Entertaining and Addressing Potential Counterarguments One potential counterargument pertains to demonstrating the link between conceptual frameworks and subject formation. Has this dissertation gone beyond merely asserting a link to actually showing convincingly that the link exists, and in a way specific enough to these case studies to be interesting? What specific modalities or mechanisms convincingly yield the supposed subject-formation? If one is to conclude that there is such a link, then a more convincing approach would thoroughly explore the variety of techniques at play. Addressing this concern, I must underline my methodological choices in this project. It is crucial not to conflate the following two intellectual activities: (1) the writing of intellectual history regarding the ideas of historical actors; and (2) assessing the truth of the claims or presumed beliefs of those historical actors. In reference to a specific instance, the former exercise is more descriptive/analytical, while the latter is more prescriptive. The reality of subject-formation is not directly addressed here ––this dissertation has aimed to be descriptive/analytical. It has modeled the interventions of historical actors as being motivated by a concern for subject-formation. As for an exploration into the actual mechanisms of subject-formation and testing relevant claims about their efficacy, that would be a prescriptive exercise requiring interdisciplinary research likely drawing on and/or embarking on new experiments in brain-related studies. Another potential counterargument might raise a concern when it comes to the robustness of the model this dissertation proposes. If the Sunnī authors are modeled as developing different conceptual frameworks out of intellectual tensions surrounding the collectives they belong to and functioning to consolidate community formation via perceived subject-forming influence, then how does one explain the fact that Sunnī communities are not always divided along the lines of such frameworks? Sure, Sunnī communities may be divided along the lines of Ashʿarī vs. Mātūrīdī, 255 in terms of kalām, for instance, or Ḥanafī vs. Mālikī or Shāfiʿī or Ḥanbalī, in terms of fiqh, but even granting such intellectual disagreements as being thought of as subject-forming and community-dividing, there are other theoretical disagreements that do not yield similar divisions. Had the model proposed been valid, one would expect conceptual framework differences of all kinds to engender –– at least gradually –– intense debate by authors convinced that their differences were subject-forming, and subsequently community-forming. For instance, the differences over taṣwīb and takhṭiʾah discussed in Chapter 3 do not appear to be behind any significant ripples in the broader Sunnī community even after many centuries, let alone at the time such disagreements arose. Some may argue, then, that it makes more sense to explain their disagreements in the very specific terms of their social context as opposed to an overarching, seemingly essentialist, purportedly intellectual and psychological disposition. This objection is, admittedly, partially valid. Conceptual disagreements among these types of Islamic authors may not necessarily yield parallel divisions in actuality. However, the potential for divisions exists, on the one hand, and, more importantly for my argument, the perceived potential expectedly exists ––based on the “library” repertoire of these Islamic authors (se e the Introduction) –– on the other hand. Taking a step back, entertaining the model proposed in this dissertation requires a bit of rethinking the scope of community formation. The direct sphere in which the model proposed explains the behavior of the disagreeing Islamic authors is in the sphere of their more immediate intellectual communities. This means includes their peers, students, and others likely influenced. Only secondarily and indirectly does the model apply to the broader public. With this scope in mind, the disagreements do conceivably yield divisions, let alone that they are arguably perceived to do so by the Islamic authors in question. 256 As for the intermediaries through whom subject-formation is conceived to extend to the broader public, the orator (khaṭīb) has arguably been understood to serve in the capacity throughout Islamic history. An exhaustive account of such mediation and its manifestations would of course require a separate study. Regarding the suggestion to, instead, explain Islamic author disagreements in the more contingent terms of their social context, I also accept this partially. My claim has not been that modeling the behavior of these Islamic authors can be fully accounted for by reference to their shared, broader intellectual “library” alon e. I have hoped to demonstrate through the debate reconstructions in this dissertation that there are layers to their libraries and that some of these layers can be des cribed as more conti ngent, “archival” reflections of a sectarian social context. That being said, I do not claim that this suffices for an exhaustive account either. Instead, I argue that analyzing the intellectual history in this way reveals a model that an Islamicminded author takes to be paradigmatic. Hypothetical departures from it can be reasonably explained as exceptions with convincing, historically contingent explanations. The fully robust, granular accounts examining influential social realities more closely will have to wait for many future studies enriched by the insights of scholars from multiple disciplines. 263 Falk, Ze’ev W. “Binding and Loosing.” Journal of Jewish Studies 25, no. 1 (1974): 92–100. https://doi.org/10.18647/669/JJS-1974. 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