Al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī: A Paradigm of Natural Law and Natural Rights for the ʿAbbasid Caliphate (Islamic History and Thought) 9781463206499, 1463206496

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Al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī

Islamic History and Thought

30 Series Editor Series Editorial Board

Peter Adamson Beatrice Gründler Beatrice Gruendler Ahmad Ahmad Khan Khan

Jack Tannous Isabel Toral-Niehoff Manolis Manolis Ulbricht Ulbricht

Jack Tannous

Advisory Editorial Board Islamic History and Thought provides a platform for scholarly research on any geographic areaUlbricht within the expansive Islamic Manolis Binyamin Abrahamov Konrad world, stretching from the Mediterranean to Hirschler China, and dated to Asadthe Q.eve Ahmed Howard-Johnston any period from of Islam untilJames the early modern era. This Jan Just Witkam Mehmetcan Akpinar Maher Jarrar(Arabic, Persian, series contains original monographs, translations Syriac, Greek, and Latin) and edited volumes. Abdulhadi Alajmi Marcus Milwright Mohammad-Ali Amir-Moezzi Harry Munt Arezou Azad Gabriel Said Reynolds Massimo Campanini Walid A. Saleh Godefroid de Callataÿ Maria Conterno Jens Scheiner Farhad Daftary Delfina Serrano trice Gruendler Wael Hallaq Georges Tamer Bea Ahmad Khan

Jack Tannous Islamic History and Thought provides a platform for scholarly research Isabel Toral-Niehoff on any geographic area within the expansive Islamic world, stretching from the Mediterranean to China, and dated to any Manolis Ulbricht period from the eve of Islam until the early modern era. This series contains original monographs, translations (Arabic, Persian, Syriac, Jan Justand Witkam Greek, Latin) and edited volumes.

Al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī

A Paradigm of Natural Law and Natural Rights for the ʿAbbasid Caliphate

By

Ulrika Mårtensson

gp 2022

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2022 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. ‫ܛ‬

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2022

ISBN 978-1-4632-0649-9

ISSN 2643-6906

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A Cataloging-in-Publication Record is available from the Library of Congress. Printed in the United States of America

For Myrtle, with gratitude.

TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction ................................................................................ xi Methodology ...................................................................... xx History as Discourse ...................................................... xx ‘Scriptural’ Practices: On Religion and Progress ........ xxiv Application ................................................................. xxvi Outline ............................................................................. xxvi

Chapter One. Markers of Polity: Religion, Philosophy & Law ..... 1 Preliminaries: al-Ṭabarī’s political theory as history ............. 1 The Ancient Institutional System ....................................... 14 The Arabs ........................................................................... 18 Law, Religion, and Philosophy 500–600 CE ...................... 22 Summary: The Institutional Significance of Religion and Philosophy .................................................................. 29 Al-Ṭabarī’s Theoretical Contributions ................................ 31 Chapter Two. Qur’anic Language, Rhetoric and Composition... 35 Preliminaries: al-Ṭabarī’s theory of language and Qur’anic Arabic .......................................................... 35 Al-Ṭabarī Applied: Modelling Qur’anic Composition .......................................................... 49 Analysis: Covenant as cross-disciplinary theoretical paradigm .............................................. 61 History of Arabic language................................................. 62 Aristotle’s theory of language ............................................ 69 Qur’anic Rhetoric: An Aristotelian Perspective.................. 76 Aristotle’s Rhetoric ......................................................... 76 Aristotle’s Rhetoric into Arabic ...................................... 79 Research Survey: the Qur’an and Rhetoric ........................ 87 vii

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ Aristotle and ‘Aristotle-like’ Rhetoric and the Qur’an .................................................................... 87 Balāgha .......................................................................... 90

Chapter Three. Natural Law, Natural Rights, and al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī ..................................................................... 97 Introduction ........................................................................ 97 Islamic Natural Law Theory ............................................... 98 The Role of Aristotle ..................................................... 98 Survey: Natural Law Theory in Islamic Sources ......... 105 ‘The Debates’ .................................................................... 111 Constitutional Separation of Powers and Legal Diversity .............................................................. 111 Peasants’ Property Rights ............................................ 119 Al-Ṭabarī’s Administrative Context ............................. 128 Rebellions .................................................................... 132 Analysis ............................................................................ 157

Chapter Four. al-Ṭabarī’s Methodology ................................... 161 Natural Law Theory: Two Basic Hermeneutical Methodologies .......................................................... 162 Legal Works ...................................................................... 164 Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of Consensus (ʾijmāʿ) ................... 165 Conquered Land and Property Rights ......................... 176 Conclusion: al-Ṭabarī’s Legal Methodology and Natural Law Theory ............................................ 180 Ḥadīth ............................................................................... 181 Bayān as Legal Method in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār ............... 183 Social Contract and Separation of Powers in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār ................................................. 191 Conclusion: Companion Consensus and Individual Interpretation in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār ...................... 195 Exegetical Methodology ................................................... 196 Divine and Human Proof and Clarifying Distinctions .......................................................... 197 Applied Method: The Levels of Meaning .................... 198 Reports and Readings .................................................. 203 Rights and the Moral Standard ................................... 211 Generals and Particulars as Methodology ................... 216 Historical Methodology .................................................... 219

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Epistemology, Sources, and Reports ........................... 220 The Administrative Focus and Rights ......................... 225 Chronology and Time.................................................. 229 Ritual Time.................................................................. 236 Concluding Analysis .................................................... 241 The Creeds ........................................................................ 242 Ṣarīḥ al-sunna .............................................................. 242 al-Tabṣīr fī maʿālim al-dīn............................................. 248 Conclusion: The Methodology of al-madhab al-jarīrī ......... 255

Chapter Five. Covenant as Grand Theory ................................ 259 Metaphysics and Ontology ............................................... 260 Divine Creation and One-ness ..................................... 260 Covenant as Metaphysics and Ontology ..................... 262 Creation as Language and Writing .............................. 263 The Human Being ....................................................... 266 Gender ......................................................................... 269 Epistemology .................................................................... 274 Induction and Empiricism ........................................... 274 Epistemology and Language ....................................... 275 Ethics ................................................................................ 277 The Fratricide: Betrayal of Covenant .......................... 285 Personality, Virtue, and Duty...................................... 291 History as Legal Cases and Ethical Dilemmas ............. 298 Conclusion: Theory, Images, and Institutional Practices . 300 Chapter Six. Concluding Analysis ............................................ 303 Further Reflections: al-Ṭabarī and Conflict Resolution ...... 310

Bibliography ............................................................................. 313 Al-Ṭabarī’s works in Arabic .............................................. 313 Al-Ṭabarī’s History in English translation ........................ 313 Other works by al-Ṭabarī in English Translation ............. 315 Other Arabic and translated primary sources .................. 315 Primary sources in English translation............................. 317 Reference works ............................................................... 317 Index......................................................................................... 331

INTRODUCTION I shall begin with what for us comes properly and logically first, namely the clear distinctions concerning time: What is it? How much is the scope of its totality, its first inception and final end? And did anything exist before God (Elevated be He!) created it, other than He? Is there after its dissolution anything other than the sense (wajh) of the Praised Who Creates (Elevated be His honourable mention!)? And what was there before God created it? What will exist after He has dissolved it and put an end to it? What was the beginning of God’s creation of it like, and what will its dissolution be like? The indication that there is none preexisting except God the One, the All-Prevailing, Owner of the heavens and the land and what is between them and underneath the soil. This will be done through concise and brief indications, since our aim with this writing is not to prove these matters but, as we have mentioned, the history of the past kings and a bulk of information about them; the times of the messengers and the prophets and the scope of their lifetimes; and the days of the precedent Caliphs and some of their biographies, the totality of the territories under their control (mabāligh wilāyatihim) and some of the events that took place during their rules. 1 Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (223/838–310/923)

The quote is from the English translation of al-Ṭabarī’s history published by SUNY Press in 40 volumes. I refer to it through the abbreviation HT (History of al-Tabari), the volume number, and the name of its translator and commentator. Hence, the reference to this quote is HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 169; mod. The volumes are listed in the Bibliography according to the same abbreviation. The only exception is Franz Rosenthal’s Editor’s Introduction to the whole translated history in volume 1, which I refer to as Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’; see note 2 below for full bibliographical

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This book aims to write the history of the Jarīrī ‘school of law’ or ‘methodology’ (madhhab), developed by the famous scholar Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr b. Yazīd al-Ṭabarī during his career as teacher, researcher, and jurist in ʿAbbasid Baghdad. Al-Ṭabarī’s biography and bibliography are well established. 2 The writings attributed to him amount to twenty-seven, spanning the disciplines of history (taʾrīkh); 3 Qur’an exegesis (tafsīr) 4 and

information. I also use Taʾrīkh al-Ṭabarī, 6 vols (Beirut: Dār al-kutub alʿilmiyya, 1997), for the Arabic text of the History. Where I modify the English translation, I indicate that in the reference. 2 For bibliographies, see Claude Gilliot, Exégèse, langue et théologie en Islam: L’exégèse coranique de Tabari (Paris: J. Vrin, 1990), pp. 39–64; Franz Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, The History of al-Tabari. Volume I: General Introduction and From the Creation to the Flood (New York: SUNY Press, 1989), pp. 80–134. 3 For a survey of Islamic and western studies and translations of the history, see Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 135–147. On its place and significance in Islamic historiography, see Franz Rosenthal, A History of Muslim Historiography, 2nd rev. ed. (Leiden: Brill, 1968), pp. 71–93 passim, 133–135; Abd al-Aziz Duri, The Rise of Historical Writing Among the Arabs, Edited and Translated by Lawrence E. Conrad (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1983[1960]), pp. 149–151, et passim; and Tarif Khalidi, Arabic historical thought in the classical period (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 73–81. On aspects of the history, including its sources, see Hugh Kennedy (ed.), Al-Ṭabarī: A Medieval Historian and His Work (Princeton, N.J.: The Darwin Press, Inc., 2008). On al-Ṭabarī’s analysis of political history, see Ulrika Mårtensson, ‘Discourse and Historical Analysis: The Case of al-Ṭabarī’s History of the Messengers and the Kings, Journal of Islamic Studies, 16:3 (2005), pp. 287–331; ‘“It’s the economy, stupid!” Al-Ṭabarī’s Analysis of the Free-Rider Problem in the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 54 (2011), pp. 203–238. 4 On the sources of his Qur’an commentary, see Heribert Horst, ‘Zur Überlieferung im Korankommentar aṭ-Ṭabarīs’, Zeitschrift der Deutschen Morgenländischen Gesellschaft, 103 (1953), pp. 290–307. On methodology and related topics, see Gilliot, Exégèse; Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of Modern Hermeneutics: Authorial Intention in al-Ṭabarī’s and alGhazzālī’s Interpretations of Q. 24:35’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 11:2 (2009), pp. 20–48; Mustafa Shah, ‘Al-Ṭabarī and the Dynamics of tafsīr: Theological Dimensions of a Legacy’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 15:2 (2013), pp. 83–139.

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Qur’anic variant readings (qirāʾāt); 5 Prophetic ḥadīth; 6 jurisprudence (fiqh) and legal hermeneutics (uṣūl al-fiqh); 7 theology (kalām); and doctrine (ʿulūm al-dīn). 8 In addition to these major disciplines, the bibliography lists writings on ethics (ʾadab), and dream interpretation. 9 And although he did not write treatises on philosophical topics, he was by all accounts familiar with the developments of Aristotelian and Platonic thought, and the rationalist critique of prophecy, current in Baghdad’s scholarly circles. 10 Gilliot, ‘Les sept “lectures”: Corps social et écriture révelée. Première partie’, Studia Islamica, 61 (1985), pp. 5–25; Exégèse, pp. 135–164; Shady Hekmat Nasser, The Transmission of the Variant Readings of the Qurʾān: The Problem of tawātur and the Emergence of shawādhdh (Leiden: Brill, 2013), pp. 39–47 et passim; Shah, ‘The Case of variae lectiones in Classical Islamic Jurisprudence: Grammar and the Interpretation of Law’, International Journal for the Semiotics of Law, 29:2 (2016), pp. 285–311. 6 Gilliot, ‘Le traitement du “Ḥadīth” dans le “Tahdhīb al-āthār” de Tabari’, Arabica, 41:3 (1994), pp. 309–351; Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an: A Systemic Analysis’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 18:2 (2016), pp. 9–57; pp. 39–42. 7 See Introductions in Friedrich Kern (ed.), Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, 2 vols. (Cairo: Maṭbaʿatay al-Mawsūʿāt wa-l-Taraqqī, 1902), and Joseph Schacht, Das Konstantinopler Fragment des Kitāb Ikhtilāf al-Fuqahāʾ des Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr aṭ-Ṭabarī (Leiden: Brill, 1933); Christopher Melchert, The Formation of the Sunni Schools of Law, 9th–10th Centuries C.E. (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 191–197; Devin Stewart, ‘Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī’s al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām and the Genre of uṣūl al-fiqh in Ninth Century Baghdād’, in James E. Montgomery (ed.), ʿAbbāsid Studies: Occasional Papers of the School of ʿAbbasid Studies, Cambridge 6–10 July 2002 (Leuven: Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 135, 2004), pp. 321–349; Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, pp. 19–23, 39–42. 8 Dominique Sourdel, ‘Une profession de foi de l’historien al-Ṭabarī’, Revue des études islamiques, 26 (1968), pp. 177–199; Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 207–278; Shah, ‘Al-Ṭabarī and the Dynamics of tafsīr’. 9 On ethics and dream interpretation, see Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 51–53, 61. For studies of dreams reported in al-Ṭabarī’s history, see Johan Weststeijn, ‘Abbasid Caliphs and Biblical Prophets: The Use of Dreams in Tabari’s History of Prophets and Kings’, in Erik Kooper (ed.), The Medieval Chronicle IV (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2006), pp. 191–202; ‘Dreams of ‘Abbasid Caliphs: Suspense and Tragedy in al-Ṭabarī’s “History of Prophets and Kings”, Oriens, 38 (2010), pp. 17–34. 10 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 49; Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 34–35. 5

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The studies referenced here are the basic studies pertaining to each discipline, and they show that the, as it were, groundwork on al-Ṭabarī’s main works have been done. In a previous, preliminary study, I have therefore started comparing methodological and topical connections between the disciplines and works, assuming that al-Ṭabarī belongs to those jurists who, in David Vishanoff’s words, developed a “system of legal doctrine by negotiating the relationships between individual texts and laws”, with reference to a “single overall paradigm that was well suited to that purpose”. That overall paradigm I identified as his madhhab jarīrī. 11 I then proceeded to tentatively apply natural law and social contract theory in analysis of selected cases from his Qur’an commentary and history. The main argument was that he used these paradigms to explain why the law must protect rights, especially for weak groups, and why the terms of the social contract must protect the rights and interests of both rulers and the ruled. 12 In this book, the aim is to use the paradigm of natural law and natural rights systematically to expand on the theoretical and methodological premises of al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī, and their practical implications, as expressed in his main works. As part of this effort, I will attempt to historically trace the paradigm, focusing on translations and transmissions of Aristotle’s works Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’; quote from p. 17, from David Vishanoff, The Formation of Islamic Hermeneutics: How Sunni Legal Theorists Imagined a Revealed Law (New Haven, Connecticut: American Oriental Society, 2011), p. 268. Other initial studies of the internal relationships between al-Ṭabarī’s works are Gilliot, Exégèse, which though focused on the Qur’an exegesis also makes brief comparisons with his works in ḥadīth, jurisprudence and history. On al-Ṭabarī’s construction of collective scholarly authorities, mainly in exegesis but also in jurisprudence, see Devin Stewart, ‘Consensus, Authority, and the Interpretive Community in the Thought of Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 18:2, pp. 130–179. 12 Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant: Theories of Natural Law and Social Contract in al-Ṭabarī’s Exegesis and History’, in R. Charles Weller and Anver M. Emon (eds.), Reason, Revelation and Law in Islamic and Western Theory and History (Singapore: Palgrave Macmillan, 2021), pp. 45–82. 11

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and their relationship with Arab polities and language development. The approach will allow me to also explore the contributions that al-Ṭabarī’s works may offer for current research into early Islamic history and the Qur’an. For this aspect of the book, I draw on results from my other recent studies, which I develop here within the current aim and framework. 13 I hope that treating al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab through this theoretical paradigm can contribute towards developing new analytical frameworks, to be critiqued by specialists in the domains where I rely largely on the research of others. The approach adopted here actualises the principle, that historical research requires treating an author and his or her writings in terms of the time- and place-specific societal and intellectual conditions and concerns. Historians have therefore rightly cautioned against reading modern conditions and concerns into works from earlier periods. The warning is especially apt for Islamic history, given current political desires for greater freedoms, popular participation, and protection of civil and human rights, which may stimulate quests for historical precedence for such things. 14 Notably, Chase Robinson has alerted us to the fact that states in medieval Islamic societies had much more limited roles and powers than modern states. Consequently, individuals’ lives were conditioned by family and ‘tribe’, and their professional legacies and material means, to a much greater extent than in modern societies. 15 Moreover, Robinson argues, Mårtensson, Divine Covenant: Science and Concepts of Natural Law in the Qur’an and Islamic Disciplines, Sheffield: Equinox (2022), Chs. 3–4; ‘Prophetic Clarity: A Comparative Approach to al-Ṭabarī’s Theory of Qur’anic Language, Rhetoric, and Composition’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 22:1 (2020), pp. 216–268; and ‘Ibn Isḥāq’s and al-Ṭabarī’s Historical Contexts for the Quran: Implications for Contemporary Research’, in Sebastian Günther (ed.), Knowledge and Education in Classical Islam: Religious Learning between Continuity and Change, Volume 1, Leiden: Brill (2020), pp. 315–353. 14 On this problem, see Yahya Sadowski, ‘The New Orientalism and the Democracy Debate’, in Joel Beinin and Joe Stork (eds.), Political Islam: Essays from Middle East Report (London: I.B. Tauris, 1997), pp. 33–50. 15 Chase Robinson, Islamic Historiography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), pp. 126–129. 13

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medieval Islamic historians, like their Christian counterparts, conceptualised history with reference to a ‘God-centred’ paradigm, which differs from both ancient and modern ‘probative’ and analytical history by making God’s will the principal historical force. 16 An alternative approach would be that of the late social anthropologist Ernest Gellner (d. 1995), who conceptualised medieval scholarly Islam as embodying key modern values: By various obvious criteria – universalism, scripturalism, spiritual egalitarianism, the extension of full participation in the sacred community not to one, or some, but to all, and the rational systematisation of social life – Islam is, of the three Western monotheisms, the one closest to modernity. 17

Both Robinson’s and Gellner’s approaches are actualised by one of the texts that frame this book, namely al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of the Qur’anic sūra 4, verse 1. As the table below shows, al-Ṭabarī argued that since God has created all human beings from one person (Adam), they constitute one universal family and brotherhood with intrinsic rights, which God obliges them to protect. The idea of one human family and brotherhood with intrinsic rights introduces also the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) from 1948, though this text does not refer to God and divine Creation: al-Ṭabarī, late 800s Exegesis of Q. 4 (al-Nisāʾ), 1

UDHR, 1948 Preamble:

Whereas recognition of the inherent dignity and of the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice He (…) described Himself as the and peace in the world; (…) One Who Alone has created humankind as a whole from one God means by His speech “O people! Fulfil your obligations towards your Lord Who created you by dividing one person”: (…)

16 17

Robinson, Islamic Historiography, pp. 131–132; 129–142. Muslim Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 7.

INTRODUCTION individual, and He lets His servants know how the beginning was when He issued that forth from the one person, making them aware by that, that all of them are descendants of one man and one mother, so that they are from one another, and that the right of some of them over others is the obligation that one brother has to the right of his brother, because of their common descent from one father and one mother. What obligates them to guard over each others’ right after the coming together of the descent from the father who is common to them, is like what obligates them of that concerning the closest descent. By that they feel affection for each other so that they seek justice for each other, and do not oppress each other, and so that the strong exerts himself to protect the right of the weak, according to what God has obligated him to do.

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Whereas it is essential, if man is not to be compelled to have recourse, as a last resort, to rebellion against tyranny and oppression, that human rights should be protected by the rule of law (…). Article 1: All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.

Of course, there are substantial differences between these two sets of rights. The UDHR defines human rights in terms of liberal political freedoms, equality, and public welfare, in the economic sense, all of which are protected by the rule of law, meaning separation of powers between the legislative, the judicial, and the executive authorities. In al-Ṭabarī’s case, as we shall see, human rights (ḥuqūq, sing. ḥaqq) refer to rule of law in terms of a basic separation of power between the ruler and his administration and the legal scholars, to different rights between men and women, and institutional slavery, as the remainder of sūra 4 shows. Yet, as we shall also see, al-Ṭabarī’s writings display concerns with public welfare and common good (maṣlaḥa) and its economic and administrative presuppositions, including redistribution of wealth and property rights for the peasant workers. A case can therefore

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be made for focusing on such modern topics as ‘human rights’ and ‘the rule of law’ even in a study of the ‘God-centred’ works of the early medieval historian and scholar al-Ṭabarī. The task is then to understand the precise meaning of these concepts, in their societal and scholarly context. The reason why a concept of rights as intrinsic to ‘human nature’ can turn up in both al-Ṭabarī’s Qur’an commentary from the late 800s and the UDHR from 1948 is a shared theoretical paradigm: natural law theory. Other manifestations of the same paradigm include Catholic scholastic theology (Thomas Aquinas, d. 1274) and ancient philosophy of law (Aristotle, d. 322 BCE). 18 When referring to law, natural law theory can be defined as “the thesis that there are at least some laws that depend for their ‘authority’ not on some pre-existing human convention, but on the logical relationship in which they stand to moral standards”. 19 Recent research by Anver Emon indicates that the paradigm applies also to some Islamic legal theorists and their applications of divine Creation as moral standards for deriving law from Scripture, including scholars who worked with the concept maṣlaḥa, ‘public welfare’ or ‘the common good’. 20 Al-Ṭabarī is thus another early example of a scholar using the ‘common good’method to develop law. Also considering his use of divine Creation to argue the case for ‘human rights’, he can be placed within the paradigm of natural law theory. 21 A political paradigm that overlaps with natural law theory is that of social contract theory, i.e. ‘an actual or hypothetical compact, or agreement, between the ruled and their rulers, defining the rights and duties of each’. 22 As the table above shows, John Finnis, ‘Natural Law Theory: Its Past and Present’, American Journal of Jurisprudence, 57 (2012), pp. 81–101; see also Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, pp. 46–47. 19 Kenneth Einar Himma, ‘Natural Law’, Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, https://www.iep.utm.edu/natlaw/#H1, accessed 22 January 2019; Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, p. 46. 20 Anver Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, Journal of Law and Religion, 20:2 (2004–2005), pp. 351–395; Islamic Natural Law Theories (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010). 21 Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, pp. 57–66. 22 Definition ‘Social contract’, Encyclopaedia Britannica. 18

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the UDHR Preamble premises the protection of human rights against tyranny and oppression on the rule of law. According to John Finnis, the UDHR defines the rule of law in terms of a liberal democratic social contract. 23 Al-Ṭabarī’s version of ‘human rights’ too specifies that humans must act justly and not oppressively towards each other, referring to the concepts ʿadl, ‘justice’, and ẓulm, ‘wrong’, sometimes in the sense of oppressing someone’s right (ḥaqq). As we shall see from his works, he refers these concepts to a social contract with defined rights and duties for the ruled and their rulers, conditioned by an agrarian-mercantile economy and the all-important land tax (kharāj). 24 Consequently, there are two overlapping theoretical paradigms – natural law and social contract – that can be seen as linking al-Ṭabarī and the UDHR, despite their different substantive rights and historical contexts. This theoretical perspective sheds new light on the role of God in al-Ṭabarī’s works, or their ‘God-centredness’ in Robinson’s words. Finnis has drawn attention to the circumstance that natural law theory requires an epistemic claim to absolute Truth for the moral standard that authorises the law. 25 For example, the UDHR Preamble posits ‘the inherent dignity and the equal and inalienable rights’ of all humans as a fact and absolute Truth, from which follow the rights specified in the Declaration. Al-Ṭabarī posited the fact that God created all humans from one person, so that they constitute one family with intrinsic rights, as the Truth from which follows the obligation to protect rights against oppression, as well as all other specific rights and obligations, including those of ‘the ruled and their ruler’. The reference to God’s Creation thus upgrades an epistemic claim to the level of absolute Truth, which is then a theoretical function that God has within the natural law paradigm. 26 In his History, al-Ṭabarī employed references to God in a different way, to signal which Finnis, Natural Law and Natural Rights (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011[1980]), pp. 272–273. 24 Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, pp. 66–71; ‘It’s the economy’. 25 Finnis, ‘Natural Law Theory’. 26 Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, pp. 59–60. 23

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political and economic factors and policies he considered historically decisive, which suggests that ‘God-centric’ views of history do not preclude analysis. 27 Since the History, as we shall see, treats the terms and effects of the social contract, one could say that God in such contexts represents the terms of that political paradigm – which also overlaps with natural law theory, as we have just seen. 28 Finally, in al-Ṭabarī’s Qur’an commentary, God represents hermeneutical, linguistic, and rhetorical principles, which concern the exegetical derivation of law from Scripture and the demonstration and proof involved in the process. 29 In sum: God serves as the source to which al-Ṭabarī referred his theoretical paradigms, epistemic premises, and analysis, across several disciplines, here e.g. jurisprudence, history, and exegesis. In reverse, identifying al-Ṭabarī’s use of God may contribute towards understanding his discipline-specific methodologies and their roles within his madhhab.

METHODOLOGY History as Discourse

In this book, then, writing the history of al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab means analysing it principally through the paradigm of natural law theory and its intersection with social contract. This paradigm constitutes the first level of methodology, i.e. the theoretical premises that direct my analysis. Next, the paradigm itself must be analysed in context. Since this task is historical, the second level methodology is theory of historical writing. As often before, 30 I resort to the discourse theory of the French historian of religion Michel de Certeau (d. 1986). Though his field was French Church history, not Islamic history, he was concerned with modern academic historical representations of ‘religious

Mårtensson, ‘Discourse and Historical Analysis’. Mårtensson, ‘It’s the economy’. 29 Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’. 30 E.g. Mårtensson, ‘Discourse and Historical Analysis’; ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’; Divine Covenant. I owe thanks to Abbas Vali for recommending de Certeau’s writings. 27 28

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thought’, and the problematic ways in which these tend to suppress continuities between ‘religion’ and ‘academia’: What alliance is there between writing and history? It was already fundamental to the Judeo-Christian conception of Scripture. Whence the role played by religious archeology within the modern elaboration of historiography, which has transformed the terms and the very nature of this past relation in order to give it the stamp of fabrication, no longer allowing it to seem simply a matter of reading or interpreting. From this standpoint, reexamination of the historiographical operation opens on the one hand onto a political problem (procedures proper to the “making of history” refer to a style of “making history”) and, on the other, onto the question of the subject (of the body, of enunciative speech), a question repressed in the direction of fiction through the law of a “scientific” writing. 31

It is perhaps unsurprising that Michel de Certeau took an interest in the relationship between ‘religion’ and ‘academia’, since he was affiliated with the Catholic Jesuit order and belonged to the broader poststructuralist movement. 32 Moreover, and concordant with poststructuralist irony, he combined in his academic persona Jesuit affiliation with Marxist and Freudian theory, expressed notably in the essay collection L’Écriture de l’histoire (1975), where he also developed his discourse theory. His relationship with Marxism, however, is epistemic and theoretical, not ontological and ideological. Specifically, he employed Marxist epistemology to theorise the relationship between knowledge production and institutional practices. By ‘ideology’, he meant the reduction of the whole reality of a subject matter to a selected theory, for example, reducing the complex reality of religion to the Marxist theory of religion as an expression of alienation, which in turn depends on the materialist ontology. 33 By ‘theory’ he meant a set Michel de Certeau, The Writing of History, English translation Tom Conley (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988), p. xxvii. 32 For a study of de Certeau in his intellectual milieu, see Jeremy Ahearne, Michel de Certeau: Interpretation and its Other (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995). 33 De Certeau, Writing, pp. 28–30. 31

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of general principles independent of the thing they refer to, but correlated with a practice, by which he means an institutional order, including both a societal mode of production, and an institutional mode of producing knowledge. Theory is a requirement in an academic study, according to de Certeau, and it should be stated explicitly so that the premises of the analysis are transparent. In contrast, social elites tend towards ideological reduction, which suppresses the practices involved in knowledge production and thus makes knowledge appear self-evidently true and as pertaining to the subject-matter itself. The point with theory is to bring out the productive, practical relationship between knowledge about a subject-matter and a social, institutional order. 34 De Certeau’s aim is thus to analyse factors involved in the production of knowledge about the past, hence his theory of discourse. Historical discourse arranges facts according to its own internal criteria for what events, sources, and methods are considered important and authoritative, and how events should be explained. 35 These workings of discourse are not necessarily apparent to the historian, because they constitute the very ‘intelligibility’ through which the historian makes sense of what s/he reads. 36 Conceptualised in this way, history “vacillates between the two poles of practice, which is reality, and closed discourses, which are modes of intelligibility”. 37 In other words, past events and institutional practices are real, but they can become known only through an ordering discourse, which in its turn expresses particular institutional practices. To make practical use of de Certeau’s theory, one can define discourse as constituted by three factors. Firstly, a social institution, which has a particular place in the society’s mode of production. In premodern, feudal and agrarian European societies, institutions of learning and universities were domains funded by the Church, with additional patronage from rulers and nobility. In modern, industrialised European societies, the De Certeau, Writing, pp. 29, 131. De Certeau, Writing, pp. 119–120. 36 De Certeau, Writing, pp. 1–16. 37 De Certeau, Writing, p. 21. 34 35

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university institutions are separate from the Church and gain their resources to produce knowledge through their place ‘next to’ the state, whose needs the university serves. Academic knowledge is thus an asset, a form of ‘capital’, which the state invests in order to develop society and professionalise the citizens. History is instrumental in providing the nation with identity and purpose, through its distinction between past and present, narrations of past significant events, periodisation, and encounters with ‘others’. 38 The second factor, discipline, is both a particular scholarly tradition within the institution – e.g. History – with sets of theories, concepts, sources and methods, and the thoughtdisciplining practices that accompany the former. A concept of ‘progress’, for example, serves as a historiographical practice of distinguishing both between the nation’s past and present society, and between it and other societies. As such, ‘progress’ is a mode of intelligibility and thought-discipline, which organises and explains the past. The third factor is subject. Subject refers to the historian as a person, affiliated with a particular institution and discipline, and with subjective, personal interests, experiences, and background, which define how s/he relates to institution and discipline. The historian as subject in this sense also shapes the subject-matter of a study, i.e. s/he writes about a common topic but gives it a subjective shape. For example, de Certeau describes himself in relation to his discipline, and the subject-matter of his book, which is to problematize discourses on religion: [B]orn as a historian within religious history, and formed by the dialect of that discipline, I asked myself what role religious productions and institutions might have had in the organization of the modern ‘scriptural’ society that has replaced them by transforming them. 39

At all three levels – institution, discipline, and subject – historical discourse expresses identity through the distinctions it makes between ‘itself’ and ‘others’, in time and place. By making these identity-forming distinctions, discourse thus serves as a form of valuable ‘capital’ for institutions, disciplines and individuals to 38 39

De Certeau, Writing, pp. 2–6, 26, 45–46, 56–57. De Certeau, Writing, p. 14.

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‘invest’ in. However, discourses are not static. Change happens through the subjective ‘investments’, with each individual making a unique contribution, which slowly moves the direction of the discourse. ‘Religion’, then, is discursive ‘capital’. In the French case, the modern Republic, the Enlightenment, and the modern universities and academic disciplines constitute a new social order, in which the Church has lost its power to produce scientifically authoritative truth about religion and its way of ordering society. This power now pertains to the university’s modern discipline of Religious studies. The Church remains powerful and plays an important social role, but now as provider of ‘Christian morality’ and ritual for modern citizens: [W]e witness the breakup of the institutional alliance between Christian language, attesting to the tradition of a revealed truth, and the practices apportioned to an order of the world. Social life and scientific investigation are slowly exiled from religious allegiance. 40

In the French case, moreover, the modern academic study of religion meant conceptualising ‘religion’ through mainly sociological theories. With de Certeau’s terminology, the institutional practice of applying sociological theory to religion amounted to a reductive, ideological explanation of religion, allowing such theory to account for ‘all of religion’, with particularly misleading consequences regarding the relationship between religion and science. 41 Instead, he argued, academic studies of religion should apply theory in the limited and transparent sense of a set of general principles independent of the thing observed but related to a discipline, which in turn reflects institutional practises. 42 The approach of course implies that different theory yields different results. ‘Scriptural’ Practices: On Religion and Progress

One of de Certeau’s points is that the discursive construction of identity through differentiation between ‘self’ and ‘other’ De Certeau, Writing, p. 149. De Certeau, Writing, pp. 147–150. 42 De Certeau, Writing, p. 21. 40 41

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suppresses affinities and continuities. Hence, ‘Scripture’ is a scholarly practice of reading, interpreting, and writing, which connects premodern Jewish and Christian institutions and modern universities. Yet because the identity of modern academia is constructed through differentiation from ‘religion’, religious scriptural tradition is understood as ‘other’, despite real historical continuity of interpretive practices. 43 Importantly for the purpose with this book, de Certeau argues that the reduction of religion to sociological categories that characterises modern French Religious studies discourse began with developments within religion. His argument runs as follows: the medieval Catholic Church was powerful enough to claim discursively to represent one single Christian social order and one true doctrine, even though in reality the Church was neither internally uniform nor without external challengers. However, during the 1600s the Catholic social and epistemic order was broken up through the Reformation, the ensuing multiplication of Protestant churches and their affiliations with new polities, and new Catholic movements. In France this development was followed in the late 1700s by the Enlightenment, the fall of the old monarchy, and the modern Republic. At that stage, the Catholic Church’s medieval discourse was unsustainable because religious diversity had become an institutional reality. It was now an evident fact that religion served as the vehicle of identification and signification of different groups and polities. This institutional change was accompanied by new discursive knowledge about ‘religion’ as a social category – cuius regio, eius religio – first within religious institutions themselves, and then in the modern academic discipline of Religious studies with its sociological theories of religion, which established around the turn of the century 1800– 43 De Certeau, Writing, pp. 4, 14. Examples of continuity-approaches applied to Islamic texts are some recent studies, which aim at showing how hermeneutics connect ‘premodern’ and ‘modern’ scholarship. These include Mohamed M. Yunis Ali, Medieval Islamic Pragmatics: Sunni Legal Theorists’ Models of Textual Communication (Richmond: Curzon, 2000); Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of Modern Hermeneutics’; Alexander Key, Language between God and the Poets: Maʿnā in the Eleventh Century (Oakland, CA: University of California Press, 2018).

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1900. Yet Religious studies discourses suppress any theoretical and practical continuity with religions. 44 Methodologically, this implies that religion can be analysed as a cause of social and theoretical change, just as well as a reaction to or expression of it. De Certeau’s point with Marxist analysis, again, is not to enforce a specific causal analysis but to examine the relationship between social institutional practices and theory, to show that religion is capable of operating with the same theoretical paradigms as modern sciences. Importantly, his argument implies that in religiously diverse contexts, where it is evident that different groups of people affiliate with different religions or forms of the same religion, religious thinkers conceptualise ‘religion’ through social categories. 45 Application

Applying de Certeau’s discourse theory to al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab and theoretical paradigms means referring them to an institutional order and practices, to scholarly disciplines, and to al-Ṭabarī and his personal ‘investment’ in his scholarship. De Certeau’s argument concerning affinities and continuities between ‘religious’ and ‘scientific’ thought and practices translates here into the aim of showing the relevance of alṬabarī’s theoretical paradigms and analysis for current research into early Islamic history and the Qur’an. The specific point, that thinkers in contexts of religious institutional diversity conceptualise ‘religion’ through social categories, will also be explored here, since the relevant societies were highly religiously diverse in terms of different religions as well as schools or ‘sects’ within each religion.

OUTLINE

The book consists of six chapters, organised to provide a historical institutional background necessary for assessing the significance of natural law theory in al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab; for selecting and analysing topics that al-Ṭabarī and his contemporary colleagues 44 45

De Certeau, Writing, pp. 117–119, and chapters 3–4. See also Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, Ch. 1.

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debated; and for identifying how al-Ṭabarī’s works can be seen to contribute to current research. Given Aristotle’s importance for natural law theory, and for the systematization of ancient philosophical and empirical disciplines and their subsequent development in administrative and academic (including religious) institutional contexts in late Antiquity and the early Islamic period, he serves in the first three chapters as the principal referent for theoretical paradigms. Chapter 1 is entitled ‘Markers of Polity: Religion, Philosophy & Law’, and consists of two main sections. In the first I introduce al-Ṭabarī’s Taʾrīkh al-rusul wa-l-mulūk or ‘History of the Messengers and the Kings’ and the topic of divine Covenant and its references to the institutions of kingship and prophecy, to social contract, and to justice. By selecting three cases of lawgiving – the ancient Persian king Ôshahanj, the prophet Moses, and the Prophet Muḥammad – I show how al-Ṭabarī singled out Persian kingship as the origins of social contract and just rule in the region that is the main focus of his History (Iraq and the Fertile Crescent, and the Arabian Peninsula), and how he traced the prophetic institution from Adam and Enoch via Abraham and Moses to the Prophet Muḥammad (570–10/632), who founds a polity and conveys the divine, written law. Based on this model of three lawgiving events, I show how al-Ṭabarī analysed the Prophet Muḥammad’s mission with reference to social contract theory. The section ends with a comparison between al-Ṭabarī’s concept of divine Covenant and three lawgiving events and Aristotle’s ‘political naturalism’. The second section contextualises Covenant through a survey of research into the institutional history of the region, focusing on the imperial political economy and law; Arab history; the significances of religion in the imperial system; and transmissions of Aristotelian works in Arab and Persian (Sassanid) contexts. I conclude with a discussion of relationships between institutional practices and theory, and how al-Ṭabarī’s analysis of the Prophet’s mission compares with current historical research. In Chapter 2, ‘Qur’anic Language, Rhetoric & Composition’, I direct the topic Covenant to the discipline tafsīr and al-Ṭabarī’s Qur’an commentary Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān. First, I

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introduce his concepts of the Qur’anic Arabic language and rhetoric, and the principles guiding the Qur’an’s composition and overall meaning. Like his political concepts, these are centred round Covenant. The next section is a survey of research into the historical development of the Arabic language, its relationship with Qur’anic Arabic, and the transmissions and translations of Aristotle’s works on language theory and rhetoric from the 500s to al-Ṭabarī’s time. In a third, final section, I apply results from the previous Chapter 1 and the preceding research survey to analyse how institutionalised political, legal, and commercial concepts of contract relate to the linguistic, rhetorical, and compositional concepts and meanings that al-Ṭabarī the exegete attributed to Covenant. In this way the chapter adds a linguistic and rhetorical dimension to al-Ṭabarī’s political analysis of the Prophet’s mission, sketched in Chapter 1. Chapter 3, ‘Natural Law, Natural Rights, and al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī’, begins with a survey of research into Aristotle’s concepts of natural rights, equity, and the common good, and natural law theory within Islamic jurisprudence. The next section traces the broader development of Islamic concepts of natural rights, equity, and the common good, focusing on three sociopolitical issues deliberated by the early Muslim jurists and alṬabarī: constitutional separation of powers between rulers and jurists; peasants’ property rights; and the land tax. Finally, I apply the results in a fourth section treating al-Ṭabarī’s historical reports on rebellions and civil wars, and his analysis of their causes as well as ways to prevent or solve such conflicts. In this way, I will identify al-Ṭabarī’s positions on the three sociopolitical issues, as reflected in the History and Qur’an commentary, and whether natural law-related terms compatible with Aristotelian concepts can be identified in al-Ṭabarī’s discourse. Chapter 4, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Methodology’, applies the results from Chapter 3 in a systematic treatment of al-Ṭabarī’s extant works within the disciplines of jurisprudence (fiqh and ʾuṣūl al-fiqh), Prophetic sunna (ḥadīth), Qur’an exegesis (tafsīr), history (taʾrīkh), and doctrine (ʿulūm al-dīn). The aim is to use Anver Emon’s model of legal hermeneutical methods in contexts of natural law, and

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the natural law-related issues separation of powers, property rights, and the land tax, as framework for analysing al-Ṭabarī’s methodology pertaining to each discipline and work and determining whether he also operated with an overarching Methodology characterising his madhhab jarīrī. In Chapter 5, ‘Covenant as Grand Theory’, the focus on disciplines, works, and methodology, shifts to a topical approach. The aim is to define the ‘meta-theory’ underpinning the madhhab’s natural law paradigm, with reference again to alṬabarī’s concept of Covenant. Consequently, I analyse Covenant in terms of metaphysics (theory of reality), ontology (theory of being), epistemology (theory of knowing), and ethics (theory of moral principles), and the topics divine One-ness, Being, and Creation; human beings; time; language; writing; prophecy; and gender. The section devoted to his ethics also includes analysis of ethical dilemmas reflected in the History, and further explores this work’s epistemic function within al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab from this perspective. Chapter 6 concludes the book. In this final analysis, I focus on three overlapping topics. First, conclusions regarding the Aristotelian trajectory developed in Chapters 1–3, and discussion of the implications for seeing al-Ṭabarī’s works as theoretically informed analysis and contributions to current research, not only as sources of information about early Islamic history and stages in the history of disciplines. Second, conclusions regarding the significance of natural law theory for al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī and the implications for understanding what motivated him to develop it, as a scholar and person. Third, a reflection over alṬabarī’s concept of religion, referring to Michel de Certeau’s analysis discussed in the Introduction. In this context, I will also elaborate on the analytical implications of al-Ṭabarī’s historical reporting on social conflict.

CHAPTER ONE. MARKERS OF POLITY: RELIGION, PHILOSOPHY & LAW PRELIMINARIES: AL-ṬABARĪ’S POLITICAL THEORY AS HISTORY

Al-Ṭabarī’s universal history Taʾrīkh al-rusul wa-l-mulūk or ‘The History of the Messengers and the Kings’ is an integral part of his scholarly oeuvre and the disciplines of law and jurisprudence, Prophetic ḥadīth, and Qur’an commentary. It begins with God’s Creation and ends in the year 302/915 in the reign of the ʿAbbasid Caliph al-Muqtadir (r. 295/908–320/932) and treats the intervening history in terms of two basic institutions: ‘messengers’ (including prophets) and ‘kings’ (including caliphs). Though a fuller treatment of the History must wait until Chapter 4, I introduce it here as a first step in the analysis of historical discourse and its references to institutional order and theory. Specifically, I illustrate how al-Ṭabarī describes three ‘lawgiving events’: first, the beginning of kingship and prophecy and the origins of justice and social contract; second, the divine law sent down to Moses; third, the same divine law sent down to the Prophet Muḥammad. In rough tabular form, these three lawgiving events can be organised into the following structure. It starts with divine Creation, then shows how history proceeds in terms of the two main institutions ‘kings’ and ‘prophets’. Note that I only name a few of the kings and prophets treated in the History, immediately relevant for the analysis that follows the table. 1

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2

Divine Creation The Pen Time Cosmos Adam & Eve Satanic temptation Covenant with Adam’s descendants & marking of the Kaʿba Kingship Persian kings Lawgiver & just king: Ôshahanj

Arab kings

Prophecy Israelite kings

Adam Enoch first prophet with writings Abraham: servitude to One God & the institution of the ḥajj at the Kaʿba Israelites enslaved by Pharaoh Lawgiver: Moses

Sassanid Persian kings Just king: Khusraw Anūshirwān

David, Solomon etc. Lakhmid king’s vassal contract broken by unjust Sassanid king

Other prophets

Lawgiver: The Prophet

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The Caliphate Just Caliphs: ʿUmar b. alKhaṭṭāb, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib Al-Ṭabarī thus begins history with accounts of God’s Creation. Among his sources of information are reports from the Prophet’s cousin, the Companion ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbbās or Ibn ʿAbbās (d. 68/687). The reports describe how at first, God had shown favour to Iblīs (i.e. Satan), who was the leader of the jinn and the most noble among them, by appointing him as keeper of the gardens and ruler (sulṭān) over the nearest sphere (al-dunyā) and the land (al-ʾarḍ). After a while, Iblīs began to think that he had these powers not because God had shown favour towards him but because of his own unique knowledge (ʿilm) and capacity for interpretation (ijtihād), which made him better than others. Hence, he saw himself as his own lord, in God’s place. Seeing this, God decided to create Adam and make him His ‘vicegerent’ (khalīfa) in the land. When God had created Adam, He conveyed to Adam knowledge of the names of things and made him announce them to the angels – a scenario that assigns to Adam the prophetic function of conveying knowledge from God to other creatures. For this reason, God commanded Iblīs and the angels to prostrate before Adam, but Iblīs refused because of his selfaggrandisement. The reports amount to showing how the correct attitude towards God’s favours and command is gratitude and humility, expressed through prostration (sujūd), as opposed to Iblīs’ rebellious refusal to prostrate. 1 Al-Ṭabarī then cited reports

HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 250–266. For a general description of Adam and Iblīs as moral types in al-Ṭabarī’s history, see Khalidi, Arabic historical thought, pp. 79–81. While Khalidi argues here that al-Ṭabarī in the History did not define in substantive terms what it meant to follow Adam or Iblīs, I have elsewhere pointed to the constitutional and contractual issues at stake, which I will continue to expand on in this book; see Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’; Tabari, Makers of Islamic

1

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from the Prophet, from Ibn ʿAbbās, describing how God concluded a Covenant (mīthāq) with all of Adam’s descendants, at the location of the pilgrimage station ʿArafāt, making them testify that God is their Lord, so that God upon yawm al-qiyāma can hold them to account for this. 2 This ‘natural’ covenant with all of humanity has a Qur’anic reference, Q. 7, 172: When your Lord took from the offspring of Adam, from their backs, their descendants and made them testify against themselves: “Am I not your Lord?” They said: “Indeed, we testify!” So that you cannot say upon yawm al-qiyāma: “But we were unaware of this!”

Against this background al-Ṭabarī proceeded to write the history of kingship. Relying on Persian sources because Persian royal genealogies are the ones that are most continuously recorded the furthest back in time, he located the establishment of kingship with a mythical, ancient ruler, Ôshahanj, a descendent of Jayūmart, the Persian equivalent of Adam as first human being. The reports say that Ôshahanj was the first human to be born as a king, which makes him a model for dynastic kingship. He ruled over the seven climes and introduced places for prostration (masājid), founded cities, introduced watering and agriculture, animal husbandry, mining for minerals, and established justice. Ôshahanj’s surname, al-Ṭabarī explained, was Fêshdâdh, which in Persian means “‘the first to judge in justice’ (ʾawwal man ḥakama bi-l-ʿadl), for fāsh (Pers. pêsh) means ‘first’, and dādh (dâd) means ‘justice and legal verdict’ (ʿadl wa-qaḍāʾ)”. 3 Hence, Fêshdâdh gave the law and justice as part of establishing the basis of the economy and ‘the city’. On this basis, the king drafted a contract regulating the relationship between ‘ruler and ruled’: When his command was upright in speech and action (istaqāma ʾamruhu) and the kingship was covenanted with him (istawthaqa lahu al-mulk), he bound firmly (ʿaqada) upon his head a crown and gave a public speech (khaṭaba khuṭbatan), Civilization (New Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 48–54, et passim. 2 HT 1/ Rosenthal, pp. 304–307. 3 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 341–342; mod.

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in which he declared that he had in fact inherited the kingdom from his grandfather Jayūmart, and that he would punish and avenge himself on insubordinates among humans and shayāṭīn. They recall that he subdued Iblīs and his troops, forbidding them to mix with people, and he wrote for them a binding document (kitāb) on a white sheet of paper in which he took from them the covenants (mawāthīq) that they would not confront a single one of the humans, threatening them if they did so. 4

Fêshdâdh’s justice and contract appears to enact the Covenant (mīthāq) God entered with Adam’s descendants, as signalled by the description of his kingship as ‘covenanted’ (istawthaqa) and the reference to his written ‘covenants’ (mawāthīq) with potential rebels. 5 That this is indeed the enactment of God’s ‘natural’ Covenant and embodiment of it as a social contract with written terms is suggested also by the note that Fêshdâdh introduced places for prostration, symbolizing the acceptance of God’s command. Next, al-Ṭabarī retraces his steps and accounts for the institution of prophecy, which relates to the art of writing. He cites what the Prophet’s biographer Muḥammad b. ʾIsḥāq (d. 150/767) reported about the first of Adam’s offspring who was given prophecy and knowledge of how to write with a pen, namely Enoch son of Jared or, as he is known in Arabic, ʾIdrīs. 6 Al-Ṭabarī then fleshes out this information, referring to what ‘someone else among the people of the Torah’ have reported about Enoch, namely: God granted him the gift of prophecy after 622 years of Adam’s life had passed. He revealed thirty scrolls to him. He was the first after Adam to write and exert himself in the path of God, as well as the first to cut and sew clothes. He also was HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 342; mod. For the argument that al-Ṭabarī’s sections on ancient Persian kingship suggest that he wrote history in accordance with a concept of ‘natural religion’ and ‘natural law’, see Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, pp. 207, 215–218. Here I also draw parallels between Aristotle’s concept of constitution as given by ‘the law giver’. 6 HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 343. 4 5

6

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ the first to lead some of Cain’s descendants into captivity and to enslave them. He was the legatee of his father Jared and exhorted to act in accordance with what his forefathers had stated in their last wills addressed to him and to each other. All this he did during Adam’s lifetime. (…) Enoch summoned his people and admonished them. He commanded them to be obedient to God and disobey Satan and not to mix with the descendants of Cain. However, they did not follow his command. Group after group of the descendants of Seth used to go down to the descendants of Cain. (…) According to al-Ḥārith – Ibn Saʿd – Hishām – his father – Abū Ṣāliḥ – Ibn ʿAbbās: It was in Jared’s time that idols were made, and some turned away from enacting peace (ʾislām). According to Aḥmad b. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Wahb – his paternal uncle – al-Māḍī b. Muḥammad – Abū Sulaymān – alQāsim b. Muḥammad – Abū ʾIdrīs al-Khawlānī – Abū Dharr al-Ghifārī: The Messenger of God said to me: “Abū Dharr! Four – that is, messengers – were Syrians: Adam, Seth, Noah, and Enoch who was the first to write with a pen. God Most High made thirty scrolls descend to him (ʾanzala Allāhu taʿālā ʿalā ʾAkhnūkh thalāthīna ṣaḥīfa). Someone claimed that God sent ʾIdrīs with a mission (baʿatha) to all the people on the land in his time. He gave to him the combined knowledge (ʿilm) of those who went before, adding to it thirty scrolls. He [the reporter; UM] said: This is meant by God’s statement, Almighty and Majestic: “Indeed, this is in the first scrolls, the scrolls of Abraham and Moses!” (Q. 87, alʾAʿlā, 18–19). 7

It is not so easy to determine whether al-Ṭabarī perceived ʾIdrīs’s prophecy to predate, coincide with, or postdate the instituting of Ôshahanj’s just kingship, since the chronology and genealogies in this section are not straightforward. 8 However, one of al-Ṭabarī’s unnamed sources in this section stated that a king named HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 343–344; mod. HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 344–348. This and related issues are being dealt with in Stijn Boekholt’s project-in-progress “Taʾrīkh al-Ṭabarī genealogy project: visualisation and analysis” (forthcoming MA-thesis, Radboud University, 2023). 7 8

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Bêwarâsb, who succeeded Ôshahanj, “ruled in the time of ʾIdrīs”. 9 On this basis, Ôshahanj’s just kingship appears to precede ʾIdrīs’s prophecy in the discourse. If so, Ôshahanj’s justice and written social contract appear as principles conveyed through the ‘natural’ Covenant between God and Adam’s offspring, of which ʾIdrīs’s prophecy with its sent-down writings is a second, progressive manifestation in the order of things. Since Ôshahanj bound ʾIblīs/Satan’s forces by his written covenant and contract, he becomes the first case in al-Ṭabarī’s model opposition between kings who rule justly according to God’s Covenant and those who follow Satan and perceive themselves as gods. 10 This model then serves as a pattern for the entire History of the Messengers and the Kings, which runs parallel with the prophetic-scriptural history that connects the Qur’anic writings associated with Abraham and Moses mentioned in the last report above with reference to Q. 87, 18–19 with earlier prophecy in the time of the first Persian kings. Preliminarily, we can thus conclude that the historical discourse incorporates Persian kingship into the Qur’anic history of prophecy. The second major lawgiving event in the History is not by a king like Ôshahanj but by a prophet and messenger, namely Moses. His predecessor was Abraham, who championed exclusive servitude to God and established the ḥajj at the Kaʿba as its ritual manifestation, stood down the tyrant king Nimrod who made people serve him as a god in return for food, and initiated the Israelite genealogy through his son Isak and the Arab through his other son Ismail. 11 Al-Ṭabarī sums up Abraham’s significance as follows: [God] chose him as messenger to His creation and appointed for his descendants prophecy, writing, and message. He singled them out with sent-down writings and persuasive just judgements (al-kutub al-munzala wa-l-ḥikam al-bāligha). 12

HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 344; also 345. HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 348–352. 11 Most of HT 2/Brinner. 12 HT 2/Brinner, p. 105; mod. 9

10

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Moses is thus one of these descendants. When he receives God’s message, the Israelites are captives in Egypt under Pharaoh, and God commands Moses to liberate them. On route to the promised land after defeating Pharaoh, Moses on Mount Sinai receives God’s tablets with written commands, prohibition, guidance and ‘explanations of everything’. Thus, Moses’ lawgiving signifies the founding of a formerly captive but now free and sovereign polity based on written contract. Compared with Ôshahanj, who simply implemented the divine Covenant through just rule, and the prophets Enoch/ʾIdrīs and Abraham who received divinely sentdown writings, Moses receives God’s sent-down law, with all the necessary knowledge about everything. 13 Moses’ lawgiving thus represents further qualitative progress although within the same basic paradigm of just rule grounded in God’s Covenant. The third lawgiving event is the foundation of the Prophet’s polity, which al-Ṭabarī contextualised in terms of contractual relations between the Byzantine empire and their vassal Christian Syrian Orthodox Arab kingdom of Ghassān in Syria; the Persian Sassanid dynasty and their vassal Christian Nestorian Arab kingdom of Lakhm in southern Iraq; and the Quraysh in Mecca in Hijaz, who were custodians of the Kaʿba and had known about Abraham and the One God but had lapsed into idol worship, and were allies of the Sassanids. 14 Al-Ṭabarī explains that the good and just Sassanid shah Khusraw Anūshirwān (r. 531–579) had appointed the Arab king of Lakhm, al-Mundhir b. Nuʿmān III, as governor “over the lands extending from ʿUmān, al-Baḥrayn and al-Yamāmah to al-Ṭāʾif and the rest of Ḥijāz and all the Arabs of the intervening lands”. 15 However, the Syrian Byzantine Arab vassal raided al-Mundhir’s territory, slaughtered the inhabitants and seized extensive tracts of land. Khusraw Anūshirwān intervened on behalf of his Lakhmid vassal and restored the lands under his control. 16 Al-Ṭabarī also made a note on religion, saying that Khusraw Anūshirwān appointed a Christian overseer over some war captives from Byzantium’s forces, “with the HT 3/Brinner, pp. 72–80. On Quraysh as allies of the Sassanids, HT 5/Bosworth, pp. 324–325. 15 HT 5/Bosworth, p. 253. 16 HT 5/Bosworth, pp. 253–255. 13 14

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administrative aim of causing them to feel at home with [the overseer], because he was their co-religionist, and making them regard him with trust”. 17 Later in the History, around 602 and in the context of intensifying war between the Sassanids and the Byzantines, the Sassanid shah Khusraw Parvez (r. 590–628) was led to violate the terms of the vassal contract with the Lakhmid king al-Nuʿmān, have the king killed and abolish the Lakhm kingdom. This caused the Arabs to rise against the Sassanids and defeat them in the Battle of Dhū Qār. Al-Ṭabarī created a link between this event and the Prophet, stating: It is related from the Prophet that when the Prophet heard the news of [the tribal group of] Rabīʿa’s rout of Kisrā’s [Khusraw’s; UM] army, he exclaimed: “This [has been] the first military encounter (yawm) in which the Arabs have secured their just due from the Persians (intaṣafat al-ʿarab min al-ʿajam), and it was through me that they were given the victory”. 18

And: [al-Nuʿmān; UM] died at Khāniqīn, just a short while before the coming of Islam [lit. the enactment of peace; UM]. Soon afterward, God sent His prophet; al-Nuʿmān’s fate was the cause of the Battle of Dhū Qār. 19

Hence, because of Khusraw Parvez’s violation of the vassal contract, the Arab uprisings appear legitimate according to alṬabarī’s discourse. Moreover, he reported that this shah was generally oppressive and disruptive of the social order, because God had decided to transfer power from the Persians to the Arabs. For example, in Iraq Khusraw Parvez appointed as tax collector a man who ill-treated the people, “confiscating their wealth unlawfully on the plea of extracting the arrears of land tax. He thereby rendered them disaffected, their means of livelihood became straitened”, and they began to hate Khusraw Parvez’s

HT 5/Bosworth, p. 255. HT 5/Bosworth, p. 338; mod. 19 HT 5/Bosworth, p. 358; mod. 17 18

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rule. 20 There are many other important pieces of information in al-Ṭabarī’s reports on these events, which I cannot describe here. It is however clear that these reports on developments in Sassanid rule, involving contract violations, constitute a political context for the Prophet’s founding of his polity. There is a theoretical dimension to the narrated events, since the breach of the vassal contract between the Sassanids and the Arab kingdom of Lakhm is a breach of the terms for the relationship between ‘ruler and ruled’, i.e. the social contract. The same can be said about the shah’s appointment of the oppressive tax-collector. The actual narration of the Prophet’s lawgiving refers explicitly to Moses’ lawgiving as model. The famous report about the event, which is transmitted from the Prophet’s biographer Muḥammad b. Isḥāq (d. c. 150/767), states that God’s command came down in the form of writing (kitāb). The writing was imprinted into the Prophet’s heart (qalb), the organ considered to contain the intellect: Gabriel came with God’s command (ʾamr), and God’s Messenger (pbuh) said: “He came to me while I was asleep, with a piece of silk brocade containing writing (fīhi kitāb), and he said: ‘Read!’ I said: ‘What shall I read?’ Then he pressed me hard until I thought he was death, then he sent me off and said: ‘Read!’ I said: ‘What is it that I shall read?’ And I said that only to free myself from him repeating his treatment of me. He said: ‘Read, by the name of your Lord who created’ (Q. 96, 1) until His statement ‘conveyed to the humans knowledge that they did not have’ (Q. 96, 5). [The Prophet] said: ‘So I read it.’ He continued: ‘Then he stopped and turned away from me, and I awoke from my sleep, and it was as if a writing had been written in my heart! (wa-kaʾannamā kutiba fī qalbī kitāban)’ 21

The report then goes on to say that what came to the Prophet was ‘the greatest nāmūs that came to Moses before (al-nāmūs al-ʾakbar alladhī jāʾa ʾilā Mūsā)’, subsequently identified as Gabriel. 22 In HT 5/Bosworth, p. 376; for the longer section on Khusraw Parvez’s misrule and downfall, pp. 375–398. 21 HT 6/ Watt and McDonald, p. 71; mod. 22 HT 6/Watt and McDonald, p. 72. 20

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another version, transmitted by the historian Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī (d. 124/741) of Medina and going back to ʿĀʾisha, nāmūs is identified not with Gabriel but with what was made to descend to Moses (hādhā al-nāmūs alladhī ʾunzila ʿalā Mūsā b. ʿImrān). 23 Here the sending-down equals the giving of the law, since nāmūs is an Arabized version of Greek nomos. 24 In line with the principle of contractual rule, the Prophet then continues to build his polity by entering successive contract-based alliances with the Arab Khazraj and Aws tribes in Yathrib, then some of its Jewish tribes. 25 Hence, Yathrib becomes the Prophet’s City, Medina, with Islam as its official dīn, ‘judicial order’ and ‘religion’, expressed ritually through the prayer and prostration, and the ḥajj, for which the Prophet established the correct ritual sunna. 26 Shortly after and perhaps also overlapping somewhat with al-Ṭabarī’s time (d. 310/923), political scientists and philosophers began to theorise the term nāmūs with reference to Greek philosophy. Through the term wāḍiʿ al-nawāmīs, ‘the one who establishes the laws’, his younger contemporary al-Fārābī (d. 338/950) developed a theory of lawgiving, which involved harmonising Plato and Aristotle. Whether the lawgiver is called a philosopher, a first ruler, a king, or an imam, the function is the same, al-Fārābī argued, namely to establish laws whose principles are rooted in theoretical philosophy but are rhetorically conveyed to the public through images as religion (milla) which therefore connotes a ‘judicial order’: These things are philosophy when they are in the mind of the lawgiver. And when they are in the minds of the multitude, they are religion. For when the lawgiver knows these things, HT 6/Watt and McDonald, p. 68. See also HT 6/Watt and McDonald, p. 68, footnote 101: “The word nāmūs, which seems to represent Greek nomos (law), is not found in the Qur’an. It presumably refers to the five books of Moses (in Arabic usually Tawrāt).” 25 On the treaties and pledges of allegiance with Yathrib’s Arab tribes, known as the First and Second ʿAqaba pledges, see HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 124–138. 26 HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 127–130; on the ḥajj, HT 9/Poonawala, pp. 109–115. 23 24

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ they are evident to him through certain insight, whereas what is established in the minds of the multitude is through an image and persuasion. 27

Viewed from this perspective, al-Ṭabarī’s reports on Ôshahanj ‘Fêshdâdh’, Moses, and the Prophet as lawgivers can be seen as narrative, concrete images reflecting political theory. A possible comparative case might be Aristotle’s Politics. Aristotle argued in general terms that the ‘nature’ of a thing is what it becomes when fully developed. Applied specifically to the state, this ontological approach means that it is the ‘natural’ result of earlier forms of society, and that “man is by nature a political animal”. In the state, justice is the bond that keeps men together, and “the administration of justice, which determines what is just, is the principle of order in political society”. 28 From this perspective, alṬabarī’s reports on Covenant and the three lawgiving events can be seen as expressing theory of the origins of the state and statecraft. Covenant is human nature, from which follows the establishment of justice and social contract with written terms by Ôshahanj, then the earliest prophecy and divinely sent-down writings, then the detailed divine laws of Moses and the Prophet and their respective polities. The topic nāmūs is further developed in the century after alṬabarī and al-Fārābī. The philosopher Ibn Sīnā (d. 428/1037) attributed nāmūs to Plato’s and Aristotle’s political writings and concept nomos, and also equated it with sunna, i.e. laws for a

27 Charles Butterworth, ‘What Might We Learn From al-Fārābī About Plato and Aristotle With Respect to Lawgiving?’, Mélanges de l’Université Saint Joseph, 61 (2008), pp. 471–489; cit. p. 477, from al-Fārābī, Kitāb taḥṣīl al-saʿāda (Hyderabad: Maṭbaʿat Majlis Dāʾirat al-Maʿārif alʿUthmāniyya, 1345/1926), p. 44.2–13. I have modified the translation, thus ‘mind’ instead of ‘soul’ (nafs). On the likelihood that al-Fārābī worked with Arabic translation of an abridged version of Aristotle’s Politics, see Shlomo Pines, ‘Aristotle’s Politics in Arabic philosophy’, Israel Oriental Studies, 5 (1975), pp. 150–160. 28 The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation, ed. Jonathan Barnes, Vol. 2, ‘Politics’ (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), pp. 1987–1988 (1253a: 3–35).

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political community mediated by a prophet. 29 By comparison, the contemporary ethicist and historian Miskawayh (d. 421/1030) attributed nāmūs to Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, claiming that the equivalent Arabic terms are siyāsa wa-tadbīr, ‘statecraft and administration’, which concerns the administration of justice rather than the law itself. Miskawayh then defined three levels of nāmūs. The greatest nāmūs proceeds from God and constitutes the condition for just settlement between the claims of men (first level), and thus sets the example for the judge (second level), and the dīnār, i.e. money as the measure of the equivalence of service and reward (third level). In Arabic, the passage reads: wa-ʾArisṭūṭālīs yaqūlu ʾinna al-dīnāra nāmūsa ʿādila wa-maʿnā al-nāmūsu fī lughatihi al-siyāsa wa-l-tadbīr wa-mā ʾashbahu dhālika fahuwa yaqūlu fī kitābihi al-maʿrūf bi-Nīqūmākhiyā ʾinna al-nāmūs al-ʾakbar huwa min ʿinda Allāh tabāraka wa-taʿālā wal-ḥākim nāmūs thānī min qablihi wa-l-dīnār nāmūs thālith fanāmūs Allāh taʿālā qudwat al-nawāmīsi kullihā yaʿnī al-sharīʿa wa-l-ḥākim al-thānī muqtadin bihi wa-l-dīnāru muqtadin thālith wa-ʾinnamā qūmat al-ʾashyāʾ al-mukhtalifa bi-l-ʾathmān almukhtalifa litaṣiḥḥa al-mushārakā wa-l-muʿāmalāt wayatabayyana wajh al-ʾakhdh wa-l-ʾiʿṭāʾ. 30

It is said that Miskawayh (born in 320/932) studied al-Ṭabarī’s works, including his History, under the guidance of al-Ṭabarī’s student Abū Bakr Aḥmad b. Kāmil (d. 350/961), who served as

Martin Plessner and François Viré, ‘Nāmūs, Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Consulted online on 03 March 2019 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_COM_0845; ref. to Ibn Sīnā, Aqsām al-ʿulūm al-ʿaqliyya, in Majmūʿat al-rasāʾil, ed. Muḥyī al-Dīn Ṣabrī al-Kurdī (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat Kurdistān al-ʿIlmiyya, 1328/1910), pp. 230–231. 30 Martin Plessner and François Viré, ‘Nāmūs, Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Consulted online on 03 March 2019 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_COM_0845; ref. to Miskawayh, Tahdhīb al-akhlāq, Maqāla iv (Cairo: Khayriyya, 1322/1904), p. 38. 29

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judge in Kufa. 31 When read against the background of Miskawayh’s elaboration of nāmūs, al-Ṭabarī’s nāmūs-reports cast both Moses and the Prophet as giving the divinely mediated constitution for their polities, from which detailed law follows. This is indicated by Miskawayh’s above-cited point that “the nāmūs of God Most High is the model for all the laws, meaning al-sharīʿa” (fanāmūs Allāhi taʿālā qudwat al-nawāmīsi kullihā yaʿnī al-sharīʿa). In the research survey that follows next, I will define in more detail the institutional practices expressed in this discourse and trace its theoretical dimension to Aristotelian legacies related especially to the Arabs and the Sassanids. My thesis is that alṬabarī’s discourse on lawgivers reflects both the currency of Aristotelian theory within academia in Abbasid Baghdad in his time, and the historical circumstance that the social contract with imperial powers was an issue at stake for Arab communities, both before and especially around the time of the Prophet. Therefore, adopting a long historical perspective on these issues allows me to further explore the continuum of lawgiving, justice, and prophecy that al-Ṭabarī constructed from ancient Persian royal history to the Prophet’s polity. 32

THE ANCIENT INSTITUTIONAL SYSTEM

The world historian Marshal G. S. Hodgson and his The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization (1974) serves Ed., and Mohammed Arkoun, ‘Miskawayh’, Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition, Edited by: P. Bearman, Th. Bianquis, C.E. Bosworth, E. van Donzel, W.P. Heinrichs. Consulted online on 03 March 2019 http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/1573-3912_islam_SIM_5235. However, I have not been able to locate which source the entry refers to for this information. 32 For a general statement that al-Ṭabarī’s history established the Islamic community as the political heir of Persian kingship, see Khalidi, Arabic historical thought, p. 79; for initial studies of the constitutional and social contractual issues implicated in this continuity, see Mårtensson, ‘Discourse and Historical Analysis’; ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’; Tabari, pp. 48–54; and ‘Ibn Isḥāq’s and al-Ṭabarī’s Historical Contexts for the Quran’, pp. 337–349. In the three latter publications the significance of Aristotelian political theory is indicated but not historically investigated. 31

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as starting point here, because the work offers a framework for writing institutional history. 33 There is one problem, however. Hodgson did not discuss the nature of his sources in this work. In an earlier article, he raised the important methodological point that the histories are not mere repositories of facts but analytical in nature. For example, Hodgson argued that al-Ṭabarī’s History reflects his concern with the rule of law, particularly as applied to the issue of legitimate caliphal succession in the Islamic period. 34 Yet in The Venture of Islam it is not transparent how Hodgson’s own conceptual framework relates to that of al-Ṭabarī and other medieval historians. It is therefore possible that Hodgson’s analytical framework corresponds with paradigms integral to the sources. Hodgson’s institutional history starts in Antiquity and focuses on the economy of the Fertile Crescent and Arabia, which he defined as ‘agrarianate citied society’. Cosmopolitan cities were centres of trade, commerce, crafts, and manufacturing, and important drivers of the economy, and increasingly so just before and during Islamic time. Yet the economic basis was agriculture. Land was the most important form of property and land tax the principal source of revenue for the state and bureaucracy, the military, and the religion. 35 For analytical purposes, Hodgson identified ‘three foci of high culture’: ‘the Temple’, ‘the Court’ and ‘the Market’. The temple and its learned priests and servants was the institution around which the cities first developed, because the temple organised the infrastructure required for agriculture, For an application of Hodgson’s framework to the institutional context of the Qur’an, see Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, p. 121 and Ch. 5. 34 ‘Two Pre-Modern Historians: Pitfalls and Opportunities in Presenting Them to Moderns’, in J. U. Nef (ed.), Towards World Community, World Academy of Arts and Sciences Publications, 5 (The Hague: Dr. W. Junk N. V. Publishers, 1968), pp. 53–68. 35 Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization. Volume 1: The Classical Age of Islam (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1974), pp. 107–108, 301. On revenue from land as the economic mainstay of the Byzantine and Sassanid empires, see also Ziaul Haque, Landlord and Peasant in Early Islam: A Study of the Legal Doctrine of Muzāraʿa or Sharecropping (Islamabad: Islamic Research Institute, 1977), pp. 151–180. 33

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stored agricultural surplus, sent out traders to bring home needed goods, and organised fighting forces to defend its lands against rivals. The royal courts and their militaries and bureaucracies developed as a complementary centre, as the cities grew and the temples became insufficient as ‘central commands’. Finally, traders and the market eventually became institutionally independent from both temple and court, though negotiating access to land and farm produce with both of these, and depending for profits on the peasants’ surplus. 36 Within the logic of this model, the later institution of religious scholars, e.g. the rabbinate, Christian theologians and priests, and the Muslim scholars (ʿulamāʾ), are a development of the Temple institution, with its intersections with the state and the market. Hence, land tax (kharāj) and related terms and consequences for all concerned, including the peasants, was a standing topic in Islamic jurisprudence, as part of its function to serve the Caliphal administration. 37 In Hodgson’s view, the growing role of trade and markets in the Near Eastern economy is reflected in a ‘populist’ ethos characteristic of the ‘Irano-Semitic’ prophetic religions, especially the Abrahamic ones originating with the Hebrew prophets, but also later forms of Iranian Mazdaism (Zoroastrianism) under the Sassanid dynasty (224–651 CE). In contrast to the pagan naturedeity cults and ancient forms of Zoroastrianism, where social justice means maintaining the balance of a feudal, aristocratic order, prophetic social justice means “the justice of the market, with every person equal before the law”. 38 Even though the mercantile economy also generated inequalities, with merchants constituting new elites, the prophetic ethos served as a continuous corrective, embodied but also subdued in the scholarly institutions that identified as successors to the prophetic legacy: [S]everal of the Abrahamitic traditions (…) reflected initially an active sense of the equal dignity and ultimate rights of the less privileged classes in society. Over the centuries, within Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, p. 107. Cf. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, p. 270. 38 Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, p. 133. 36 37

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each Irano-Semitic religion, tradition tended to develop again and again reformed versions in which such egalitarian justice was commonly stressed and some degree of practical implications drawn from it. On the whole, however, as they became established the religious leaders found ways to justify accepting the social order for the present, with at best secondary modifications. Any guilt felt for present unjustifiable privilege and good fortune was to be assuaged by charitable actions and benevolent deeds; while the social injustice itself was found to be a transient matter, counterbalanced, or even eventually eliminated, in the cosmic order as a whole. 39

Concerning the period of late antiquity and early medieval Islamic time, Abbas Vali has analysed the political economy of the Persian Sassanid Empire (224–651 CE) and the Islamic empires in the former Sassanid territories in terms of a ‘system of vassalage’. In legal theory, the dynastic ruler owned the lands of the imperial territory and was obligated to ensure conditions for maintaining irrigation canals and roads, so that the lands could be cultivated. Since the dynastic ruler’s military might was too limited to control the whole realm, he relied on regional vassal governors (marzubān) to raise local armies and secure the provinces. Consequently, the ruler granted the governor the right to own and administrate a defined land area with its peasant labourers. From the produce of the peasants’ labour, the vassal would extract his own living, sustain an armed force, and submit tax revenue to the state treasury. Given the limited reach of the ruler’s military power, however, vassals could resist submitting their due taxes, sometimes also breaking their contract of allegiance with the ruler. In such cases, the ruler’s legal ownership of all land gave him the right to reclaim the land from a rebellious vassal. Vassals who fulfilled their contractual obligations, on the other hand, had ownership and inheritance rights to their land. 40 Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, pp. 133–134. Abbas Vali, Pre-capitalist Iran: A Theoretical History (London: I.B. Tauris, 1993), chapter 6. For examples of the same theory of the ruler’s ownership of all the lands, and his obligation to irrigate, dating to 675–

39 40

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Within this institution of vassalage, there are two main contracting parties: the imperial ruler and the provincial governor, who managed minor landlords or heads of villages, who collected tax from the peasants’ produce and enlisted them as foot soldiers. The same applied to the other great empire of late antiquity, Byzantium. As Ziaul Haque has shown, the peasants’ legal status varied with time and place. In some cases, they were defined as belonging to the land as serfs, liable to enslavement if they could not pay their due rent to the governor. In other cases, they could act as merchants and sell their produce, and pay their rent in money rather than kind. 41 Haque also points out that the Zoroastrian temples and Christian churches and monasteries owned and managed vast landed estates too, and although Christian ethical discourse sought to limit the landlords’ abusive powers over peasants (in line with Hodgson’s ‘prophetic populism’), Christianity did not change peasants’ legal status at the level of imperial law. 42

THE ARABS

The Arabs’ history is an integral part of this ancient system of vassalage. Abd al-Aziz Duri has traced records of the Arabs as far back in time as possible, to imperial Assyrian sources from the 800s BCE. Duri argues these ancient records describe the Arabs as a people in the ethnic sense, i.e. genealogically related, and with a territory of their own, even though different groups of Arabs have different names. The territory encompasses the Arabian Peninsula, Sinai, and the southern parts of Syria and Iraq, and includes both cities and agrarian sedentary communities, though pastoral nomadism and trade was the core economy. 43 650 BCE from South Arabia, see Christian Julien Robin, ‘Before Ḥimyar: Epigraphic Evidence for the Kingdoms of South Arabia’, in Greg Fisher (ed.), Arabs and Empires before Islam (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), pp. 90–126; pp. 119–122. For Vali’s system of vassalage applied to the Qur’an’s context, see Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, Ch. 5. 41 Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 152, 155–169. 42 Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 153, 156–158, 168. 43 A.A. Duri, The Historical Formation of the Arab Nation: A Study in Identity and Consciousness (London: Routledge, 1987), pp. 4–7.

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Consequently, Duri perceived access to trade routes and tributetaxes for trading as the main issues determining relations between Arab tribes and the imperial rulers, from Antiquity onwards. 44 He also highlighted the territorial foundation of the large tribal groups who traced their genealogy to South Arabia and Yemen: Lakhm in southern Iraq, Ghassān in southern Syria, Kinda in the South Eastern interior of the Arabian Peninsula, and al-Aws and al-Khazraj in Hijaz. The tribe “was based on the land it owned”, and members of other tribes could join it as protective clients (mawālī) and enter its genealogy, if they helped cultivate the land. 45 Hence, the Arab tribes had to negotiate ownership of land and its produce, and access to trade routes, with the imperial powers and with local kingdoms, notably those in South Arabia. Robert Hoyland has developed Duri’s ‘ancient perspective’ into a survey of all the different kinds of pre-Islamic records of the Arabs in all the relevant regions. Like Duri, Hoyland presupposes that ‘Arab’ refers to an ethnic group, though comprising very different cultures and economies, from urban to agricultural to pastoral-nomadic. Concerning the economy, Hoyland highlights a particularly valuable resource, namely the gold, silver and copper reserves that since Antiquity were mined in e.g. Oman, Yemen and Hijaz. 46 This suggests that control of trade routes also involved trade with these metals, derived from regions settled by Arabs. Jan Retsö has questioned the notion that ‘Arab’ (ʿarab) and ‘Arabic’ (ʿarabī) refers to one ethnic group and their vernacular language, arguing that it is only with the Umayyad Caliphate (40/661–132/750) that such a notion of a homogenous people emerged. Retsö re-read the ancient sources surveyed by Hoyland, including Assyrian cuneiform records from the 800s BCE, 47 the Hebrew Bible, 48 Mesopotamian records of Arab settlements dating Duri, The Historical Formation, pp. 6, 18–20. Duri, The Historical Formation, p. 12. 46 Robert G. Hoyland, Arabia and the Arabs: From the Bronze Age to the Coming of Islam (London: Routledge, 2001), pp. 110–112. 47 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity: Their history from the Assyrians to the Umayyads (London: Routledge, 2003), pp. 119ff. 48 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 136–147; cf. pp. 119–121; chapter 8. 44 45

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to the 700s BCE, Greek narrative sources from the 500s BCE through to the Prophet’s time, and a range of late antique Christian and Jewish sources. 49 Retsö also identifies al-Ṭabarī’s History as a source of ancient Arab history, since al-Ṭabarī transmitted Iraqi records about the first Arab settlements in the south-western region by the Euphrates named al-Anbār (‘the granaries’). The settlement dates to the reign of the neoBabylonian king Nebuchadnezzar II (r. c. 605–562 BCE). AlṬabarī’s source was the historian Hishām b. al-Kalbī (d. c. 204/819), who used records from the Lakhmid kingdom in alḤīra (200s–602 CE), i.e. the Sassanid Arab vassals mentioned above. According to al-Ṭabarī’s reports, there was a continuous settlement of Arabs in al-Anbār from Nebuchadnezzar to the founding of the Lakhmid kingdom in the third century CE. 50 Combining the information in these sources with analysis of Qur’anic vocabulary and lexica, above all Ibn Manẓūr’s (d. 710/1311) Lisān al-ʿarab, Retsö argues that ancient and Qur’anic references to ‘Arab’ and ‘Arabic’ (ʿ-r-b and ʿ-r-b-ī) do not refer to one ethnic group with a common genealogy and language but to peoples with certain economies and functions. They were predominantly sedentary, settled in villages (qurā, sing. qarya) in oases and on the fringes of the deserts of the Arabian Peninsula and Sinai. Their economy consisted of trade, agriculture and animal husbandry, with a monopoly on camel breeding, which gave them access to trade routes through the desert interior of the Peninsula. Hence, the famous nomadic Bedouin were only one kind of ‘Arab’ groups. Arab kings would enter pacts and treaties with the imperial rulers, as documented from Assyrian times onwards, suggesting that they often served as military forces for the empires. 51 Hence, and drawing on Ibn Manẓūr, Retsö Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 577–578. Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, p. 157, and note 288 on the meaning of al-Anbār; HT 5/Bosworth, pp. 20–22. 51 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 578–585; cf. 48 –51, on villages. Note that I am not following Retsö’s other thesis that the term qurrāʾ, which in the early Islamic histories refers to ‘the readers of the Qur’an’, actually refers to ‘villagers’, i.e. the people of al-qurā. In my view, his argument about sedentary village communities holds independently of his thesis 49 50

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concluded that ʿ-r-b refers to a group of people (jīl), to which a person is born or adopted, but which is not a blood-tie. Secondly, it refers to specific practices: ‘to clarify’, but above all ‘to guarantee’, ‘to give pledges or security’, often in commercial contexts, and in political contexts ‘to swear oaths’ of political allegiance or upon adoption into a tribe. Retsö extrapolates that ʿarab also could have had the religious meaning ‘those who have entered into the service of a divinity and remain his slaves or property’, referring to Herodotus’ (d. c. 430–420 BCE) description of pledge-ceremonies among Arabs using the Greek term pístis, ‘faith’, but also ‘pledge’, ‘guarantee’. 52 Retsö connects this meaning with pagan cults among Arabs, both in Syria and in Hijaz (Mecca). 53 Entering treaties and pacts is, however, a general practice related both to the vassal contracts and tribal alliances, and to trade and commerce. Yet Andrew Marsham too suggests that oaths and pledges occupied a particularly important place in Arab political culture, in his study of covenants, pacts, and oaths of allegiance in Arabic Islamic sources. Following Retsö, Marsham points out that Herodotus, in his description of Arab pledge ceremonies, claimed that “No nation regards the sanctity of a pledge (pístis) more seriously than the Arabs,” and that they invoked their gods as witnesses to the terms of the pledge. 54 on qurrāʾ. For a survey and critique of Retsö’s and earlier versions of the thesis on qurrāʾ, see Mustafa Shah, ‘The Quest for the Origins of the qurrāʾ in the Classical Islamic Tradition’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 7:2 (2005), pp. 1–35. 52 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 597–598. Cf. Hoyland, who argues that Arab pledges presupposed kinship as blood ties, based on his reading of the same description by Herodotus of an Arab oath ceremony where the contracting parties mixed blood; Arabia and the Arabs, p. 115. Hoyland appears to take the mixing of blood literally, as signifying ‘blood ties’, whereas e.g. Duri perceived kinship and tribal adoption of new members as based on sharing in the cultivation of the tribal land, as discussed above; i.e. a territorial and labour-based concept of kin. 53 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, chapter 22. 54 Andrew Marsham, Rituals of Islamic Monarchy: Accession and Succession in the First Muslim Empire (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009), p. 24; cf. Hoyland, Arabia and the Arabs, p. 115.

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However, records show e.g. Assyrian rulers invoking their gods as witnesses to the terms of the vassal oath, who also guarantee to enact the curses specified in the treaty, should the vassal violate his terms. 55 Whether Arabs held contractual pledges and oaths in higher esteem than other peoples cannot be further investigated here, but I will return to Retsö’s thesis about the meaning of ‘Arab’ in Chapter 2. To summarise: this survey shows that ancient Arab political culture and discourses reflected the institutionalised vassal contract and its theoretical paradigm, which included the role that gods played as witnesses to and guarantors of treaties and pacts.

LAW, RELIGION, AND PHILOSOPHY 500–600 CE

In this section I will sketch relations between law, religion, and philosophy, as they played out within the imperial system in the period 500–600 CE, when the Arabs’ places in the system and the role of their religions becomes clearer. During this period centralizing institutional reforms took place in the Byzantine and Sassanid Empires. In Byzantium in the year 529, the Emperor Justinian I (r. 527–565) closed the philosophical school of Athens and banned any teaching of philosophy outside of Christian theology. He also created a new code of law, merging the civil law (nomoi) with the Eastern Orthodox (or Melkite) Church’s canon law (canones), which included ecclesiastical topics and doctrine. In this way, Justinian subjected doctrine to the Emperor’s jurisdiction. The code included a new statement, that “the canons enacted by the ecumenical councils of Nicaea, Constantinople, Ephesus and Chalcedon be legally effective, to have the force of law, to be considered nomoi”. 56 According to Haque, Justinian also Marsham, Rituals of Islamic Monarchy, p. 25. See also Robin, ‘Before Ḥimyar’, on a South Arabian pact from around 650 BCE, which includes the following formula: “[W]hen [the ruler] put together an alliance of communes with a god and a patron and a pact and an alliance”; p. 118. 56 Wouter Druwé, ‘The Relationship between Civil and Canon Law in the Eastern Orthodox Tradition’, Krakowskie Studia z Historii Państwa i Prawa, 8:4 (2015), pp. 343–356; cit. p. 347. 55

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promoted the expansion of church- and monastery land estates into virtual governorships. 57 He established that peasants tied to the land and its cultivation by birth, i.e. serfs, could not be bought free or be released from their bond by any act of charity. 58 Thus, Justinian strengthened both the state and the church by coupling state-enforced doctrine and a merged civil and canon law with the enabling of the church to increase its land holdings and the securing of peasant labourers to work the lands. These changes had consequences for the Oriental Orthodox Churches, i.e. the ‘Monophysite’ Syrian Orthodox Jacobites connected with the Byzantine Arab vassal kingdom and the ‘Duophysite’ Nestorians, eventually connected with the Sassanid Arab vassal kingdom. Each in their own way, these churches had rejected the definition of Christ’s nature established by the council of Chalcedon in 451. Sidney Griffith has pointed out that the new, legally enforced Byzantine conciliar orthodoxy inspired these churches to make systematic use of Aristotle’s writings on logic (the Organon) to defend and develop their doctrines and ecclesiastical identities. Hence, translations of Aristotle’s works from Greek into these churches’ Syriac language began in the 500s, in the context of their contestations of the Byzantine centre’s new orthodoxy, and doctrinal polemics amongst themselves. 59 In the Sassanid sphere there developed another trajectory of Aristotelian philosophy. F. E. Peters has showed that Aristotelian legacies were associated with Alexander the Great’s imperial domain (r. 336–323 BCE), which spanned Iran and Afghanistan in its expansion eastwards to northern India. In late Antiquity, 57 Haque, Landlord and Peasant, p. 156, ref. to A. C. Johnson and L. C. West, Byzantine Egypt: Economic Studies (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1949), p. 32. 58 Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 158, 160. 59 Sidney Griffith, The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque: Christians and Muslims in the World of Islam (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), pp. 108–113. Cf. F. E. Peters, who dates the beginning of Syriac translations of Aristotle’s Organon already to 450, directly related to the council of Chalcedon (451); Aristotle and the Arabs: The Aristotelian Tradition in Islam (New York: New York University Press, 1968), pp. 38, 44.

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sources state that the Sassanid Shahs sponsored philosophy and sciences from early on. Hence, the Pahlavi Zoroastrian text Denkart described the scientific and philosophical endeavours of Shah Shapur I (r. 241–272) in terms that, in Peters’ view, may reflect Aristotle’s categories. Note that in the following quote, it is the religious writings that are said to treat the sciences and the categories: 60 The King of Kings, Shapur, son of Artaxsathr, further collected those writings from the Religions which were dispersed throughout India, the Byzantine Empire, and other lands, and which treated of medicine, astronomy, movement, time, space, substance, creation, becoming, passing away, change in quality, growth (?), and other processes and organs. These he added to the Avesta and commanded that a fair copy of all of them be deposited in the Royal Treasury.

During the 400s and 500s, the Nestorians established themselves in the Sassanid Empire as the official ‘Church of Persia’ and became part of the already existing philosophical legacies in the realm. After Justinian I closed the school of Athens in 529, some of its members, including the Aristotle-commentator Simplicius, took up residence in the Sassanid Empire under the great Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān (r. 531–579), renowned for his sponsorship of science and philosophy. An edict attributed to Anūshirwān declares: Those who say that it is possible to understand Being through the revelation of Religion and also by analogy, are to be deemed Researchers (after truth).

Peters understands ‘analogy’ here as corresponding to Greek syllogistike and the later Arabic term qiyās, and he highlights the edict’s conciliatory approach: ‘revelation’ and ‘reason’ are equally valid paths to pursue the truth. 61 Peters also cites the Byzantine historian Agathias (d. 582) saying that Anūshirwān was so skilled

60 61

Peters, Aristotle, pp. 45–46; quote from p. 46. Peters, Aristotle, p. 47.

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in the thought of both Plato and Aristotle that he could even understand Plato’s metaphysical dialogue Timaeus. 62 Another important Aristotle commentator who joined Anūshirwān’s court in Ctesiphon was Paul the Persian (d. 571), a Nestorian theologian from Nisibis. Failing to become metropolitan of the Church of Persia, as was his initial aim, he converted to Zoroastrianism. 63 He composed an introduction to logic based on parts of Aristotle’s Organon (Prior Analytics), organised according to the Alexandrian school model and preserved in Syriac, and a commentary on Aristotle’s De Interpretatione, which includes his theory of language, translated from Pahlavi into Syriac around 650–660. 64 Paul addressed both works to Anūshirwān. 65 Dimitri Gutas shows that Paul transmitted Aristotle’s classification of subjects, and that translations of his works into Arabic in the early 900s, most likely by the Nestorian logician Abū Bishr Mattā (d. 328/940), provided the basis for al-Fārābī’s (d. 338/950) and Miskawayh’s (d. 421/1030) classification systems. Hence, Paul’s works appear to have been continuously influential in philosophical and Aristotelian milieus that bridged Sassanid and Islamic history. 66 To return to Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān: like the Emperor Justinian in the Byzantine realm, he too undertook a major centralizing reform. Hodgson explains the background as follows. The landed nobility and regional kings had become increasingly independent vis-à-vis the dynastic ruler. To break the power of the nobility, Anūshirwān’s father Qubādh had supported an egalitarian prophetic mass-movement, which raised commoners to new positions of power and seized lands from aristocratic landlords. The result was social turmoil. When Anūshirwān Peters, Aristotle, p. 47. Dimitri Gutas, ‘Paul the Persian on the classification of the parts of Aristotle’s philosophy: a milestone between Alexandria and Baghdad’, Der Islam, 60:2 (1983), pp. 231–267; p. 238. 64 Peters, Aristotle, pp. 47–48. The Syriac translator of the commentary was Severus Sebokht (d. 667). See also Gutas, ‘Paul the Persian’, pp. 239, n. 15; 246. 65 Gutas, ‘Paul the Persian’, p. 246. 66 Gutas, ‘Paul the Persian’, p. 254. 62 63

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acceded the throne, he suppressed the prophetic movement and restored order, but also reorganised the land tax. Instead of simply levying tax from the vassal landlords, who collected it from the peasants, he invested in infrastructure and irrigation in the rich Mesopotamian lands called al-Sawād (‘the black soil’), increasing the peasants’ production. He also centralised taxation by making the administration in charge of it, and used revenue to create a new state-funded military and bureaucracy, which weakened the power of the regional vassal kings and set taxes on a more commercial basis. Hodgson argues that the new military force consisted partly of Arab tribesmen, recruited because they were autonomous from the landed aristocracy and thus more loyal to the ruler. 67 Alongside the reforms wars between Byzantium and the Sassanids intensified during the late 500s and early 600s. Initially, each empire’s Arab vassal kingdom gained in importance: the Byzantine vassal kingdom of Ghassān in Syria, under the Jafnid dynasty, affiliated with the Syrian Orthodox ‘Jacobite’ church, and the Sassanid vassal kingdom of Lakhm in south-east Iraq, under the Naṣrid dynasty, with the capital alḤīra. The last Naṣrid ruler, al-Nuʿmān III (r. 580–602), converted from pagan religion to the Nestorian church, which had sizeable representation in al-Ḥīra. 68 Both vassal dynasties were eventually abolished by their respective imperial rulers, first the Jafnids in 582, then the Naṣrids in 602. Hodgson argues it was the strength and prosperity of the Sassanid new state army and bureaucracy that made Shah Khusraw Parvez (r. 590–628) abolish the Lakhmid kingdom and instead rely on other tribes. As a direct consequence, Arabs in north-eastern Arabia initiated military assaults against the Sassanids, starting in the year 610 with the 67 Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, pp. 142–144. On Anūshirwān’s tax reform, see also Zeev Rubin, ‘The Reforms of Khusro Anūshirwān’, in Averil Cameron (ed.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East. Volume III: States, Resources and Armies (Princeton, N.J.: The Darwin Press, Inc., 1995), pp. 227–297); Richard N. Frye, The History of Ancient Iran (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1984), p. 326. 68 Greg Fisher, Philip Wood, et. al., ‘Arabs and Christianity’, in Fisher (ed.), Arabs and Empires, pp. 276–372; pp. 313–363.

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Battle of Dhū Qār. This coincides in time with the beginning of the Prophet’s mission in Mecca in the Hijaz, as mentioned above. In Hodgson’s view, there was a connection between these tribes’ initial raids against the Sassanids and their acceptance of Hijazi leadership and participation in the large-scale conquests, which began in 11/633–12/634 under Khālid b. al-Walīd, the general of Abū Bakr in Medina, and which eventually brought about the fall of the Sassanid Empire in 19/640. 69 The imperial contest drew in South Arabia as well, a region with longstanding close links to the Hijaz. Michael Lecker has argued that rabbis from Medina (then Yathrib) established Judaism in the southern region of Ḥimyar (Yemen) in the 400s. 70 As Christian Julien Robin shows, Judaism became the official religion of kings who ruled Ḥimyar between 380 to c. 530. During the 400s, the Ḥimyar kingdom controlled most of the Arabian Peninsula, including Medina, up to Palestine in the west and the southern Iraqi border in the east. This expansive reach made Ḥimyar a rival of the Lakhmid kingdom, alerting both Byzantium and the Sassanids of the challenge. 71 Around 520, the Byzantine ally in the Christian Ethiopian kingdom of Aksūm invaded Ḥimyar, crushed the Jewish dynasty, and enthroned a king of their own, who shared the Ethiopian Oriental Ortodox ‘Monophysite’ creed. The king was overthrown, however, by the general Abraha, who acceded to the throne (r. c. 535–565). While continuing the alliance with Aksūm-Byzantium, Abraha changed the official Christianity, replacing the Trinitarian doctrine of Christ as God’s Son with a definition of Christ as God’s Messiah, i.e. more in line with the Jewish religion (and later Islam). 72 Abraha too controlled much of the Arabian Peninsula, including Medina from around 552. He is also attributed a failed attempt to Hodgson, The Venture of Islam, p. 199. Michael Lecker, ‘The conversion of Ḥimyar to Judaism and the Jewish Banū Hadl of Medina’, Die Welt des Orients, 26 (1995), pp. 129–136. 71 Christian Julien Robin, ‘Ḥimyar, Aksūm, and Arabia Deserta in Late Antiquity: The Epigraphic Evidence’, in Fisher (ed.), Arabs and Empires, pp. 129–139. 72 On Abraha and religion: Robin, ‘Ḥimyar, Aksūm, and Arabia Deserta’, pp. 153–154. 69 70

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invade Mecca, after his son succeeded to the throne, in the year 570, i.e. the same year the Prophet was born. 73 However, around 570–575, Sassanid forces invaded Ḥimyar and ended AksūmiteByzantine control over the Arabian Peninsula. Concerning Medina, Michael Lecker has argued, based on reports from the Abbasid geographer and land tax administrator Ibn Khurradādhbih (d. c. 300/912), that until around 550 the city was ruled by Jewish tribes under Sassanid vassalage. A Sassanid governor (marzubān) had appointed an official, who collected taxes from Medina through the Jewish tribes Naḍīr and Qurayẓa, who were kings (mulūk) collecting tax from the pagan Arab tribes Aws and Khazraj. Other sources indicate that the power balance shifted in the last quarter of the 500s, when a king of the Khazraj became ruler and tax collector over the Jewish tribes. This Khazraj king was appointed by the Sassanid vassal king alNuʿmān in al-Ḥīra, who received the taxes collected in Medina. 74 If one correlates Lecker’s and Robin’s studies, it appears that Jewish tribes ruled over Medina simultaneously with the Jewish kingdom in Ḥimyar, and continued to do so after the fall of the latter until Abraha took control over Medina in 552. By the time the Sassanids invaded Ḥimyar around 570–575, and the Sassanid vassal king al-Nuʿmān in al-Ḥīra extended his right to taxation into the Hijaz region and over Medina, the Jewish tribes Naḍīr and Qurayẓa were reduced to tax paying status under a pagan Arab king of Khazraj. By the time of the Prophet’s mission, around 610, the Sassanids were still in control over Ḥimyar but had abolished their Arab vassal king in al-Ḥīra and were battling Arab tribes making incursions into south-western Iraq. In other words, the Arabs of Hijaz were gaining strength in relation to Sassanid vassal and imperial power and tax-claims, and the Prophet’s new religion and polity emerges in that context.

Robin, ‘Ḥimyar, Aksūm, and Arabia Deserta’, pp. 151–152; Robin also discusses uncertainties regarding the year in which Abraha attacked Mecca. 74 Michael Lecker, ‘The Levying of Taxes for the Sassanians in Pre-Islamic Medina’, Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam, 27 (2002), pp. 109–126; p. 123. Cf. Duri, The Historical Formation, p. 18. 73

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Duri’s above-described focus on trade adds to the economic dimension of this picture. In his view, the Byzantine-Aksūmite thrust to control South Arabia and the Peninsula had to do with access to trade routes, and Abraha tried to conquer Mecca because it was a centre for trade, facilitated by the pilgrimage institution located there. Similarly, the motivation behind the Sassanid appointment of the Jewish kings over Medina and conquest of Yemen from Abraha was to secure trade routes. In Mecca, Duri argued, the Prophet’s tribal group Quraysh strove for neutrality in relation to the empires, to maximise trade and the benefits from pilgrimage to Mecca’s pagan temple. 75 The importance of these trade routes and regions becomes even more apparent if one also considers Hoyland’s above-mentioned point that Islamic sources, including al-Ṭabarī’s history, and modern archaeological research show gold and silver mining in Yemen and Hijaz, particularly Medina, in the whole period 430–830. 76 For the Islamic period (610–214/830), Gene W. Heck has argued that control of these metals strengthened the currencies and commercial economy of the early Islamic states. 77 Given that this would have been the case in the pre-Islamic period too, it would explain why the imperial powers invested so much in controlling the Peninsula and its trade routes.

SUMMARY: THE INSTITUTIONAL SIGNIFICANCE OF RELIGION AND PHILOSOPHY

Above we have seen gods functioning as witnesses and guarantors of the terms specified in various kinds of treaties and pledges, reflecting institutional practices in the system of vassalage. We have also seen how religion provides political identity. Identification with specific Christological doctrine became a matter of Byzantine imperial law as well as its contestation. Hence, the Byzantine vassal kingdom of Ghassān identified with the Syrian Orthodox ‘Monophysite’ doctrine, while the Sassanid Duri, The Historical Formation, pp. 18–20. Hoyland, Arabia and the Arabs, pp. 111–112. 77 Gene W. Heck, ‘Gold mining in Arabia and the rise of the Islamic state’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, 42 (1999), pp. 364–392. 75 76

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vassal kingdom of Lakhm was initially pagan before it affiliated with Nestorianism and its specific Christology. Similarly, when the Ethiopian Aksūm kingdom and ally of Byzantium conquered Ḥimyar they replaced official Ḥimyarite Judaism with their own Christian creed, which Abraha subsequently modified, perhaps to better suit the legacy of Judaism in Yemen, while also giving it his own doctrinal twist. Philosophy played an important part in this political scheme. A crucial element of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian’s legal reform was his ban against teaching Athenian philosophy outside the theology of the law-enforced state doctrine. Consequently, both the ‘Monophysite’ Jacobites and the ‘Duophysite’ Nestorians relied on Aristotelian logic in their contestation of Justinian’s Chalcedonian creed, as well as for purposes of internal competition, while Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān welcomed, among others, Aristotelian philosophers, and Nestorian theologians. Following Gutas, it appears that Paul the Persian’s works on Aristotle’s distinctions and categorisation of philosophical subjects and disciplines, and his commentaries on Aristotle’s logic and theory of language, constituted a philosophical discourse centred first at the Sassanid court in Ctesiphon and continuing into Islamic time. Peters’ studies show that the Sassanid royal sponsors supported explorations of the intersections between philosophy and religion. Thus, while Anūshirwān repressed a prophetic movement among peasants and ‘commoners’ because of the societal turmoil it caused, he apparently also sought to address the grievances that gave rise to the movement through a reform of the land tax. The usefulness of Aristotle’s distinctions and categorisation of subjects becomes clearer in this light, since logic and language are the basic tools of law, and a legal reform necessarily involved categorising and defining terms. The significance of religion would then be that, as a continuation of ‘the Temple’ institution, it was part of the administration and legislation of the land tax. Hence, the practical benefits of discursive harmonising between ‘religion’ and ‘philosophy’. Concerning the economic dimension of all this, Hoyland’s and Heck’s studies imply that mines would have made the regions Yemen and Hijaz particularly valuable. This adds significance to

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Duri’s attention to the conflation between religious identity and commercial competition and highlights the mercantile dimension of the agrarianate economy that Hodgson connected with the egalitarian ‘prophetic ethos’, which challenged the hierarchical values associated with paganism and landed aristocracy. Viewed from this perspective, Retsö’s thesis, that ‘Arab’ referred to the religious function of pledging service to a god, expressed through the terms of legal and commercial securities and political allegiances, appears reasonable, especially since the deity’s function as witness and guarantor of pledges and securities is as applicable in pagan as in monotheist discourse. Viewed from Hodgson’s perspective, again, the difference between pagan and monotheist discourses, which both converge around ‘contract’, is one of values: the pagan hierarchical-aristocratic ideals versus prophetic mercantile egalitarianism. This is where Haque’s study of peasants’ legal status in Byzantine and Sassanid contexts, either as serfs bound to the land and paying their rent to landlords in kind, or as owners of the produce of their labour, becomes salient. Commercialisation could give peasants ownership of their produce, so that they could sell it at the market and make profits. If, as Retsö argues, Arabs were predominantly settled agriculturalists and traders, ‘prophetic egalitarianism’ could imply changes in the status of the peasants. Hence, the Prophet’s religious mission in the pagan city of Mecca can be seen as representing a new Arab-ruled polity, free from imperial vassalage and serfdom, and in the position to appoint its own governors and collect taxes, and in control of trade routes and mines, as well.

AL-ṬABARĪ’S THEORETICAL CONTRIBUTIONS

So far, al-Ṭabarī’s contribution to the historical research outlined above consists in his conceptualisation of political history as a relationship between the institutions of ‘prophets’ and ‘kings’, and his focus on divine Covenant as a model for social contract, as illustrated in the introduction to this chapter. It is possible to detect the contract-topic in the context he constructed around the Prophet’s mission, where the Sassanid breach of the vassal contract with the Iraqi Lakhmids was a determining factor. Thus,

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he established a political connection between the Arabs in Iraq and the Hijaz, centred on the terms of the formers’ vassal contract with the Sassanians, but also including the third, economic-level law, e.g. the peasants’ rights to their wealth and livelihood. This topical focus and explanation correspond with current research both into the significance of ‘contract’ in Arab contexts, and the wider pattern of administrative connections between Iraq and Hijaz. Furthermore, if Covenant is perceived as social contract theory, with its range of possible, practical implications, it implies that al-Ṭabarī’s discourse and analysis is theoretically informed, in a way that current historical studies and analysis is not. This view of the History can be seen as confirmed by his use of the term nāmūs, ‘law’, when referring to the Prophet’s mission and reception of the first sent-down verses. Given that only slightly later Aristotelian philosophers used the same Arabised term as translation of Greek nomos, it can be tentatively assumed that alṬabarī conceptualised the Prophet as lawgiver and founder of a polity in a theoretical sense. His historical treatment of Adam’s offspring (humanity) in terms of ‘kingship and prophecy’ suggests that the foundational monarchic social contract and capacity for justice can be seen in the light of Aristotle’s political ‘naturalism’: the human condition is political. There is then a development, where Moses’ and the Prophet’s divine written laws convey God’s detailed knowledge in a full sense, thus representing in the fullest sense the ‘nature’ of the justly administered state. The possible egalitarian implications of this prophetic legacy will be further explored in the chapters that follow, keeping in mind that according to al-Ṭabarī’s discourse the Arabs had once known Abraham’s egalitarian servitude to none but God the One but had lapsed into pagan idol worship. Viewed from this perspective, al-Ṭabarī appears like a good example of a ‘religious’ thinker who conceptualises religion in social terms, in Michel de Certeau’s sense. We have seen above how he identified a religion with group-identity, in the report about Christian war captives in Sassanid territory. This concept of religion also had a theoretical foundation. As I argued in the Introduction chapter, al-Ṭabarī referred to divine Creation in his exegesis of Q. 4, 1 to convey natural law theory and a legal

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concept of ‘human rights’. In this chapter, we have seen how he referred to divine Creation in the History to express social contract theory, which current researchers define as a necessary complement to human rights (albeit referring to a modern, liberal democratic social contract). Thus, al-Ṭabarī identified divine Creation with legal and political concepts, depending on discipline (Qur’an exegesis or history). De Certeau argued that conceptualisations of religion in societal terms reflect an institutional order of religious diversity. The survey above shows that in the region that is the focus of al-Ṭabarī’s History, religious diversity is institutionalised as far back in time as there are historical records. In addition to the functions of religion to provide doctrinal identity for polities and institutionally serve the administration, the divinities served as guardians of contract. If it is a vassal contract the deity serves a legal and political function, if it is a commercial one the function is legal and economic. AlṬabarī’s discourse can thus be assumed to reflect a longstanding institutional order, with reference to which he analysed why God sent the Prophet to the Arabs. Expressed in ‘God-centred’ terms: in His capacity as Creator and Surveyor of Contract, God transferred imperial power from the Sassanids to the Prophet’s polity. And once the Prophet’s polity is established, God surveys this social contract too; according to Q. 48, al-Fatḥ, 10: In fact, those who swear the oath of allegiance to you are really pledging allegiance to God, with God’s hand being over their hands. So, whoever breaks his oath breaks it to his own loss, while whoever fulfils what he has compacted with God, He will bring to him a great reward!

This God does not because of a special favour to the Prophet but because being God, He surveys all compacts; according to Q. 3, Āl ʿImrān, 76: Yes, whoever fulfils his compact and his obligations: indeed, God loves those who fulfil their obligations!

CHAPTER TWO. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC AND COMPOSITION In this second chapter the topic of God’s Covenant and its institutional and theoretical implications is directed to another of al-Ṭabarī’s disciplines and works, namely Qur’an exegesis and the commentary Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān, compiled between 283/896–290/903. 1 The aim is to describe al-Ṭabarī’s theory of the Qur’an’s Arabic language, rhetoric, and composition, and compare it with Aristotelian theory of language and rhetoric. The outline runs as follows. I start with an exposition of al-Ṭabarī’s theory and concepts, after which I proceed to elaborate their implications for analysis of the Qur’an’s topics and composition. This section is followed by a research survey, including of the transmission and translations of Aristotelian works on language and rhetoric. 2

PRELIMINARIES: AL-ṬABARĪ’S THEORY OF LANGUAGE AND QUR’ANIC ARABIC

In the long Introduction to the commentary al-Ṭabarī developed his hermeneutics and exegetical methodology, which are Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 106, note 363, ref. to Ibn al-Nadīm, Fihrist, ed. G. Flügel (Leipzig, 1871-72). Translation B. Dodge (New York and London, 1970), p. 264, lines 9f. 2 Sections of this chapter up to Aristotle’s theory of language are treated also in Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, Ch. 3; Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 239–257. 1

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grounded in a theory of language. The commentary’s title Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān, translatable as ‘The comprehensive collection of clear distinctions of the original meaning of the signs of the Reading’, conveys al-Ṭabarī’s aim: to attain the meaning that God intended to communicate. 3 As I will show here, the aim connects his hermeneutics with his concept of the divine Covenant: the Qur’an’s meaning refers to God’s Covenant and its terms. Al-Ṭabarī begins the Introduction by presenting a theory of language. First, he established the premise, that God has created people with the ‘natural’ intellectual capability to understand and recognise the truth of His message, when His messengers convey it to them. People’s recognition of the message implies that ‘they have no proof (ḥujja) against God’ (Q. 4, 165), whereas God has the ‘persuasive proof’ (ḥujja bāligha): Each existing thing testifies to His Oneness, and each senseperception is a guide to His lordship, through the characteristics which He made inherent in things, namely shortage and abundance, impotence and need, susceptibility to accidental facts and subjection to inevitable incidents, so that the persuasive proof (al-ḥujja al-bāligha) shall belong to Him (Q. 6, 149). Then He arranged the indications testifying to Himself, and in the containers of the intellect (qulūb) He established a degree of His splendour to enlighten them, by the Messengers whom He sent to whomsoever He wished of His servants and who called [the people] to the truth that had become clear to them and the proofs that had taken root in their faculties of reasoning, so that the people would have no proof against God, once the messengers had come (Q. 4, 165), and so that He could cause those of discernment and intelligence to remember [allusion to Q. 3, 7]. 4

For motivations of this translation of the title and its terms, in the context of al-Ṭabarī’s hermeneutics, see Mårtensson, ‘The Persuasive Proof’, pp. 391–392; ‘Through the Lens of Modern hermeneutics’, esp. p. 32. On the significance of bayān as a linguistic concept in al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis, see the reference study, Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 73–76. 4 Al-Ṭabarī, Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān, ed. Ṣidqī Ḥamīd alʿAṭṭār, 15 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1995), vol. 1, part 1, p. 13. In what 3

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 37 Next step is the definition of language. Al-Ṭabarī established that language is a capability to communicate through clear distinctions (bayān), which enables people to interact and cooperate: Among the greatest blessings which God has conferred upon His servants and the most significant favours He has given to His created beings is the gift of clear distinctions (bayān), by which they may convey through clear distinctions their innermost subjects (ḍamāʾir ṣudūrihim) and indicate their personal concerns (ʿazāʾim nufūsihim), for He had by it softened their tongues and eased their difficulties. 5 By it they may pronounce His Oneness and praise and holiness, and by it they may care for their own needs, converse with each other, get acquainted, and engage with each other. 6

This statement equates meaning with what the speaker conveys, through clear distinctions, of his or her ‘innermost subjects and personal concerns’. The same premise applies to God, Who equally conveys to peoples through the clear distinctions of language His intended message, through His messengers, in this case manifested as the Qur’an. Concerning the understanding of the message, al-Ṭabarī argued that like any rhetorical speaker delivering a public address (khiṭāb), God intended that those addressed by the message (almukhāṭab wa-l-mursal ʾilayhi) should understand His speech and act accordingly. Consequently, God delivered His address in a language like their language with forms conveying meaning that correspond to the forms of their logic (bilisān ʾalsinatihim wamanṭiqin muwāfaqati maʿānīhi maʿānī manṭiqihim). 7 He backed this up with two Qur’anic verses. 8 The first one, Q. 14, 4, is a general statement: follows, I give volume number and part number as follows: vol. 1: part 1, etc. 5 This alludes to Moses’ impairment of speech, e.g. Q. 20, 27; Q. 26, 13. See also references below to al-Jāḥiẓ’s use of Moses as example of how God enables bayān. 6 Al-Ṭabarī, Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 16–17. 7 Al-Ṭabarī, Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol, 1, part 1, pp. 18–19. 8 Al-Ṭabarī, Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 19.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ We have never sent a messenger with a message except in the language of his people, so that he can convey to them clarifying distinctions.

The second verse, Q. 16, 64, is a particular statement, which applies the same principle to the case of the Prophet: We have not made the writing descend upon you except so that you may convey to them clarifying distinctions concerning what they disagree about.

Since the Prophet’s language is Arabic, it follows that the Qur’an is Arabic too. 9 First al-Ṭabarī adduced for support Q. 12, 2: Indeed, We have made it descend as an Arabic reading, so that they may understand!

Then Q. 26, 192–195, which addresses the Prophet: 192. Indeed, it is the sending down of the Lord of the knowing beings, 193. by which the secure sprit descended upon your heart so that you would become one of the announcers, 194. in an Arabic language that conveys clarifying distinctions (bilisān ʿarabī mubīn)!

Al-Ṭabarī then proceeded to define the Qur’anic Arabic language as constituted by distinctions between general and particular statements, which he again equated with the Prophet’s idiom: 10

Both of the following quotes are from Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 19. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 24. The identification of general and particular statements as constituents of the Qur’an’s language is made in the earliest extant full Qur’an commentary by Muqātil b. Sulaymān (d. 150/767), Tafsīr, ʿAbd Allāh Muḥammad Shaḥḥāta (ed.), 5 vols. (Beirut: Muʾassasat al-taʾrīkh al-ʿarabī), vol. 1, p. 27. The same distinction is part of the exegetical methodology attributed to the tafsīr of the proto-Mālikī scholar of Basra and Fustat, Yaḥyā b. Sallām (d. 200/815), by the Mālikī judge of Córdoba, Ibn Abī Zamanīn (d. 399/1009), in his abridged version of Yaḥyā b. Sallām’s tafsīr; see Ibn Abī Zamanīn, Tafsīr, Ḥusayn b. ʿAkkāsha & Muḥammad b. Muṣṭafā al-Kanz (eds.), 6 vols. (Cairo: alFārūq al-hadītha li-l-tibāʿa wa-l-nashr, 2002), vol. 1, p. 114. See also Mustafa Shah, ‘Introduction’, in Shah (ed.), Tafsīr: Interpreting the Qur’ān,

9

10

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 39 Since it is the case, as God – Majestic be His honour! – has informed His servants, that He made the reading Arabic, and that it was sent down in an Arabic language that conveys clear distinctions, then that its manifest appearance carries particulars and generalities (thumma kāna ẓāhiruhu muḥtamilan khuṣūṣan wa-ʿumūman), we have no means to knowing what God – Elevated be His honour! – meant (ʿanā) by its particulars and generalities, except through the clarification of he to who the reading’s clear distinction was directed, namely God’s Messenger (pbuh).

The Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn that God sent down to the Prophet did not equate all forms of spoken Arabic, of which there were many. It represented one specific idiom which, according to a Prophetic ḥadīth that al-Ṭabarī adduced, God sent down in sabʿat ʾaḥruf, ‘seven pronounced particles’, i.e. units constituted by consonant and vowel: 11 Khallād b. ʾAslam - ʾAnas b. ʿIyāḍ - Abū Ḥāzim - Abū Salama, who said: I know this only from Abū Hurayra, that God’s Messenger (pbuh) said: ‘The Reading was sent down upon seven pronounced particles! But dispute in the Reading is to reject security – three times – so act in accordance with what you know of it and refer what you do not know of it to one who has knowledge!’ (ʾunzila al-qurʾān ʿalā sabʿat ʾaḥruf fa-lmirāʾ fī-l-qurʾān kufr – thalātha marrāt – famā ʿaraftum minhu fa’ʿmilū bihi wa-mā jahiltum minhu faruddūhu ʾilā ʿālimihi)

These ‘seven pronounced particles’ al-Ṭabarī identified as the Prophet’s Companions’ different but synonymous ways of reading the Qur’an, which the Prophet accepted. However, as the ḥadīth states, these variations do not amount to dispute over the divine nature of the Reading, or of its meaning: since its aim is guidance it is a consistent message, even though some of its words could 4 vols.; Vol. I: Tafsīr: Gestation and Synthesis (London: Routledge, 2013), pp. 1–157; p. 11. According to Hind Shalabī, editor’s Introduction, Tafsīr Yaḥyā b. Sallām, 2 vols. (Beirut: Dar al-kutub al-ʿilmiyya, 2004), al-Ṭabarī studied Yaḥyā b. Sallām’s tafsīr with the latter’s student in Fustat, which would have included its methodological premises, e.g. distinction between universals and particulars. 11 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 24–25.

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be read in variant, synonymous ways. 12 When the Caliph ʿUthmān (r. 23/644–35/656) eventually established a Qur’anic consonant script it was in one of these variants, and the others were lost, alṬabarī said. 13 This ḥadīth and al-Ṭabarī’s explanation of its implications shows how he perceived the Qur’anic Arabic: as a divine technical language, constituted around clear distinctions between universals and particulars, and which in its earliest stage did not have a definitely fixed form for some words of no consequence for understanding the guidance. Al-Ṭabarī also established a generic identity between the Qur’an and the Biblical scriptures as prophetic speech, which compared with ordinary speech is characterised by especially clear distinctions (bayān). Even so, he argued, the Qur’anic speech is superior to the Biblical scriptures, just as it is to other forms of supremely eloquent Arabic public speech (khiṭāb), rhetoric (balāgha), and poetry (shiʿr). The superiority consists in the Qur’an’s ‘forms conveying intended meaning’ (maʿānī), which constitute proof that the Qur’an alone constitutes the divine guidance, to the exclusion of all other forms of speech and writings. In the following citation, I have marked the significant passages in bold: 14 God – may His honour be elevated – brought together for our prophet Muḥammad (pbuh) and his community in what He sent down to him of His writing forms conveying intended Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 24–42. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 46–47. 14 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 126–127. Cf. Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 81; Gilliot generally translates al-Ṭabarī’s concept maʿānī as ‘qualities’ in the sense of language forms as conveyors of meaning, rather than as a theory of intended meaning. However, regarding this specific passage, Gilliot observes that “maʿānī refers to ideas expressed, or even better, genres, motifs or topics. Here, it is thus a question of the excellence of the ‘conceptual’ contents of the Qur’an” (my translation from French). Nuancing Gilliot’s analysis somewhat, I translate maʿānī as ‘forms conveying intended meaning’, because I do perceive that a theory of meaning is involved given al-Ṭabarī’s definition of bayān as conveying one’s innermost subject and concerns through clear distinctions; see also Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 239–240, and below for further motivation. 12 13

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 41 meaning (maʿānī), which He had never brought together in any writing He sent down to a prophet before him or to a community before them. This is because each writing that He sent down to one of His prophets before him was only sent down with some of all the forms conveying meaning that the writing He sent down to our Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh) encompasses in totality. Such as the Torah, which is exhortations and distinctions, and the Psalms, which is praise and glorification, and the Gospel, which is exhortation and reminders: none of them contains anything inimitable (muʿjiza) that testifies to the truthfulness of the one to who it was sent down. But the writing that was sent down to our Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh) comprises the intended meanings of all that, and adds to it numerous forms conveying meaning, which the rest of the writings lack (…). Among the most noble of these forms conveying meaning by which (God) graced our writing beyond the other writings are its astonishing grammatical organisation (naẓm), exceptional structure (raṣf), and innovative composition (taʾlīfuhu al-badīʿ), the organisation and imitation of whose smallest unit (sūra) and form incapacitates the public speakers (al-khuṭabāʾ) and the rhetoricians (al-bulaghāʾ), as it perplexes the poets and stupifies the most accomplished minds! They cannot but submit to it, and confirm that it is from the One, the Vanquisher, with what it comprises of forms conveying intended meaning: instilment of desire and fear (targhīb wa-tarhīb), command and prohibition (ʾamr wa-zajr), accounts (qiṣaṣ), disputation (jadal), and paradigmatic examples (mathal), and similar meanings that have not been brought together in any [other] writing sent down to the earth from heaven.

The key terms that al-Ṭabarī employed above and in this passage to define the Qur’anic Arabic prophetic speech and the Qur’an’s composition, pertain to the rhetorical science of balāgha and its sub-disciplines, which matured during the 900s, namely bayān (‘clear distinctions’), maʿānī (‘forms conveying intended meaning’), and badīʿ (‘innovation’, ‘originality’). 15 More precisely, On balāgha and its terms as applied to Qur’anic composition and as understood by rhetoricians and exegetes from 400/1000 onwards, see

15

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in the passage we saw how al-Ṭabarī among the Qur’anic ‘forms conveying intended meaning’ (maʿānī) identified its ‘composition’ (taʾlīf) as the ‘innovation’ (badīʿ), alongside a list of other generic rhetorical forms and means of persuasion: instilment of desire and fear (targhīb wa-tarhīb), command and prohibition (ʾamr wa-zajr), accounts (qiṣaṣ), disputation (jadal), and paradigmatic examples (mathal). An important methodological aspect of balāgha, which alṬabarī applied in his exegesis but did not list here, is that ‘context’ must be considered when one defines intended meaning (maʿnā). Within balāgha this theoretical premise is expressed through terms and adages, including muṭābaqat al-kalām li-muqṭaḍā ’l-ḥāl (‘the conformity of the words to the requirement of the circumstance’), li-kull maqām maqāl (‘for each context’, or literally standpoint, ‘a corresponding statement’), and li-kull kalima maʿa ṣāḥibatihā maqām (‘each word, with its accompanying ones, has its context’). 16 An example from al-Ṭabarī’s History illustrates this principle. When the Prophet’s Companion ʿAbd Allāh b. Masʿūd for the first time reads the Qur’an to the hostile members of the tribe Quraysh, he goes to a place identified as al-maqām, ‘the standpoint’, where the Quraysh were gathered. There he read out to them Q. 55 (al-Raḥmān), 1–3: 17 (1) The Giver of Life (al-Raḥmān) (2) conveyed knowledge of the Reading (ʿallama-l-Qurʾān) (3) created humans (khalaqa-l-ʾinsān) In this example, maqām refers to the place where the rhetorician addresses the public. As a hermeneutical concept applied in exegesis, it means that words and phrases occur across the Muhammad Abdel Haleem, ‘Context and internal relationships: keys to quranic exegesis. A study of Sūrat al-Raḥmān (Qurʾān chapter 55)’, in Gerald R. Hawting and Abdul-Kader A. Shareef (eds.), Approaches to the Qurʾān (London: Routledge, 1993), pp. 71–98; 72–74. On badīʿ and its meaning ‘innovation’, see Suzanne P. Stetkevytch, ‘Toward a Redefinition of “Badīʿ” Poetry’, Journal of Arabic Literature, 12 (1981), pp. 1–29. 16 Abdel Haleem, ‘Context’, pp. 72–73. 17 HT 6/Watt and McDonald, p. 104.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 43 Qur’anic corpus, with slightly different senses (wujūh) depending on the precise context. Thus, in accordance with the adage alQurʾān yufassiru baʿḍuhu baʿḍan (‘the Qur’an’s parts explain each other’) the whole Qur’an is seen as constituting a semantic metacontext, within which the individual sūras are meso-contexts, and sections within sūras are micro-contexts. Within this semantic and hermeneutical paradigm, the Arabic words’ consonant roots constitute important visual and aural intertextual ‘connectors’, and al-Ṭabarī like other exegetes used intertextual references to bring out both semantic relationships between similar contexts across the canon, and specific context-dependent nuances. 18 One example of al-Ṭabarī’s consideration of micro-level context is his exegesis of Q. 55, 6 (wa-l-najmu wa-l-shajaru yasjudān). He explains that the exegetes disagree about the meaning of al-najm in this context although they agree that alshajar is what has a trunk (ikhtalafa ahl al-taʾwīl fī maʿnā al-najm fī hādhā al-mawḍiʿ maʿa ʾijmāʿihim ʿalā ʾanna al-shajara mā qāma ʿalā sāqin). Some exegetes, including al-Ṭabarī’s most frequently relied upon authority Ibn ʿAbbās (d. 67/687), 19 translate al-najm as a kind of shrubs growing on riverbanks, hence ‘The shrubs and the trees prostrate’, i.e. submit to God’s command, while others translate al-najm in the common sense as stars, e.g. ‘The stars and the trees prostrate’. Al-Ṭabarī sided with the former exegetes because their argument that ‘shrubs’ here accompanies ‘trees’ makes good sense as a parallelism between species, whereas the combination ‘stars and trees’ does not. Hence, he argued: Of the two statements about this, the foremost in attaining the meaning is the one that states: The intended meaning of alnajm is greenery that grows from the earth, because it aligns with ‘the trees’ (wa-ʾawlā al-qawlayn fī dhālika bi-l-ṣawāb qawlu man qāla ʿuniya bi-l-najmi mā najama min al-ʾarḍi min nabatin liʿaṭf al-shajar ʿalayhi). Consequently, His intended meaning

See again Abdel Haleem, ‘Context’, for a general outline of these structures, and p. 73 on intertextual relations. 19 See Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, on Ibn ʿAbbās’ transmission chains in alṬabarī’s exegesis; also Chapter 4 below, Exegetical methodology. 18

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ (maʿnāhu) with this is: ‘What has a trunk and what does not have a trunk, both prostrate before God’ (…). 20

Another example of micro-level contextual meaning is al-Ṭabarī’s use of the linguistic concept wujūh, homonymous ‘aspects’ or ‘senses’: one word carries several senses, depending on the context. 21 One of his examples is dīn. This is the term routinely translated as ‘religion’. Al-Ṭabarī gave the following senses, which connote a range of legal and political principles and attitudes: recompense and settlement (al-jazāʾ wa-l-qiṣāṣ), rule and obedience (al-sulṭān wa-l-ṭāʿa), humility (al-tadhallul), and reckoning (al-ḥisāb). 22 He also applied wujūh to explain the mysterious ḥurūf al-muqaṭṭaʿa, or ‘isolated’, ‘cut-off’ letterparticles, which introduce 29 sūras. His example here is Q. 2, 1– 2, ʾaliflāmmīm dhālika al-kitābu lā rayba fīhi. Al-Ṭabarī argued that the letters are not, as some exegetes claim, additions to the sūra, but part of the divine speech. Consequently, they must mean something since God does not send down anything incomprehensible or in vain. The letters are drawn together like words, he reasoned, because God intended to communicate that words have a range of senses, and even though in this case it is not possible to reach a definitive conclusion about meaning, God

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 13, part 27, pp. 152–153; quote p. 153. On the linguistic concept wujūh, see Andrew Rippin, ‘Lexicographical Texts and the Qur’ān’, in Rippin (ed.), Approaches to the History of the Interpretation of the Qur’ān (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), pp. 158–74. Works on wujūh by exegetes who preceded al-Ṭabarī include Muqātil b. Sulaymān (d. 150/767), al-ʾAshbāh wa’l-naẓāʾir fī ’l-qurʾān al-karīm, which influenced the work in the same genre by Yaḥyā b. Sallām (d. 200/815), al-Taṣārīf li-tafsīr al-Qurʾān mimmā ishtabahat asmāʾuhu watasarrafat maʿānīhi. On the relationship between these two works by Muqātil and Yaḥyā b. Sallām, see Hind Shalabī (ed.), Introduction, alTasārīf (Tunis: al-Sharika al-Tūnisiyya li-l-Tawzīʿ, 1980), pp. 7, 29–30, 43–5; cf. Shah, ‘Introduction’, pp. 7, 10–11. Given that al-Ṭabarī studied Yaḥyā b. Sallām’s tafsīr in Fustat with the latter’s student, the wujūh methodology can be assumed to have been included; see footnote 10 above. 22 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 139. 20 21

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 45 always means something precise. 23 Another interpretation he found plausible is that these letters are oaths (ʾaqsām, sing. qasam) sworn by God’s writing (kitāb), similar to how other oaths are sworn by His names and attributes. 24 Here he again followed exegetical reports by Ibn ʿAbbās, from ʿAlī Ibn Abī Ṭalḥa and ʿIkrima. As for the meso-level context, i.e. the sūras as semantic units, al-Ṭabarī did not analyse their overall meaning. 25 Yet his definition of the term shows that he perceived them as topical units. In lexical terms he defined sūra as “the place among places of elevation” (al-manzila min manāzil al-irtifāʿ), using the metaphor of “the city limit, which is the name for the wall that encloses it, because of its elevation over what surrounds it” (sūr al-madīna summiya bidhālik al-ḥāʾiṭ alladhī yaḥwīhā li’rtifāʿihi ʿalā mā yaḥwīhi). 26 For example, he reported from Ibn ʿAbbās and the Companion Caliph ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān on the scribes’ production of the established script on ʿUthmān’s command, explaining the circumstance that sūras 8 (al-ʾAnfāl) and 9 (al-Barāʾa) were not separated by bism Allāh al-Raḥmān al-Raḥīm like the other sūras. The report cites the Prophet saying to his scribes that they should place signs on similar topics together (ḍaʿū hādhihi al-ʾāyāt fī-lsūra allatī yudhkaru fīhā kadhā wa-kadhā), and since the accounts in sūras 8 and 9 correspond topically (wa-kānat qiṣṣatuhā shabīhatan bi-qiṣṣatihā), ʿUthmān thought they belonged together. 27 This report conveys the notion that a sūra is a topical unit consisting of discreet ‘signs, ʾāyāt, a concept which has two Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 139–140. See also Mehmet Akif Koc, ‘A Chronological Study of al-Ḥurūf al-Muqaṭṭaʿa from the Beginning to the Present’, Ilahiyat Tetkikleri Dergisi, 56 (2021), pp. 31–46; pp. 42–43. 24 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 140; cf. p. 133. See also Martin Nguyen, ‘Letter by Letter: Tracing the Textual Genealogy of a Sufi Tafsīr’, in Karen Bauer (ed.), Aims, Methods and Contexts of Qur’anic Exegesis (2nd/8th – 9th/15th C.) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 217–240; p. 230. 25 By comparison, Muqātil b. Sulaymān (d. 150/767) summarised the overall meaning of each sūra as a prelude to his exegesis; see also Kees Versteegh, Arabic Grammar and Qurʾānic Exegesis in Early Islam (Leiden: Brill, 1993), pp. 69–70 26 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 71. 27 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 69. 23

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senses (wajhān) in Arabic, al-Ṭabarī argued. The first sense is ʿalāma, i.e. something that indicates (dalla) something, such as when God is asked to send down things as signs that He hears and responds to calls. In this sense, the ʾāyāt are God’s indicators of Himself, which also serve as tools to persuade of His reality. The second sense is qiṣṣa, ‘account’, equal to God’s message (risāla) and reported information (khabar) about Himself. Thus, al-Ṭabarī rendered the plural qiṣaṣ as “an account following another account, with distinctions and conjunctions” (qiṣṣatun tatlū qiṣṣatan bifuṣūl wa-wuṣūl). 28 In this second sense, the ʾāyāt are accounts that connect topics both within and across sūras, i.e. at the meso-level contexts. As for meta-level context, al-Ṭabarī defined it in terms of the Covenantal rights and obligations that God established in the Qur’an’s opening invocation, al-Fātiḥa (Q. 1), which in his view serves as the paradigm that structures the entire canon. To explain how this works, he first cited a Prophetic ḥadīth from the Companion Abū Hurayra, describing Q. 1: 29 It is the front of the Qur’an, and it is the opening of the Writing, and it is the Seven Praises (hiya ʾumm al-qurʾān wahiya fātiḥat al-kitāb wa-hiya al-sabʿ al-mathānī).

He explains that ʾumm derives from the same root as ʾimām, someone at the forefront of a group. ʾUmm al-qurʾān is the front of the canon, like a battle banner (rāya) under which the troops rally; more precisely, just as Mecca is ʾumm al-qurā, the head of all cities and the centre from which the earth unfolds, the Qur’an unfolds from Q. 1. 30 For the term al-sabʿ al-mathānī, he relies on an exegetical report from al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728) that it refers to the seven verses of Q. 1, which function as ‘seven praises’ because they are uttered at every prayer. However, the report also states that these seven praises or verses correspond to the whole Qur’an, for Q. 15, 87 says: ‘We have brought you seven of the praises and the immense reading (wa-laqad ʾātaynāka sabʿan min al-mathānī wa-l-qurʾān al-ʿaẓīm)’. Hence, al-Ṭabarī concludes, the Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 72. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 73. 30 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 73–74. 28 29

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 47 seven verses of Q. 1 serve as the praises of God that head the canon, and as such they encapsulate the meanings of the entire Qur’an, which, he declares, he will prove when he arrives at Q. 39 (al-Zumar). 31 Thus, the seven verses of Q. 1 read as follows: 1. By the Name of God ‘the Giver of Life Who Continuously Protects Life’ (bism Allāh al-raḥmān al-raḥīm): 32 2. Praise belongs to God, the Lord of the knowing beings (alḥamd li-Llāh rabb al-ʿālamīn), 3. The Giver of Life Who Continuously Protects Life’ (alraḥmān al-raḥīm), 4. King of the Day of Judgement (malik yawm al-dīn)! 5. You we serve and to You we turn for protection (ʾiyyāka naʿbud wa-ʾiyyāka nastaʿīn), 6. Lead us along the path of correct speech and action (ʾihdinā al-ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm), 7. The path of those on who You conferred material blessing, without being angry with them, and who did not go astray (ṣirāṭ alladhīna ʾanʿamta ʿalayhim ghayr al-maghḍūb ʿalayhim wa-lā al-ḍāllīna)!

Concerning verse 6 and the concept al-ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm, al-Ṭabarī points out that it is a path comprising speech and action (qawl wa-ʿamal), both of which must accord with what God has sent down. 33 Thus, he established an intrinsic connection between the understanding of the Qur’anic language and message and the implementation of God’s terms, which he specified at the end of his very long exegesis of Q. 1. First, he states that the purpose with the Qur’an’s unsurpassable composition and rhetoric is to prove that the Prophet really is a prophet sent with God’s message. Then he defines the mutual rights and obligations of God and His servants, arguing that they are the substance of the proof conveyed through paradigmatic examples of how God has Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 74–75. For this translation, see discussion in Chapter 4, under Exegetical Methodology, and Chapter 5, under Metaphysics, Ontology and Ethics. 33 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 110. 31 32

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rewarded servitude with material blessings and punished rebellion, to encourage the former and deter from the latter. This, he argues, is the sense that can be brough out of Q. 1, which suffuses the whole Qur’an and its generic forms conveying meaning: 34 Thus, whatever (the Qur’an) contains that can be extended, like what is in ʾumm al-qurʾān, and what I have described before that God wished to bring together – its astonishing composition and exceptional organisation that leaves off from the meters of the poets, the rhymed prose (sajʿ) of the sooth sayers, the speeches of the public speakers, and the written messages of the rhetoricians (rasāʾil albulaghāʾ), a description and organisation the like of which all living beings and servants are unable to produce – is proof of the prophecy of our Prophet Muḥammad. What it contains of thanks and glorification and praise of [God] is exhortation for the servants about His magnificence and rule and power, and the magnitude of His kingship, so that they will honour Him for His favours and praise Him for His material blessings. For they have a right to the surplus of that from Him, and are entitled to the abundant reward from Him (liyudhkirūhu biʾālāʾihi wa-yaḥmidūhu ʿalā naʿmāʾihi fayastaḥiqqū bihi minhu al-mazīda wa-yastawjibū ʿalayhi ’lthawāba ’l-jazīl). What it contains of descriptions of those on who He conferred His material blessings for their good deeds and who He favoured with success for their obedience towards Him, makes His servants experience that all their material blessings, in their judicial order and daily life, are from Him, so that they direct their desire towards Him and seek their needs from Him, not from other gods and idols. And what it contains of His reminders and lessons of how He let afflictions hit those who rebelled against Him, and what He sent down concerning those who countered His command and how He punished them, instils fear in His servants from embarking on disobeying Him by showing them His anger in ways they have never seen before, leading them through warnings and cases of revenge along the way that ends in destruction. That is the sense of the extended clear 34

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 127; bold added.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 49 distinctions in the sūra ʾumm al-qurʾān, and of what corresponds to it in the other sūras of the Distinguisher, which is the persuasive just judgement and the complete proof (fadhālika wajh ʾiṭālat al-bayān fī sūrat ʾumm alqurʾān wa-fīmā kāna naẓīran lahā min sāʾir suwar al-furqān wa-dhālika huwa al-ḥikma al-bāligha wa-l-ḥujja al-kāmila).

The basic terms here, comprised also in Q. 1, are that God is obligated to sustain the people through the material blessings (niʿam, sing. niʿma) of His creation, which is the people’s right in relation to Him, while the people are obligated to praise and serve only God, which is His right in relation to them. Upon Judgement Day, God will judge the people according to whether they have fulfilled their obligations. Hence, the terms are a Covenant of mutual rights and obligations, and the Qur’an both expounds the implications of the terms, and persuades rhetorically about their reality and validity, through historical accounts of other messengers and peoples. Al-Ṭabarī Applied: Modelling Qur’anic Composition

To illustrate al-Ṭabarī’s thesis of Covenant as meta-level context for Qur’anic forms conveying meaning (maʿānī), I have here developed a table based on his argument that Q. 1, al-Fātiḥa, establishes the Covenantal terms that extend throughout the canon. 35 I have constructed four topical categories, marked as bold and underlined: Creed, Oath, Terms of the Covenant, and Divine Writing, under which I have mapped occurrences of these topics, listing sūras according to Nöldeke’s generally accepted chronology (Early, Middle, Late Mecca, and Medina). I have also marked as bold and underlined those sūras and verses, which are the earliest expressions of each topical category. Under Creed, I have added protective invocation of God, marked in bold. Moreover, I have followed al-Ṭabarī’s suggestion, that the ‘isolated letters’ that introduce 29 sūras might function as oaths, sworn by the divine writing. Consequently, I have listed the ‘isolated letter’ sūras in the Oath category, marking them with See also Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, pp. 94–96; ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 255–257.

35

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bold. This increases the number of sūras introduced by oaths, from occurring almost exclusively in the Early Meccan period to occurring in all periods. In some cases, these ‘isolated letters’ are also explicit oaths, in which case I have marked them with bold and underlined. Covenant: Paradigmatic distinction of terms 1, al-Fātiḥa

Early Mecca

Creed: Covenant with, contract through, & protection by the One God, without other partners

Oath: Pledge by God’s Creative power to sustain and judge, and by His writing

53: 19–28 112 113 114

74: 3056 92 90 93 86 91 68 95 103 85 81:15 53 84:16 100 79 77 89 75 51 52 56:7578

Terms: God sustains man through Creation’s blessings; Man serves God without partners and enacts security; God judges man 111 106 108 104 107 102 105 94 80:24-42 87:9-15 73:8-15 101 99 82:6-19 100 78:1-3, 3740 88:21-26 83:22-36 69 56 70:1-10 55 109

Divine Writing: Confirms man’s knowledge of Covenant & contract with rights/obligations

96: 1–5 74:31 97 80:13 68:1, 36–38 87:18-19 78:29 83:7-11, 18-21 69:18-20 52

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 51 Middle Mecca

Late Mecca

37:35 44:20 20:14 15:96-99 19: 1-34, 81, 91-92 19:18 36:23, 50 43: 57-64, 81 72:3 72:6 67:12 23:50, 91, 117 23: 97–98 21: 2129,91 17:22, 39, 111 27:62-64 18:4,15, 110 41:36 16:22 16:98 11:47 14:52 12:23, 79 40:27, 56 28:88 39:4 31:13 10:68 35:3 7:200 13:36

37 44 50 20 26 15 19 38 36 43 27

54:50-55 71:1-4 76:1-7, 2731 20:115127 26:184209, 227 19:93-98 36:1-12 72:22-28 67:1-15 23:1-16 25:58-76 17:23-38 27:59-69

37:157 44:2 20:133 26:1-2 15:1, 4 19:12, 78-79 38:28-29 36:12 43:1-4 21:10 17:2,3, 13-14 27:1-3 18:1-2

32 41 45 30 11 14 12 40 28 29 31 42 10 7 46 13

32:4-22 41:5-19 45:3-15 16:1-9, 905 30:6-18 11:7-11 14:31 40:4-14 28:54-70 39:3-10 29:52-59 31:4-9 42:1-13 10:44-47 34:1-6 35:1-7 7: 3, 169174 46:31-35 6:14-15, 151-153

32:1-3, 23 41:1-4 45:1-2, 16-17 16:89 30:56 11:1-2, 6, 17, 110 14:1 12: 1-2 40:1-3 28:1-2, 49-53 39:1-2, 41 29:45-50 31:1-3 42:14-17 34:3 35:31-32 7:169 46:1-3, 12, 30 6:91-92, 154-157 13:1

52

Medina

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

2:67 2:163 47:19 3:36 3: 47, 5960, 64 4:171-172 59:22-23 22:31 66:12 9:30-31 5:72, 75, 116

2 3

13:20-25, 37-43 2:27, 4048, 63, 8184, 93, 123-126 64:1-10 62:1-5 8:1-4, 7, 27, 55-56, 72-73 47:1-3 3:76-77 61:10-12 57:1-7 4: 154-162 65:8-12 59:18-24 33:1-8, 7073 63:1-2, 11 24:55-56 58:5-8, 2122 22:1-7 48:10, 29 66:8-12 60:8-10 110 49:15 9:1-4 5:7-14

2:1-2, 78-80, 89, 101, 174-177, 282-283 98 62:2 3:3, 7, 23, 70-75, 81, 199 57:16, 25-29 4:105 33:6 58:21 22:4, 70 9:111 5:15, 44, 48

Read against the background of this meta-level Covenant context, the form that al-Ṭabarī saw as distinctive of Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn, namely general and particular statements, take on a new sense at the meso- and micro-levels of sūras. Some passages describe cases with reference to the ‘universal’ Covenant terms, i.e. the general principles, while other passages describe ‘particular’ cases, whose terms appear as derivations from Covenant. The argument can be illustrated through the root b-l-gh. Balāgha, i.e. the discipline of rhetoric, means approximately ‘to convey meaning’. In the Qur’an, the root b-l-gh occurs in the sense of ‘conveyed message’, in Q. 6, 19, 149; 54, 5; 68, 39; 3, 20; 5, 92, 99; 14, 52; 16, 35,

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 53 82; 24, 54; 29, 18; 36, 17; 21, 107; 13, 40; 33, 10; 72, 23, 28; and 65, 3. The verses appear in contexts describing the general Covenantal terms, e.g. the people’s right to God’s sustenance through material creation and His blessings, His right to exclusive service, and His judgement in the final trial according to whether people have served Him exclusively, or not. Referring to these ‘universal’ terms, some of the b-l-gh-verses define the Prophet’s ‘particular’ obligation: to convey the message about God’s terms to the people. The Prophet is not, however, responsible for their responses, since holding them to account is God’s obligation. Thus, the b-l-gh-verses illustrate how the Qur’an creates contexts across several sūras through a ‘particular’ topic – the Prophet’s obligation to convey the message – related to Covenant as the ‘universal’ topic. 36 Q. 39 (al-Zumar), which, as mentioned above, was al-Ṭabarī’s chief example of correspondences between Q. 1 and the whole Qur’an, illustrates the mechanism. The sūra treats the relationship between acknowledging God’s Oneness and the virtue of sincerity (ʾikhlāṣ), a topic it continues from Q. 38, 83, i.e. the end of the preceding sūra. Sincerity means not taking other partners than God, for several partners means divided loyalties (Q. 39, 3, 29), and God is uniquely worthy of loyalty since He alone created material sustenance for the living beings (Q. 39, 21). This topic is framed with reference to the general or universal Covenantal terms that the servant serves God and God sustains the servants through the blessings of creation. Cross-references to Q. 1, verses 2, 4, and 6 occur in the last verse, 39, 75, ‘Praise be to God, Lord of the knowing beings’, in the context of God meting out justice on Judgement Day, upon the Throne; and in frequent references to God’s guidance (hudā). The composition moves from the universal or general, to the particular, and back to the universal. Note also that references to divine writing (kitāb, here including ‘the sent-down good’), in the sense of verification of the message and its binding terms, mark shifts in this outline: 37

36 37

See also Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, p. 246. See also Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 246–247.

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1–2: The scripture/writing sent down is from God and contains truth and right: general terms 3–17: Sincerity (ʾikhlāṣ) means recognising that God has neither partner nor child: general terms 18–23: Listen to the speech about God and let it affect you: general terms 24–40: Examples and paradigms about taking other partners vs. being sincere, by which God guide the people, in Arabic: particular examples 41–42: The scripture/writing sent down from God contains truth and right, for guidance of the people, but the Prophet is not responsible for their choices: particular terms 43–54: God alone is the intercessor and Creator with power to sustain the people, so submit to God alone: general terms 55–59: The good sent down from God contains binding terms known to men, and He brought signs of this: general terms 60–75: The Day of Standing to Trial: God, Lord of the knowing beings, metes out justice: general terms Another relevant example is Q. 7 (al-ʾAʿrāf), which contains the verse (172) about God’s ‘natural’ Covenant with Adam’s descendants, mentioned above in Chapter 1. In Q. 7 a sequence of qiṣaṣ or accounts prove the reality and goodness of Covenant and persuade the people to act accordingly. Furthermore, the accounts describe particular case-examples related to Covenant, which constitute semantic contexts. The following outline shows that, as in Q. 39 above, the concept kitāb both introduces and closes Q. 7, and marks internal shifts of sub-topics. Also like in Q. 39, the shifts appear as transitions between the universal or general paradigm of Covenant and the particular examples: 38 1–2: Writing sent down for confirmation, warning and reminder of Covenant: general terms 3–10: The Covenant: particular terms for this Messenger 11–25: Adam and Satan: general example & terms of obedience/prostration and rebellion/refusal to prostrate

38

See also Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, pp. 87–89.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 55 26–53: Adam’s offspring and God’s messengers and signs: general terms 52–53: Writing conveys knowledge, guidance and protection of life: general example 54–58: God’s Creation provides material blessings and sustenance for humanity: general terms 59–64: Noah and his people (qawm): particular example 65–72: The messenger Hūd and the people of ʿĀd: particular example 73–79: The messenger Ṣāliḥ and the people of Thamūd: particular example 80–84: Lot and his people: particular example 85–93: The messenger Shuʿayb and the people of Midyan: particular example 94–102: Prophets and messengers sent to afflicted cities to make the people honour their contracts: general example & terms 103–144: Moses, Pharaoh and the Israelites: honouring the Covenant: particular example 145–147: The written tablets convey knowledge, clear exposition of signs: particular example & terms 148–156: Moses, the Israelites and the calf: particular example & terms 157–158: The written promise of this Messenger & Prophet: general terms, compared w. Moses’ terms 159–168: The Israelites in the land & the Covenantal terms: particular example 169–171: The Covenant of writing with the Israelites: truth & right: particular example & terms 172–174: The Covenant with Adam’s descendants: Knowledge & testimony: general terms 175–183: Followers of Satan & followers of God, focused on truth/right & justice: general examples 184–195: Warning of the Hour against taking other partners than God, to the Prophet’s people: particular examples & terms 196: Writing & God’s protective governorship for those who promote the common good: general terms 197–203: Take God not Satan for protective governor, fulfil your obligations, follow His guidance: general examples

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204: Listen to the Qurʾān being read and receive protection of life: general terms 205: Remember and honour your Lord: general terms 206: Serve your Lord, praise Him, and prostrate: general terms. To illustrate the relationship between ‘writing’ and the general terms of Covenant in a micro-level context, I quote the passage 7, 1–10, underlining the end rhymes. This is to illustrate al-Ṭabarī’s point in the above cited passage where he expounded how the Covenantal terms extend from Q. 1 throughout the canon, that the Qur’an’s composition and structure “leaves off from the meters of the poets, [and] the rhymed prose of the soothsayers” (al-munʿadil ʿan ʾawzān al-ʾashʿār wa-sajʿ al-kuhhān). 39 Hence, he considered the rhyming rhythm to be among the aspects of the Qur’an’s innovative composition. The passage 7, 1–10 states that the writing comes from God, via His messenger, with terms that the people can recognise and follow. Both the people and the messenger are accountable to these terms, which, if upheld, will grant the village a secure material life. Note the term qaṣṣa in verse 7, which can be read in the legal sense of ‘accounting the terms of the Covenant’: the people are obligated to follow what God sends down, while God is obligated to sustain them through what grows in the land, and on the whole earth (verse 10): 40 1. ʾaliflāmmīmṣāḍ 2. A writing was brought down to you, so let there be no constraint in your breast from it, for you to warn by it, and as a reminder to the enacters of security: (kitāb ʾunzila ʾilayka falā yakun fī ṣadrika ḥaraj minhu litundhira bihi wadhikrā li-l-muʾminīn) 3. “Follow what was sent down to you from your Lord and do not follow protective governors besides Him: how little you let yourselves be reminded!” (’ittabiʿū mā ʾunzila ʾilaykum min rabbikum wa-lā tattabiʿū min dūnihi ʾawliyāʾ qalīlan mā tadhakkarūn)

39 40

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 127. See also Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 249–250.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 57 4. How many a village have We allowed to perish when Our affliction came to it at night or when they were resting! (wa-kam min qarya ʾahlaknāhā fajāʾahā baʾsunā bayātan aw hum qaʾāʾilūn) 5. They had no claim when Our affliction came to them except to say: “We have indeed been spreading the darkness of wrongdoing!” (famā kāna daʿwāhum ʾidh jāʾahum baʾsunā ʾillā ʾan qālū ʾinnā kunnā ẓālimīn) 6. So We shall certainly question those to who a message was sent, as We shall question those sent with the message, (fanasʾalanna alladhīna ʾursila ʾilayhim wa-lanasʾalanna ’lmursalīna) 7. And We will account to them with knowledge since We have not been absent! (fa-l-naquṣṣanna ʿalayhim biʿilm wamā kunnā ghāʾibīn) 8. The measure on that Day will be what is right: the one whose measures are heavy, those are the ones who cause prosperity, 41 (al-wazn yawmaʾidhin al-ḥaqq fa-man thaqulat mawāzinuhu faʾūlāʾika hum al-mufliḥūn) 9. But the one whose scales are light, those are the ones who have lost their selves through the way they kept darkening Our signs with wrongdoing, (wa-man khaffat mawāzinuhu In Lisān al-ʿarab, mufliḥūna is explained as ‘those who succeed’, in the sense of gaining khayr, ‘good things’; the dictionary also establishes that the root f-l-ḥ is related to agriculture, i.e. ploughing, tilling and cultivating the land, equivalent to ḥaratha. Al-Ṭabarī explains mufliḥūna simply as those who succeed in obtaining what they wanted (ẓafarū bi-lnajāḥ); Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 5, part 8, p. 163. However, given the reference to ʾarḍ and maʿāyisha in verse 10, I interpret mufliḥūna here as connoting success in terms of good harvests and prosperity based on this. I also emphasise the transitive aspect of ʾaflaḥa, ‘to cause prosperity’. In the same verse, the reference to the scales can be understood as referring both to the weighing of one’s own deeds, which is the explicit referent here, and to the fact that not undercutting on weights and measures is one of the good deeds that God commands elsewhere, e.g. in verse 7, 85 (faʾawfū al-kayla wa-l-mīzāna wa-lā tabkhasū al-nās ʾashyāʾahum); cf. Q. 6, 152 (wa-ʾawfū al-kayla wa-l-mīzāna bi-l-qisṭ). Hence, the one whose measures are heavy on the Day is the one who has given full measures, which contributes to the prosperity of others – which in turn counts among the deeds that God rewards.

41

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ faʾūlāʾika alladhīna khasirū ʾanfusahum bimā kānū biʾāyātinā yaẓlimūn) 10. Even though We had empowered you in the land and there provided for you means of livelihood: 42 how little you give thanks! (wa-laqad makkannākum fī al-ʾarḍ wa-jaʿalnā lakum fīhā maʿāyish qalīlan mā yashkurūn)

Concerning internal, meso-level cross-references, I give two examples from Q. 7, to illustrate how a root and concept occurs in different contexts. 43 First, the verb qaṣṣa in verses 7 and 35. Verse 7, from the passage above, is God’s description of how He will definitely account (la-naquṣṣanna) to those tried on the Day of judgement His knowledge of their actions. In verse 35, qaṣṣa occurs in the context ‘Adam’s offspring and God’s messengers and signs’, and the general terms that apply to them (v. 26–53). God describes how His messengers will recount (yaquṣṣūna) to Adam’s offspring His signs, which also convey their obligations to Him. Here, then, qaṣṣa means recounting God’s contractual terms to peoples, making them accountable for fulfilling them: (35) O Children of Adam! Whenever messengers from among yourselves come to you and recount My signs, the one who fulfils his obligations and promotes the common good, no fear shall be upon them, nor shall they grieve! (yā banī ʾādam ʾimmā yaʾtiyannakum rusul minkum yaquṣṣūna ʿalaykum ʾāyātī faman ittaqā waʾaṣlaḥa falā khawfa ʿalayhim wa-lā hum yaḥzanūn)

The second example is verses 8–9 and 85, where the topic is the scales (mīzān). Verses 8–9, also from the passage above, account how the scales will weigh a person’s deeds on the Day of trial. Verse 85 belongs to the particular terms illustrated by the messenger Shuʿayb, who exhorts his people to serve God, saying: “fulfil the measure and the weight, and do not diminish for the people the value of their things; and do not cause corruption in the land after it has been restored for the good of all” (faʾawfū alkayla wa-l-mīzāna wa-lā tabkhasū al-nās ʾashyāʾahum wa-lā tufsidū Al-Ṭabarī explains maʿāyisha as referring to food and drink derived from the land, which are material blessings (niʿma) from God. 43 See also Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 250–252. 42

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 59 fī-l-ʾarḍ baʿda ʾiṣlāḥihā). Thus, verse 85 exemplifies what makes a person’s scales weigh heavy or light in the final trial: it depends on how one has measured the weights for other people. This pushes the sense of al-mufliḥūna in verse 8 in the direction of ‘causing prosperity’, since the good deeds means weighing justly and ensuring that the value of the people’s property is not diminished; i.e., making them prosper, not reducing their wealth. In terms of cross-references between sūras, ‘scales’ occur also in e.g. Q. 6, 152, a verse which follows a list of commandments in 6, 151. Read together, verses 6, 152–153 connect ‘weighing’ with the management of orphans’ property and making just statements in legal contexts. Both the legal-ethical and the verbalrhetorical aspects pertain to the contractual obligations towards God: (152) Do not lay kinship claims to the orphan’s property, except by what is best, until he comes of age, and then you shall give the full measure and weight in equity! We do not commit a person except within his capabilities. When you speak, be just even if he is of kin, and meet the terms of God’s contract: that is what He obligates you; may you remember and honour your contract! (wa-lā taqrabū māl al-yatīm ʾillā bi’llatī hiya ʾaḥsan ḥattā yablugha ʾashuddahu wa-ʾawfū al-kayla wa-l-mīzāna bi-l-qisṭ lā nukallif nafsan ʾillā wusʿahā wa-ʾidhā qultum fa’ʿdilū wa-law kāna dhā qurbā wa-biʿahd Allāh ʾawfū dhālikum waṣṣākum bihi laʿallakum tadhakkarūn) (153) Indeed, this path of Mine is correct in speech and action, so follow it! Do not follow the (other) duties so that you are diverted from His duties: that is what He obligates you; may you fulfil your obligations! (wa-ʾanna hādhā ṣirāṭī mustaqīman fa’ttabiʿūhu wa-lā tattabiʿū al-subul fatafarraqa bi-kum ʿan sabīlihi dhālikum waṣṣākum bi-hi laʿallakum tattaqūn)

Viewed in relation to Q. 6, 152–153, the scales and weights recounted in Q. 7, 8–9 (one’s own weight on the Day of judgement) and 7, 85 (how one has weighed for the people) acquire an additional particular reference: the legal case of orphans’ property. Furthermore, the reference in Q. 6, 153 to ṣirāṭ mustaqīm connects with the Qur’an’s opening invocation of God’s guidance, Q. 1 (al-Fātiḥa), verses 6–7:

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ (6) Lead us along the path of correct speech and action (ihdinā al-ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm), (7) The path of those on who You conferred material blessings, without being angry with them, and who did not go astray! (ṣirāṭ alladhīna ʾanʿamta ʿalayhim ghayr al-maghḍūb ʿalayhim wa-lā al-ḍāllīna)

Reading Q. 6, 152–153 and Q. 1, 6–7 together shows that ṣirāṭ mustaqīm refers to both speech and virtuous action, as al-Ṭabarī also argued (see above). Q. 6, 152–153 emphasises ‘justice’, i.e. legal rulings, as the main context in which the inter-dependency between ethics and speech becomes very important. The same inter-dependency of ethics and speech premises the Covenantal contract. Q. 7, 172 describes the establishment of the Covenant between God and Adam’s offspring as a speech-act, in the form of a legal testimony: (172) When your Lord took from the offspring of Adam, from their backs, their descendants and made them testify against themselves: “Am I not your Lord?” They said: “So You are! We testify!”, so that you cannot say on the Day of Standing to trial: “But we were unaware of this!” (wa-ʾidh ʾakhadha rabbuka min banī ʾādam min ẓuhūrihim dhurriyyatahum waʾashhadahum ʿalā ʾanfusihim ʾalastu bi rabbikum qālū balā shahidnā ʾan taqūlū yawma ’l-qiyāma ʾinnā kunnā ʿan hādhā ghāfilīn)

This re-actualises theory of language and meaning. Al-Ṭabarī’s locating meaning in the speaker’s innermost concerns and intended message, conveyed through the human capacity for making clear distinctions implies in the case of the Qur’an that God conveys His message through its supreme distinctions, linguistic and rhetorical forms, and composition. And the message is about the reality of Covenant and its general and particular applications. Applied to exegesis, the goal is then to attain the meaning that God intended to communicate concerning the terms of His Covenant.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 61 Analysis: Covenant as cross-disciplinary theoretical paradigm

In Chapter 1, we saw al-Ṭabarī framing political history in terms of Covenant and employing this concept to establish the theory of ‘natural’ law and justice, expressed in the form of a mutually agreed upon social contract for the basic terms between ‘ruler and ruled’. Here we have seen how in the Qur’an commentary he established the Covenantal terms and its general and particular applications as a meta-level semantic paradigm for the whole Qur’an. The linguistic terms he employed (bayān, maʿānī, badīʿ) refer to specialised fields within the rhetorical and exegetical discipline balāgha, as we have seen. The distinction between universals and particulars also pertains to linguistics and exegesis but overlaps the discipline of jurisprudence (fiqh) as well. Addressing this overlap, Abdessamad Belhaj has in a recent study noted the significance of Aristotle’s reasoning on universals and particulars and law-making in Nicomachean Ethics. Specifically, Belhaj explored how bayān within fiqh applied to the establishing of universals and derivation of particulars, and how making these distinctions in a given case constitutes a source of ambiguity. 44 If one views al-Ṭabarī’s works from this perspective, Covenant and its general and particular applications appears as a crossdisciplinary paradigm encompassing history and political theory, Qur’an exegesis and its foundation in language theory and rhetoric, and jurisprudence. 45 Following Belhaj, there is also a topical connection to Aristotle.

Abdessamad Belhaj, ‘Al-Risāla (attributed to al-Shāfiʿī) and the Question of Vagueness in Islamic Legal Hermeneutics’, Comparative Islamic Studies, 11:1 (2015), pp. 95–107. 45 For an initial study of Covenant as historiographical paradigm employed by several early historians of both Sunni and Shiʿi affiliations, including al-Ṭabarī, see R. Stephen Humphreys, ‘Qurʾānic Myth and Narrative Structure in Early Islamic Historiography’, in R. S. Humphreys and F. M. Clover (eds.), Tradition and Innovation in Late Antiquity (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1989), pp. 271–290. On Covenant as the contractual paradigm structuring fiqh, see Bernard G. Weiss, ‘Covenant and Law in Islam’, in Edwin B. Firmage, Bernard G. Weiss, and John W. Welch (eds.), Religion and Law: Biblical-Judaic and Islamic Perspectives (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1990), pp. 49–83; The 44

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I will argue here that al-Ṭabarī’s use of Qur’anic Covenant places the Qur’an within a multi-disciplinary theoretical legacy. In terms of the Qur’an being prophetic speech, as al-Ṭabarī pointed out, its contents would convey what Hodgson termed the prophetic ‘egalitarian ethos’. Accordingly, we have seen examples of the Qur’an’s insistence on justice in several topical contexts: giving verbal statements and testimonies, the commercial practice of weighing and measuring, and the property rights of the weak, e.g. the orphans. In terms of the Qur’an being prophetic speech in Arabic, al-Ṭabarī argued that Covenant as meta-level semantic context and structuring paradigm subsumes and trumps both the Biblical prophetic and the Arabic linguistic-rhetorical legacies. In other words: the Qur’an conveys through its forms God’s supremely clear distinctions of Covenant and its terms, as a precondition for justice that protects the rights of all, and especially the weak. Below I will proceed to trace this multi-disciplinary theoretical legacy through a survey of research into the history of Arabic language and its relationship with the Qur’an, and transmissions of Aristotle’s works.

HISTORY OF ARABIC LANGUAGE

In Chapter 1 we saw Jan Retsö conclude from his assessment of the root forms ʿ-r-b and ʿ-r-b-ī, that ‘Arab’ in the pre-Umayyad period referred to several groups of people. External references to the Arabs’ language appear first in Greek sources from the 200s BCE. Yet in Retsö’s view, these references do not constitute evidence of there being one homogenous Arabic language, since different groups of Arabs would have spoken different vernacular languages. 46 The earliest form of Arabic comparable with that of the Qur’an is the Namāra inscription from southern Syria, close to the Byzantine imperial border, dated to 328 CE. However, though the language is Arabic the script is Aramaic Nabatean. The inscription eulogises an Arab king named Marʾ al-Qays (‘Lord of Spirit of Islamic Law (Athens, Georgia: The University of Georgia Press, 1998). 46 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 595ff.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 63 al-Qays’, a tribal collective), who controlled a large expanse of territory including the Arabian Peninsula to the regions bordering South Arabia. The inscription’s exact meaning and historical references are elusive due to the ‘bare’ consonant script. Some have read it as a statement of the Arab king’s and his sons’ vassalage to Byzantium and/or Sassanid Persia; others as a statement of his and his sons’ rule over sedentary communities. 47 Either way, the Namāra inscription is a royal eulogy in the Arabic idiom that during the 500s and 600s developed into Qur’anic Arabic. Concerning the period 500–600, Ernst Axel Knauf has modelled how several forms of Arabic co-developed, focusing on their institutional affiliations. Knauf distinguishes between language of prestige, language of religion, lingua franca or administrative language, and dialect. During the 500s, ‘Early Standard Arabic’ (ESA) emerged alongside and gradually replaced Aramaic as lingua franca among pagan, Jewish and Christian Arabs in south-eastern Syria, south-western Iraq, and the Arabian Peninsula. Aramaic was also the main language of religion for Jewish and Christian Arabs, while the pagan Arabs had poetic Arabic as their language of prestige and main religious idiom. In the 600s, the Qur’an has become the language of both prestige and religion among those groups who adopted first ESA and then ‘Standard Arabic’ (SA) as lingua franca; while dialects remained the spoken idioms, and poetry retained its status as language of prestige, alongside the Qur’an. 48

Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 467–485; cf. Manfred Kropp, ‘Vassal – neither of Rome nor of Persia. Marʾ al-Qays the Great King of the Arabs’, Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies, 23 (1993), pp. 63–93; Zbigniew T. Fiema, Ahmad al-Jallad, Michael C. A. Macdonald and Leïla Nehmé, ‘Provincia Arabia: Nabatea, the Emergence of Arabic as a Written Language, and Graeco-Arabica’, in Fisher (ed.), Arabs and Empires before Islam, pp. 373–433; see pp. 405–409 for the inscription. 48 Ernst Axel Knauf, ‘Arabo-Aramaic and ʿArabiyya: From Ancient Arabic to Early Standard Arabic, 200 CE–600 CE’, in Angelika Neuwirth, Nicolai Sinai & Michael Marx (eds.), The Qurʾān in Context: Historical and Literary Investigations into the Qurʾānic Milieu (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 197–254, pp. 245–248. 47

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Knauf’s model implies that if poetic, religious, administrative-legal, and vernacular forms of Arabic developed simultaneously in the period 500–600, the language experts would have been aware of the specifics of each form regarding morphology, grammar, and idiomatic conventions. The diversity of forms furthermore suggests that language was theorised, in terms of explanations of its origins, functions, and rules. Such theorisation would have coincided with both the Prophet’s announcing (610–10/632) of the Qur’an, and the establishing of the consonantal script of the Qur’an during ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān’s Caliphate (r. 23/644–35/656). As the new religious language, Qur’anic Arabic thus differed from the other forms of Arabic. That the political administration had an interest in the Qur’anic religious language is reflected in the reports that it was the Caliphal office, which organised scribes to produce the established consonant script. According to the manuscript researcher Francois Déroche, the earliest extant Qur’an manuscripts date to the second half of the 600s, i.e. early Umayyad rule (661–750). He points out that although there is no evidence that rules out the Islamic sources’ reports attributing the establishment of a consonant script to the time of the Caliph ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān, the reports exaggerated the extent to which this script cancelled out all other versions, since several different ones continued to exist. 49 Al-Ṭabarī, whose above-mentioned reports on the ‘seven pronounced particles’ and the production of the script are among the frequently cited, himself worked with several manuscripts and variant readings (qirāʾāt), some of which diverged from the script attributed to ʿUthmān. From his perspective, the variant readings existing in his time pertained to the one preserved ‘particle’ and not the other six, which did not survive. For example, his exegesis of Q. 38 (Ṣād), 23, and the sentence that reads in the ʿUthmānic script “Indeed, this is my brother, who has ninety-nine ewes” (ʾinna hādhā ʾakhī lahu tisʿun wa-tisʿūna naʿjatan). Al-Ṭabarī reported that the reading of ʿAbd Allāh (b. Masʿūd) added a Francois Déroche, Qurʾans of the Umayyads: A First Overview (Leiden: Brill, 2014).

49

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 65 feminine adjective: “ninety-nine ewes, feminine” (tisʿun wa-tisʿūna naʿjatan ʾunthā). Al-Ṭabarī explained this addition as idiomatic Arabic, where it is common to specify gendered words in this way, for example “this is a man, masculine” (hādhā rajulun dhakar). 50 He himself, however, followed the ʿUthmānic script, which he identified as the divine kitāb. This identification had legal implications since, as we have seen above, the divine kitāb makes the obligations and rights known and binding. Hence, he argued against some readings: “it is not permissible for us to testify to something that is not in our scriptural collections saying that it is part of God’s writing (wa-ghayr jāʾiz lanā ʾan nashhad lishayʾ laysa fī maṣāḥifinā min al-kalām ʾannahu min kitāb Allāh)”. 51 Retsö’s adduced etymology of ʿ-r-b discussed above in Chapter 1 has implications for the relationship between the religious and the administrative languages. Retsö’s main source is the Egyptian Mamlūk administrator Ibn Manẓūr’s (d. 710/1311) dictionary Lisān al-ʿarab, which includes references to linguists from the 700s (e.g. Sībawayhi, d. 179/796) and other early reports on poetic, Qur’anic, and vernacular languages, and Prophetic ḥadīth. As we saw, Retsö showed the root ʿ-r-b has two basic referents: to a group of people (jīl), into which a person is born or adopted; and to language-based practices: ‘to clarify’, ‘to guarantee’, ‘to give pledges or security’, often in commercial contexts, and ‘to swear oaths’ of political allegiance or upon adoption into a tribe. Retsö then extrapolated, with reference to Herodotus’ description of Arab pledge ceremonies, that ʿarab could have had the religious meaning ‘those who have entered into the service of a divinity and remain his slaves or property’. 52 Applied to the Qur’an, this implies that its ʿarabī language, with its connotations of ‘clarity’, ‘security’, ‘pledge’, and ‘guarantee’, expresses that this is the written word of the God Who the Arabs are bound to serve. The politicaladministrative reason for ‘investing’ in this scriptural language and its discourse would consist precisely in these connotations, since Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 23, pp. 170–171. Ḥātim Jalāl al-Tamīmī, al-Rasm al-ʿUthmānī min khilāl tafsīr al-Ṭabarī ʿarḍ wa-naqd, Majallat al-buḥūth wa-l-dirāsāt al-Qurʾāniyya, 8:4 (2013), pp. 77–122; cit. p. 90. 52 Retsö, The Arabs in Antiquity, pp. 597–598. 50 51

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God obligates the fulfilment of contractual pledges in general, including those to the ruler, as in Q. 48, 10 from Medina, cited also at the end of Chapter 1: 53 In fact, those who swear the oath of allegiance to you are really pledging allegiance to God, with God’s hand being over their hands. So, whoever breaks his oath breaks it to his own loss, while whoever fulfils what he has compacted with God, He will bring to him a great reward!

Other examples are Q. 16, 91; 17, 34; 3, 76–77; 4, 89; and 5, 89, 106–109. 54 It should however be noted that Ibn Manẓūr himself emphasised more than Retsö did the linguistic aspect of ʿ-r-b that connotes ‘to make or convey clarifying distinctions’ (ʾibāna). Ibn Manẓūr’s examples show that ‘to make clarifying distinctions’ can refer to the terms of a contract (ʿaqd), to giving evidence and pleading on behalf of someone (iḥtajja), and to correct use of the language through declensions (ʾiʿrāb). These senses overlap, since syntactically correct declensions is the presupposition for clear contractual terms and testimonies. 55 This view of the Arabic language as a discourse enabling commerce and various kinds of contracts, including pledges of allegiance to the ruler, thus reflects practices and needs for both the religious-scholarly and the political-administrative institutions. Applied to for example I am following Theodor Nöldeke’s chronology, which divides sūras into early, middle and late Mecca period, and Medina. 54 See footnote 55 in Ch. 1, above, and the reference to Robin, ‘Before Ḥimyar’, p. 118, on the South Arabian pact formula from around 650 BCE: “[W]hen [the ruler] put together an alliance of communes with a god and a patron and a pact and an alliance”. 55 Lisān al-ʿarab, roots ʿ-r-b and b-y-n; note that the basic meaning attributed to b-y-n is to ‘separate and join together’ (farq wa-waṣl), i.e. to distinguish between things in order to know how to combine them. Cf. Ibn Wahb (d. early 300s/900s), Kitāb al-burhān, p. 6: “the reasoning by which those who distinguish things can be clear (al-ʿaql alladhī bāna bihi dhawū al-tamyīz)”. On the connection between grammar and the legal use of language, with reference to Sībawayhi’s treatise from the late 700s, see Michael Carter, ‘Pragmatics and Contractual Language in Early Arabic Grammar and Legal Theory’, in Everhard Ditters & Harald Motzki (eds.), Approaches to Arabic Linguistics (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 25–44. 53

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 67 Q. 13, 37 (late Mecca), this definition of ʿ-r-b-ī can give the following result: In this way We made it descend as a grammatically clear and secure ruling (kadhālika ʾanzalnāhu ḥukman ʿarabiyyan), and were you to follow their whims after the knowledge that has come to you, you will have neither a protective governor nor a guardian in God!

In contradistinction from the administrative or lingua franca Arabic, however, the Qur’an was conceptualised as the prophetic speech. Hence, in the Qur’anic discourse, the same clarity of distinction that e.g. Ibn Manẓūr associated with ʿ-r-b-ī is associated with the speech of all the divine messengers, even those who did not speak Arabic. In such instances, the root b-y-n, ‘clear distinctions’, appears as a general trait of prophetic speech and is often associated metaphorically with light, as in Q. 14, 4– 5, also late Mecca period: (4) We have never sent a messenger with a message except in the language of his people, so that he can convey clarifying distinctions to them (liyubayyina lahum). Then God leads astray whoever He wishes and guides whoever He wishes, as He is the Mighty Who passes Judgement! (5) We have thus sent Moses with a message through Our signs: “Bring your people out of the darkness into the light and honour them with God’s battle days!” Surely, in those are signs for every persevering and thankful person!

Q. 6, 82–83, from late Mecca, identifies ‘the security’ (ʾamn) as the proof (ḥujja) that the message is divine, and attributes this proof to Abraham. Note the play between the words ʾāmana, ʾīmān and ʾamn here, which gives ʾāmana the sense of ‘to enact or convey security’, which is not quite reflected in the usual translation ‘to believe’ or ‘to have faith’: 56 Ibn Manẓūr also have the sense of ‘conveying security to s.o.’ for ʾāmana, since it is in the fourth, transitive declination; see entry ʾ-m-n in Lisān al-ʿarab; cf. Mårtensson, ‘“The Persuasive Proof”: A Study of Aristotle’s Politics and Rhetoric in the Qurʾān and al-Ṭabarī’s Commentary’, Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam, 34 (2008), pp. 363– 56

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68

(82) Those who enact security without cloaking it in the darkness of wrong: to those belong the security, for they are divinely guided (alladhīna ʾāmanū wa-lam yalbisū ʾīmānahum biẓulm ʾūlāʾika lahum al-ʾamn wa-hum muhtadūna): (83) That is Our proof, which We gave to Abraham over his people. We raise in degrees whoever We wish: Your Lord indeed is one Who passes judgement knowing all!

In Q. 2, 126 (Medina), the topic of security is again referred to Abraham, though now connected with a region with cities and its inhabitants’ food sustenance. Abraham is here negotiating with God on behalf of the people, asking Him to sustain them of the harvested fruits: (126) When Abraham said: “My Lord, make this a secure region and sustain of the harvest fruits those of its inhabitants who enact security through God and the Far-away Day!” (God) said: “As for those who reject security, I shall provide for them for a while, then subject them to the chastisement of the fire: a harsh fate!”

It is thus possible that the Qur’anic discourse uses the attribute ‘Arabic’ (ʿarabī) to signify ‘clarity of distinctions’ as a linguistic feature and a practice that is conducive to security, both contractual-legal and material. Since the Qur’an also identifies itself generically with previous forms of prophetic speech, it appears that Qur’anic ʿarabī is more than the language of the Arabs, since its defining trait is the divine clear distinctions and semantic substance. An example that might illustrate this point is Q. 41, 1–4 (late Mecca): (1) ḥāmīm (2) A sending-down from the Giver of life Who Continuously Protects life (tanzīlun min al-raḥmān al-raḥīm), (3) A writing whose signs have been made distinct into a grammatically correct and secure reading for a people who

420, pp. 378–379; Nora S. Eggen, ‘Conceptions of Trust in the Qur’an’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 13:2 (2011), pp. 56–85.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 69 have knowledge (kitābun fuṣṣilat ʾāyātuhā qurʾānan ʿarabiyyan liqawmin yaʿlamūna), (4) bringing good words and warnings; yet most of them turned away for they do not listen!

Viewed against this background, Retsö’s point that the Qur’anic term ʿarabī is not quite the same thing as the Arabs’ language appears correct, even though it also refers to the language that the people who God addressed in ʿarabī would understand. The ‘not quite’ seems to consist in the emphasis on ‘clear distinctions’, which makes it a technical language related to law and administration, which has generic-but-less-perfected counterparts in previous forms of prophetic speech. Consequently, and with reference to both Retsö and Knauf, the ‘religious’ identity of the Qur’an’s Arabic language would consist in its binding all people to serve God, which includes the administration’s obligation to serve justice.

ARISTOTLE’S THEORY OF LANGUAGE

The analysis of Qur’anic ʿarabī just concluded corresponds with al-Ṭabarī’s above-described definition of Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn as making clear distinctions, except that he also specified what kind of distinctions, namely between universals and particulars (ʿumūm wa-khuṣūṣ). The idea that language operates by making distinctions, and consists of universals and particulars, appears also in Aristotle’s De Interpretatione. As we have also seen in Chapter 1, F. E. Peters showed that Paul the Persian (d. 571) in the Sassanid court in Ctesiphon wrote a Pahlavi commentary on De Interpretatione, later translated into Syriac. This commentary constitutes evidence of written theoretical works on language in the broader context within which the Arabic language developed in the 500s. Here I will therefore take another route in exploring the development of Arabic, by tracing Aristotelian legacies. Following the Revised Oxford Translation of De Interpretatione, 57 Aristotle defined language as human use of 57 The Complete Works of Aristotle: The Revised Oxford Translation, edited by Jonathan Barnes. 2 vols. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), vol. 1, pp. 25, 27.

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verbal symbols to express affections arising from their experiences of things, and of writing to symbolise the spoken sounds; thus, both verbal and written symbols are ‘signs’ (sēmeía, sing. sēmeíon). This is a conventionalist theory of language in the sense that language is not seen as a reflection of reality itself, but as spoken and written symbols, which differ from one people and language to another even though the things they refer to are the same (stone, tree, water, etc.). Yet despite their differences, all languages share the practices of making distinctions by combining and separating words, and of making universal and particular statements: 1. (…) Now spoken sounds are symbols of affections in the soul, and written marks symbols of spoken sounds. And just as written marks are not the same for all men, neither are spoken sounds. But what these are in the first place signs of – affections of the soul – are the same for all; and what these affections are likenesses of – actual things – are also the same. (…) (16a1–8) Just as some thoughts in the soul are neither true nor false while some are necessarily one or the other, so also with spoken sounds. For falsity and truth have to do with combination and separation. Thus names and verbs by themselves – for instance ‘man’ or ‘white’ when nothing further is added – are like the thoughts that are without combination and separation; for so far they are neither true nor false. A sign of this is that even ‘goat-stag’ signifies something but not, as yet, anything true or false – unless ‘is’ or ‘is not’ is added (either simply or with reference to time). (16a10–18) 2. A name is a spoken sound significant by convention, without time, none of whose parts is significant in separation. For in ‘Whitfield’ the ‘field’ does not signify anything in its own right, as it does in the phrase ‘white field’. (…) (16a19– 21) I say ‘by convention’ because no name is a name naturally but only when it has become a symbol. Even inarticulate noises (of beasts, for instance) do indeed reveal something, yet none of them is a name. (…) (16a27–29)

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 71 7. Now of actual things some are universal, others particular (I call universal that which is by its nature predicated of a number of things, and particular that which is not; man, for instance, is a universal, Callias a particular). So it must sometimes be of a universal that one states that something holds or does not, sometimes of a particular. (…) (17a38– 17b3)

One generation after Paul the Persian translated De Interpretatione into Pahlavi at the Sassanid court in Ctesiphon under Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān’s patronage, the official ʿAdī b. Zayd (d. c. 600) introduced written Arabic within the Sassanid administration. As Theresia Hainthaler shows, ʿAdī b. Zayd was the son of the governor at the court of the Lakhmid kings in alḤīra. Because he was fluent in both Pahlavi and Arabic, the Sassanid Shah recruited him to serve as his secretary and interlocutor-translator for affairs with the Lakhmids as well as the Byzantine Arab vassals, and the Arab tribes in the Peninsula, and it was in this capacity that he established written Arabic as an administrative language. 58 In the same milieu, then, Paul the Persian’s translation of Aristotle’s theory of language in De Interpretatione was available in Pahlavi, in addition to the fact that the Lakhmid Nestorian church had adopted Aristotelian logic since the late 500s according to Griffith, or since the 450s, following Peters, as discussed in Chapter 1. Moreover, the administrative connections between al-Ḥīra and Ctesiphon in southern Iraq and the Hijaz concerning taxation, appear to have had religious and linguistic dimensions as well. In a study of one of ʿAdī b. Zayd’s poems, Hainthaler remarks that the poet swears Theresia Hainthaler, ‘ʿAdī b. Zayd al-ʿIbādī, the pre-Islamic Christian Poet of al-Ḥīra and his Poem nr. 3 written in Jail’, Parole de l’Orient, 30 (2005), pp. 157–172; pp. 159–160. See also Kirill Dmitriev, ‘An Early Christian Arabic Account of the Creation of the World’, in Neuwirth, Sinai and Marx (eds.), The Qurʾān in Context, pp. 349–387. This is a study of one of ʿAdī b. Zayd’s poems, on the topic of God’s creation, and a comparison between its concepts and Biblical and Qur’anic counterparts. Note also Griffith’s point, that when Christian Jacobites and Nestorians applied Aristotelian logic in the 500s, they also polemicized against Aristotelian concept of eternity and defended the Biblical doctrine of divine creation; The Church, p. 110. 58

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an oath ‘by the Lord of Mecca and the cross’, though she adds that it is not possible to determine whether ‘the Lord of Mecca’ is a later, Islamic addition, or part of the original poem. 59 However, given that the Lakhmid kings were pagan until they adopted Nestorianism during ʿAdī’s time, it is possible that Mecca’s sanctuary customarily served as pilgrimage destination and reference point for oaths, alongside Christian discourse. If so, the reference to ‘the Lord of Mecca’ could reflect the administrative and religious connections between al-Ḥīra/Iraq and Mecca/Hijaz around 600, and which could have included language development, as well. The lexicographer Ibn Manẓūr provides information, which establishes a connection between Iraq and Hijaz concerning the development of written Arabic: 60 The scribes among the Arabs were from the people of al-Ṭāʾif, who learnt [the art of writing] from a man from the people of al-Ḥīra, and the people of al-Ḥīra took it from the people of al-ʾAnbār.

Al-Ṭāʾif is located just southeast of Mecca, al-Ḥīra was ʿAdī b. Zayd’s city in southern Iraq, and the neighbouring region alʾAnbār is where al-Ṭabarī reported that Arabs had settled in the 600s BCE, as we saw in Chapter 1. Given these connections through administration and language, it is possible that the development of Arabic in the late 500s and early 600s included Aristotelian theory of language. Qur’anic Arabic can thus be located within this same theoretical context, without that implying any other local context than Hijaz. In the post-Qur’anic period, exchanges between Iraq and Hijaz are even more tangible since both regions subsumed under the Caliphal administration. Concerning the development of Arabic linguistics, the dominant view has been that it took place in the Iraqi Arab-Islamic garrison cities Basra and Kufa, the latter neighbouring al-Ḥīra. Countering this consensus, Rafael Talmon has adduced sources indicating that alongside Basra and Kufa, Hijaz, including both Mecca and Medina, was also a centre for

59 60

Hainthaler, ‘ʿAdī b. Zayd’, p. 169. Lisān al-ʿarab, entry ʾ-m-m, on the form ʾummī.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 73 Arabic grammar. 61 His thesis gains further support if one considers that the administrative connection between Iraq and Hijaz dates back to the late 500s–early 600s. Talmon also argued that elements from Aristotle’s logic (the Organon) and theory of language (De Interpretatione), transmitted through the Pahlavi and Syriac translations in the late 500s and early 600s, appear in the 700s in works by e.g. the political theorist and secretary Ibn alMuqaffaʿ (d. 139/756), the Basran linguist Sībawayhi (d. 179/796), and the Kufan linguist and Qur’an exegete al-Farrāʾ (d. 207/822). These elements include the conventionalist premise, that grammatical forms are established (mawḍūʿ) through common usage. 62 If there is a continuity of Aristotelian theory in the development of Arabic language, the bridge that connects the 500s–600s with the 700s onwards is Qur’an exegesis, which Kees Versteegh has shown is the discipline within which the earliest forms of linguistics and grammar developed. 63 Based on his analysis of exegetical writings from the early 700s onwards, and following research by Harald Motzki, Gregor Schoeler, and Yeshayahu Goldfeld, Versteegh assumes that the exegetical reports identified with Ibn ʿAbbās (d. 67/687), which date to the second half of the 600s, accurately indicate when in time exegesis

Rafael Talmon, ‘An Eighth Century Grammatical School in Medina: The Collection and Evaluation of the Available Material, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 2 (1985), pp. 224–236. 62 Rafael Talmon, ‘The Philosophizing Farrāʾ: An Interpretation of An Obscure Saying Attributed to the Grammarian Thaʿlab’, in Carter, Michael and Versteegh, Kees (eds.), Studies in the History of Arabic Grammar II (Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamin Publishing Company, 1990), pp. 265–279; p. 270. The article also surveys the research debates on whether ancient Greek language theory contributed to Arabic grammar and linguistics. For a survey, which also includes Talmon’s works, see Versteegh, Arabic Grammar, pp. 22–28. Versteegh himself argued that ‘the Greek thesis’ was misguided in the sense that it was not the philosophical and logical works that impacted on Arabic grammar through the Pahlavi-Iraqi route, but their “watered down version” taught in the Hellenistic schools of grammar spread across the Byzantine imperial regions, including Arab Syria; p. 25. 63 Versteegh, Arabic Grammar, p. 41. 61

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began. 64 Mustafa Shah has added to this picture, showing that exegesis and linguistics began together in the efforts to understand and vocalise the Qur’anic consonant script. Hence, a Kufan chain of authorities on Qur’anic readings starts with ʿAbd Allāh b. Masʿūd (d. 57/677), who had followers citing him from the late 600s onwards. 65 A Basran chain starts with Abū al-ʾAswad al-Duʾalī (d. 69/689), and includes Qur’an readers from Hijaz, as well. Shah also points out that the bibliographer Ibn al-Nadīm (d. 385/995) identified four labels describing styles of Arabic script – Meccan, Medinan, Kufan and Basran – and that recent research into the earliest Qur’an manuscripts confirms that the styles fall into the two broader localised labels ‘Hijazi’ and ‘Kufan’. 66 Shah’s research thus supports Talmon’s thesis that linguistics developed in both Iraq and Hijaz, and that it started early, although Shah explores its beginnings in the production of Qur’anic script and readings in the late 600s and Talmon in transmissions of Aristotelian theory from the Pahlavi and Syriac translations in Iraq. 67 The earliest extant treatise on Arabic grammar is al-Kitāb, authored by the linguist Sībawayhi (d. 179/796). Sībawayhi used poetry, vernacular conventions, the Qur’an, and Prophetic ḥadīth to illustrate the grammatical rules he developed. Contemporary linguists have defined Sībawayhi’s theory of language as corresponding with pragmatism, i.e. that the meaning of words is not intrinsic to them but equals the meaning that a speaker intends to convey (ʾarāda al-maʿnā), when referring to a specific topical (mawḍiʿ) and circumstantial (ẓurūf) context, and using the language’s grammatical possibilities (ʾiḥāla) and conventions for correct speech (istiqāma, mustaqīm). For example, when describing how a poet chooses words and grammatical Versteegh, Arabic Grammar, pp. 55–61. Shah, ‘Exploring the Genesis of Early Arabic Linguistic Qur’anic Readers and Grammarians of the Kūfan Tradition Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 5:1 (2003), pp. 47–78; p. 60. 66 Shah, ‘Exploring the Genesis of Early Arabic Linguistic Qur’anic Readers and Grammarians of the Baṣran Tradition Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 5:2 (2003), pp. 1–47; pp. 1–4. 67 Shah, ‘Kūfan Tradition’, p. 50. 64 65

Thought: (Part I)’, Thought: (Part II),

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 75 declensions to achieve specific aims, Sībawayhi says fayaʿmalu hādhā al-kalām fī hādhihi al-ghāyāt bi-l-naṣab, “this word governs these intended aims in the accusative declension”. 68 In sum: language offers forms for conveying intended meaning. Given that Sībawayhi used the Qur’an for some examples, it is possible that he perceived the Qur’an to be illustrative of his own theory of language. This would place both the Qur’an and Sībawayhi’s linguistics within a broadly conventionalist paradigm which they share with Aristotle’s theory of language. Furthermore, Michael Carter has stressed the connection between Sībawayhi’s pragmatism and the ‘contractual language’ associated with fiqh, i.e. the derivation of guidance and legal rulings from the Qur’an and ḥadīth. 69 This brings us back to the analysis above, that Qur’anic ʿarabī signifies a technical language intended to make clear distinctions, especially in the context of defining contractual terms. It can thus be argued that Aristotelian logic and language theory deriving from the Syriac and Pahlavi translations in the period 500–600 continue via the Qur’an into the Islamic disciplines Qur’an exegesis and Arabic linguistics, e.g. Sībawayhi’s conventionalist paradigm. Al-Ṭabarī’s abovedescribed general theory of language and his particular definition of Qur’anic language as God’s intended message about Covenant to the Prophet and his people, carrying universals and particulars, appears to fit into this paradigm. The main other ‘religious’ counterparts appears to be late Antique Christian and rabbinical exegesis, possibly shaped by the schools of both Alexandria and Antioch, as Yeshayahu Goldfeld has argued in his study of theory Kitāb Sībawayhi, edited by ʿAbd al-Salām Muḥammad Hārūn, Third printing. 5 vols. (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khānjī, 1988) vol. 1, p. 417. See also analysis of Sībawayhi’s linguistics in Ramzi Baalbaki, Baalbaki, Ramzi, ‘Inside the Speaker’s Mind: Speaker’s Awareness as Arbiter of Usage in Arab Grammatical Theory’, in Everhard Ditters & Harald Motzki (eds.) Approaches to Arabic Linguistics (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 3–23; Michael Carter, ‘Pragmatics and Contractual Language in Early Arabic Grammar and Legal Theory’, in Ditters & Motzki (eds.) Approaches to Arabic Linguistics, pp. 25–44; Amal Marogy, Kitāb Sībawayhi: Syntax and Pragmatics (Leiden: Brill, 2010). 69 Carter, ‘Pragmatics and Contractual Language’. 68

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in early Islamic exegesis, especially the reports attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās. 70 Such an approach places al-Ṭabarī’s theory of general and Qur’anic language along a trajectory of Aristotelian legacies as well as of the specific Jewish and Christian ‘prophetic’ traditions with their egalitarian ethos. Viewed from this perspective, al-Ṭabarī’s paradigm and concepts can offer tools for historically defining the Qur’an’s theoretical context. In what follows, I will continue to develop this approach, but turning now to rhetoric.

QUR’ANIC RHETORIC: AN ARISTOTELIAN PERSPECTIVE

As we have seen in the beginning of this chapter, Qur’an commentators like al-Ṭabarī conceptualised Qur’anic rhetoric in the terms of balāgha. However, Qur’anic rhetoric has also been analysed in terms of Aristotle’s rhetoric. 71 In this section I will show how the two approaches can be seen as compatible regarding theoretical premisses. I begin by surveying the main components in Aristotle’s rhetoric and mapping Syriac and Arabic translations of Aristotle’s Rhetoric in the period 500–900, and then return to rhetorical studies of the Qur’an and discuss alṬabarī’s possible contributions. Aristotle’s Rhetoric

Aristotle’s Rhetoric consists of three books. Books 1–2 treat ‘The means of persuasion in Public Address’, and Book 3 treats ‘Delivery, Style, and Arrangement’. 72 In Book 1, Aristotle establishes three means of persuasion (pisteis): ethos (projecting the speaker’s moral character as trustworthy), pathos (evoking Yeshayahu Goldfeld, ‘The Development of Theory on Qurʾānic Exegesis in Islamic Scholarship’, Studia Islamica, 67 (1988), pp. 5–27. 71 I am leaving out the ‘Semitic rhetoric’-approach, represented by Michel Cuypers and Mathias Zahniser, since it is a specific kind of structural analysis rather than rhetorical analysis of speech-contexts and tools of persuasion. 72 I use George A. Kennedy’s translation Aristotle On Rhetoric: A Theory of Civic Discourse (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), which provides more transcribed Greek terms than the older translations in Complete Works, and places Aristotle’s categories and terms in context. 70

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 77 emotional responses in the audience), and logos (inductive and deductive logical argument). All three forms are necessary, but it is logos which ultimately persuades by demonstrating a truth through ‘argumentation suitable to the case in question’. 73 Furthermore, all speech consists of three parts: speaker, subject, and addressee, and ‘the objective (telos) of the speech’ relates to the addressee. 74 There are also three kinds of public speech: deliberative (symbouleutikon), which judges future action and has the audience’s best interest as objective, using exhortation and dissuasion; judicial (dikanikon), which judges past action and has justice as objective, using accusation or defence; and demonstrative (epideiktikon), which is an observer position that has praise or blame of the subject as objective. 75 Concerning deliberative speech, Aristotle emphasised that a speaker must have ‘true’ scientific knowledge about the subject in case, and not only rely on the technical means of persuasion. He listed five ‘most important subjects’ on which people deliberate and orators give advice, with corresponding required knowledge: finances, war and peace, national defence, imports and exports, and the framing of laws. 76 Political science was the most important in providing knowledge for deliberative speech, since it included all these subjects: For the security of the state, it is necessary to observe all these things [finances and revenue, size of military forces, contract partners; UM], but not least to be knowledgeable about legislation, for the safety of the city is in its laws, so it is necessary to know how many forms of constitution there are and what is conducive to each and by what each is naturally prone to be corrupted, both forces characteristic of that constitution and those that are opposed to it. 77

On Rhetoric, pp. 38–39 (1356a). On Rhetoric, p. 47 (1358a–b). 75 On Rhetoric, pp. 48–49 (1358b–1359a); cf. p. 20. 76 On Rhetoric, p. 53 (1359b). 77 On Rhetoric, pp. 54–55 (1360a). 73 74

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The argument (logos) then aims to prove a proposition (enthymeme). Book 2 describes enthymeme as drawn from four sources. (1) Probability, or things that either are, or seem for the most part to be, true. (2) Paradigm, or example by induction of what is like one thing or more, whenever a general statement is made and supported by a particular instance. (3) Necessary sign (tekmērion), or signs from which a logically valid syllogism can be formed, and which can only be refuted by showing that the alleged fact is not true. (4) Fallible sign (sēmeion), or conclusion drawn from non-syllogistic signs, which are refutable even if true. 78 Thus, in Rhetoric ‘signs’ are a form of proposition, while in De Interpretatione ‘signs’ refer to the symbols of verbal sounds and written letters. Book 3 treats the aspects of delivery, style, and arrangement. Clarity is of utmost importance, and constitutes the ‘virtue of style’: Let the virtue of style be defined as “to be clear” [saphē] (speech is a kind of sign, so if it does not make clear it will not perform its function) – and neither flat nor above the dignity of its subject, but appropriate. 79

As the translator George Kennedy points out, Aristotle also applies his ethical terminology – the ideal ‘middle path’ between extremes – to rhetorical style, and thus establishes a connection between public speech and ethics. 80 Other important stylistic features include metaphors and similes, and rhythm in prose. Rhythm in prose serves to limit speech topics, making their length digestible and pleasant to the audience, but it must not be like poetic meter because poetry distracts the listeners’ attention from the message to the meter itself: “Thus, speech should have rhythm but not meter; for the latter will be a poem. The rhythm should not be exact. This will be achieved if it is [regular] only up to a point”. 81

On Rhetoric, pp. 190–191 (1402b–1403a). On Rhetoric, p. 197 (1404b). 80 On Rhetoric, p. 198. 81 On Rhetoric, p. 212 (1408b). 78 79

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 79 Finally, Aristotle distinguished between ‘artistic’ and ‘nonartistic’ forms of persuasion. The ‘artistic’ forms of persuasion are invented by the speaker, and include clarity, rhyme and other delivery and style-features such as metaphors and similes, as well as the proposition and ‘signs’. ‘Non-artistic’ or non-invented forms that a speaker can draw on in judicial and deliberative speech include law (written and unwritten), witnesses, contract, torture, and oath. 82 These ‘non-artistic’ forms of persuasion thus find rich sources in the ancient Middle Eastern political-religious discourses centred on contracts, oaths, pledge ceremonies and divine witnesses. Moreover, both ‘artistic’ and ‘non-artistic’ forms can be read into the senses that Ibn Manẓūr much later listed for ʿ-r-b-ī, notably ʾibāna (‘to make clear distinction’) as ‘artistic’ form, and iḥtajja (‘to give evidence’), ʿaqd (‘mutual contract’) and ʾamn (‘security’) as ‘non-artistic’ forms. Viewed from this perspective Qur’anic ʿ-r-b-ī takes on a rhetorical character, in addition to the linguistic and legal senses. That raises the question about historical transmissions of Aristotle’s Rhetoric. Aristotle’s Rhetoric into Arabic

There are no records of Syriac translations of Aristotle’s Rhetoric from the period 500–600. However, in the Alexandrian school in the early 500s, possibly earlier, the Rhetoric was incorporated into the Organon, i.e. the Aristotelian corpus of treatises on language and logic, including De Interpretatione. Since one of the Syrian Orthodox or ‘Jacobite’ theologians who introduced Aristotelian logic to the Syriac-writing communities belonged to the Alexandrian school, it is possible that the Rhetoric was incorporated into the Jacobite (and Nestorian) Aristotelian legacy through the works on logic, even though no Syriac translation of the treatise itself has been recorded. 83 Regarding the post-Qur’anic period, Dimitri Gutas has showed that Paul the Persian’s work on Aristotle’s logic from the On Rhetoric, pp. 103–110 (1375a–1377b). For a discussion of the possibility or not of early Syriac translations of the Rhetoric, see Uwe Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric in the East: The Syriac and Arabic Translation and Commentary Tradition (Leiden: Brill, 2008), pp. 51–61; on its Alexandrian legacy, p. 56.

82 83

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500s was cited by both al-Fārābī (d. 338/950) and Miskawayh (d. 421/1030), and he estimates that it was translated into Arabic by al-Fārābī’s teacher, the Nestorian logician Abū Bishr Mattā b. Yūnus (d. 328/932). 84 By that time, i.e. the early 300s/900s, Arabic translations of the Rhetoric had been undertaken. Uwe Vagelpohl has studied the only extant manuscript, which is part of an Arabic translation of the whole Organon, compiled at the end of the 300s/900s. Vagelpohl argues that the translation of the Rhetoric most likely originated in the late 800s in philosophical circles affiliated with al-Kindī (d. 259/873) in Abbasid Baghdad. 85 However, Vagelpohl also shows that other researchers have dated Arabic translations of the Rhetoric to the first half of the 700s, i.e. the Umayyad period. 86 If this is correct, it would place Arabic renderings of the Rhetoric within the early stages of the development of Arabic linguistics and Qur’an exegesis, as discussed above. In fact, already around the mid-800s scholars outside of the circle of philosophers were familiar with efforts to translate Aristotle’s works into Arabic. Sherman Jackson has translated into English a section of the litterateur al-Jāḥiẓ’s (d. 255/869) Kitāb al-ḥayawān (‘Treatise on Animals’), which draws on three main sources: the Qur’an and Prophetic ḥadīth; Aristotle’s Book on Animals; and Arabic poetry. In the selected section, al-Jāḥiẓ discusses problems with rendering Greek rhetoric into Arabic: Suppose one well versed in Greek were to forward to one well versed in Arabic a piece rendered into Arabic via some translator. Then suppose the targeted Arab recipient was not versed in the area of Greek rhetoric. He would (consequently) find no deficiency or shortcoming in either the intermediate translator nor the semantic content of the rendered work. 87 Gutas, ‘Paul the Persian’, p. 254. On the Alexandria school and its possible continuity in al-Fārābī’s political theory, see Philippe Vallat, Farabi et l’École d’Alexandrie: Des prémisses de la connaissance à la philosophie politique (Paris: J. Vrin, 2004). 85 Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, pp. 39–40, 207–208. 86 Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, pp. 39–51. 87 Sherman Jackson, ‘Al-Jahiz on Translation’, Journal of Comparative Poetics, 4 (1984), pp. 99–107; p. 105. 84

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 81 Pressing the point further, he adduces Aristotle to illustrate how difficult it is to achieve perfect cohesion and harmony of speech, even in one’s own language and even if one perfects the art of rhetoric: For how can the hired transcriber stand up to such a task while Aristotle, the master himself, was hamstrung by problems of this sort? 88

Al-Jāḥiẓ thus appears critically aware of ongoing efforts to translate Aristotle’s works. His own treatise on rhetoric, Kitāb albayān wa-l-tabyīn, as the title indicates, focuses on ‘clarity’ and ‘clear distinctions’ (b-y-n), like Aristotle’s ‘artistic’ forms of persuasion. However, al-Jāḥiẓ conceptualised bayān foremost with reference to the Qur’anic prophetic framework, starting with the famous Biblical and Qur’anic story about Moses’ ‘heavy tongue’ and his appointment of Aaron as his deputy public speaker. God obligated Moses to “convey to Pharaoh His message, to make His proof clearly distinct, and to express eloquently His indications” (baʿathahu ʾilā firʿūn biʾiblāgh risālatihi wa-l-ʾibāna ʿan ḥujjatihi wa-l-ʾifṣāḥ ʿan ʾadillatihi). This prophetic obligation presupposes the language-based capability of bayān, which God conferred upon all humans at Creation; and here al-Jāḥiẓ quoted several Qur’anic verses in support of his argument, including Q. 55, 1–4 (al-Raḥmān ʿallama al-qurʾān khalaqa al-ʾinsān ʿallamahu al-bayān). 89 This rhetorical concept of prophecy and of bayān, supported by e.g. Q. 55, 1–4 appears to set the model for alṬabarī’s above-described concepts. Also like al-Ṭabarī, al-Jāḥiẓ appears to share Sībawayhi’s semantic theory that meaning equals the speaker’s intended message, conveyed through the forms of language. Al-Jāḥiẓ argues that meanings (maʿānī) pertain to a person as a subject (ḍamīr) but remain unknown to others until they are verbalised. Although meanings are theoretically limitless, the individual speaker’s verbalisation (naṭq) imposes limits through selected concepts. Thus, verbalisation means Jackson, ‘Al-Jahiz on Translation’, p. 106. Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, edited by ʿAbd al-Salām Muḥammad Hārūn. Seventh printing, 5 vols. (Cairo: Maktabat al-Khānjī, 1998); vol. 1, pp. 7–8.

88 89

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refining and clarifying meaning through bayān, which al-Jāḥiẓ describes as the process of making manifest a non-verbalised meaning. As such, bayān equals the Qur’an as God’s verbalisation of His intended meaning and subject, and it is something that the ʿarab take pride in and the ‘categories of ʿajam’ seek to rival (bidhālika naṭaqa al-qurʾān wa-bidhālika tafākharat al-ʿarab wabidhālika tafāḍalat ʾaṣnāf al-ʿajam). 90 Here we see how al-Jāḥiẓ associated the root b-y-n with ʿ-r-b, in the same manner as Ibn Manẓūr did, as discussed above. Al-Jāḥiẓ then defined five categories indicating meaning (ʾaṣnāf al-dalālāt ʿalā al-maʿānī): verbal expressions (lafẓ); gestures (ʾishārāt); absolute, binding premises (ʿaqd); script (khaṭṭ); and the context termed adverbial adjective (al-ḥāl allatī tusammā al-niṣba). Among these, the adverbial adjective is the indicating context that establishes the standpoint at which all the other categories apply (al-niṣba hiya al-ḥāl al-dālla allatī taqūmu maqām tilka alʾaṣnāf). 91 Similarly to how Aristotle emphasised that propositions and proof must be grounded in scientific knowledge al-Jāḥiẓ argued, though citing other authorities, that “clarity in distinctions (bayān) is an outcome of scientific knowledge” (albayān min nitāj al-ʿilm), and “reason is the guiding principle of spirit, scientific knowledge is the guiding principle of reason, and clarity in distinctions is the translator of scientific knowledge” (alʿaql rāʾid al-rūḥ wa-l-ʿilm rāʾid al-ʿaql wa-l-bayān tarjumān al-ʿilm). 92 In al-Jāḥiẓ’s terminology, balāgha refers to the art of conveying meaning. He then distinguished the different aspects that go into the conveyance and attributed each one of them to a particular people and language group: the Persians (al-faṣl wa-lwaṣl); the Greeks (taṣḥīḥ al-ʾaqsām wa-ikhtiyār al-kalām); the Romans (ḥusn al-iqtiḍāb ʿinda al-badāha wa-l-ghazāra yawm alʾiṭāla); and the Indians (wuḍūḥ al-dalāla wa-intihāz al-furṣa waḥusn al-ʾishāra). He then adduced examples of Arab balāgha, from pre-Islamic and Islamic times, showing that it encompasses all

Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, pp. 75–76; cit. p. 75. Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, p. 76. 92 Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, p. 77. 90 91

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 83 these aspects. 93 Here he referred especially to Indian sources regarding the role of context, e.g. “the sum total of conveying a message is identifying the proof and being familiar with the occasions of opportunity” (jimāʿ al-balāgha al-baṣar bi-l-ḥujja wa-lmaʿrifa bimawāḍiʿ al-furṣa). 94 Similarly, he attributed to the Basran theologian Maʿmar Abū al-ʾAshʿath (fl. second half of the 100s/700s) the Indian rhetorical principles that the speaker must reduce his gestures to a minimum, carefully select the right amount of good words and adapt them to the level of the audience, and use concepts that correspond exactly with the intended meaning. This, al-Jāḥiẓ argued, is in line with the art of conveying a message in public speech, as distinct from both scholarly rebuttal and excessive wittiness. 95 His general term for public speech is khaṭāba, or khuṭba, when delivered by the Prophet or the Companion Caliphs in the context of the congregational Friday prayer. Other examples of public speakers are the ascetics and Sufis, and al-quṣṣāṣ. The latter were readers of the Qur’an and orators, who were often based in a mosque and who expounded and explained (fassara) the Qur’an’s meaning, sometimes, as in the case of Mūsā b. Sayyār al-ʾUswārī, with equal clarity in both Arabic and Persian. 96 Hence, following al-Jāḥiẓ, alquṣṣāṣ refer to a rhetorical category of public speakers, specialised in conveying the Qur’anic message to the public. 97

Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, pp. 88–96. See also vol. 2, where he gives lengthy examples of the Prophet’s and Companions’ speeches, remarking that he cites them to denounce the claims by proponents of shuʿūbiyya, that Arabic rhetoricians and kings are inferior in eloquence to e.g. Persians; p. 5. 94 Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, p. 88. 95 Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, pp. 92–93. 96 Al-Jāḥiẓ, Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn, vol. 1, pp. 363–366 (ascetics and Sufis); 367–369 (al-quṣṣāṣ). 97 See Linda G. Jones, The Power of Oratory in the Medieval Muslim World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), pp. 17–18, for a review of translations of the term, and her own rendering of the genre qaṣaṣ as ‘homiletic storytelling’. I would rather translate qaṣaṣ as ‘accounts of previous prophets and peoples’, serving in deliberative speech to prove the good of a certain course of action through historical examples. 93

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The salient point here is al-Jāḥiẓ’s premise that bayān is a general human capability and a particular prophetic obligation, which are both defined in and embodied by the Qur’an. Consequently, he made the Qur’an the source of rhetorical terminology and, through his initial reference to Moses and Aaron, defined it as a generic continuity of prophecy as an ancient institution connected with rhetoric. During the 300s/900s, this kind of prophetic perspective on rhetoric becomes the framework for the reception and application of the Arabic translation of Aristotle’s Rhetoric. As Vagelpohl shows, the extant Arabic version of Rhetoric transcribes ‘rhetoric’ as rīṭūriyya, explained in a margin gloss as ṣināʿat al-khaṭāba, ‘the art of public speech’. 98 While khaṭāba then became the standard term for rhetoric as public deliberative speech, bayān remained the key referent to clarity. One of the scholars Vagelpohl identifies as working with Aristotelian rhetoric is the Shīʿī theologian Isḥāq b. Wahb alKātib, who lived during the first half of the 300s/900s, i.e. a younger contemporary of al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923). Ibn Wahb’s treatise Kitāb al-burhān fī wujūh al-bayān aims to complement alJāḥiẓ’s Kitāb al-bayān wa-l-tabyīn as provider of rhetorical and stylistic guidelines for public officials. 99 Like al-Jāḥiẓ, Ibn Wahb defined bayān as the human rational capability to make clear distinctions, and supported the definition with references to the Qur’an, Prophetic ḥadīth, and the Companions, adding the Shīʿī Imams as well. As proofs for his claim that the Qur’an actually contains logic and rhetorical theory, Ibn Wahb adduced the standard Q. 55, 1–4 (al-Raḥmān ʿallama al-qurʾān khalaqa al-ʾinsān ʿallamahu al-bayān), as well as Q. 14, 4 (wa-mā ʾarsalnā rasūlan ʾillā bilisān qawmihi liyubayyina lahum), Q. 12, 1 (ʾaliflāmrā tilka ʾāyāt al-kitāb al-mubīn), and Q. 44, 13 (ʾannā lahum dhikrā wa-qad jāʾahum rasūlun mubīn). On that basis, he defined four senses or aspects (ʾawjuh) of bayān (while al-Jāḥiẓ defined five): to distinguish clearly the essences of things; clear distinctions Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, p. 82. On the terminology, cf. Philip Halldén, ‘What is Arab Islamic Rhetoric? Rethinking the History of Muslim Oratory Art and Homiletics’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 37 (2005), pp. 19–38; pp. 20–21. 99 Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, pp. 188–189. 98

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 85 occurring in the intellect (al-qalb) following from the employment of thought and analytical reasoning; clear distinctions verbalised through language; and clear distinctions through writing, which can be conveyed to those distant or absent. 100 As Vagelpohl points out, Ibn Wahb also quoted several of Aristotle’s treatises, including Rhetoric, Poetics, and Topics, effectively synthesizing Greek and Islamic sciences. 101 We can thus assume that Ibn Wahb perceived Aristotelian rhetoric to correspond with Qur’anic and Prophetic concepts and use of language for the sake of proving a proposition. Vagelpohl then identifies al-Fārābī (d. 338/950) as starting point for the truly systematic study of Aristotelian rhetoric, based on Arabic translations. Al-Fārābī’s Kitāb al-khaṭāba is a commentary on the theoretical parts of Aristotle’s rhetoric, especially logic and rhetorical proof, and he also produced a ‘Long Commentary’ on the Rhetoric, extant only in a medieval Latin translation. 102 Al-Fārābī’s work reflects the more widespread and systematic incorporation of Greek philosophy into the ArabicIslamic sciences. As already mentioned in Chapter 1, his political theory has been seen as a synthesis of Plato and Aristotle. He conceptualised prophecy as a lawgiving institution (wāḍiʿ alnawāmīs) and religion (milla) as what defines the city (madīna), where the inhabitants attain felicity. 103 In this paradigm, God in His capacity of sending down the law to the Prophet also serves as the ultimate representation of Justice (ʿadl), which ensures that the city’s inhabitants are just and virtuous and thus confers a divine security upon the city. 104 Moreover, as we have also seen, al-Fārābī modelled the relationship between metaphysical and philosophical-theoretical knowledge (ʿilm) and religion as one Ibn Wahb, Kitāb al-burhān, p. 9. Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, p. 189. 102 Vagelpohl, Aristotle’s Rhetoric, pp. 185–188. 103 On the Alexandria school’s approach to Plato and Aristotle and Farabi’s political theory viewed from this perspective, see again Vallat, Farabi et l’École d’Alexandrie; also Butterworth, ‘What Might We Learn’. 104 Vallat, Farabi et l’École d’Alexandrie, pp. 338–339, ref. to Fuṣūl muntazaʿa (Eng. ‘Selected Aphorisms’, ed. Fawzi Mitri Najjar (Beirut: Dar al-Mashriq, 1971), par. 61, p. 70, 3–4. 100 101

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between pure theory in the mind of the lawgiver prophet, and its communication to the inhabitants of the city in the form of similitudes and images. 105 This religious language serves the rhetorical purposes of persuading the city’s inhabitants of the good of the law, thus making them align with the higher philosophical Good that the law embodies, in theory. 106 This last point about al-Fārābī’s effective harmonization of philosophy and prophetic religion has several implications here. According to Dimitri Gutas and Philippe Vallat, al-Fārābī continued the Alexandrian school as transmitted by Paul the Persian, affiliated with the court of Shah Anūshirwān. As mentioned in Chapter 1, a royal edict quotes Anūshirwān stating that metaphysics and religion are two equally valid paths to truth. Thus, it is possible to trace al-Fārābī’s idea that religious similes and images convey philosophical truths and theory and rhetorically persuade the public about their validity back to the period 500–600 and the locations where administrative and linguistic relations between Iraq and Hijaz intersected. Viewed against this rhetorical-legal background, the Qur’an’s image of the Covenant (Q. 7, 172), where God addresses Adam’s descendants and makes them testify to His lordship, can thus be seen as expressing rhetorical theory, in addition to the theories of social contract and natural law discussed in Chapter 1. If we now return to al-Ṭabarī, then we saw in Chapter 1 how it became possible to plot his social contract and natural law theories along an Aristotelian legacy, with the Sassanid court as pre-Islamic reference point and al-Fārābī and Miskawayh as Islamic references. Here it becomes possible to locate his rhetorical concept of prophecy and the Qur’an between al-Jāḥiẓ, Ibn Wahb, and al-Fārābī. However, his conceptualisation of the whole Qur’anic message and composition as expressing and 105 Butterworth, ‘What Might We Learn’, pp. 477, 480–481, ref. to Butterworth (tr.), Alfarabi, The Political Writings: ‘Selected Aphorisms’ and Other Texts (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001), Aphorism no. 94, and Kitāb taḥṣīl al-saʿāda (Hyderabad: Maṭbaʿat Majlis Dāʾirat alMaʿārif al-ʿUthmāniyya, 1345/1926), p. 44, 2–13. 106 Butterworth, p. 477, ref. to Taḥṣīl al-saʿāda, pp. 42, 11–44 and 37, 14– 42, 11.

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 87 persuading of the terms of Covenant appear to be an innovation. Below we shall see how his approach compares with a selection of current research, focusing on Aristotelian rhetoric and balāgha.

RESEARCH SURVEY: THE QUR’AN AND RHETORIC Aristotle and ‘Aristotle-like’ Rhetoric and the Qur’an

In a preliminary survey of methods and paradigms in the study of Qur’anic rhetoric, Kate Zebiri has drawn attention to the potential importance of Greek Aristotelian rhetoric, and its compatibility with Arabic-Islamic balāgha. Regarding Aristotelian rhetoric Zebiri focuses on deliberative speech and its ‘artistic’ forms of persuasion, and she adduces the Hebrew Bible’s prophetic warnings and New Testament rhetoric as scriptural examples of deliberative speech which may constitute the closest models for the Qur’an, since it identifies with the Biblical scriptures. Regarding the Qur’an’s own rhetorical concepts, Zebiri highlights qiṣaṣ, ‘stories’, which connect the different parts of the Qur’an through recurrent themes, notably God’s Oneness and the rejection of polytheism and idol-worship, the promise of Paradise upon belief and right action and the threat of Hell upon disbelief and wrong action, and the hostile opposition to the Prophet from his own people. Accordingly, Zebiri emphasises that rhetorical analysis of the Qur’an involves treating the canonical corpus as a literary unit with an overarching message, which is in line with balāgha. 107 In a full monography study, Rosalind Ward Gwynne has developed such a semantically holistic approach, applying ‘Aristotle-like’ logic and rhetoric to the Qur’an, though without engaging balāgha. Gwynne argues that the Qur’an’s overall 107 Kate Zebiri, ‘Towards a Rhetorical Criticism of the Qur’an’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 5:2 (2003), pp. 95–119; pp. 111–112 and 115, footnote 134, ref. to Abdel Haleem, ‘Context’, esp. p. 74. On the connection between Qur’anic and Hebrew Bible rhetoric and prophetic speech in the literary-formulaic and exegetical sense, and without references to Greek rhetoric, see John Wansbrough, Quranic Studies: Sources and Methods of Scriptural Interpretation (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977), pp. 12– 20 et passim.

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message constitutes a syllogistic proof of the reality of God’s Covenant (mīthāq, ʿahd, waʿd), which follows the pattern of the ancient Middle Eastern vassal contracts and thus draws also on the ‘non-artistic’ forms of Aristotelian rhetoric, e.g. oaths and contracts. 108 Consequently, Gwynne defines the early Mecca oathsūras as the oaths that God swears for His part of the Covenantal contract. 109 The key Covenant verse is Q. 7 (al-Aʿrāf), 172: When your Lord took from the offspring of Adam, from their backs, their descendants and made them testify against themselves: “Am I not your Lord?” They said: “So You are! We testify!” So that you cannot say on the Day of Standing to trial: “But we were unaware of this!”

In Gwynne’s view, this Qur’anic Covenant re-configures the Hebrew Bible’s Abrahamic Covenant by detaching it from the Israelite people, expanding it to include all humanity, and giving it a distinct syllogistic form: 110 In the vocabulary of argumentation and logic, the Covenant may be called the cosmic rule, the unshakable basis for the structure of moral reasoning that God requires of human beings. It validates divine commandments, defines the human condition, provides premises in categorical syllogisms, affirms or denies antecedents to yield known consequences, and supplies the criteria that distinguish better from worse and good from evil.

However, even though Gwynne refers to Aristotle’s logic and rhetoric in her analysis of Qur’anic argumentation about Covenant, she rejects the idea that the “Prophet was ‘influenced’ by Greek or Hellenistic thought, or, for that matter, that Aristotle

Rosalind Ward Gwynne, Logic, Rhetoric, and Legal Reasoning in the Qurʾān: God’s arguments (London: Routledge, 2004), pp. 8–24. 109 Gwynne, Logic, pp. 20–22. 110 Gwynne, Logic, p. 24. Cf. Wansbrough, who perceives Covenant not in terms of an over-arching argument and proof but only through the explicit references to mīthāq and ʿahd, and thus defines Q. 3, 81 as the locus classicus (waʾidh ʾakhadha Allāhu mīthāqa al-nabiyyīna); Quranic Studies, pp. 8ff. 108

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 89 was a direct recipient of divine revelation”. 111 In other words, she does not argue for any historical connection between Qur’anic logic and rhetoric, and Aristotelian counterparts. She also did not explore the political implications of Covenant. In a previous article, I applied Aristotelian rhetorical and political concepts to the Qur’anic Covenant. Starting point was Aristotle’s critique of rhetorical manuals emphasising pathos and methods which distract the audience from the subject, and which in the context of law distract assemblies from forming rational judgements and make them vulnerable to the litigants’ claims. I then defined the Qur’anic proposition (enthymeme) as the truth of Covenant as a constitutional principle, appealing to the audience’s rationality and to written scripture for evidence. However, compared with Gwynne, I defined Qur’anic proof not as the syllogism of the philosophers but as semeion or ‘sign proposition’, applied specifically in deliberative speech (in line with Zebiri). Signs indicate the existence of something beyond themselves and cannot be logically proven in an irrefutable way. Hence, they require that the audience hold what they indicate to be true and likely to happen; in other words, ‘signs’ require a certain leap of faith. 112 This Aristotelian concept of semeion is in line with al-Ṭabarī’s above-described definition of ʾāya as a ‘sign’, which indicates something beyond itself, and which God employs

Gwynne, Logic, p. x. Mårtensson, ‘“The Persuasive Proof”’, pp. 381–382. For an application of ethos-analysis to the Qur’an, see Leyla Ozgur Alhassen, ‘“You Were Not There”, The Creation of Humility and Knowledge in Qur’anic Stories: A Rhetorical and Narratological Analysis’, Comparative Islamic Studies, 11:1 (2015), pp. 65–94. For other studies of Qur’anic syllogism and enthymeme, which however exclude rhetorical deliberative speech and semeion, see Jacques Jomier, ‘L’évidence de l’islam’, in Geneviève Gobillot (ed.), L’Orient Chrétien dans l’empire musulman. Hommage au professeur Gérard Troupeau (Versailles: Éditions de Paris, 2005), pp. 23– 36; Geneviève Gobillot, ‘La demonstration de l’existence de Dieu comme élément sacré d’un texte’, in D. De Smet, G. de Callataÿ and J.M.F. Van Reeth (eds.), Al-Kitāb: La sacralité du texte dans le monde de l’islam (Brussels: D. De Smet, 2004), pp. 103–142. 111 112

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to persuade that He is the speaker and that His Covenant and the consequences of holding or breaching its terms are real. 113 These studies confirm the rhetorical definitions of prophecy and the Qur’an by al-Jāḥiẓ, al-Ṭabarī, Ibn Wahb, and al-Fārābī, and would also support the two latter’s explicit synthesis of Qur’anic prophetic rhetoric with Aristotelian concepts. Furthermore, al-Ṭabarī’s view of the terms of Covenant as a macro-level semantic context for the whole Qur’an corresponds with Gwynne’s approach, though he also adds to this the function of Q. 1 as a summary of the Covenant terms, and the universals and particulars as being the basic constituent of the clear distinctions conveyed by the Qur’anic ʿ-r-b-ī. It also appears that semeion, i.e. proving a proposition through true but refutable indications or signs, including qiṣaṣ, aligns with the Qur’anic acknowledgement that not all people are actually persuaded by the signs. This topic occurs throughout the entire corpus, including the above discussed Q. 39 (al-Zumar), verses 31–32, 41. It is also worth considering here al-Ṭabarī’s abovementioned point about the Qur’an’s deviation from the Arabic poetic meters and soothsaying. As mentioned in the section above on Aristotle’s Rhetoric, rhythm is one of the ‘artistic’ forms pertaining to deliberative speech. However, it must not be perfect, as in poetic meter, but serve the purpose of advancing the topic. If al-Ṭabarī’s observation about the Qur’an’s distinct rhythm is viewed in relation to Aristotle’s point, it could be another example of his contributions to the study of Qur’anic rhetoric. 114 Balāgha

The other main rhetorical paradigm applied to the Qur’an is the Arabic discipline balāgha, described in the beginning of this chapter. John Wansbrough, who in his path-breaking Quranic On Qur’anic rhetorical use of ʾāyāt, Mårtensson, ‘The Persuasive Proof’, p. 383; on Al-Ṭabarī’s definition of ʾāya, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qurʾān: A Systemic Analysis’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 18:2 (2016), pp. 9–57; p. 26. 114 See also Mårtensson, ‘Prophetic Clarity’, pp. 227, 244–246. 113

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 91 Studies (1977) conceptualised the Qur’an with reference to the various exegetical disciplines and vocabularies, surveyed Qur’anic terms that pertain to balāgha and its three sub-fields bayān, maʿānī, and badīʿ. For example, concerning maʿānī, he showed how the medieval exegetes and rhetoricians explained the Qur’anic roots sh-b-h and m-th-l through such terms as simile, metaphor, allegory, example, parable, etc., and theorised them as symbolical expressions of general or abstract principles. 115 Above all, Wansbrough perceived Qur’anic rhetoric as formally exegetical and literary, paralleling rabbinical discourses both in terminology and practice. Kate Zebiri’s above-mentioned survey expands the possible references because she treats both balāgha and Greek, Aristotelian rhetoric. She points out that the Arabic philosophers who from the 300s/900s onwards developed Greek and Aristotelian rhetoric referred to it as khaṭāba (‘public speech’, ‘oratory’), while the specialists in Qur’anic balāgha from the 400s/1000s onwards focused on maʿānī, bayān, and badīʿ, not khaṭāba. 116 Yet despite the terminological divide Zebiri argues that balāgha and khaṭāba share the premise of convergence between a context (maqām) and its corresponding suitable form of speech (maqāl), expressed in the dictums likulli maqām maqāl, and muṭābaqat al-kalām limuqtaḍā al-ḥāl. 117 At the literary level that concerns Qur’anic composition we have seen above how Zebiri, unlike Wansbrough’s more fragmentary approach, emphasised that rhetorical analysis of the balāgha-kind requires treating the Qur’an as a semantic unit. For this approach she refers to Muhammad Abdel Haleem. In his own studies, Abdel Haleem draws attention to al-Suyūṭī’s (d. 910/1505) use of the term iqtiṣāṣ to refer to intertextual and context-dependent relationships. 118 Iqtiṣāṣ thus implies that qiṣaṣ connect topically across the canonical corpus. The sūras then constitute topical units, within which specific terms and plays on Wansbrough, Quranic Studies, pp. 227–246. Zebiri, ‘Rhetorical Criticism’, pp. 104–107. 117 Zebiri, ‘Rhetorical Criticism’, pp. 106–107; cf. Halldén, ‘What is Arab Islamic Rhetoric?’ 118 Abdel Haleem, ‘Context’, p. 74, ref. to al-Suyūṭī, al-Itqān (page reference missing). 115 116

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consonant roots create internal cross-references and transitions from one sub-topic and context to another. The rhetorical technique of changing speaker position (iltifāt), between first, second and third person further facilitates progression of a topic within a sūra. 119 Viewed against the background of the preceding surveys of transmissions of Aristotelian rhetoric, Wansbrough’s observation of the exegetes’ theorisation of Qur’anic m-th-l and sh-b-h can be seen in terms of al-Fārābī’s above-described model over how religious language employs images to express and persuade the public about philosophical-theoretical truth. Though Wansbrough found the main parallels in rabbinical exegesis, this tradition can be related to the same legacy as al-Fārābī’s model, namely the Alexandria school. As mentioned, Goldfeld located both the Qur’an and its exegesis alongside rabbinical and Christian exegesis, as continuators of the schools of Alexandria and Antioch. 120 Hence, some research can be mobilised to support the thesis of a Qur’anic rhetorical paradigm rooted in exegesis like balāgha, but which also shares premises with Aristotelian rhetoric. As a discipline, exegesis is compatible with deliberative speech since it aims at guiding the community through the meanings derived from the Qur’an. Thus, exegesis shares the Aristotelian requirement that the propositions of deliberative speech be grounded in scientific knowledge, aim at the truth of the matter, and focus on the rational argument for persuasion. 121 The semantic convergence between khaṭāba, ‘deliberative speech’, and balāgha, ‘conveyance of meaning’, that Zebiri pointed to, i.e. the premise that meaning is intentional and contextual, can thus be explained with reference to exegesis. The Qur’an can be seen as confirming such a merger between khaṭāba and balāgha. We saw above in the introduction to this chapter how the root b-l-gh occurs in the Qur’an in the sense of Abdel Haleem, ‘Context’, p. 73, ref. to Tammām Ḥassān, Al-Lugha, p. 337, 372. Cf. Abdel Haleem, ‘Translation’, pp. 47–48. 120 Goldfeld, ‘The Development of Theory’. 121 Cf. Halldén, ‘What is Arabic-Islamic Rhetoric?’, p. 28, on the central role of disputation in kalām and fiqh and the need to further explore the deliberative aspects of Arabic-Islamic rhetoric. 119

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 93 the Prophet’s obligation to ‘convey a message’ to his people through public speech, in the khaṭāba sense. These two aspects of rhetoric come together in addresses dwelling on contractual rights and obligations between God and people, as extensions of Covenant. For example, the passage Q. 7, 26–29 refers to ‘signs’ in the semeion-sense of indications proving the proposition about the contractual relationship with God (v. 26), and it employs shifting speaker positions (iltifāt) to move the topic to general (ʿāmm) statements (v. 29): (26) “O Children of Adam! We have sent down upon you clothes and ornaments covering your shameful parts, but the clothing of fulfilling obligations – that is the best!” Those are among God’s signs: hopefully they will remember and honour them! (27) “O Children of Adam! Do not let Satan tempt you as he made your parents leave the Garden, stripping the two of them of their clothes to make them see their shameful parts. Indeed, he sees you, he and his cohorts, from a place where you cannot see them!” Indeed, We have made the satans protective governors for those who do not enact security! (28) When they say or do an indecency, they say: “We have found our fathers doing it, and God has commanded us to do it!” Say: “Indeed, God does not command indecency! Do you make statements about God without having knowledge?” (29) Say: “My Lord has commanded equity, so raise your faces at each place for prostration and call Him, making the judicial order sincere for Him: as He originated you, you shall return!”

There are also specific references to the term khiṭāb, as speech through which arguments are put forth, in contexts of legal dispute, notably Q. 38 (Ṣād), 20–26. Here too, changes in speaker position appear to converge with transitions from particular to general statements, e.g. the end of verse 26: (20) And We strengthened [David’s] kingdom, giving him capacity for just judgement and expounding distinctions in deliberative speech (al-ḥikma wa-faṣl al-khiṭāb): (21) Has the announcement reached you about the litigants, when they scaled the walls of the sanctuary?

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ (22) When they entered and came upon David, he was scared of them. They said: “Do not be afraid! Two litigants, of whom one has harmed the other, so judge between us by what is right (bi-l-ḥaqq) and without going to excesses, and guide us to the Path of equity! (sawāʾ al-ṣirāṭ)” (23) “Indeed, this is my brother, who has ninety-nine ewes, while I have one ewe. So he said: ‘Make me its custodian!’, and he overpowered me in the deliberative speech (fī-lkhiṭāb)”. (24) [David] said: “He has wronged you by asking for your ewe in addition to his own ewes! Indeed, many associates harm each other, except those who enact security and work for the common good, but how few they are!” Then it fell David in that We had tried him, and he asked his Lord of forgiveness and fell down on his knees and returned. (25) So We forgave him that, and indeed: he has with Us a close relationship and a good recourse! (26) “O David! We have made you a vicegerent in the land, so judge between the people by what is right and not by following whims, for they will lead you astray from the duties towards God!” Indeed, those who stray from the duties towards God have a harsh suffering in store, for they have forgotten the Day of Reckoning!

Al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis brings out the rhetorical aspects as well as the problem of distinguishing between general and particular statements. Concerning verse 20 and ‘expounding distinctions in deliberative speech’ (faṣl al-khiṭāb), he concluded: The most correct statement about this is the following: God informs that He gave David deliberative speech that expounds distinctions. ‘Expounding distinctions’ (al-faṣl) is ‘decisiveness’ (al-qaṭʿ), and ‘deliberative speech’ (al-khiṭāb) is ‘to address someone in a legal appeal’ (al-mukhāṭaba). To decisiveness when a man addresses another man, in the context of one of the two making an appeal for a ruling from his companion, belongs the decision of the one to who the appeal is made when the ruling between the one who appeals and his adversary is a correct ruling. To decisiveness in legal appeal belongs also the capacity to enforce upon the one who

CHAPTER 2. QUR’ANIC LANGUAGE, RHETORIC, COMPOSITION 95 makes the appeal for the ruling what is incumbent upon him, if he is a plaintiff, and to uphold the evidence against his case if he is the one appealed against, and to obligate him to the oath if his adversary requires it. To decisiveness in deliberative speech (al-khiṭāb) belongs also what pertains to delivering address (khuṭba) and the ending of one account (qiṣṣa) and beginning another, i.e. to distinguish (al-faṣl) between them through [the phrase] “Now then, …”. Since all of that is conveyed in the explicit information here, as this sign (verse 20) does not indicate which of it is intended, and no firmly established report has been transmitted from God’s Messenger (pbuh), the correct approach is to generalise the information (fa-l-ṣawāb ʾan yaʿimma al-khabar), just as God generalised it. Thus, as follows: David was given capacity to expound distinctions in speech when pronouncing verdict, deliberating, and delivering addresses (ʾūtiya Dāwūd faṣl alkhiṭāb fī-l-qaḍāʾi wa-l-muḥāwara wa-l-khuṭab). 122

Furthermore, the decisive judgement must be just and in accordance with the true right (ḥaqq) that God has laid out for His servants. This point al-Ṭabarī elaborated on in his exegesis of the above-cited verse Q. 38, 26, where he also makes clear that just judgement is the sum of the duties towards God (sabīl Allāh). Considering his claim that Q. 1 serves as the paradigm for the whole Qur’an, it appears that his exegesis of this verse echoes Q. 1, particularly verses 4 (Judgement Day), 6 (the Path of correct speech and action), and 7 (not to stray off the Path): (26) “So judge between the people by what is right” (fa-ḥkum bayna al-nās bi-l-ḥaqq) means: by justice and fairness. “And not by following whims” (wa-lā tattabiʿ al-hawā); He says: Do not let your whims impact upon your judgement between them by what is right and just in [the case], so that you stray from what is right, “for they will lead you astray from the duties towards God!” (fayuḍillaka ʿan sabīl Allāh); He says: Following your whims when you judge for the sake of justice and right deeds, will turn you away from God’s path, which He laid out for the people who enact security by it, and you

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ will then be among those who perish by straying from their duties towards God. And by His statement, “Indeed, those who stray from the duties towards God have a harsh suffering in store, for they have forgotten the Day of Reckoning!”, He says, may His Honour be Exalted: Indeed, those who turn away from the duties towards God, which are the right that He laid out as direction for His servants (al-ḥaqq alladhī sharaʿahu liʿibādihi) and His command to act in accordance with it, and stray from it in this nearest existence, they have in store on the Day of reckoning a harsh suffering because they strayed from the duties towards God and forgot God’s command. He says: The extent to which you strayed from judging justly and acting in obedience to God, “the Day of reckoning” will bring you harsh suffering. 123

Extrapolating from these passages it appears that al-Ṭabarī establishes the Qur’an not only as the first source of the law (like all jurists), but also as a manual for how to arrive at just verdicts and judgements, and a guide for future action. Rhetoric and the correct use of language then play a crucial role. Viewed from this perspective, the Qur’an appears like the precondition for the Prophet’s new and eventually sovereign polity, just like Moses’ reception of Torah at Mt. Sinai is the law that constitutes the Israelite polity.

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CHAPTER THREE. NATURAL LAW, NATURAL RIGHTS, AND AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ INTRODUCTION

The two preceding chapters have laid out the institutional and linguistic-rhetorical theories and practices subsumed as ‘Covenant’ in al-Ṭabarī’s historical and exegetical discourses. I have argued that the Qur’an as viewed through the lens of alṬabarī’s discourses continues the ancient system of vassalage, with corresponding philosophical and theoretical paradigms. Given my choice of natural law theory as overarching framework for al-Ṭabarī’s works, I have also opted to trace transmissions and translations of Aristotle’s works through Christian Arab polities in Syria and especially Iraq, and the Sassanid court and administration. I have also showed how the Hijaz was administratively integrated with Iraq and the Sassanid administration, arguing that the integration may have included theoretical paradigms related to social contract, language, and rhetoric. It follows from the survey that ‘religion’ in this context can represent several things, including political and dynastic identity; communal identity; contractual allegiance with imperial and other polities; contracts in general; the public expression of philosophical-theoretical Truth through image-language; and a kind of sign-proposition employed in deliberative speech. In this chapter I pick up the topic of justice and right with which I ended the last chapter. I continue to argue that Aristotle’s thought contributed in significant ways to al-Ṭabarī’s scholarship, but now by focusing squarely on natural law theory, its place 97

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within the political, legal, and methodological debates in alṬabarī’s time, and its implications for his works and madhhab. I start with a survey of research into natural law theory in Islamic sources and the possible roles that Aristotle’s thought may have played, which leads over to a new round of readings of mainly alṬabarī’s History in the light of Aristotelian concepts related to natural law and natural rights. Against that background, I define three topics for political and scholarly deliberation against which I argue that al-Ṭabarī positioned his methodology or madhhab. Finally, I proceed to identify his personal concerns and how they can be seen to relate to his discourse.

ISLAMIC NATURAL LAW THEORY The Role of Aristotle

In western history of natural law theory Aristotle constitutes an ancient ‘founding father’-figure for a legacy developing within Roman law and the Catholic Church, and subsequently in early modern and modern political theory and legal philosophy. 1 However, since the study of natural law theory in Islamic contexts is still in its early phases, Aristotle’s ‘eastern’ legacy has not been explored with reference to this paradigm, possibly also because the majority of the fuqahāʾ did not explicitly refer to his works. Yet, as F. E. Peters has showed, because of Aristotle’s importance as the great systematiser of the sciences, his works gained broad currency from the late 200s/800s onwards, i.e. the period when the Islamic disciplines were maturing. By the mid-300s/900s Aristotelian logic and physics had become integral to systematic theology (kalām), expressed e.g. through treatises and disputes about substances and accidents. 2 Aristotle’s systematisation of disciplines also structured the genre of scientific definitions and concepts, and encyclopaedias listing and ranking the sciences and charting their internal relationships. 3 Within literature and the Brian Tierney, The Idea of Natural Rights: Studies on Natural Rights, Natural Law, and Church Law 1150–1625 (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Eerdmans Publishing C., 2001 [1997]). 2 Peters, Aristotle and the Arabs, p. 103. 3 Peters, Aristotle and the Arabs, pp. 100–129. 1

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arts (ʾadab) and that kind of history, Aristotle’s works were also highly influential; the above-mentioned example of al-Jāḥiẓ was thus part of a broader trend, which included the works on natural sciences and animals. 4 Moreover, by the first half of the 900s Aristotelian logic and syllogistic proof had become tools for both kalām and fiqh. 5 It is therefore possible that his natural law theory was known within fiqh even though jurists did not refer to it, since the Qur’an and the Prophetic sunna constituted the only authoritative sources. The reason Aristotle is considered to represent natural law theory is that he posited the virtue of ‘equity’ as the precondition for legal justice, with the judge as the ethical paradigm. As a virtue, equity transcends the law and serves to make its application ‘equitable’. 6 This concurs broadly with Himma’s definition of natural law theory, described in the Introduction, as “the thesis that there are at least some laws that depend for their ‘authority’ not on some pre-existing human convention, but on the logical relationship in which they stand to moral standards”. 7 As we have seen at the end of Chapter 2, in the passage Q. 38, 20– 26 God commands David to judge according to what is right (alḥaqq), which is ‘the Path of equity’ (sawāʾ al-ṣirāṭ). We also saw how al-Ṭabarī expounded the command, arguing that the sum of the duties towards God is to judge aiming at justice (ʿadl) and fairness (ʾinṣāf). Consequently, the virtues right and equity represent a moral standard that derives its authority from God’s command. Viewed from this perspective, both the Qur’an and alṬabarī can be seen as operating with an ‘Aristotle-like’ theory of

Peters, Aristotle and the Arabs, pp. 130–134. Peters, Aristotle and the Arabs, p. 134. 6 Roger A. Shiner, ‘Aristotle’s Theory of Equity’, Loyola of Los Angeles Law Review, vol. 27 (1994), pp. 1245–1264; available at https://digitalcommons.lmu.edu/llr/vol27/iss4/1. The sources are Nicomachean Ethics, Rhetoric and Politics, and the Greek term translated as ‘equity’ is epieikeia; p. 1247. On equity as the judge’s virtue, pp. 1251– 1252, ref. to Nicomachean Ethics, Book V, heading ‘Justice’. 7 Kenneth Einar Himma, ‘Natural Law’, Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, https://www.iep.utm.edu/natlaw/#H1, accessed 22 January 2019; my italics. 4 5

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natural law, where equity is the virtue required of the judge because equity makes the ruling just and fair. Equity in Aristotle’s sense also has a methodological aspect, which concerns universals and particulars. A written law can be stated in a universal sense, e.g. theft is a criminal offense, but in a particular case a person may steal out of necessity. For the judgement to be just, the judge must make an equitable assessment of the specific circumstances (or context), because simply following the universal prohibition could result in injustice. Consequently, equity involves ‘rectifying’ the universality of the law, by making it just also in a particular case. 8 We have seen this methodological point too exemplified above in the beginning of Chapter 2, in al-Ṭabarī’s definition of Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn as carrying particulars and universals (khuṣūṣ waʿumūm). 9 Another methodological aspect of equity is the aim to attain the mean between two excesses. Evil is unlimited and good is limited, hence excess belongs to the sphere of vice, while virtue is the mean between falling short of or exceeding what is right. 10 Again, the problem relates to the universal statement in the written law and its particular application, where the judge must find the mean between falling short or exceeding what is right. 11 Here too there is a possible resonance in Q. 38, verse 22, which states that the Path of equity means avoiding excess: “Two litigants, of whom one has harmed the other, so judge between us by what is right and without going to excesses, and guide us to the Path of equity!” (fa-ḥkum baynanā bi-l-ḥaqq wa-lā tushṭiṭ wahdinā ʾilā sawāʾ al-ṣirāṭ). Al-Ṭabarī commented that “without Shiner, ‘Aristotle’s Theory of Equity’, pp. 1252–1253, ref. to Rhetoric, 1374a30–1374b2, and Nicomachean Ethics, 1137b13–1138a2. The Greek term for ‘rectification’ is epanorthoma; p. 1252. 9 See also footnote 44, Ch. 2 (above), on Belhaj, ‘Al-Risāla’, and the identification of the Aristotelian problem of universal and particular rulings in al-Shāfiʿī’s elaboration on bayān as a distinguishing tool in ʾuṣūl al-fiqh. 10 Shiner, ‘Aristotle’s Theory of Equity’, pp. 1254–1255, ref. to Nicomachean Ethics, 1107a2–6. 11 Shiner, ‘Aristotle’s Theory of Equity’, p. 1255. 8

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going to excess” (wa-lā tushṭiṭ) here means not to side with one of the litigants over the other, which can then be seen as a particular case of the application of Aristotle’s mean path. 12 However, in Q. 4 (al-Nisāʾ) the notion of ‘defined limit’ and ‘transgression of limit’ is explicit in verses 13–14, a passage that follows after laws for dividing inheritance (verses 2–12): (13) These are God’s defined limits (tilka ḥudūd Allāh), and whoever obeys God and His Messenger, He will let enter gardens beneath which rivers flow, where they abide: That is the immense success! (14) But whoever disobeys God and His Messenger and transgresses His limits (yataʿadda ḥudūdahu), He will let enter into fire where he abides with his humiliating punishment!

Al-Ṭabarī conceptualised ‘defined limit’ here as what distinguishes the divine obligation concerning the case of dividing inheritance treated in the preceding verses 2–12: The defined limit of each thing is what distinguishes between it and other things (ʾanna ḥadd kull shayʾ mā faṣala baynahu wa-bayna ghayrihi), and therefore it is said about the limits of the residence and the limits of the lands: ‘limits’ (ḥudūd), to distinguish between what is limited to them and other things. Consequently, the meaning of His words “These are God’s defined limits” is this: This division, which your Lord has divided for you, and the obligations He has made incumbent upon you, for the living among you from your deceased, in this sign in accordance with what He obligated and made clearly distinct in these two signs, are God’s defined limits. It means the distinction between obeying God and disobeying Him when you divide the inheritance of your deceased, as Ibn ʿAbbās said (referring back to a report; UM). 13

Aristotle-researchers debate whether Aristotle’s natural law theory includes a concept of natural rights. According to Fred D. Miller, Aristotle, like his contemporary peers, did not operate with a defined concept of ‘right’, and there is no one corresponding term in classical Greek. Nevertheless, Aristotle’s 12 13

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 23, p. 169. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 3, part 4, pp. 384–385.

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concept of the state as the natural societal order, which enables individuals to flourish through private property, education, and political participation, presupposes that the individual justly ‘deserves’ these. This amounts to saying that he has a right to them, on condition he has the required ‘merits’: the status of free male citizen, capable of reasoning and equipped with spirit. Hence, Miller argues, Aristotle in Politics and Nicomachean Ethics laid a foundation which Catholic-Aristotelian thinkers referred to when they developed natural rights theory from the 1100s onwards. 14 Brian Tierney locates the origins of this development with jurists working within canon law. They defined the law as constituted by commands, prohibitions, and punishment, as well as ‘permission’ of everything not explicitly prohibited (though within limits). Their principal concern was the right to property. Since the law neither commanded nor prohibited this right they argued that it granted a ‘natural right’ to property and a corresponding obligation on others to respect this right. Among others, Pope Innocent IV reasoned that the Bible’s Golden Rule (‘Do unto others’, etc.) constituted the natural law – the moral standard, with Himma’s terms – from which the natural right to property derived. 15 Sūra 4 of the Qur’an presupposes the right to property and wealth (māl, pl. ʾamwāl), and foregrounds it in God’s Creation of human beings, thus making the right follow from ‘human nature’. Verses 4, 1–2 connect the Creative act with the legal act of making appeals, specifically regarding property: (1) O People! Fulfil your obligations towards your Lord Who created you by dividing one person, and from it divided its other half, and from the two of them dispersed numerous men and women! Fulfil your obligations towards God, by Who you make appeals concerning each other and kinship relations: Indeed, God is a constant Surveyor over you!

Fred D. Miller, Jr., ‘Aristotle and the Origins of Natural Rights’, The Review of Metaphysics, 49.4 (1996), pp. 873–907. 15 Brian Tierney, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights: Old Problems and Recent Approaches’, The Review of Politics, 64.3 (2002), pp. 389–406; pp. 400–404. 14

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(2) Give the orphans their properties (ʾamwālahum), but do not exchange the good with the worthless, and do not consume their property with your own property: Indeed, that is a great sin!

As we have seen above in the Introduction, al-Ṭabarī interpreted verse 4, 1 as God obligating people to uphold each other’s rights as brothers, since they are in fact one human family, and as obligating the strong to uphold the rights of the weak. In this way, he prepared for treating the subject of orphans’ property rights, since orphans constitute a socially weak category of people. Finally, there is the issue of ‘the common good’. In Miller’s view, “Aristotle’s theory of political justice supports a theory of rights because he understands justice in an individualistic sense.” Hence, when Aristotle speaks of ‘the common interest’ or ‘common advantage’, he means by ‘common’ that which serves justice and rights for individuals. 16 An interesting reference point in the Qur’an and al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis is Q. 3 (ʾĀl ʿImrān), 79: (79) It is not for any human vessel of the word that when God gives him the writing, the judgement, and the prophecy, he would say to the people: “Be servants of me instead of God!” Rather [he would say]: “Be masters through the knowledge of the writing that you have been conveying, and through what you have been studying!” (kūnū rabbāniyyīna bimā kuntum tuʿallimūna al-kitāb wa-bimā kuntum tadrusūna)

This verse equates servitude to God with the good that consists in conveying knowledge of the divine writing and the capacity to pass judgement and to prophecy for the people, i.e. to stake out future courses of action. The opposite ‘evil’ is when someone with the capacity to judge and prophecy, based on the divine writing, wants the people to serve him. Implicitly, this evil appears as selfserving interest, while the good associated with serving God appears as serving the common interest. Al-Ṭabarī expounded this implicit meaning through the term maṣlaḥa, a legal technical term derived from the noun ṣalāḥ. According to Abdul Aziz Bin Sattam, 16 Miller, ‘Aristotle and the Origins of Natural Rights’, p. 877, ref. to Politics, Book III, 1282b16–18; Nicomachean Ethics, Book V, 1129b14–19, and Book VIII, 1160a13–14.

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ṣalāḥ is the antonym of fasād, ‘corruption, harm’, and carries the primary sense of ‘benefit’. In the fourth declination ʾaṣlaḥa, it signifies ‘to restore benefit after corruption’. In general, then, maṣlaḥa signifies ‘something that brings benefit and counters corruption and harm’, and in this sense it guided the jurists’ derivation of law from the sources. 17 According to Felicitas Opwis, maṣlaḥa also means ‘public interest’ and ‘common good’. 18 Applied to al-Ṭabarī’s explanation of Q. 3, 79, the verse reads as follows: [By ‘masters’ is meant] the scholar of jurisprudence (fiqh) and just judgement (ḥikma), who is among those who promote the common good (al-muṣliḥīna) and manage the people’s affairs by teaching them the good (al-khayr) and inviting them to that which is in their best interest (maṣlaḥatihim). [This kind of scholar] is just in judgement (ḥakīm) and fulfils his duties towards God, and is the governor who governs the people’s affairs according to the method (al-minhaj) of those among the promoters of the common good who promote social justice (al-muqsiṭūna min al-muṣliḥīna) (…) Thus, the ‘masters’ are the support of the people in jurisprudence, scholarship, and matters of the judicial order and the nearest life (al-dīn wa-ldunyā). (…) Mujāhid said: They are above the scholars (wahum fawq al-aḥbār), because the scholars are the men with knowledge (al-ʿulamāʾ), whereas the master combines knowledge and jurisprudence so as to oversee politics and administration and represent (al-qiyāma bi) the affairs of the ruled so that their best interests are furthered in this life and in the judicial order. 19

The quote from Mujāhid, which al-Ṭabarī agreed with, defines ‘masters’ as those legal scholars who have the authority to oversee that politics and administration serve justice, in the sense of the best interests of the ruled, and who must therefore be the Abdul Aziz bin Sattam, Sharīʿa and the Concept of Benefit: The Use and Function of Maṣlaḥa in Islamic Jurisprudence (London: I.B. Tauris, 2015), pp. 11–12. 18 Felicitas Opwis, Maṣlaḥa and the Purpose of the Law: Islamic Discourse on Legal Change from the 4th/10th to 8th/14th Century (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 1–2. 19 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 3, part 3, pp. 444–45. 17

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legislators. Thus, ‘the common good’ here consists in protecting individuals’ welfare through justice, which corresponds closely with Aristotle’s individual-based concept of ‘common good’. This exposition suggests it is possible to identify at least ‘Aristotle-like’ theory of natural law and natural rights both in the Qur’an and in al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis. In the passage Q. 4, 1–2, verse 1 establishes that since God is the Creator of all humans, people should fulfil the obligations God has defined. Verse 2 establishes that there is such a thing as private property, and that God obligates people to protect the orphans’ property. Implicitly, the orphan thus has a ‘right’ to his or her property. Accordingly, the Qur’an sets this moral standard for the law: God has created all humans and therefore the obligation towards God to uphold justice through equity equals protecting each other’s property (in this case). By comparison, al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1 makes ‘right’ explicit, through the term ḥaqq (pl. ḥuqūq; see Introduction). Similarly, in his exegesis of Q. 3, 79 he made the implicit concept of the ‘common good’ explicit through the term maṣlaḥa. Thus, it is possible to say that the Qur’an serves as theory of natural law and natural right for al-Ṭabarī. The following survey of research into natural law theory in Islamic sources will show that it did so also for other jurists. Survey: Natural Law Theory in Islamic Sources

Concerning natural law theory in the Qur’an, a starting point would be Richard Gramlich’s analysis of the Covenant verses Q. 7, 172–173. After surveying commentaries by a wide selection of exegetes – medieval and modern, of the main theological and legal schools, including Sufis, and across the Sunnī-Shīʿī divide – Gramlich concludes that Q. 7, 172–173 represents “a Natural Contract, which establishes a natural law-like obligation to acknowledge and honour the One God”. 20 Viewed against the background of the exposition above, Gramlich’s study implies that the Qur’an derives specific obligations to judge justly (Q. 38) 20 Richard Gramlich, ‘Der Urvertrag in der Koranauslegung (zu Sure 7, 172–173)’, Der Islam, vol. 60 (1983), pp. 205–230, cit. p. 229. My translation from German.

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and protect rights (Q. 4) from the ‘natural’ Covenant obligation to serve only God (Q. 3). 21 Concerning the Sunnī legal tradition, Anver Emon has argued that jurists within both the Ashʿarī and the Muʿtazilī theological schools operated with theory of natural law and natural rights. Emon’s aim is to refute a claim that there can be no theory of natural law and natural rights in Islamic law, since jurists could not derive moral premises for legislation through reasoning independently of Scripture. 22 Emon’s earliest cases are the ‘pre-madhhab’ Iraqi jurists al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728) and Abū Ḥanīfa (d. 150/767, eponym of the later Ḥanafī madhhab), though the bulk of his selected jurists fall within the period ca. 950 to ca. 1650. Emon focuses on methodology and the circumstance that jurists often faced new cases without scriptural foundation. Their solution was to exercise juristic discretion, arguing for principal links between the issue at hand and Scripture. In doing so, they relied on two competing models of naturalism, Emon argues. The Rationalist model of ‘hard naturalism’, representing the Muʿtazila, locates ‘nature’ in human reason, which the jurists identify with the divine will. Though they mostly deduce moral standards for rulings from Scripture, the identification of legal reasoning with the divine will allows them to also deduce rulings without scriptural foundation. The Positivist or ‘soft naturalist’ model is a critical response to the Rationalist version by the bulk of the Ashʿarī jurists. This model locates ‘nature’ in the divine Creation as defined by the Qur’an, from which the jurists inductively derive moral standards for

Though Bernard Weiss argued that the discipline of fiqh is premised on the notion that law derives from the basic Covenant, he did not frame this circumstance in terms of the Qur’anic Covenant representing natural law theory; The Spirit; ‘Covenant and Law’. 22 Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, p. 351, ref. to Patricia Crone, God’s Rule: Government and Islam: Six Centuries of Medieval Islamic Political Thought (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), pp. 263–264, and George Makdisi, Ibn ʿĀqil: Religion and Culture in Classical Islam (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1997), p. 130. 21

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rulings. When faced with cases without scriptural foundation, they identify guiding principles in Scripture. 23 In their exercising of discretion, the jurists often referred to a commonly accepted two-tier set of rights: the rights of God (ḥuqūq Allāh), which refer to the public interest and welfare (‘the common good’), and the rights of individuals (ḥuqūq al-ʿibād or al-nās). These two sets of rights could conflict, and Emon points out that in exercising discretion the jurists utilised “contextsensitive conceptions of the individual and social good to which they gave legal expression in order to create and justify a particular rights distribution scheme with limited determinacy and predictability”. 24 This corresponds loosely with Aristotle’s above-described concept of equity, according to which the judge must adapt the written law to the particular case, and his political naturalism, in which the law ensures the individual’s flourishing and rights, and both are located within the state. Thus, Emon points out that the term ‘the rights of God’ represents “a public policy interest that must be effectuated by the government”, in the sense that God obligates the government to protect public interest, for the benefit of individuals. 25 Moreover, Emon shows how both Rationalists and Positivists employ divine Creation as reference point for defining ‘natural’ good and evil, by selecting specific facts and infusing them with values related to ‘common good’ (maṣlaḥa) and ‘benefit’ (manfaʿa) versus ‘harm’ (ḍarar). Al-Ghazzālī (d. 505/1111) took the important step to systematise maṣlaḥa into five objectives of the law (maqāṣid): to protect life (nafs), religion (dīn, literally ‘the judicial order’), intellect or reason (ʿaql), lineage (nasl), and property (māl). Since al-Ghazzālī followed the Positivist methodology, he derived both the maqāṣid and maṣlaḥa from Scripture and with reference to divine Creation, arguing that they are therefore ‘naturally’ good. By comparison, the Rationalist Muʿtazilites defined what is naturally good in Creation and what therefore constitutes maṣlaḥa and posited that God’s will Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, p. 352. Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, p. 353. 25 Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, pp. 380–381. 23 24

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therefore corresponds with it. 26 Emon has summed up the two methodological models as follows: Hard Naturalists/Rationalists argue that “God wants X because X is good”, while Soft Naturalists/Positivists argue that “X is good because God wants X”. 27 Concerning maṣlaḥa, there are different views of the concept’s origins and the development of its practical application as a tool for deriving law from Scripture. Bin Sattam argues that maṣlaḥa, understood as the technical principle of deriving laws through consideration of what is beneficent and good (ḥasan), derives from the Qur’an itself, e.g. Q. 16 (al-Naḥl), 90: 28 (90) Indeed, God by commanding justice, doing good to others, and giving to kin, and diverting from indecency, bad deeds, and aggression, admonishes you so that you may honour yourselves!

Furthermore, Bin Sattam identifies legal technical terms related to maṣlaḥa (e.g, istiṣlāḥ, ‘to seek the beneficent’, and istiḥsān, ‘to seek the good’) in early reports from the Prophet’s Companions and Successors. In his view, it was differences in understanding and applying these terms, which defined boundaries between the emerging Sunnī madhāhib in the second half of the 200s/800s. 29 Felicitas Opwis, however, argues that neither maṣlaḥa nor istiṣlāḥ have Qur’anic foundation, and that related concepts in ḥadīth do not refer to them in the technical sense of a principle that legislators apply systematically in deriving new laws. The earliest example of anyone referring to ṣalāḥ as a guide for legislation, Opwis finds, is the scribe Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. c. 139/757) in his epistle Risāla fī al-ṣaḥāba, addressed to the Abbasid Caliph alManṣūr (r. 136/754–158/775). With specific reference to the land tax (kharāj), Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ argued that there are different laws Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, pp. 365–367. Emon, Islamic Natural Law Theories, pp. 24–25; also 25–37. 28 Bin Sattam, Sharīʿa and the Concept of Benefit, p. 18. 29 Bin Sattam, Sharīʿa and the Concept of Benefit, pp. 49–51; cf. Deina Abdelkader, ‘Modernity, the Principles of Public Welfare (maṣlaḥa) and the End Goals of Sharīʿa (maqāṣid) in Muslim Legal Thought’, Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations, 14:2 (2003), pp. 163–174; pp. 170–172. 26 27

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in different parts of the empire, and therefore the Caliph should create a uniform law. He should also make new laws for cases without foundation in the Qur’an and sunna, by hermeneutically applying the principle of the people’s welfare (ṣalāḥ). Jurists could then proceed to the regions and judge according to what they consider the welfare of the people (istiṣlāḥ). Yet in Opwis’ view, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ was an early exception. Maṣlaḥa acquired its distinct technical sense only by the late 300s/900s, when maṣlaḥa became a tool for finding new laws used in a systematic and generally accepted manner. 30 Despite this disagreement over when maṣlaḥa acquired its technical sense, Bin Sattam, Opwis, and Emon as well, agree that al-Ghazzālī represents a new stage, where maṣlaḥa is identified with the defined maqāṣid: preservation of religion/judicial order, life, intellect, lineage, and property. From then onwards, maṣlaḥa was formalised as a procedure for deriving laws within Sunnī legal theory, assisting the jurists in their quests for universally recognised methods. 31 However, it is only Emon who defines this methodology with reference to natural law theory. Pressing his approach a bit further, maṣlaḥa can be understood as a methodology that aims to ensure consistency, transparency, and predictability in legislation, i.e. the principles that the political scientist Jeremy Waldron identifies with modern constitutional rule of law. Moreover, the maqāṣid – to protect life, religion/judicial order, intellect, lineage and property – also align to some extent with Waldron’s point, that “[o]n some accounts, the Rule of Law also comprises certain substantive ideals like a presumption of liberty and respect for private property rights”. 32 Opwis, Maṣlaḥa and the Purpose of the Law, pp. 9–15. Bin Sattam, Sharīʿa and the Concept of Benefit, pp. 11–12; Opwis, Maṣlaḥa and the Purpose of the Law, p. 4; Emon, ‘Natural Law and Natural Rights in Islamic Law’, p. 367. 32 Waldron, ‘The Rule of Law’; cf. Deina Abdelkader’s argument that maṣlaḥa and maqāṣid were used both by early and medieval legal theorists, and by modern ‘Islamist’ political thinkers, as tools for rationalising, systematizing and continuously reforming the law. Her analysis also points in the direction, that maṣlaḥa and maqāṣid served the procedural purposes of consistency, predictability, and transparency; ‘Modernity’. 30 31

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Given that al-Ṭabarī produced his Qur’an commentary between 883 and 903, 33 his concept of maṣlaḥa as expressed in his exegesis of Q. 3, 79 (above) pertains to the period preceding al-Ghazzālī and the more systematic application of the concept. Yet al-Ṭabarī may have drawn on Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s early technical approach, which dates to ca. 750. In the History, al-Ṭabarī used Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s material about pre-Islamic Persian dynasties, and he shared his concern with the land tax (kharāj) and the best principles and practices concerning its rates, collection, and redistribution. 34 It remains to be seen whether he also used a substantive concept of maṣlaḥa in his own rulings, as far as they can be identified in his extant works. What we have seen is how al-Ṭabarī when explaining Q. 3, 79 defined the ‘masters’ as those who God gave writing, judgement and prophecy and who therefore protect the people’s ‘best interest’, and how he referred to Q. 4, 1 for a theory of natural rights. Hence, he appears to conceive of maṣlaḥa as related to prophetic justice, consisting in the protection of rights. 35 Furthermore, we have seen that Emon identified a concept of ‘rights’ in the writings of Iraqi jurists in the early 700s, e.g. al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728) and Abū Ḥanīfa (d. 150/767). As we shall see in Chapter 4, al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī is one of al-Ṭabarī’s most frequently cited exegetical authorities, which makes him a possible source for natural rights-theory even though al-Ṭabarī did not refer to him (or to any other authority) Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 106, n. 363. See also Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, p. 65, refs. to Zeev Rubin, ‘Al-Ṭabarī and the Age of the Sasanians’, Hugh Kennedy (ed.), Al-Ṭabarī: A Medieval Muslim Historian and His Work (Princeton, NJ: The Darwin Press, Inc. 2008), pp. 41–71; p. 57; Muhsin Zakeri, ‘Al-Ṭabarī on Sasanian History: A Study in Sources’, Kennedy (ed.), Al-Ṭabarī, pp. 27–40; pp. 27–30. 35 On the later political scientist al-Māwardī (d. 450/1048) and the connection he established between prophecy (al-nubuwwa) and protection of maṣlaḥa, in a very similar manner to al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis on Q. 3, 79, see Paul L. Heck, ‘Law in Abbasid Political Thought from Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (d. 139/756) to Qudāma b. Jaʿfar (d. 337/948), in James E. Montgomery (ed.), ʿAbbasid Studies: Occasional Papers of the School of ʿAbbasid Studies, Cambridge 6–10 July 2002 (Leuven: Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta, 135, 2004), pp. 83–109; p. 88. 33 34

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for his interpretation of Q. 4, 1. Viewed from this perspective, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s maṣlaḥa concept can be seen as developing within a current paradigm of natural law and natural rights. If we also assume that Aristotelian theories date back to the late 500s–early 600s in the Iraqi context, with its close relations with Hijaz, then theory-informed concepts of common good and rights may well be reflected in the Qur’an, as Bin Sattam argued. 36

‘THE DEBATES’

The ‘agrarianate’ system of vassalage within which the jurists worked posed certain challenges for states, converging around the land tax. Challenges included control of the vassals and landlords, to ensure that they contributed to defence of the imperial realm and submitted their due taxes. Equally, the landlords must not over-extort the peasants and force them off their lands. In this section, I describe three related topics, deliberated in al-Ṭabarī’s time and reflected in his works: ‘Constitutional separation of powers and legal diversity’, ‘Peasants’ property rights’, and ‘Rebellions’. The topics are both ‘systemic’ within the institutional order and related to theory of natural law and natural rights, and as such they can offer a more concrete understanding of the principles at stake in deliberations over common good. Constitutional Separation of Powers and Legal Diversity

Al-Ṭabarī’s academic career between ca. 860 and 923 played out during Abbasid rule (132/750–656/1258). The dynasty’s legitimacy rested on two pillars: their descent from the Prophet’s family Banū Hāshim, and their rule in accordance with the divine precepts and the Prophet’s sunna. According to Paul Heck, Abbasid rule between ca. 750 to ca. 950 developed institutionally from an early stage when the Caliph was conceptualised as God’s vicegerent and personified the law, to a later ‘constitutional’ stage when the jurists represented the law and the law-making authority. Reflecting the early stage, the Ḥanafī jurist Abū Yūsuf See also Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, pp. 199–200, on Qur’anic occurrences of the root ṣ-l-ḥ in contexts referring to just judgement, rights, and land.

36

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(d. 182/798) in his treatise on land tax (Kitāb al-kharāj) stated that God has chosen the rulers to enact the divine guidance by legislating for the welfare (ʾiṣlāḥ) of the community. 37 The foremost theoriser of this Caliphal function was Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ in Risāla fī al-ṣaḥāba, discussed above as the earliest (extant) example of technical use of the term ṣalāḥ for deriving new law. According to Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, in a situation where messianic movements as well as diverse interpretations of the law challenged the Caliphal authority, the ruler, advised by his close, discerning companions (al-ṣaḥāba), should be the interpreter of the sources to derive law, to safeguard public welfare (ʾiṣlāḥ) and produce unified administrative standards. 38 As we have also seen above, the land tax was one of the key legal topics to which Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ wanted to see the Caliph apply the methodology of ṣalāḥ. 39 However, Heck argues, in the course of the 200s/800s and early 300s/900s, the institution of the legal scholars, who identified as custodians and continuators of the Prophet’s sunna, developed methodologies and gained social networks powerful enough to grant it the authority to interpret the sources and derive new laws. Hence, there is a transition from a ‘personcentred’ to an ‘institution-centred’ theory of rule of law. In Heck’s view, the institution-centred stage is represented by the Aristotleinspired scribe Qudāma b. Jaʿfar (d. 337/948) in his Kitāb alkharāj wa-ṣināʿat al-kātib. For Qudāma, the ruler is the symbol of political unity and divine justice, but his function is no longer to interpret the sources: this is now in the hands of the jurists. Rather, he must be educated in the scientific knowledge (ʿilm) required to discern which legal rulings and advice are in accordance with the divine justice, so that the community remains divinely guided and the common good is protected. 40 Specifically, given the diversity of people and customs, it is the Heck, ‘Law in Abbasid Political Thought’, pp. 94–95. Heck, ‘Law in Abbasid Political Thought’, pp. 95–99. 39 Joseph E. Lowry, ‘The First Islamic Legal Theory: Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ on Interpretation, Authority and the Structure of the Law’, Journal of the American Oriental Society, 128:1 (2008), pp. 25–40; for a list of the contents of Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s Risāla fī ’l-ṣaḥāba, see p. 29. 40 Heck, ‘Law in Abbasid Political Thought’, pp. 99–102. 37 38

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institution of government (siyāsa), headed by the educated ruler, that has the necessary power to arbitrate conflicting interests and ensure the common good through the ‘limits’ (ḥudūd) that the equitable law imposes. 41 Heck’s argument that theory of ‘the rule of law’ underwent a development reflecting social, institutional change is questioned by Joseph Lowry in his analysis of Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ. In Lowry’s view, the institutional separation between the state and its administration and the legal scholars was already a reality by the 750s, while the question about law-making authority remained a contested theoretical topic within legal discourses. 42 Hence, Lowry emphasises the theoretical nature of Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s Risāla fī al-ṣaḥāba: the author employed the concept of the ruler as the authoritative interpreter of the law in order to delineate between the laws and rules established in the scriptural sources, on which the ruler has no legal discretion, and the topics for which the ruler has sole discretion and authority. The first category consists in the ritual obligations, the ḥalāl-ḥarām rules, and ‘the limits’ (ḥudūd). 43 The second category consists in seven topics: (1) military strategy, (2) collection and distribution of war spoils, (3) appointment and removal of officials, (4) legal interpretation for cases without precedent, (5) implementation of limits and rulings according to the divine writing and the sunna (ʾimḍāʿ al-ḥudūd wal-ʾaḥkām ʿalā al-kitāb wa-l-sunna), i.e. applying the source-based limits and rulings to new cases, which requires interpretation, (6) declaring war and concluding truces, and (7) accepting and disbursing property on behalf of the Muslims. This division of two legal spheres structured subsequent fiqh, even though the concept of the ruler as authoritative interpreter of the law was obsolete at Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ’s time of writing.

Heck, ‘Law in Abbasid Political Thought’, pp. 103–104. I have modified Heck’s translation of ḥudūd as ‘established sanctions’ to ‘limits’, in line with the above discussion of Aristotle’s concept of equity and limits. 42 Lowry, ‘The First Islamic Legal Theory’, pp. 39–40. 43 Here I have again translated ḥudūd as ‘limits’, instead of Lowry’s ‘penal laws’; ‘The First Islamic Legal Theory’; see pp. 31–33, 38 for the whole list and Lowry’s analysis of it. 41

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Heck’s diachronic approach, that the Caliphal office once had the interpretive authority but gradually lost it to the legal scholars as the governing institutions differentiated and solidified, seemingly presupposes a ‘simple’ starting point with unified authority and an ensuing development towards ‘complexity’. The Islamic historical discourses appear to support this approach, since the Prophet can be seen as the ‘simple’ starting point. Yet, as mentioned in Chapter 1, al-Ṭabarī the historian plotted the Prophet as a continuator of ancient prophecy, where prophets represent justice and knowledge of the divine law as an institution separate from the monarchy. It is therefore possible to understand al-Ṭabarī’s discursive construction of the Prophet as reflecting a theory of legal justice and the common good, which involves judges and jurists as well. 44 Thus, the biographer Ibn Saʿd (d. 230/845) reported that under the Prophet’s rule, the four Companion Caliphs Abū Bakr, ʿUmar, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī used to give legal rulings to the people (kāna yuftī al-nās fī zamani Rasūl Allāh; kāna yuftūna ʿalā ʿahdi Rasūl Allāh), because they too had the required theoretical knowledge (ʿilm). 45 Another Companion who gave rulings based on ʿilm under the Prophet’s time was Muʿādh b. Jabal. 46 After the Prophet passed away, the first Caliph Abū Bakr is said to have consulted with a group of Companions including ʿUmar, ʿUthmān, and ʿAlī, as well as Muʿādh b. Jabal, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf, ʾUbayy b. Kaʿb, and the Prophet’s scribe Zayd b. Thābit; the latter two were also expert readers of the Qur’an (qurrāʾ). These men also gave rulings to the people, and when the Caliphate passed on to ʿUmar, the practice continued. 47 Other reports add names to the list, such as Abū Mūsa al-ʾAshʿarī and the Qur’an reader ʿAbd Allāh b. Masʿūd, showing how the knowledge was transmitted. 48 The chronicle then proceeds to list those who learned the whole Qur’an during the Prophet’s time, and eventually describes the For the following argument, see also Mårtensson, Divine Covenant, pp. 156–157. 45 Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, pp. 289–293. 46 Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, pp. 299–302. 47 Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, p. 302. 48 Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, pp. 303ff. 44

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production of the Qur’anic script, involving some of the same Companions, notably Muʿādh b. Jabal, ʿUthmān, Zayd b. Thābit and ʾUbayy b. Kaʿb, among others. 49 It is also described how Zayd b. Thābit served as judge and teacher of the permitted and prohibited, and of the Qur’an, to those people appointed to govern the regions under the Caliphates of ʿUmar, ʿUthmān and ʿAlī, and that he was succeeded in this role by Ibn ʿAbbās. 50 These reports depict the leadership of the community as consisting already under the Prophet of two institutions: the ruler and those who give rulings to the people. The discourse can be seen as reflecting the biographer Ibn Saʿd’s own context, i.e. early 200s/800s. However, since there are no blank slates or ‘simple origins’ in social history, the reports can also be seen as describing a historical reality of continuous institutional complexity. Viewed from this perspective, the theory reflected in Ibn Saʿd’s reports may reflect institutional realities both before, during and after the Prophet. Hence, an echo of Aristotle’s equitable judge can be discerned in this report from the Successor Qatāda, about the qualifications of those Companions who judged and gave rulings: Abū Mūsa (al-ʾAshʿarī) said: “It is not appropriate for the judge to pass judgement unless what is right appears as clearly distinct to him as the night distinguishes itself from the day! (ḥattā yatabayyana lahu al-ḥaqq kamā yatabayyanu al-layl min al-nahār)” This reached ʿUmar, who said: “Abū Mūsa is truthful!” 51

Assuming, then, that institutional realities did not correspond with the theory of the ruler as the personification of the law, the reason for the topic’s continued relevance must be sought elsewhere. Dynastic legitimacy is one reason. Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ effectively attributed to the Abbasid dynasty the legitimacy of ṣaḥāba, which has a parallel in Ibn Saʿd’s reports about the Companions (ṣaḥāba) giving rulings first alongside the Prophet, then alongside the first Caliphs. Pressing Lowry’s approach further, one could therefore argue that Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ theorised Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, pp. 306ff. Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, pp. 309–312. 51 Ibn Saʿd, Kitāb al-ṭabaqāt al-kabīr, vol. 2, p. 298. 49 50

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the structure of fiqh on this topic and framed the Abbasids as the legitimate continuators of the Prophet’s sunna. Similarly, Shīʿī theory ‘personified’ the law by identifying it with the knowledge and protective governorship (walāya) of the Imams, as their schools distinguished themselves from those that legitimised Umayyad and Abbasid dynastic rule. Another reason might be the material issues at stake in dynastic legitimacy, e.g. landed property and state investments (infrastructure for irrigation, roads, and pilgrimage, etc.). According to Amikam Elad, for the city Medina where members of the ʿAlid branch of the Hāshim family owned lands and benefitted from the pilgrimage, Umayyad rule from Damascus meant that resources were diverted to other regions and economic decline followed. Consequently, the ʿAlids initially supported the Abbasids. But since these instead favoured certain groups and regions in Iraq and Khurasan, the ʿAlids of Medina continued to develop their theory as active or passive rivals to Abbasid legitimacy. 52 When dynasties legitimised through Ismāʿīlī Shīʿism eventually established imperial polities, notably the Fatimid Caliphate (296/909–567/1171), their theoreticians framed legitimacy precisely in terms of the relationship between the ruler and the jurists. Al-Qāḍī al-Nuʿmān (d. 351/962), chief judge for the Fatimids, in his treatise on the topic ‘Disagreement among jurists’ (ikhtilāf) explained that by separating the authorities of the ruler and the jurists, the Umayyads and the Abbasids had enabled legal diversity and disagreement to the detriment for justice and religion. In contrast, al-Qāḍī al-Nuʿmān theorised the Fatimid Imam of the Prophet’s family as the embodiment of the complete knowledge of the religion and the law, who appoints the judge, who in his turn consults with him. The law thus remains unified and perfectly just, in line with the divine Amikam Elad, ‘The Rebellion of Muḥammad b. ʿAbd Allāh b. al-Ḥasan (Known as al-Nafs al-zakīya) in 145/762’, in Montgomery (ed.), ʿAbbāsid Studies, pp. 147–198. An earlier case would be the report in Ibn Hishām’s al-Sīra al-nabawiyya, that the Umayyad governor of Mecca had wronged al-Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī in a dispute regarding landed property, though at that time al-Ḥusayn got his right by invoking the ‘Pact of the Virtuous’ (ḥilf al-fuḍūl) between the tribes of the Peninsula; vol. 1, pp. 155–156.

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guidance. 53 Hence, the Fatimid claim to legitimate rule over areas formerly within the Abbasid realm was justified. The Imam’s written appointment of al-Qāḍī al-Nuʿmān, quoted in the treatise, stipulates ethical guidelines for the judge, emphasising that the rights of the weak need special protection and that the judge’s speech, actions, and morality must align in the service of justice: Open your door to litigants: remove obstacles between them and you, address them in a welcoming manner, extend your sessions for them, call yourself to patience with their disputes and conflicts, and avoid showing aversion for the opposing parties or vexation in your verdicts. Treat high and low alike with regard to access to your person, permission to approach you, and the obligation to maintain distance from you, and also with regard to your mien, your manner of speech, and the ways in which you listen, inquire, and explain. Do all this so that your impartiality and your justice might encompass and include them all. The powerless litigant should feel secure against injustice on your part, confident that you will treat him fairly, and reassured that his proof will not be blocked before you, while the powerful litigant should despair of your favoring him and so lose all hope of attaining what is not rightly his. Be firm in your words and deeds. Advance slowly and surely in your affairs and eschew haste; proceed deliberately and avoid carelessness. Watch over your lower soul to keep your carnal instincts in check. Examine your performance in order to perfect it, to your credit, and in order to safeguard your verdicts from flaws that will prevent them from being upheld (…). Examine well matters of inheritance that are brought before you for judgement. Safeguard the property of orphans that is placed under your control, dispose of it as the law requires, and maintain and guard it against squander and loss. In doing this you should seek the guidance of God in all of your affairs, beseech His assistance, be ever heedful of His

53 Al-Qāḍī al-Nuʿmān, Disagreement of the Jurists: A Manual of Islamic Legal Theory, translated by Devin Stewart (New York: New York University Press, 2017), pp. 7–12 et passim [Ikhtilāf ʾuṣūl al-madhāhib, pp. 6–14].

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In practice, however, the Fatimid legal system developed like in the Abbasid sphere, i.e. the jurists and judges became virtually autonomous. 55 Similarly, Imāmī or Twelver Shīʿa maintained the theory of the Imams as sources of the law, but since there was after the late 800s no living Imam in this line of descent, their knowledge was transmitted through reports (ʾakhbār), alongside Prophetic ḥadīth, and the jurists became the custodians of this legacy. 56 In the Abbasid context, again, a final example of how the constitutional division of authority between the Caliph and the jurists and judges converges with new claims to legitimacy is alMaʾmūn’s (r. 197/813–218/833) changes of policy. First, alMaʾmūn broke the Abbasid dynastic succession by deposing and having his brother al-ʾAmīn killed and then appointing an ʿAlid heir to the Caliphate. Secondly, after this move failed due to strong opposition, al-Maʾmūn famously decreed that all judges and governors must subscribe to the doctrine of the createdness of the Qur’an (khalq al-Qurʾān). The decree involved the Caliph claiming the authority to interpret the Qur’an and make doctrinal pronouncements. Thus, al-Maʾmūn challenged the constitutional division of authority between the Caliph and the jurists. 57 Al-Qāḍī al-Nuʿmān, Disagreement of the Jurists, pp. 26–28 [Ikhtilāf ʾuṣūl al-madhāhib, pp. 35–36]. 55 Knut Vikør, Between God and the Sultan: A History of Islamic Law (London: Hurst & Co., 2012), pp. 124–125. 56 Vikør, Between God and the Sultan, pp. 125, 129. 57 See e.g. Michael Carter, ‘Language Control as People Control in Medieval Islam: The Aims of the Grammarians in Their Cultural Context’, al-Abḥath, 31 (1983), pp. 76–84; p. 78; Sophia Vasalou, ‘The Miraculous Eloquence of the Qur’an: General Trajectories and Individual Approaches’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 4:2 (2002), pp. 23–53; p. 25, following Montgomery Watt, The Formative Period of Islamic Thought (Oxford: Oneworld, 1998) [Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1973], pp. 174–179; Michael Cooperson, Classical Arabic Biography: The Heirs of the Prophets in the Age of al-Maʾmūn (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), ch. 2. For detailed survey of the doctrinal issue, its complexity, and a range of sources, see Wilferd 54

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However, both the dynastic change and eventually the doctrinal imposition failed, with separation of authority and doctrinal diversity remaining in force. To summarise: the reason that division of power between the ruler and the jurists continued to be a salient theoretical topic, as Lowry pointed out, is because the issue can be used to bolster claims to new political legitimacy. There can also be ‘just causes’ behind such needs and claims, given the interests of specific actors and groups. Al-Ṭabarī’s History provides important information about interests related to justice and equity, which motivated a range of challengers of dynastic rule. As I argued in Chapter 1, the Prophet’s mission itself appears like a challenge against particularly the Sassanid dynasty resulting from contract violations. Later movements led by ʿAlids or claimants to ʿAlid descent can be seen in the same light. I will return to this topic below, but before doing so I will turn to another vital interest group in the agrarianate economy: the peasants. Peasants’ Property Rights

In Chapter 1 we have seen how Marshall Hodgson argued that the agrarianate economy in the period just before the Prophet and during Islamic time was becoming increasingly mercantile. The development shifted social power from the landed nobility to the urban bureaucratic and mercantile groups, with ‘prophetic egalitarianism’ as corresponding ethos. Other historians have connected this broader development with a change in peasants’ legal status from serfs to proprietors. In a study of agricultural innovation during the first three centuries of Islamic rule, Andrew Watson defined the pre-Islamic feudal system as consisting in vast estates owned by landlords, who often resided in cities. The peasants predominantly lacked ownership rights to the lands they farmed or to the produce of their labour, nor could they sell their labour for wages. This changed with the Islamic legal system. With the conquests in the 600s, estates were broken up into Madelung, ‘The Origins of the Controversy Concerning the Creation of the Koran’, Orientalia Hispanica sive studia F. M. Pareja octogenario dicata, 1:1 (Leiden: Brill, 1974), pp. 504–525.

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smaller units. Islamic inheritance law ensured individual property rights and division of inherited property, a mechanism that initially prevented the re-formation of vast estates and turned the landlord and the peasants into contract partners in a sharecropping production unit (muzāraʿa). The system enabled peasants to sell their labour for wages, and the land tax was relatively light with fixed rates. This legal change, together with new techniques for irrigation and fertilisation of the lands, allowed both landlords and peasants to prosper and introduce new crops and fruits. 58 However, according to Watson’s analysis, the development stalled, then reverted, from the late second/ninth century onwards. For unknown reasons (possibly including climatic factors), farming settlements retreated from the frontier bordering the desert in Hijaz, Jordan and parts of Syria. By the 900s, states introduced tax farming to increase their revenue, despite resistance from the jurists. Raids by brigands and nomads were constant threats. Peasants sought protection with powerful landlords, which favoured the re-emergence of large estates and weakened the peasants’ ownership rights. The whole process discouraged investment and innovation in agriculture, Watson argued. 59 Similarly, Ziaul Haque has shown that early Islamic law both continued and modified the practice of sharecropping in the Byzantine and Sassanid lands, including in the Arabian Peninsula. Traditionally, the landlord leased out land to tenant peasants in exchange for a share in the crop. The share was determined beforehand, which put the peasant at risk if the crop failed or was smaller than expected. In such cases, the landlord could bind the peasant to the land as a serf to force him to repay his debts or expel him from his land. In this manner, landlords acquired larger and larger estates. Moreover, the peasants’ right to land consisted in hereditary status and custom, rather than a contract between

Andrew M. Watson, Agricultural innovation in the early Islamic world (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008 [1983]), pp. 112–116. 59 Watson, Agricultural innovation, pp. 141–142. 58

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landlord and tenant. 60 Haque points out that it is difficult to know exactly what changes took place under the Prophet’s rule in Medina, because Prophetic ḥadīth give contradictory evidence: some reports declared leases illegal and made the cultivator, i.e. the peasant, the sole owner, while others declared leases legal. In Haque’s assessment, the reports declaring leases illegal are the earliest. He reconstructs the following scenario. The Prophet’s community in Medina were predominantly poor. The Prophet concluded peace treaties (ṣālaḥa) with the land-owning Jewish tribes Banū al-Naḍīr, Banū Qurayẓa, and Banū Qaynuqāʿ, and alqurā al-ʿarabiyya, ‘the Arab villages’ (or, following the etymologies for ʿarabī discussed in Chapter 2, ‘the villages that concluded contracts’). Banū al-Naḍīr then broke their treaty, so the Prophet conquered their lands. Here it is worth recalling Michael Lecker’s information, discussed in Chapter 1, that the Banū al-Naḍīr and Banū Qurayẓa at the time of the Prophet first were kings collecting land tax from the tribal groups Aws and Khazraj on behalf of the Sassanids, then were demoted into landlord status by a king from Khazraj, who collected tax on behalf of the Sassanian vassal Lakhmid king in al-Ḥīra. 61 In either case, these Jewish and Arab tribes would have represented in Medina the Sassanid sharecropping and lease system. Haque argues that this is the context of Q. 59 (al-Ḥashr). Verses 6–10 state that God ‘let these lands be returned’ (ʾafāʾa) to the Prophet. Hence, these verses establish the legal concept fayʾ, i.e. land ‘returned’ to the Muslim community by treaty or by conquest, and which is to be used for the common good of the community. 62 Moreover, the passages Q. 59, 1–2 and 6–10 show how the category kāfir (verse 2) refers not to all members of ʾahl al-kitāb but specifically to those who break their contract with the Prophet, hence ‘those who reject security’, as opposed to ‘enacting security’ (ʾīmān) (verses 9–10). Verses 7–10 emphasise that the fayʾ should be used to care for the poor, and that it is a virtue to Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 151–171, including extensive research survey; see also discussion of Haque’s study in Chapter 1 (above). 61 Lecker, ‘The Levying of Taxes’, p. 18. 62 Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 118–128. 60

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desist from goods in favour of those who are more in need of it than oneself, thus being one of those who ‘cause prosperity’ (mufliḥūna): (1) What is in the heavens and in the land glorifies God, for He is the Mighty Who Passes Judgement! (2) It is He Who made those who rejected security among the people of the writing (alladhīna kafarū min ʾahl al-kitāb) leave their dwellings at the first rallying! You did not think that they would leave, and they thought that their fortifications would protect them from God, but God came at them from a place they did not foresee and cast fear into their hearts, so that they destroyed their houses with their own hands, as well the hands of those who enact security: so reflect, O people of perceptive insight! (…) (6) Whatever God has made return to His Messenger from them (wa-mā ʾafāʾa Allāh ʿalā rasūlihi minhum; ref. to verse 2), you did not have to spur on your horses and mounts for it; instead, God gives His messengers the power to rule over whoever He wishes, for He is in charge of each thing! (7) Whatever God has made return to His Messenger from the people of the villages (mā ʾafāʾa Allāh ʿalā rasūlihi min ʾahl alqurā) belongs to God, the Messenger, the next of kin, the orphans, the destitute, and the travellers, so that it does not circulate among the rich of you. Whatever the Messenger brings you, take it, but whatever he withholds you, hold yourselves from it, and fulfil your obligations towards God: indeed, God is harsh in retribution! (8) To the poor Migrants who were made to leave their dwellings and properties seeking favour from God and satisfaction by helping God and His Messenger to victory: those are the truthful ones! (9) And those who had established the dwelling and the enactment of security before them love those who migrate to them, and they do not find in their breasts any need for what has been given to them but give (the migrants) preference over themselves even though they are in need: those guarded against their own greed, those are the ones who cause prosperity (hum al-mufliḥūna)!

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(10) Those who come after them say: “Our Lord, forgive us and our brothers who preceded us in enacting security, and do not instil in our hearts malice towards those who have enacted security! Our Lord, You are indeed Compassionate, Continuous Protector of life!”

Within fiqh, Haque identifies three definitions of fayʾ. (1) A ‘collectivistic’ definition as common property for all Muslims, in line with the earliest Prophetic reports. (2) An ‘individualistic’ definition as land conquered by force that can be divided between several private owners, subject to the discretion of the public authority. (3) An equally ‘individualistic’ definition as land subject to peace treaty and held by its former owners in precarious tenure, and potentially convertible into private estates for Muslims. In Haque’s view, the ‘individualistic’ definitions developed after the conquests of Byzantine Syrian and Sassanid Iraqi territories, from Umayyad rule onwards. 63 Some early jurists, notably the Iraqi Abū Ḥanīfa (d. 150/767) and the Syrian al-Awzāʿī (d. 157/774), followed those Prophetic ḥadīth that banned land lease against a share in the produce, while others followed those reports that allowed it. The latter argued that sharecropping leases could be equitable if the lease was made subject to voluntary, mutual contract (ʿaqd), with clearly stipulated terms and equal risk sharing. 64 For a statement of the legal disagreements on this topic, Haque refers to alṬabarī’s section on al-muzāraʿa wa-l-musāqāt (‘Sharecropping and irrigation’) in his treatise Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ. According to alṬabarī, the jurists agree that “an agricultural labourer (ʾajīr) can be hired for fixed and determinate wages (ʾujra), in money or in kind, for a definite period, for irrigating a date-palm and tending to all agricultural lands, and similarly for cultivating ʾarḍ bayḍāʾ (‘white’ land, i.e., bare land without fruit trees)”. The disagreement concerns “whether an ʿāmil (cultivator) can be hired for irrigating a date-palm and for other related works, for a certain part of its produce; similarly, whether he can be engaged

63 64

Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 126–127. Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 10–25; cf. p. 152.

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to till a piece of agricultural land for a certain stipulated share of the produce”. 65 Based on Haque’s assessment, it appears that the Prophet’s rule introduced new principles for how to sustain the poor through communal property, and banning leases based only on shares in produce. The decisive new practice would thus have been the extension of ‘contract’ to the peasants, making them owners of their labour and produce, which was a key principle also for those jurists who argued that a share in the produce is acceptable. 66 In this way, Haque’s study supports Watson’s thesis that peasants’ changed legal status, from serfs to wage labourers and proprietors, was new to Islamic law and contributed to the agricultural innovations that took place during the first Islamic centuries. Furthermore, Haque’s analysis of the integration of Byzantine and Sassanid sharecropping leases into Islamic law supports Watson’s argument, that the re-assertion of landlords’ pre-Islamic power over peasants and re-creation of large estates undermined peasants’ property rights. Baber Johansen’s study of early Ḥanafī law on land tax (kharāj) aligns with both Haque and Watson. The commonly accepted sharecropping contract (ʿaqd) is based on the Prophet’s sunna, and custom for business practice. Land, labour, seed, and cattle are the four elements of agricultural production. Of these, land and labour are the basic elements in a contract of tenancy (ʾijāra), which then becomes a partnership in sharecropping. Seed and cattle can be combined with land and labour but cannot themselves be the terms of the contract. Three combinations were deemed legally valid: (1) Partner A contributes land and seed, partner B labour and cattle. Here the owner of land and seed hires Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 8–9, ref. to al-Ṭabarī, Kitāb Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, 2 vols. in one (Cairo: Maṭbaʿa al-Taraqqī, 1902), pp. 117–118. In the edition used here, the corresponding reference is pp. 141ff. 66 Cf. Baber Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent: The Peasants’ Loss of Property Rights as Interpreted in the Hanafite Legal Literature of the Mamluk and Ottoman Periods (London: Routledge, 2017/1988), pp. 57– 58. Johansen supports Haque’s analysis, including the point that contract did not protect the peasants from exploitation in the long run; see also below. 65

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the labourer and his cattle. (2) Partner A contributes land, partner B labour, cattle, and seed. Here the labourer who owns seed and cattle holds the lease of the land. (3) Partner A contributes labour, partner B land, seed, and cattle. Here the owner of the land, seed, and cattle hires the labourer. 67 The contract is corrupt and voidable (ʾijāra fāsida) if one of the items is not specified in exact terms: (1) the size, quality, and location of the lands; (2) the use to which the lands should be put; (3) the duration of the tenancy; and (4) the amount of the rent. The contract is also voidable if it contains stipulations that amount to one-sided charges, unfairly advantaging either the tenant or the landlord. Furthermore, a valid contract obligates the tenant to pay rent based on the possibility to make use of the lands (which must be certified), whereas a voidable contract obligates the tenant based on actual labour. 68 Here, one may note that the Qur’an connects the root fs-d, as in ʾijāra fāsida, with land (ʾarḍ) and equity. E.g. the Covenant-sūra Q. 7 (al-Aʿrāf), verse 85, contextualises these terms as established knowledge (ʿurf) communicated by previous prophets: 69 (85) And to Midian [We sent] their brother Shuʿayb, who said: “O my people! Serve God, but for Who you can have no other god! A clear distinction has now come to you from your Lord, so fulfil the measure and the weight of the scales, and do not withhold from the people their things, and do not enact what is voidable in the land after it has been peacefully put to the common good: that is the most good for you, if you are enacters of security!” (wa-lā tufsidū fī al-ʾarḍ baʿda ʾiṣlāḥihā dhālikum khayrun lakum ʾin kuntum muʾminīna)

Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent, p. 55. Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent, pp. 34–35. 69 See also Haque, Landlord and Peasant, p. 299: the Ḥanafī Abū Yūsuf refers to Q. 7, 56 (wa-lā tufsidū fī al-ʾarḍi baʿda ʾiṣlāḥihā) and Q. 2, 205 (Allāhu lā yuḥibbu al-fasāda) to support his critique of tax farming (qabāla), where the lessor in order to maximize profits extorts the peasants to such a degree that they are forced off the lands, which ruins them and also diminishes tax revenues for the state; Kitāb al-kharāj (Būlāq: al-Maṭbaʿa al-Miṣriyya, 1884), p. 106. 67 68

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Johansen argues that according to early Ḥanafī legal theory, the ruler was the ultimate owner of the imperial lands, but the person who pays kharāj has ownership and inheritance right to his lands. 70 The issue at stake was the distribution of rights and power between the peasants and the landlords. The landlords’ function as intermediates who received a share of the peasant’s produce and out of that paid the tax to the state granted them ownership of the land; correspondingly, transferring payment of the tax to the peasant tenant would have made him the owner and thus also made the landlord redundant. 71 This issue of property rights overlaps with two co-existing models for setting, collecting, and paying the tax, in Johansen’s Ḥanafī terminology kharāj muwaẓẓaf and kharāj muqāsama. Kharāj muwaẓẓaf means peasants payed the landlord the tax in money, in a fixed sum depending on the areal (miṣāḥa) and quality of the land. Kharāj muqāsama means peasants pay a share of the produce as tax, with an additional rent for the lease, paid in money. Johansen assesses that kharāj muwaẓẓaf was advantageous for the peasant, since muqāsama meant they had to pay both a rent for the land, in money, and a part of the produce. Although the monetary payment (kharāj muwaẓẓaf) seems to have been the earliest form, muqāsama was the model that kept the landlords in power. Given the power that accrued to them due to their function as raisers of troops, and their regional support networks, they entrenched institutionally as intermediaries between the peasants and the state. Even so, payment of the land tax in any form meant conferring property rights to peasants. Johansen’s Ḥanafī sources also emphasise that this property right upon payment of land tax was established with the conquest of Iraq, also for the peasants inhabiting the lands at the time. 72 Yet by the 300s/900s, Ḥanafī jurists from the eastern regions of the Caliphate, i.e. Khorasan and Transoxania, had begun developing new theory, where the peasants became defined as rent payers and the landlords as land tax payers, and rent Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent, pp. 7–15, 18 et passim. Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent, p. 16. 72 Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent, pp. 11, 15–18. 70 71

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gradually merged with land tax, allowing the landlord to retain it as his due ‘rent’. The corresponding practices are clearly visible in the second half of the 300s/900s with the emergence of large estates, tax farming (where a landlord can collect tax from peasants without a sharecropping contract), and waqf properties. Since property rights were tied to payment of land tax, not rent, this meant that peasants lost their property rights. To compensate for landlords’ acquisition of rent and ensure tax revenue, states sought to appropriate both waqfs and what there were of privately owned lands. Inheritance was the legally sanctioned opportunity: if a taxpayer died without anyone to inherit his lands, the state could sequester them. Johansen sees the establishment of the Fatimid Caliphate in the late 300s/900s as marking the intensification of this policy. 73 Hence, when the Fatimid Imam, as described above, instructed the chief judge al-Qāḍī al-Nuʿmān “Examine well matters of inheritance that are brought before you for judgement”, the context may have been not only the need to ensure inheritors’ rights but also the state’s need to claim lands from which it did not receive tax revenue. The legal development that Johansen sketches coincides in time with Watson’s thesis about the decline in agricultural innovation and production and supports his thesis that peasants’ property rights and smaller landholdings were key factors in the early dynamic development. For the early Islamic period, Johansen’s study confirms both Watson and Haque concerning the significance of ‘contract’ for peasants’ property rights and liberation from serfdom, and it may even explain certain Qur’anic concepts. If so, ‘contract’ in the two senses of social contract and property rights would have been significant at the time of the Prophet as well as in al-Ṭabarī’s time. However, it is possible that this development began before the Prophet. Based on surveys of research into agricultural history, Stephen Humphreys has estimated that numerous new crops and techniques were introduced in the Middle East between the 500s and 800s, i.e.

73

Johansen, The Islamic Law on Land Tax and Rent, pp. 80–85.

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slightly earlier than Watson’s dates. 74 To the extent that agricultural development was coupled to legal change for peasants, this implies that there could be precedents for strengthening of peasants’ rights in pre-Islamic contexts. I will continue to discuss this possibility below, in relation to al-Ṭabarī’s History. Al-Ṭabarī’s Administrative Context

In previous studies I have argued that al-Ṭabarī’s personal status as a landlord who inherited his father’s lands in Āmūl in Tabaristan and earned his livelihood as scholar in Baghdad by trading produce from his lands, and his proximity to some factions within the Abbasid administration, is expressed in his historical discourse as his favouring the ‘monetarised’ land tax model that Johansen termed kharāj muwaẓẓaf (also called miṣāḥa, ‘areal’). 75 According to my analysis, al-Ṭabarī perceived it as a positive thing that this model required a division of power between the ruler and the jurists and judges. At the behest of the ruler, the lands, crops, irrigation channels, and roads should be surveyed and measured for all the administrative regions, as the basis for setting tax rates. The survey was to be documented in writing and copies to be kept with the regional judges, who were ultimately in charge of maintaining justice and for ensuring that crop failures, draughts, etc. were taken into consideration, for the welfare of the peasants. The procedure would be in line with his above-discussed interpretation of Q. 3, 79, where he argued that the jurists protect the common good and people’s welfare and oversee the administration. Furthermore, according to my analysis of his historical discourse, the procedure was crucial if the state was to maintain control over the landlords. Interestingly, al-Ṭabarī attributed this land tax model to the Sassanid Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān who, as we saw in Chapters 1 and 2, implemented a centralising legal and military reform and R. Stephen Humphreys, Islamic History: A Framework for Inquiry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), p. 294. In general, however, Humphreys finds that Watson’s study has a solid foundation in sources. 75 Mårtensson, ‘“Its’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, pp. 212–214, 218–225. 74

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sponsored translations of Aristotle’s works. Drawing on, among other sources, the Kufan historian of Iraq Hishām b. al-Kalbī (see Chapter 1), and Siyar mulūk al-ʿajam by Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ, the first theoriser who identified the common good with the management of the land tax (above), al-Ṭabarī reported that Anūshirwān developed this tax model in response to peasant uprisings under the prophetic leader Mazdak, and that he succeeded in achieving justice through it. However, Anūshirwān’s successors ruined the just model, which was subsequently re-instated when ʿUmar b. alKhaṭṭāb conquered Iraq and the Sassanid lands. In this way, I argued, al-Ṭabarī established a causal relationship between land tax models, justice and ‘rule of law’, and the success of imperial administration. 76 Here in the present context it is possible to see Anūshirwān’s equitable and just tax model as a Sassanid precedent in the mid-500s of the principles that were more systematically implemented in Islamic law and stimulated agriculture. Another mechanism decisive for the agricultural development according to Watson was irrigation. Al-Ṭabarī’s reports about Anūshirwān’s measures after the peasant rebellion was to order “the digging of canals and the excavation of subterranean irrigation conduits (al-qunī)”. It is not clear from the report whether these were innovative. Nevertheless, irrigation and the land tax reform constitute two factors conducive to agricultural development according to Watson and associated with Anūshirwān’s reign in al-Ṭabarī’s discourse. 77 The land tax issue may be related also to al-Ṭabarī’s contacts within the Abbasid administration. Two powerful factions of scribes and wazīrs vied for positions and influence, advocating different tax policies. Banū al-Furāt, a wealthy merchant family of scribes and wazīrs, had their power base within the civil parts Mårtensson, ‘“Its’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, pp. 220, 223–225; ‘Discourse and Historical Analysis’, pp. 321–330. On the sources for the tax reform, see also Rubin, ‘Reforms’, pp. 227-97; pp. 239–243; and the English translation of al-Ṭabarī’s history, HT5/Bosworth, p. 258, note 624. 77 For Watson on irrigation, see Agricultural Innovation, Ch. 20; for alṬabarī’s report, see HT 5/Bosworth, p. 157. 76

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of the administration and the Hāshimite family, and were employed to extract as much revenue as possible from the lands in the Sawād, i.e. the fertile Iraqi lands once conquered by ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb. 78 Parts of these lands were set off for the common good of the community, as discussed above. Banū al-Furāt are also reported to have tried to prohibit Christians from taking up administrative positions, other than medicine and money changing. 79 This may have been a move against their rivals, Banū al-Jarrāḥ, who were of originally Nestorian origins and from the countryside in the Sawād. They prioritised subjecting the state army to administrative control, by paying it from the state treasury. This move would have prevented a development where troops had to seek their living through other socially disruptive means. 80 In principle, their policy aligned with the centralising reform and tax model implemented by Khusraw Anūshirwān. Tax farming was represented by the wealthy merchant and landlord Ḥāmid b. al-ʿAbbās (d. 310/923), who briefly acceded to the position as wazīr. He owned vast estates in Wāsiṭ in eastern Iraq and proposed that the Caliph al-Muqtadir make him tax farmer also over the Sawād, al-Ahwāz and Isfahan. 81 Al-Ṭabarī appears to have been close to Banū al-Jarrāḥ and their circle. Sometime around 246/860, one of Banū al-Jarrāḥ’s allies, Caliph al-Mutawakkil’s wazīr ʿUbayd Allāh b. Yaḥyā alKhāqān, employed him to tutor his son Muḥammad b. ʿUbayd Allāh b. al-Khāqān. 82 Later, Muḥammad b. ʿUbayd Allāh himself served briefly (299/912–300/913) as wazīr. One of his actions was to confirm a legal reform introduced under the Caliph al78 Hugh Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates. The Islamic Near East from the Sixth to the Eleventh Century (London: Longman, 1986), pp. 177, 182. See also Dominique Sourdel, Le Vizirat ʿAbbāside de 749 à 936 (132 à 324 de l’Hégire). Troisième Partie: La Grande Époque du Vizirat (296/908 à 324/936) (Damascus: Institut Francais de Damas, 1960), pp. 388–392. 79 Sourdel, La Grande Époque du Vizirat (296/908 à 324/936), pp. 388– 391. 80 Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates, pp. 177, 182, 189. 81 Sourdel, La Grande Époque du Vizirat, pp. 419–420. 82 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 21–22. On ʿUbayd Allāh b. Yaḥyā al̲ ḳān (Dominique Sourdel). Khāqān, see EI, 2nd ed., Ibn K̲ hā

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Muʿtaḍid (r. 279/892–289/902), which secured the inheritance rights of distant heirs. 83 The reform may have been intended to prevent that lands were reclaimed by the state or the landlord, if a deceased peasant tenant had no immediate next of kin, though it is not known whether the reform had anything to do with alṬabarī. What we do know is that al-Ṭabarī produced a full legal treatise, Khafīf al-qawl fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām, at the request of the wazīr Abū Aḥmad al-ʿAbbās b. al-Ḥasan (r. 291/904– 295/908). If the treatise is identical with an attachment added to al-Ṭabarī’s ḥadīth compilation Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār, the topic is the legal status of different categories of conquered lands; this text will be treated further in Chapter 4. 84 Finally, the famous wazīr ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā b. al-Jarrāḥ invited al-Ṭabarī to his residence to debate with Ḥanbalī scholars over the meaning of Q. 17, 79. 85 Once when al-Ṭabarī was ill, ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā sent him his own Christian physician. Upon hearing how al-Ṭabarī had diagnosed and treated himself, the physician reportedly said that had al-Ṭabarī been a Christian his coreligionists would have considered him one of the apostles. 86 The idea here being that the Christians were especially famous practitioners of medicine. Banū al-Jarrāḥ may also constitute a contact point between al-Ṭabarī and Sassanid Aristotelian legacies, through their Nestorian origins. As the official Sassanid ‘Church of the East’ the Nestorian church was integrated into the Sassanid administration, as discussed in Chapters 1 and 2. Hence, in addition to the Arabic translations of Aristotle’s works that were becoming available in the broader scholarly milieu in al-Ṭabarī’s time, the Nestorian administrative legacies may constitute another transmission link. Moreover, both al-Ṭabarī’s sources on the context for Khusraw Anūshirwān’s tax reform, Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ and Hishām b. al-Kalbī, 83 Sourdel, La Grande Époque du Vizirat (296/908 à 324/936), pp. 399, 429. 84 On the topic, see Stewart, ‘al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām’, p. 329; Gilliot, Exègése, pp. 41–42; cf. Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 111–113, who does not provide information on the topic or its possible redactional attribution to Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār. 85 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 73. 86 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 50.

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were connected with the same Sassanid milieus. Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ employed the common good as legal method and indicator of equity, as we have seen above; and Hishām b. al-Kalbī used historical records that trace back to the (briefly) Nestorian Lakhmid kingdom. Next, I will attempt to define how al-Ṭabarī’s views on the two legal and administrative issues of separation of powers, and property rights and land tax, are reflected in his historical reports on the third selected issue, namely rebellions and the different interest groups involved. Rebellions

The key concept concerning the topic of rebellion is fitna. Abdulkader Tayob has made a systematic study of al-Ṭabarī’s interpretations of the concept in his Qur’an commentary. Fitna, Tayob shows based on Ibn Manẓūr’s dictionary, has a range of senses related to ‘test’ and ‘trial’, metaphorically expressed as the forging of dross from metals through fire. 87 Consequently, fitna is the term for rebellion and civil war, considered as events that forge the distinction between the righteous and the wrongdoers. In this sense, Tayob argues, fitna eventually became a negatively loaded Sunnī catch-all phrase signifying the sinfulness and trauma of civil strife and rebellion, as opposed to the virtue of political quiescence. In contrast to this later semantic development, al-Ṭabarī interpreted fitna in a complex and not altogether morally condemning way, which Tayob attributes to his political engagement: standing up against Ḥanbalī mobilization on doctrinal matters and acting on behalf of the Abbasid administration against Ṭulūnid secession in Egypt and ʿAlid militancy in his home region Tabaristan. 88 Thus, Tayob identifies and lists five senses of fitna according to al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis, as follows.

Abdulkader Tayob, ‘An analytical survey of al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of the cultural symbolic construct of fitna’, in Hawting and Shareef, Approaches to the Qurʾān, pp. 157–172; pp. 158–159. 88 Tayob, ‘Analytical survey’, p. 160. 87

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First, based on Q. 8, 25, al-Ṭabarī defined fitna as something that can afflict both the wrongdoers and the righteous, and as a reason for all people to maintain taqwā, ‘God-consciousness’ in Tayob’s translation. Consequently, when reporting about conflicts in his History, al-Ṭabarī objectively considered the interests of all parties without overt moral condemnations. In terms of social effects, however, he perceived fitna in negative terms. For example, in his exegesis of Q. 8, 73 he equates fitna ‘in the land’ with fasād, ‘great disorder’ in Tayob’s rendering. Importantly, Tayob concludes that al-Ṭabarī perceived fitna in this sense as resulting from the lack of co-operation and mutual aid in the community. 89 Second, based on Q. 24, 63, Q. 2, 193, Q. 8, 39, Q. 3, 7, and Q. 9, 47–49, al-Ṭabarī identified fitna with kufr and shirk, as opposed to dīn, which he defined as ʿibāda wa-ṭāʿa, ‘worship and obedience’ in Tayob’s translation. In these contexts, al-Ṭabarī introduced the sense of ‘test’ and ‘desertion’, which constitutes a ‘sin’ (ʾithm). Hence, fitna is a test that forges the distinction between ‘sin’, identified with kufr and shirk, and ‘worship and obedience’, identified with dīn. 90 A third sense is punishment through burning or persecution, based on Q. 51, 13–14, Q. 85, 10 and Q. 29, 10. Particularly in relation to Q. 29, 10, al-Ṭabarī argued that persecution is a test whether one will adhere to the faith or not. 91 Fourth, fitna can mean diversion from the faith in God, either by being persecuted by someone else, or by diverting someone else from faith, as in al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 10, 85 and Q. 2, 191 and 217. In the latter case, diverting someone from faith is associated with tyranny. This sense too includes test and trial since attempts to divert someone from God tests both persecutor and persecuted. Here the references are Q. 17, 73 and Q. 7, 27. Hardship and insufficient means can also constitute fitna in this sense of diverting from faith, with reference to Q. 22, 11. In Tayob’s view, al-Ṭabarī’s analysis of this sense of fitna focuses on Tayob, ‘Analytical survey’, p. 160. Tayob, ‘Analytical survey’, pp. 161–163. 91 Tayob, ‘Analytical survey’, pp. 163–164. 89 90

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the agents or sources of diversion: Satan, tyrants, the self, and all other categories of opponents to God. 92 The fifth and final sense is fitna as a necessary trial for moral excellence and faith, as in Q. 5, 74, Q. 29, 2, Q. 9, 126, and several other examples. Here, al-Ṭabarī brings out the positive sense of fitna, as something morally inevitable. 93 In sum, Tayob concludes that al-Ṭabarī perceived fitna in a nuanced way. The agents are manifold, and the trial is inevitable to forge a morally excellent self and servant of God. This conclusion aligns with my own previous studies of how al-Ṭabarī in his History accounted for uprisings against states and administrations: he was analytically interested in the causes, though critical of destructive outcomes. Mostly, he achieved his analysis by juxtaposing different reports conveying the perspectives and interests of the concerned parties, showing the reader how complex events were. Sometimes, however, he gave rather unanimous accounts from one dominant authority. 94 Yet his History suggests his approach to ʿAlid militancy in Tabaristan was more complex than Tayob concluded, for he appears to have been sympathetic to some such uprisings. Below follows examples of these and other rebellions, and al-Ṭabarī’s analysis of their causes, with the History as the main source. The paradigmatic case of Iblīs

Al-Ṭabarī, as we saw in Chapter 1, appointed Iblīs as the enemy of God and model for those who rebell against God. However, the reports about Iblīs can also be seen as model for al-Ṭabarī’s use of different reports to try to analyse reasons for rebellion. After citing numerous reports about how God appointed Iblīs to rule over the lands and their inhabitants, and how he eventually rebelled against God, 95 al-Ṭabarī summarises the information and reflects: Tayob, ‘Analytical survey’, pp. 164–167. Tayob, ‘Analytical survey’, pp. 167–169. 94 Mårtensson, Tabari, pp. 109–122, 125–143; ‘“It’s the Economy”’, pp. 227–233. For a survey of research on al-Ṭabarī’s use of reports, see Boaz Shoshan, Poetics of Islamic Historiography: Deconstructing Ṭabarī’s History (Leiden: Brill, 2004), Ch.6. 95 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 252–256, 257–274. 92 93

CHAPTER 3. NATURAL LAW, NATURAL RIGHTS In my opinion, the statement most likely to be correct is one that agrees with God’s word: “We said to the angels: Prostrate before Adam!, and they did, except Iblīs. He was one of the jinn, and he rebelled (fafasaqa) against his Lord’s command” (Q. 18, 50). It is possible that his rebellion against his Lord’s command resulted from his being one of the jinn. It is (further) possible that it resulted from his being pleased with himself because of the strength of his individual exertion when he was in the service of his Lord, and his considerable knowledge (lishiddat ijtihādihi kāna fī ʿibādat rabbihi wa-kathrat ʿilmihi), and what he had been entrusted with for ruling over the lower heaven and the land and the treasury of the gardens. It is (also) possible that there is some other reason, but knowledge about that can be attained only through a report that provides valid proof (khabar taqūm bihi al-ḥujja), and since we have no such report the divergences about his matter are as we have narrated and transmitted them. It has (also) been stated: the reason for [Iblīs’] perishing was that before Adam, the jinn were on the land. God sent Iblīs as judge to give verdicts among them, and he judged by the right (bi-l-ḥaqq) for a thousand years until he was called ‘arbiter’ (ḥakam), and it was God Who gave him the name and communicated it to him. At that point, aggrandisement entered him so that he began to magnify and aggrandise himself, and sowed suffering, enmity, and hatred among those to who God had sent him as arbiter so that they fought and killed each other on the land for two thousand years, it is claimed, until their horses waded in the blood [of the dead]. They stated: That is [the meaning of] God’s word, Blessed and Elevated is He: “Were We wearied by the first creation? No, but they are in doubt about a new creation!” (Q. 50, 15), and the angels’ statement: “Are You placing on the land one who will enact corruption in it and shed blood?!” (Q. 2, 30) At that, God sent a fire that consumed them. They continued: When Iblīs saw the punishment that had descended on his people, he ascended to heaven. He stayed with the angels serving God in heaven with an individual exertion unrivalled by any other creature, and he continued to exert himself in the service

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ (mujtahid fī al-ʿibāda) until God created Adam and the episode of his disobedience against his Lord occurred. 96

The passage implies that al-Ṭabarī topically connected servitude to God with the execution of justice, and the reports interestingly contains several legal terms, including ijtihād. In legal methodology, ijtihād refers to individual efforts to interpret the Qur’an and the sunna, like al-Ṭabarī himself did. In these reports too, Iblīs’ ijtihād is described as an aspect of his appointment as judge and arbiter and giving rulings that protect ‘rights’ (bi-lḥaqq), all of which is his service to God (ʿibāda). His selfaggrandisement and the conflicts it gave rise to therefore appear as departures from justice and right. As we shall see, injustice is a recurrent topic in al-Ṭabarī’s reports on rebellions. Concerning use of reports, the passage reveals that he did not report on rebellions and civil conflict simply for the sake of reporting received information, or condemning the reported actions, but to know what caused the problems. It also shows that he desisted from speculation when there were no sources at hand – a methodological point treated below in Chapter 4 (History) – and that even when he assessed some reports as more valid ‘proof’ than others (based on alignment with the Qur’an in this case), he made a point of conveying also other reports which add another perspective on the matter. In this way too, his reporting on Iblīs’ rebellion sets a model for his treatment of other cases. The Murder of ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān

The first example is the rebellion leading to the murder of the third Companion Caliph, ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān (r. 23/644–35/656). Juxtaposing reports especially from the Kufan historian Sayf b. ʿUmar (d. 180/796), which depict ʿUthmān as being in the right but betrayed by representatives of the Yemenī insurgency called the Sabāʾīs, who turned the people against him, and from the Medinan historian al-Wāqidī (d. 207/823), which focus on ʿUthmān’s own mistakes, al-Ṭabarī conveyed a complex picture. What surfaces in al-Wāqidī’s reports is that ʿUthmān in several cases removed governors in office and appointed new 96

HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 256–267, transl. modified.

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ones from his own family, including his nephew Muʿāwiya in Syria, and that he was lenient towards them when they were guilty of mismanagement. He also stubbornly defended his actions even when his mistakes were made clear to him, rather than admit to wrong and compensate the wronged parties. Crucially, he went back on a written contract he had entered, promising to rectify mistakes. Thus, his actions brought about his murder, al-Wāqidī’s reports imply. Nevertheless, al-Ṭabarī’s discursive use of both kinds of reports make it clear that even though the Caliph’s actions were offences against equitable administration, his murder was the real crime; hence, the ultimate criminal offence lay with his murderers. The sense of tragic loss is heightened by reports from Sayf b. ʿUmar, which describe how discontent with ʿUthmān was instigated by the insurgent Sabāʾīs to serve their own purposes, and which also convey ʿUthmān’s good sides, such as his generosity and kindness, and enable the reader to appreciate his many-sided personality. This technique of combining reports simultaneously elucidates the ‘systemic’ administrative mistakes that the Caliph made, introduces the possibility that there were other forces at play independently of the quality of the Caliph’s rule, and conveys the message that none of that justified the murder, which also set the community on the track of serial conflicts. 97 ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib and the Khārijīs

After ʿUthmān’s death the Prophet’s cousin ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib acceded to the Caliphate (r. 35/656–41/661). He was immediately challenged by Muʿāwiya, who charged him with involvement in the murder of his uncle ʿUthmān. The conflict escalated to war. ʿAlī gathered support in Medina and Kufa, and his claim to legitimate leadership implicated Muʿāwiya for unjust management of the fayʾ lands. This is expressed in reports from Mårtensson, Tabari, pp. 111–114, refs. to HT 15/Humphreys, pp. 15– 24, 45–62, 141–222. I align closely with Boaz Shoshan’s analysis of alṬabarī’s reports and personal opinion here, though Shoshan does not perceive al-Ṭabarī as having any overarching political-analytical aim with the History that would connect its different parts and events related to different persons; see Poetics, Ch. 6, esp. pp. 204–208.

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Abū Mikhnaf (d. 157/774), a Kufan historian specialised in events involving ʿAlī and his family. One such report cites a speech by one of ʿAlī’s military leaders, Yazīd b. Qays al-ʾArḥabī, rallying troops in Kufa to fight against Muʿāwiya’s forces: For sure, the sound Muslim is the one whose judicial order (dīn) and legal opinion (raʾy) is sound, and by God, if only that group of people were fighting us to uphold a judicial order they opine we have thwarted and to revive a right (ʾiḥyāʾ ḥaqq) they opine we have caused to die! But they only fight us over this nearest existence (al-dunyā), to become tyrants and kings in it, so if they triumph over you – may God let them see neither triumph nor delight! – they will impose upon you the likes of Saʿīd, al-Walīd, and ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿĀmir the stupid and misguided. Each one of them in his court is experiencing what amounts to the blood money for himself, his father and his grandfather, saying: “This is mine, and I incur no sin!”, as if he had been given his inheritance from his father and mother. But in fact, this is the property of God, may He be Mighty and Majestic, which He gave as fayʾ (ʾafāʾahu) to us through our swords and lances! So fight, O Servants of God, the group of people who are wrongdoers and who give rulings based on other things than what God has made descend! Let no reproach take hold of you in your struggle against them, for be sure that if they triumph over you, they will make voidable and corrupt for you your judicial order and your nearest existence, for they are the ones you have come to know and experience and I swear by God: until this day they have only grown more evil! 98

Similarly, in another speech reported by Abū Mikhnaf and attributed to ʿAlī’s close companion and commander al-Ashtar, protecting the sunna and the fayʾ lands are defined as the goals that the servants of God should fight for until death: For sure, this group of people are fighting you precisely over your judicial order, to put the sunna to death and revive innovation and return you to erring after God, may He be Mighty and Majestic, brought you out of it by way of the good discernment! So, Servants of God, gladly renounce your blood 98

HT 17/Hawting, p. 30; transl. modified.

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for your judicial order, and God is obligated to recompense you, and with God are the gardens of material blessings! Indeed, in drawing back from the advance is the ruin of the might, the seizure of the fayʾ lands, the humiliation in life and death, and shame in the nearest and furthest existence! 99

ʿAlī gained the upper hand in battle, but then the Syrians raised Qur’anic pages on their spearheads and called for arbitration based on God’s writing (kitāb). A group within ʿAlī’s own ranks, with connections to Basra, also supported arbitration, forcing ʿAlī to agree to it. However, once he had accepted arbitration, this group, the so-called Khārijīs, ‘walked out’ (kharajū) on him. In their view, by authorizing an arbiter to decide over his case, ʿAlī rejected God (kafara) and shared Him with other partners (ʾashraka). According to reports from Abū Mikhnaf, ʿAlī tried to sway the Khārijīs back to his side by promising access to the fayʾ lands if they remained loyal to him, but their hostility only grew stronger. 100 However, reports by another authority, Abū Kurayb, describe how ʿAlī actually had reached a new agreement with the Khārijīs. Soon afterwards, someone chided him for having agreed to the Khārijī condition that he must admit to and return from his kufr. ʿAlī then tried to vindicate himself by criticizing Khārijī teachings in his public speeches, and the agreement was broken. 101 Thus, by showing ʿAlī breaking his agreement with the Khārijīs, Abū Kurayb’s report offers a reason for Khārijī hostility. By comparison, the thrust of Abū Mikhnaf’s reports is that the rupture was inevitable. The Khārijī insistence that authority to give rulings rested with God alone, in the Qur’an, meant that they did not recognise any genealogical claims to rule as legitimate. Consequently, their drive was to constitute their own community, as Abū Mikhnaf reported when ʿAlī went ahead with the arbitration: [S]ome of the Khawārij met together and gathered in the dwelling of ʿAbd Allāh b. Wahb al-Rāsibī. He praised God and HT17: Hawting, p. 45; transl. modified. HT17: Hawting, pp. 112, 114. 101 HT17: Hawting, pp. 113–114. 99

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ extolled Him, and then said: “By God, it is not fitting for a people who enact security through the Giver of Life (alRaḥmān), and who constantly return to the ruling of the Qur’an, that this nearest existence should be more attractive to them than commanding what is known as good, prohibiting what is objectionable, and stating what is right (al-ʾamr bi-lmaʿrūf wa-l-nahy ʿan al-munkar wa-l-qawl bi-l-ḥaqq), for satisfaction with and reliance on and attraction to the nearest existence is hardship and destruction. (…) So, O our Brothers, let us leave this village whose people do wrong for some of the mountain regions, or some of these cities, showing our objection to this errant innovation!” Then Ḥurqūṣ b. Zuhayr said to him: “The property in this nearest existence is scarce and departure from it is imminent, so do not let its adornments and splendour invite you to dwell there, and do not let it tempt you from demanding the right and objecting to the wrong (wa-lā talfitannakum ʿan ṭalab al-ḥaqq wa-ʾinkār al-ẓulm): for sure, God is with those who fulfil their obligations, as they are the ones who enact what is good (ʾinna Allāh maʿa alladhīna ittaqū wa-lladhīna hum al-muḥsinūna)!” 102

They then gave their oath of allegiance (bayʿa) to a certain ʿAbd Allāh b. Wahb, who vowed to lead them to their right, by God’s rule. In a council they decided on how to call for their supporters in Basra and proceed to take al-Madāʾin, the former Sassanid capital, comparing themselves to Moses seeking God’s deliverance from the people who do wrong and His guidance along the equitable path (sawāʾ al-sabīl, ref. to Q. 28, 21–23). 103 Hearing about this, Muʿāwiya’s two arbitrators abandoned their mission. The news reached ʿAlī, who then turned to the Khārijīs. Writing a letter to them he claimed rule by the Qur’an and the Prophet’s sunna, disowned the two arbitrators, and emphasised that he and the Khārijīs still shared their original common cause: In God’s name ‘The Giver of Life, Continuous Protector of Life’, from the servant of God, ʿAlī, Commander of those who enact security, to Zayd b. Ḥusayn and ʿAbd Allāh b. Wahb and those who are with them: Now these two men whose 102 103

HT17: Hawting, pp. 114–115; transl. modified. HT17: Hawting, pp. 115–116.

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judgement (ḥukm) we accepted have opposed God’s writing (kitāb) and followed their own inclinations without any guidance from God. They have not acted according to the precedent (sunna) nor effected a judgement (ḥukm) according to the Qur’an. God and His Messenger and those who enact security are quit of the two of them. When you receive this letter of mine, come, for we are setting out against our enemy and your enemy and we are still concerned with the matter that occupied us originally. Peace! 104

The Khārijīs wrote back: As for the topic: Indeed, you have never been angered on behalf of your Lord, only on behalf of yourself! If you testify against yourself that you rejected security and accept to return, we will consider the matter between us and you. If not, we dismiss you “in equal measure: indeed, God does not love the treacherous!” (Q. 8, 58) 105

ʿAlī rejected their terms. Abū Mikhnaf’s reports about the Khārijīs’ next steps show them capable of great cruelty, even as they identified with God’s ruling and obligation to do good deeds. Dwelling on the Khārijīs’ psychological manipulation of their victims, the following report is a rhetorical masterpiece, which makes the reader feel how their pious ethical commitments coexist with complete disregard for life when someone disagrees with them: The Khārijīs who came from Basra proceeded until they drew near their brethren on the canal. A band of them went out and came upon a man who was driving a donkey carrying a woman. They crossed to him, called to him, threatened and terrorised him, and said: “Who are you?” He replied: “I am ʿAbd Allāh, the son of Khabbāb, the Companion of the Prophet”. Then he grasped at his robe, lifting it from the ground where it had fallen when they were terrorizing him. They said: “Have we frightened you?” and he answered: “Yes!” They said: “There is no need to be alarmed. Tell us a ḥadīth that your father heard from the Prophet. Perhaps God

104 105

HT17: Hawting, p. 119; transl. modified. HT 17/Hawting, p. 119; transl. modified.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ will give us some benefit by it!” He said: “My father told me from the Prophet, ‘There will be a fitna in which the heart of a man will die as does his body. In the evening he will be one who enacts security and by the next morning one who rejects security, and in the morning he will reject security and in the evening he will enact security”. They said: “This is the ḥadīth we have asked of you. And what do you say about Abū Bakr and ʿUmar?” He heaped praise on them both. They asked: “What do you say about ʿUthmān in the first part of his Caliphate and in the last part of it?” He said: “He was in the right in the first part and the last part!” They said: “And what do you say about ʿAlī before the appointment of the arbitrators (al-taḥkīm) and afterward?” He answered: “He has more knowledge of God than you do, is more fulfilling of the obligations of his judicial order, and more perceptive in his discernment!” They said: “You follow your own inclinations and recognise the authority of men on account of their names, not their actions! By God, we will inflict on you a death such as we have never inflicted on anybody!” They took him and bound him and then led him and his wife, who was in the last stages of pregnancy, beneath heavily laden palm trees. A date fell from them and one of them took it and put it in his own mouth. Another said: “Without permission and without paying?” and he spat it out. A pig belonging to one of the protected peoples (ahl al-dhimma) passed by, and the Khārijī struck it with his sword. They said: “This (act) is corruption (fasād) in the land!” and the one who had struck it went to the owner of the pig and gave him compensation for it. When Ibn Khabbāb saw them doing that, he said: “If you are sincere in what I have seen, I need fear no harm from you: I am one who enacts peace (muslim) and I have introduced nothing new to the enactment of peace (al-ʾislām), and you gave me security when you said, ‘There is no need to be alarmed!’” But they took him and made him lie down, and then slaughtered him so that his blood flowed into the water. Then they came to his wife, who said: “I am only a woman! Will you not do what God obligates you?” But they cut open

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her belly. And they killed three women of Tayyiʾ, as well as Umm Sinān al-Ṣaydāwiyya. 106

Hearing about this atrocity, ʿAlī decided to attack the Khārijīs before dealing with Muʿāwiya’s Syrian forces. First, however, he addressed the Khārijīs again and gave them a final chance to reunite with him, reminding them that it was their initial support for arbitration that caused the whole mess. Again, they rejected his offer. 107 Though ʿAlī won battles against them, he was in the end murdered by one of them. 108 In this way, the Khārijīs’ actions aided Muʿāwiya’s and the Syrians’ cause, even though they continued to intermittently fight the Umayyad and Abbasid dynasties, as reported throughout al-Ṭabarī’s history. In this section on the beginning of the Khārijī movement Abū Mikhnaf’s reports dominate the discourse, and their perspective is persuasive. Yet by including Abū Kurayb’s viewpoint al-Ṭabarī introduced the possibility that Abū Mikhnaf’s version of the conflict is biased in ʿAlī’s favour. However, in other contexts informing about ʿAlī’s rule, al-Ṭabarī’s reports indicate that he found it overall just. These are reports about ʿAlī’s governors and land tax management in the province of Fars, transmitted by ʿUmar b. Shabba and authorities from the region and the former Sassanid heartlands. The background situation was that ʿAlī had appointed the Prophet’s cousin, the earliest Qur’an exegete ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbbās, as his governor in Basra. Ibn ʿAbbās appointed as his successors in Basra a certain Ziyād ‘ibn Abīhi’ (‘son of his father’) to manage the land tax, and Abū al-ʾAswad al-Duʾalī in charge of judicial matters (qaḍāʾ). Al-Duʾalī being, as mentioned in Chapter 2, the first authority in the Basran chain of linguistsexegetes illustrates the intrinsic connection between Qur’an exegesis, linguistics, and the law and administration. The conflict in case was as follows. In the year 39/660, a rebellion had broken out and the land tax ceased to be submitted in the province of Fars, because opposition to ʿAlī’s rule had spread there and the people had ceased to submit the land tax; i.e. they had not been HT 17/Hawting, pp. 124–125; transl. modified. HT 17/Hawting, pp. 128–129. 108 HT 17/ Hawting, pp. 213–222. 106 107

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wronged by administrators but were rather the ones at fault, since ʿAlī was still the Caliph with a right to the land tax. After having sought sound advice on the matter, ʿAlī commanded Ibn ʿAbbās to send Ziyād ibn Abīhi from Basra to Fars to deal with the problem. Ziyād arrived in Fars with a several thousand men strong batallion but apparently did not use it to crush the rebellion. According to one of the reports from people in the region, Ziyād’s comportment was comparable to the great Sassanid Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān himself: According to ʿUmar [b. Shabba] – Abū al-Ḥasan – Ayyūb b. Mūsā – a shaykh of the people of Istakhr – his father: I came to know Ziyād when he was commander over Fars and revolt had flared up. He ceaselessly used persuasion until they returned to their previous obedience and correct speech and action (istiqāma), and no one took up battle positions. The people of Fars used to say: “We have not seen conduct more like that of Khusraw Anūshirwān than that of this Arab regarding kindness (layn), persuasiveness (mudārā), and knowledge about the situation (al-ʿilm bimā yaʾtī)”. 109

By winning most of the notables over to his side and making them fight and defeat the remaining rebel groups, and travelling around all the districts in Fars and raising the hopes of people (mannāhum) everywhere, Ziyād managed to pacify the whole province without using excessive force. 110 In this way, al-Ṭabarī’s discourse connects ʿAlī’s administration and governors with conflict resolution modelled on Khusraw Anūshirwān’s practice; as we have seen above, this Shah pacified an uprising by instituting just and equitable land tax system. The approach mirrors the way in which al-Ṭabarī, as we saw above, modelled ʿUmar’s land tax on that of Khusraw Anūshirwān to convey its equitable and just principles and practices.

HT 17/Hawting, p. 204; transl. modified. For the translation of istiqāma, see Chapter 2. 110 HT 17/ Hawting, p. 204. 109

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In ʿAlī’s speeches cited above in reports from Abū Mikhnaf the issue of the fayʾ lands and the threat of their distribution as private property emerges as a test of equitable rule. The same topic appears in reports about later ʿAlid uprisings. After ʿAlī’s death his oldest son al-Ḥasan renounced his claim to power. However, his younger son al-Ḥusayn (d. 60/680) rose against Muʿāwiya’s appointed son Yazīd b. Muʿāwiya, because Yazīd’s men threatened him regardless of whether he recognised his rule or not. Moving from his home in Medina to Kufa and rallying supporters there, al-Ḥusayn argued that the authorities had appropriated the fayʾ lands in Medina and Iraq, which the Prophet and ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb respectively had designated as the source of common good for the community, and that he, descendant of the Prophet’s cousin ʿAlī and daughter Fāṭima, was the perfect model (ʾuswa) who would restore God’s compact (ʿahd) and the Prophet’s sunna: Abū Mikhnaf - ʿUqba b. Abī al-ʿAyzār: al-Ḥusayn addressed his companions and the companions of al-Ḥurr at al-Bīḍa. He praised God and glorified Him, then he said: “O People! Indeed, God’s Messenger (pbuh) said: ‘Whoever sees an oppressive authority making permissible what God has forbidden, violating God’s compact (ʿahd Allāh), counteracting the sunna of God’s Messenger, and acting against God’s servants offensively and with hostility, without trying to change it with actions or words, it is God’s right to let him enter his destination’. Indeed, these [authorities] have cleaved to obedience to Satan and abandoned obedience of the Giver of Life (al-Raḥmān), as they have manifested the corruption of voidable contracts (al-fasād), collapsed the boundaries (alḥudūd), appropriated for themselves the fayʾ lands, and made permissible what God forbids and forbidden what He permits! I have the right to make change more than anyone, for your letters have reached me and your messengers have offered to me your oath of allegiance that you will not make me surrender peacefully or desert me. If you fulfil your oath of allegiance you will attain integrity of action, for I am alḤusayn the son of ʿAlī and of Fāṭima, daughter of God’s Messenger (pbuh). My life is with your lives, and my family

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ with your families, so you have in me an ideal model (ʾuswa)! But if you do not act, and break your compact (ʿahdakum) and lift your oath of allegiance to me off your necks: by my life, it would not be the first time you did that! You did it to my father, my brother, and my cousin Muslim, so anyone deceived by you would be gullible. Thus, you have mistaken your fortune and lost your destined share, since the one who breaks (a contract) does so against himself, and God will suffice you: Peace be upon you, and God’s life-protection and blessings!” 111

Eventually, the Kufans did let down al-Ḥusayn and he acquired the destiny God had meted out for him: his death at the hands of Yazīd’s commander and his troops in the battle of Karbala. The sequence of events leading up to the battle builds up a long narrative of reports from Abū Mikhnaf detailing the trauma that al-Ḥusayn’s death was: the Prophet’s grandson killed by Muslims. 112 Two generations later al-Ḥusayn’s grandson Zayd b. ʿAlī b. al-Ḥusayn (d. 122/740), who resided in Medina, rose against the Umayyad (Marwānid) Caliph Hishām b. ʿAbd al-Malik. According to reports mainly from Abū Mikhnaf, Zayd was involved in interʿAlid litigation over the Prophet’s funds (ṣadaqa) on the one hand, and on the other hand had been falsely accused by a governor under torture of having sold land and then retained it. In both cases, the Umayyad governor and/or the Caliph himself mismanaged the situation and insulted Zayd, even though he was not guilty of any wrongdoing. 113 In the course of events, Zayd came to stay for a while in Kufa, where supporters rallied around him as representative of the Prophet’s family. Despite warnings about the fates of his grandfather and great-grandfather with the HT 19/Howard, pp. 95–96; transl. modified. For the whole narrative, see HT 19/Howard, pp. 22–179. For analysis, see Torsten Hylén, ‘The hand of God is over their hands (Q. 48:10): On the Notion of Covenant in al-Ṭabarī’s Account of Karbala’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 18.2 (2016), pp. 58–88; Ḥusayn, the Mediator: A Structural Analysis of the Karbalaʾ Drama according to Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr al-Ṭabarī (d. 310/923), PhD Thesis, Faculty of Theology (Uppsala: Uppsala University, 2007). 113 HT26: Hillenbrand, pp. 4–15. Cf. Mårtensson, Tabari, pp. 134–136. 111 112

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Kufans, Zayd decided to challenge the Umayyad Caliph and champion the ʿAlid claim to rule. The Caliph wrote to his governor in Kufa, instructing him regarding Zayd, and warning about the combined effect of the Kufans’ love and loyalty to the ʿAlids, and Zayd’s skills as litigant and rhetorician: Now to our topic: You know what love the Kufans feel for the members of this family. You know that the Kufans have placed them in positions they should not be, because they have made obedience to them an obligation on themselves. They have put them in charge of the statutes of their judicial order and they have falsely attributed to them a knowledge of what is to come, until, thanks to the fragmented state of the community, they have brought them to a situation in which they have incited them to rebel. Zayd b. ʿAlī came to the Commander of the Faithful on the matter of the lawsuit of ʿUmar b. al-Walīd, and the Commander of the Faithful settled the matter between them. The Commander of the Faithful found Zayd argumentative, eloquent, creative in embellishing and molding speech, and able to attract men by the sweetness of his tongue, his numerous procedures in his proofs, and his sharp, forceful attacks against his opponent to obtain victory. Send him quickly to the Hijaz and do not let him stay with you! 114 (…)

The Caliph also describes how Zayd and his followers would threaten communal unity (jamāʿa) and the social contract, as viewed from his perspective. Here, fitna is described in entirely negative terms as a challenge against the Caliph’s authority leading to civil war, which illustrates Tayob’s point that it was the authorities who initially gave the term this exclusively negative sense: I would rather take repressive measures against Zayd which will harm him, and send him away and cast him off, in return for communal peace, prevention of bloodshed, and security for the group (al-ʾamn li-l-firqa), which is dearer to me than a situation entailing shedding their blood, spreading their word, and cutting down their descendants. The community is God’s strong binding tie (al-jamāʿa ḥabl Allāh al-matīn), His upright 114

HT 26/Hillenbrand, pp. 18–19.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ judicial order, and His most firm rope handle, so invite to you the noblemen of the garrison city and threaten them with flogging and confiscation of property. Then those of them who have a land lease contract (ʿaqd) or compact (ʿahd) will desist from [Zayd], and he will be left with none but the rabble and the people of the Sawād lands and those impelled by need, finding delight in civil war (istildhādhan li-l-fitna): these are among those who serve Satan and who are served by him! 115

Finally, the Caliph declared that he is aware that Zayd has a right to claim from the fayʾ lands, but that he can only take it through rebellion. Therefore, the Caliph instructs his governor to announce publicly that he has exonerated Zayd and granted him indemnity from the false charges against him, to pre-empt him rallying supporters on claims of having been wronged. 116 However, according to Abū Mikhnaf, from Hishām b. Muḥammad al-Kalbī, this did not stop the Shīʿīs (sic) from rallying to Zayd and giving him their oath of allegiance. 117 In a speech attributed to Zayd, addressing the Kufans, he in turn pledged to combat tyranny and oppression, equitably distribute the fayʾ among those entitled, and help the People of the House (ahl albayt) against those who oppose them and disregard their just cause. On this basis, Zayd took the Kufans’ allegiance swearing by God’s Covenant (mīthāq) and compact (ʿahd), and God’s Messenger the Prophet: The oath by which [Zayd] pledged allegiance with the people was as follows. “We invite you to God’s writing and the sunna of His Prophet (pbuh), and to struggle against the wrongdoers (jihād al-ẓālimīna), to defend those made weak (almustaḍʿafīna; cf. Q. 28, 4–5), to give wages to those deprived of them, equitably divide the fayʾ amongst those entitled to it, reverting the wrongdoers’ detention of men on the battle fronts, 118 and helping the People of the House to victory over HT 26/Hillenbrand, p. 19; transl. modified. HT 26/Hillenbrand, p. 20. 117 HT 26/Hillenbrand, p. 21. 118 wa-ʾiqfāl al-mujammar; this is difficult to translate. Hillenbrand (HT26, p. 23) gives “to bring home those who have been detained on the frontiers”. This accords with one sense of jammara, referring to a 115 116

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those who have opposed us and ignored our right”: do you pledge allegiance on this? If they said “Yes”, he placed his hand over the other’s hand (cf. Q. 48, 10), then said: “Do you take upon you God’s compact (ʿahd), His Covenant (mīthāq), His protection (dhimma), and the protection of His Messenger, so that you fulfil your oath of allegiance to me, fight my enemies, and advise me soundly in secret and in public?” If they said “Yes”, he rubbed his hand on the other’s hand, then said: “My God be my witness!” 119

Zayd’s speech thus rallies his supporters around the same issues that Zayd’s grandfather al-Ḥusayn raised in his speeches. Sadly, the Kufans let Zayd down and he too died in battle. The cited speeches and their topics suggest that in al-Ṭabarī’s historical discourse, rights to the fayʾ lands remained a contested issue and ʿAlid claims to rule were legitimised primarily by this and other administrative-legal issues. Accordingly, when Zayd is cited invoking the divine Covenant, it refers to rights related to land and its administration. Summarily described, the order of events is that the ʿAlids first were wronged by the administration, then they challenged ruling Caliphs on account of the latters’ general violations of equity, justice, and rights, identifying themselves as champions of said principles, and finally they were supported by above all groups in Iraq with corresponding grievances. The core issue is therefore the administrative failures. Interlude: Māzyār b. Qārin, the Ṭāhirids and Tabaristan

Another type of rebellion relates to vassalage. In 223/838– 224/839, which is the year al-Ṭabarī was born, a rebellion broke out in his home region. It was led by Māzyār b. Qārin b. Wāndahurmūz, a warlord from the mountain region of commander who keeps forces at the battle frontier and prevents them from seeing their families; Lisān al-ʿarab, entry j-m-r. This translation is complicated by the fact that ʾiqfāl means ‘detain s.o.’ or ‘put s.o. in chains’, with al-mujammar as object. I have therefore read it as a predicate of the preceding clause: wa-radd al-ẓālimīna wa-ʾiqfāl almujammar, “and reverting the wrongdoers’ detention of men on the battle fronts”. 119 HT26: Hillenbrand, pp. 22–23; transl. modified.

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Tabaristan. In 206/822 the Caliph al-Maʾmūn had appointed Māzyār vassal of Tabaristan, and he collected land tax from the Persian and Arab landlords on the plains of Tabaristan (where alṬabarī’s father’s lands were located) and submitted it to the Abbasid state. However, the plains landlords revolted against his tax collection. In 220/835 the Caliph appointed instead the Ṭāhirid dynasty of warlords and scribes as governors over Tabaristan and the whole eastern region of the empire, ruling from their home base in Khurasan. The appointment of the Ṭāhirids as governors meant that Māzyār had to submit the land tax to them, which he refused to do. Instead, he rebelled, and incited the peasants to rise up against the landlords and plunder their wealth. 120 By juxtaposing reports, al-Ṭabarī brought out different perspectives on Māzyār’s rebellion. One report informs that Māzyār had a vassal contract and had dutifully fulfilled his obligations towards the state treasury, but the local landlords had plotted against him. Another report conveys that since the local landlords had grievances against Māzyār, and conflict had erupted between them and him, it seemed legitimate that the Caliph appointed the Ṭāhirids as regional governors, to restore peace. 121 Eventually, the Ṭāhirids quelled Māzyār’s rebellion. Tabaristan and the ʿAlids

The rise of ʿAlids to power in Tabaristan resulted from the combined effects of local and Iraqi events. In 250/864–251/865, Zayd’s grandson Yaḥyā b. ʿUmar rebelled in Kufa. Indebted and hard pressed by creditors, Yaḥyā had asked the Abbasid governor of Kufa, who was appointed by the powerful Ṭāhirids, for a grant. Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, pp. 227–229, ref to HT 33/Bosworth, pp. 139–162. See also Wilferd Madelung, ‘The Minor Dynasties of Northern Iran’, in William Bayne Fisher and Richard Nelson Frye (eds.), The Cambridge History of Iran. Vol. 4: The Arab Invasion to the Saljuqs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), pp. 198–249. 121 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, pp. 228–229. Here I modify Madelung’s assessment, that al-Ṭabarī’s reports convey Ṭāhirid propaganda against Māzyār; instead, I argue that his reports can be seen as reflecting different local groups and interests, some of which may have had genuine grievances against Māzyār. 120

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The governor rudely dismissed Yaḥyā. Having nowhere else to turn, he gathered a mixed band of Bedouin, liberated prisoners, and Shīʿī sympathisers, robbed the treasury in Kufa, and declared war on the authorities. The uprising spread rapidly, before the Ṭāhirids’ governor suppressed it and killed Yaḥyā, gloating in their triumph. 122 In this case, as in that of Zayd, al-Ṭabarī’s reporting implies that had the governor assisted Yaḥyā, the revolt and deaths, including that of yet another member of the Prophet’s family, could have been avoided. In the same year (250/864), the ʿAlid al-Ḥasan b. Zayd rebelled in Tabaristan. Al-Ṭabarī, reporting from “a group of people from Tabaristan and others”, gave the following reason: the Ṭāhirid governor had been granted some lands as reward for quelling Yaḥyā b. ʿUmar’s rebellion in Kufa. The lands bordered uncultivated state lands used collectively by the peasants for grazing their animals and gathering firewood. However, because these public lands bordered other land areas which the governor wanted, he took them as well, without right. Moreover, the governor had put his sons in charge of some regions, where they had harmed and mistreated the people: “If the story of these excesses were properly told, it would fill a book by itself”, alṬabarī remarked. Some people decided to take back the common lands and mount a defence against the governor and his sons. They sought out al-Ḥasan b. Zayd as their military commander and ruler. Eventually, al-Ḥasan b. Zayd gained control over Tabaristan and large parts of western Iran. He remained in power until 316/928, which means that Tabaristan during most of alṬabarī’s adult professional life was ruled by ʿAlids. 123 It is quite clear that al-Ṭabarī held the Ṭāhirid governor and his sons responsible for this uprising. Further on in the history, in the very last year he reported on (302/915), he commented regarding one of the ʿAlids in Tabaristan, al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī alUṭrūsh: “People had never seen anything like al-Uṭrūsh’s justice (ʿadl), good conduct (ḥusn sīratihi), and upholding of right

122 123

Mårtensson, Tabari, p. 141, ref. to HT 35/Saliba, pp. 15–20. Mårtensson, Tabari, p. 142, ref. to HT 35/Saliba, pp. 21–27.

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(ʾiqāmatihi al-ḥaqq).” 124 This suggests that he took a favourable view of ʿAlid rule in Tabaristan, in terms of the justice and equity of their administration. The Zanj and the Qarmatians

A final example is the uprisings by the Zanj and the Qarmatians. The Zanj were slaves originating from East Africa and the Sahel, brought into the Caliphate in the late 100s/600s. Among other things, they were made to work in the marshes of southern Iraq, where the authorities were trying to desalinate nitrous soil and turn it into farmland. The Zanj rebelled on three occasions: in 689–690, 694–695, and 869–883. 125 The third rebellion was the longest with the most far-reaching consequences. Al-Ṭabarī’s main source was Muḥammad b. Sahl, who was initially part of the uprising but was taken prisoner by the authorities. His reports convey that the rebellion was motivated by a combination of personal and tribal political interests among the ʿAbd al-Qays in Baḥrayn, and the harsh conditions of slave labour. Thus, Ibn Sahl reported that in 255/869 a certain ʿAli b. Muḥammad from the ʿAbd al-Qays claimed ʿAlid descent and gathered a following among Arab tribes in Baḥrayn: The people of Baḥrayn granted him the position of prophet among themselves, so much so that, according to reports, the land tax was collected for him, he exercised judicial authority over them, and they fought the supporters of the central authorities on his behalf. 126

Afforded the status of prophet, ʿAli b. Muḥammad also claimed to receive divine, Qur’anic signs which guided his decisions. 127 The See also Mårtensson, Tabari, p. 144, ref. to HT 38/Rosenthal, p. 204. I have changed Rosenthal’s translation of ʾiqāmatihi al-ḥaqq as “the way he established truth” into ‘upholding of right’, since ḥaqq is here paired with ʿadl, ‘justice’. 125 William Gervase Clarence-Smith, Islam and the Abolition of Slavery (London: Hurst & Company, 2006), pp. 63–64. 126 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 230, ref. to HT 36/Waines, pp. 29–31; cit. p. 31. 127 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 230, ref. to HT 36/Waines, p. 32. 124

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reports then describe how his activities caused infighting among the tribes in Baḥrayn, which led him to move to Basra. There he met the Zanj and began recruiting them through promises of equity and land appropriated from peasants under landlords loyal to the authorities, and with the Khārijī emblematic verse Q. 9 (alTawba), 111 as slogan on his battle banner: “Indeed, God has bought from those who enact security their persons and their property, on the term that they shall have the Garden for fighting for the duties towards God!” (ʾinna Allāh ishtarā min al-muʾminīna ʾanfusahum wa-ʾamwālahum biʾanna lahum al-janna yuqātilūna fī sabīl Allāh).” Since the slaves had never been treated as equal partners before, they pledged allegiance to him, and he promised never to let them down. 128 During the following ten years the Zanj occupied Basra and most of southern Iraq, parts of the bordering south-western Iranian province Khūzistān, and established their own city-state al-Mukhtāra (‘The Elected’). According to al-Ṭabarī’s reports, the Zanj wreaked havoc on the countryside: “The Zanj soldiers spread out right and left, raiding the villages, murdering the farmers, stealing their property, and leading their livestock away”. 129 However, even with this criticism of the slaves’ methods and the consequences for the peasant tenants, al-Ṭabarī’s discourse, with its reports from people initially sympathetic to the uprising, conveys the slaves’ motivations in a way that allows the reader to understand them. Eventually, in 269/883, the authorities had crushed the Zanj rebellion. However, in the region of Khūzistān where the Zanj had their capital al-Mukhtāra, the Qarmatian movement began in 278/891–279/892 and can be seen as carrying forward the torch of uprisings against the central authorities. Al-Ṭabarī’s main source on the Qarmatians is Muḥammad b. Dāwūd b. al-Jarrāḥ, a scribe of the Banū al-Jarrāḥ, who had interrogated one of the movement’s leaders after their defeat. He reported that some parties within a movement centred around the tribe Banū alCf. Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 231, ref. to HT 36/Waines, pp. 30–38; cit. Q. 9, 100 on p. 36. 129 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 231, ref. to HT 36/Waines, pp. 38–67; cit. p. 67. 128

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Aṣbagh called themselves al-fāṭimiyyīn, ‘Fatimids’, suggestive of a connection with the early Ismāʿīlī Fatimid daʿwa. 130 Furthermore, Muḥammad b. Dāwūd reported that the Qarmaṭian movement began in the farmlands around Kufa with the arrival of a man named Ḥamdān Qarmaṭ from Khūzistān, who took up wage labour for merchant farmers. 131 Previously, Ḥamdān Qarmaṭ had contacted the Zanj and their leader, offering them his support in the following terms: “I subscribe to a certain religious practice, and have one hundred thousand swords at my command. Let us discuss this matter. If we agree about the practice, I will join you with all my men; if not, I will withdraw”. However, they did not reach an agreement, and Ḥamdān Qarmaṭ did not further engage with the Zanj. 132 Instead, in 279/892, the reports describe him initiating a judicial method and order (madhhab min al-dīn), prescribing such an excessive number of prayers per day – fifty! – that it deflected the peasants from working the lands, which poised some of the landlords against him. 133 Yet he gained Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 231, ref. to HT38: Rosenthal, p. 115. Heinz Halm argues there was a historical connection between the Qarmatians and the Fatimid daʿwa; see The Empire of the Mahdī: The Rise of the Fatimids (Leiden: Brill, 1996), p. 8; Michael Brett however is critical of the claim; see The Rise of the Fatimids, the World of the Mediterranean and the Middle East in the Fourth Century of Hijra, tenth century CE. (Leiden: Brill, 2001), pp. 29–48, for a thorough examination of sources. Given that al-Ṭabarī’s source is contemporary with the Qarmatians and he compiled his history during the same time (see below, Chapter 4), the attribution of a ‘Fatimid’ identity to one tribe in the movement suggests the connection between the two movements could have been actual in the 890s; if not, fāṭimiyyīn must here refer to a local identity unrelated to the Ismāʿīlī daʿwa that led to the formal establishment of the Fatimid Caliphate in 358/969. See also HT38: Rosenthal, p. 114, note 565, on Qarmatian leaders’ claims to descent from both ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib and Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl b. Jaʿfar, i.e. the Ismāʿīlī-Fatimid line of Imams. 131 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 231, ref. to HT 37/Fields, pp. 169–172. 132 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 231, ref. to HT 37/Fields, p. 175. 133 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 232, ref. to HT 37/Fields, pp. 170–171, cit. p. 170. 130

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followers among the scribal class, merchants, and peasants, for what appears like a variant of Shīʿī ideas, with some Christian components, since some of the peasant communities in the area were Christian: Then he disclosed that he was urging allegiance to an Imam from the house of the Messenger. 134 (…) Thereupon he would receive townspeople in his home, invite them to join him in his cause, and describe his creed to them. The people of this region responded and he took a dinar from everyone who joined his religious group – they thought he took it for the Imam. In this fashion, he continued to summon the people of those villages, and they responded favourably to him. Then he selected twelve agents (naqīb) from among them, and he instructed them to summon people to their faith. He said to the agents: “You are like the apostles of Jesus, son of Mary!” 135

Another version of the report states that it was the local governor, Aḥmad b. Muḥammad, who taxed Qarmaṭ’s followers a dinar each per year in return for him concealing from the authorities the fact that they had left Islam. 136 The same reports inform that Qarmaṭ’s religion identified a certain Aḥmad b. Muḥammad b. alḤanafiyya as the last in a chain of messengers: Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Jesus, and Muḥammad; redirected the pilgrimage to Jerusalem; and produced a new ‘praise-sūra’ instead of al-Fātiḥa. 137 Its reported contents convey a positive sense of divine ‘test’ and ‘trial’, as something necessary to forge the reliable followers from the rest: Praise be to God by His word (kalima), and exalted be He by His name, taken for His governors through His governors! Say: “Indeed, the new moons are time measure for the people!” Their outer manifestation is for calculating the years and months and days, but their internal is my governors, who have Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 232, ref. to HT 37/Fields, p. 170. 135 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 232, ref. to HT 37/Fields, p. 171. 136 HT37: Fields, pp. 172–173. 137 Mårtensson, ‘“It’s the Economy, Stupid!”’, p. 232; HT37: Fields, pp. 173–174. 134

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ made my servants know the duties towards Me. Fulfil your obligations towards Me, O people of discernment, for I am the One Who is not held accountable for my deeds, as I always pass judgement with full knowledge, and I am the One Who tries My servants and tests My creatures! The one who perseveres through My trial and My test and My examination I will place in My garden and let abide in My material blessings, but the one who diverts from My command and denies My messengers’ truth I will let abide painfully in My chastisement, for I have fulfilled My cause and made My command manifest through the spoken words of My messengers. I am the One above Who no tyrant can elevate himself without Me putting him in his place, nor anyone mighty without Me humbling him, but I am not the one who persists in his command when it perpetuates his ignorance, saying: “We shall continue with it!”, clinging to it and enacting security through it: those are the ones who reject security. 138

In the year 287/900, the Qarmatians, now based in Baḥrayn, threatened to take Basra and adjacent estates, and raided lands around Kufa. 139 In 289/901–902, they had exhausted their support in Kufa and instead moved to Syria. 140 In this context, the reports describe them as fanatics operating through deceit and terror, and claiming the Caliphal title ʾAmīr al-muʾminīna. At the city of Salamya, where members of the Abbasid Hāshim family lived, the Qarmatian general concluded a peace treaty, to make the inhabitants open the city gates. He then went back on the treaty: First he began killing the Hāshimites (…). Then, he killed all the inhabitants. He slaughtered the animals and afterwards the school children. Following this he departed, reportedly leaving not a living soul there. He then moved on the surrounding villages, killing, taking captives, burning, and making the roads unsafe. 141

HT37: Fields, p. 174; transl. modified, with bold added. HT38: Rosenthal, pp. 82, 88–89. 140 HT38: Rosenthal, pp. 113 et passim. 141 HT 38/Rosenthal, pp. 122–123. 138 139

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Eventually, in 294/906–907 after several battles, the Abbasid authorities put an end to the Qarmatian movement. 142

ANALYSIS

These cases of rebellion confirm Tayob’s analysis that al-Ṭabarī’s interpretations of fitna in his Qur’an commentary are reflected in the history through his aim to explore conflicts without moralising, and his view of conflicts as ‘trials’ or ‘tests’. In addition, I have tried to show that the selected ‘tests’ arise from administrative issues, with implications for equity. The uprising against the Caliph ʿUthmān, the rebellions by Māzyār and the ʿAlids, and the ʿAlid challenge against Abbasid-Ṭāhirid authority in Tabaristan, were triggered by administrative mistakes or injustices, in line with al-Ṭabarī’s first category of fitna as the result of absence of co-operation and mutual aid in the community (above). His reports on the third Zanj uprising can be seen as reflecting the same problem: the harsh treatment of the slaves disposed them to follow anyone who promised to treat them well and give them lands. The Qarmatian uprising, which started with an individual farm worker’s quest for power, may have spread in Kufa due to the local governor taxing the rebels in return for silence. If so, corrupt administration explains why the movement was not contained in its early stage. Furthermore, alṬabarī’s reporting on the Zanj and Qarmatian rebellions in the eastern part of Arabia and Baḥrayn may offer a perspective on Watson’s findings, that agriculture declined in these regions from the late 800s. According to al-Ṭabarī’s reports, both movements involved forcible appropriation of farmlands and expulsion of peasants, and trails of looting and battles against the authorities. Still, the reports do not say whether this development caused agricultural decline. Nor do they say whether the movements were themselves triggered by declining agriculture, the reassertion of landlords and expansion of estates, and tax farming. However, the exploitation of the Zanj in state-led efforts to turn southern Iraqi marshes into farmlands could indicate a need to find new arable lands if others were failing. 142

HT 38/Rosenthal, p. 179.

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Concerning al-Ṭabarī’s loyalties and the ʿAlids, the History presents a nuanced picture. Regarding Tabaristan, al-Ṭabarī described ʿAlid ascent to rule as reactions to the Abbasid Ṭāhirid governor’s illegal appropriation of public lands, and for the last year of his history (302/915), he emphasised that the ʿAlid alUṭrūsh was exemplarily just and upheld rights in Tabaristan. Moreover, the reports about ʿAlī, al-Ḥusayn, Zayd, and Yaḥyā, show ʿAlids claiming legitimate leadership for the sake of defending the Prophet’s sunna, and promising to defend equity and the common good in terms of rights to revenue from fayʾ lands. The cases imply that mobilization around the genealogical claim is a reaction to administrative malpractice, not a goal independent of the circumstances. The reports about al-Ḥusayn’s and Zayd’s speeches where they invoke God’s Covenant in their pledges to rule equitably, shows Covenant functioning as a social contract defining the rights and obligations of ruler and ruled, from the perspective of those who challenge Caliphal authorities. Zayd also rallied supporters among the lower classes, including peasants in the Sawād, where the Iraqi fayʾ lands were located. Similarly, the reports about the establishment of ʿAlid rule in Tabaristan portray it as a reaction against the powerful landowning Ṭāhirid governors and their expropriation of lands from the peasants. I therefore conclude that al-Ṭabarī is sympathetic towards those who defend the peasants’ rights, in these cases. Viewed from Baber Johansen’s perspective, al-Ṭabarī’s reports on Ṭāhirid governorship of the eastern region of the empire can be seen as representing the return of large-scale landowners, a process which Johansen argued by the 900s had subverted the early Islamic model of sharecropping (above, this chapter). In Johansen’s view, the re-emergence of vast estates and the threat of returning peasants to serfdom began in the eastern provinces and Khurasan, the Ṭāhirids’ home province. By comparison, Ziaul Haque, who draws on early historians, including al-Ṭabarī, traces the beginning of this process to Muʿāwiya, who began appropriating conquered lands for the state and distributing some of them to private landowners, a policy continued under Umayyad and Abbasid administrations.

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Consequently, Haque explains the Khārijīs as a movement against dynastic appropriation and for common ownership of fayʾ lands and equitable distribution of their revenue. 143 As he points out, al-Ṭabarī’s reports on ʿUmar’s conquests constitute the ideal model, deemed as continuing the Prophet’s sunna and upheld also by ʿAlī, which is why the Khārijīs initially supported him. ʿUmar’s basic terms – a contractual right to the land in exchange for tax – included the peasants: When ʿUmar’s letters [with instructions] reached [his commander] Saʿd b. Mālik [b. Abī Waqqāṣ] and the Muslims, they made offers to those who had migrated from the areas close to them and left the sawād to return: they would have protection and be obliged to pay the jizya [tax]. They returned and became protected peoples (ahl al-dhimma) like those who had stayed and held fast to their treaty compact (ʿahd), but their land tax (kharāj) was heavier. The Muslims conferred the same status upon those who claimed to have been forcibly evicted and fled: they made a lease contract with them (ʿaqadū lahum), giving those who stayed in their homes the status of those who had treaty compact (dhī ʿahd). The same applied to the peasants (wa-kadhālika al-falāḥīna). 144

These contractual terms are then referred also to the fayʾ lands, literally lands that God ‘returned’ (ʾafāʾa) to Muslim ownership, after having been the property of the Sassanid royal family, here referred to collectively as Kisrā, i.e. Khusraw: The rest of the sawād [inhabitants] became protected. [The Muslims] took from them the land tax (kharāj) that the Sassanids (Kisrā) had taken from each man according to the property and land he owned. The lands that God returned (ʾafāʾa Allāh) to them included what had belonged to the Sassanid family and to those who had gone with them, and the property of the families of those who fought on their side, and of the fire temples, and the thicket, the marshes, the mail service (…). It was not feasible to divide the fayʾ that had belonged to the Sassanids and those who had gone with them, Haque, Landlord and Peasant, pp. 231–240. Haque, Landlord and Peasant, p. 200; this is a corresponding modified translation from HT 12/Friedmann, p. 154.

143 144

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The report then describes how those entitled to fayʾ could end up disagreeing, in which case the governors (wulāt) could divide the lands between them. However, the discerning authorities – with ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib as the example – resisted dividing them, since that would lead to conflict. This approach is also defined as in accordance with the Prophet’s sunna. 146 Consequently, al-Ṭabarī’s discourse appoints ʿAlī as the continuator of ʿUmar’s example, maintaining fayʾ as a source of revenue for the community, and with lease contracts that conferred property rights to peasants as payers of kharāj. This is then the practice referred to in the reports about subsequent ʿAlids’ claims to legitimate rule, invoking the divine Covenant in the context of equitable management of fayʾ. A final point concerns the explicit connections between ʿUmar’s and ʿAlī’s administrations and Khusraw Anūshirwān. AlṬabarī’s reports attribute the miṣāḥa land tax model that ʿUmar introduced to Khusraw Anūshirwān. In Johansen’s view, this is the tax model most amenable to peasants’ property rights. Given that Khusraw Anūshirwān also sponsored Aristotle translations, it is possible that the tax model associated with him reflects Aristotle’s principle that property is a ‘natural’ right. In any case, al-Ṭabarī explicitly connected this specific Sassanid administrative legacy with ʿUmar and ʿAlī as continuators of the Prophet’s sunna. Hence, the administrative ‘tests’ that al-Ṭabarī reported on include references to whether or not this model and its corresponding rights are upheld.

Haque, Landlord and Peasant, p. 203; HT 12/Friedmann, p. 155; transl. modified. 146 HT 12/Friedmann, pp. 155–156. 145

CHAPTER FOUR. AL-ṬABARĪ’S METHODOLOGY Al-Ṭabarī’s student and biographer, the Kufan judge Aḥmad b. Kāmil (d. 349/960), recalled that the ageing al-Ṭabarī once told him that his scholarly pursuits began when he was around six years old. His father Jarīr had a dream in which he saw his little son standing in front of the Prophet with a nosebag for feeding horses (mikhlā) filled with stones, which he kept throwing before him. His father consulted a dream interpreter, who explained that when his son grew up, he would give advice on the Prophet’s judicial order (dīn) and defend his path of divine guidance (sharīʿa). Consequently, his father decided to dedicate his son to studies and provided him the economic support he needed to pursue knowledge (ṭalab al-ʿilm). 1 Reflecting al-Ṭabarī’s hindsight as he looked back to the start of his career, the anecdote tells us that at this point, he perceived his whole scholarly effort as a defence of the Prophet’s law. Viewed in the light of the preceding chapter, defence of the Prophet’s law could refer to the land and tax management issues, which I have argued are related to theory of natural law and natural rights. In this chapter, I adopt a new approach and explore these issues with reference to the discipline-specific methodologies of each of al-Ṭabarī’s main extant works. The question is whether these methodologies are epistemically consistent and constitute an overarching methodology Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-ʾudabāʾ ʾirshād al-ʾarīb ʾilā maʿrifat al-ʾadīb, ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās (Beirut: Dār al-Gharb al-Islāmī, 1993), p. 2446. Cf. Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 15; Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 33. 1

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characterising his madhhab. Point of departure is Anver Emon’s distinction between two hermeneutical methodologies applied by jurists working within the paradigm of natural law theory.

NATURAL LAW THEORY: TWO BASIC HERMENEUTICAL METHODOLOGIES

As we have seen in Chapter 3, Anver Emon distinguishes between two basic hermeneutical methodologies related to natural law. First, the Rationalist or ‘hard naturalist’ method. Following the principle ‘God wants X because X is good’, this is a deductive method in the sense that the exegete defines what is good and then applies this moral standard to the text. This is the hermeneutics of Muʿtazilī jurists, who also rejected Prophetic ḥadīth which did not correspond with their doctrine. 2 Second, the Positivist or ‘soft naturalist’ method, which follows the principle ‘X is good because God wants it’. Here the exegete inductively derives from the text a general definition of what is good. Based on the examples of al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1 (see Introduction) and Q. 3, 79 (see Chapter 3), his hermeneutics seems to fall under the Positivist or ‘soft naturalist’ category, since at no point does he define a doctrine through which he interprets the texts. In a previous study, I have argued that his exegetical and legal hermeneutics draws on al-Shāfiʿī’s (d. 204/820) concept bayān, to ‘clearly distinguish’ a legal topic and ruling by semantically connecting the Qur’an and the sunna, and with the aim of developing a canon of law. 3 This is achieved in part by exploiting semantic polyvalence and the ambiguous relationship between general and particular statements, in order to create topical connections within and between the two corpuses. 4 Now,

2 Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, p. 23, ref. to the Muʿtazilī Abū Qāsim al-Balkhī (d. 319/931), Qubūl al-ʾakhbār wa-maʿrifat al-rijāl, ed. Abū ʿAmr al-Ḥīnī b. ʿUmar b. ʿAbd al-Raḥīm (Beirut: Dār alKutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2000), vol. 1, pp. 17–20. 3 Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, pp. 12–13, 21–23, 39– 42. On al-Ṭabarī and al-Shāfiʿī’s bayān, see also Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 86. 4 Mårtensson, ibid. On the hermeneutics of al-Shāfiʿī’s bayān, see Vishanoff, Formation, pp. 39–61; see also Belhaj, ‘Al-Risāla’, focusing

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as we have seen in Chapter 3, al-Ṭabarī used his History to describe through historical cases and ‘facts’ the equitable terms of social contract and what the common good consists in. Two hermeneutical possibilities now present themselves: either that he used these historical ‘facts’ as moral standards, through which he deductively interpreted the Qur’an and the sunna; or that he derived moral standards inductively from the Qur’an and the sunna, which he then employed to select and arrange historical reports to illustrate what Qur’anic and Prophetic standards imply in practice. It is quite difficult to determine which of these two possible methodologies correspond to al-Ṭabarī’s practice, not least because he was working within several disciplines simultaneously and his oeuvre developed over several decades. Nevertheless, a certain production order is discernible. According to the biographical sources’ datings of al-Ṭabarī individual works, the legal writings are the earliest, followed by the Qur’an commentary, history, creeds, and ḥadīth compilation. 5 The most important sources are al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī’s (d. 463/1071) Taʾrīkh Baghdād, Ibn ʿAsākir’s (d. 571/1176) Taʾrīkh Dimashq, and Yāqūt’s (d. 626/1229) Muʿjam al-ʾudabāʾ, which draw to a large extent on information from al-Ṭabarī’s above-mentioned student Ibn Kāmil. Of these, the most extensive information is found in Yāqūt, under the entry Muḥammad b. Jarīr b. Yazīd b. Kathīr b. Ghālib, Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭabarī. 6 For this methodological analysis, I start with the legal works, though bearing in mind that they of course involved interpretation of the Qur’an and sunna, and then proceed to the ḥadīth compilation. This is because even though it was compiled at a late stage of his career, he was continuously studying ḥadīth and the compilation illustrates important aspects of his legal methodology; hence I treat it directly after the legal

especially on ambiguity as the problem of defining generals and particulars in law making. 5 On dates for the individual works, and biographical sources, see Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 80–134; Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 39–67. 6 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 9–10; Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-ʾudabāʾ, pp. 2441– 2469.

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works. Next follows the Qur’an commentary, then the History, and finally the writings on doctrine.

LEGAL WORKS

Al-Ṭabarī’s most important legal writings listed in the biographical sources are, first, the partly preserved Ikhtilāf ʿulamāʾ al-ʾamṣār fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām, ‘Disagreement among the Scholars of the Garrison Cities Concerning the Judgements pertaining to the Divinely Guided Principles of the Enactment of Peace’, commonly referred to as Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ. As the title shows, it belongs to the genre ikhtilāf, which is devoted to identifying scholarly agreement and disagreement on given legal topics. This work would have been a necessary first step in alṬabarī’s development of his own madhhab since it maps out the agreements and disagreements that he had to relate to when defining his methodology and rulings. Hence, he selected eight major jurists for the survey. Even though he did not give his own rulings in this work, it shows how he used the survey to develop his own methodology. It is reported that he intended to write a methodological introduction (risāla) for the work, but that it was never included in the preserved compilation. 7 His other major legal works are not extant. These include alLaṭīf fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām, ‘The Precise Exposition Concerning the Judgements of the Divinely Guided Principles of the Enactment of Peace’, usually referred to as al-Laṭīf. This work contains al-Ṭabarī’s own rulings, proceeding from the survey in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ but containing more topics. The two works together are considered the legal foundation of his madhhab. AlLaṭīf included a long methodological introduction, modelled on al-Shāfiʿī’s al-Risāla, and hence is often in biographical and other sources referred to as al-Ṭabarī’s risāla. Another title for it is alBayān ʿan ʾuṣūl al-ʾaḥkām, ‘Clear Distinctions of the Principles of the Judgements’. 8 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 103; on this work and Yāqūt’s reports on it, pp. 101–105; cf. Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 41–46; Stewart, ‘Consensus’, pp. 141–147. 8 Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 41–42; Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 113–117. See also Stewart, al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām. 7

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A third work, also non-extant, is al-Khafīf fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām, ‘Compendium Concerning the Judgements of the Divinely Guided Principles of the Enactment of Peace’. It was an abridgement of al-Laṭīf, produced for the wazīr Abū Aḥmad alʿAbbās b. al-Ḥasan al-ʿAzīzī. Claude Gilliot estimates that a section from al-Khafīf on conquered lands and property has been appended to Maḥmūd Muḥammad Shākir’s (1982) edition of alṬabarī’s ḥadīth compilation, after the transmission (musnad) from ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. 9 This appendix will be treated below. A fourth major work, which was never completed and is also not extant, is Basīṭ al-qawl fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām, ‘Summary Statements Concerning the Judgements of the Divinely Guided Principles of the Enactment of Peace’. According to al-Ṭabarī’s student Ibn Kāmil, it contained a survey of the classes of scholars (marātib al-ʿulamāʾ) representing the regions Hijaz (Mecca and Medina), Iraq (Kufa and Basra), Syria, and Khurasan. The work thus appears like an expansion of Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, since he gave the opinions and reasons of each scholar on given topics, but here including his own rulings as well. It also contains a section on the ethics of judges. 10 In what follows, I focus on the methodological issue of alṬabarī’s concept of ‘legal consensus’ (ʾijmāʿ) and the topic of land ownership, with reference to Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, biographical information about al-Bayān ʿan ʾuṣūl al-ʾaḥkām, and the section from al-Khafīf appended to the musnad from ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib in the ḥadīth compilation. Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of Consensus (ʾijmāʿ)

A scholar’s concept of legal consensus is methodologically decisive, since it determines what constitutes the source of authority. Al-Ṭabarī treated the subject in the treatise al-Bayān ʿan ʾuṣūl al-ʾaḥkām, as reported by Yāqūt, from al-Ṭabarī’s student Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 40–41; Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 111–113. Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 41; Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 86–88. See also Stewart’s use of Marātib al-ʿulamāʾ to critique late datings of the madhāhib, in ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Kitāb Marātib al-ʿUlamāʾ and the Significance of Biographical Works Devoted to “the Classes of Jurists”’, Der Islam, 90:2 (2013), pp. 347–375.

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Ibn Kāmil, who described the treatise’s topical contents as follows: 11 1. Consensus (ʾijmāʿ) 2. Reports transmitted by single authorities 3. Reports whose transmission chains do not reach the Prophet 4. Abrogating and abrogated texts on legal rulings 5. Ambiguous and specified reports 6. Commands and prohibitions 7. The acts of the messengers 8. The particularities and the generalities (al-khuṣūṣ wa-lʿumūm) 9. Independent interpretation (ijtihād) 10. Invalidity of juristic preference (istiḥsān) Concerning consensus or ʾijmāʿ, Yāqūt reports from Ibn Kāmil that the Ẓāhirī scholar Ibn Dāwūd (d. 296/909) had claimed that alṬabarī’s concept was expressed in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ as the agreement among the eight scholars he surveyed there. Thus, when al-Ṭabarī in this work stated ‘they agreed’ (ʾajmaʿ ū) or ‘the proof agreed’ (ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja), it means that he defined consensus (ʾijmāʿ) as that of the legal scholars, like al-Shāfiʿī did. However, Yāqūt also reported the objection, that Ibn Dāwūd was mistaken about this. Had he consulted the risāla of al-Laṭīf, i.e. al-Bayān ʿan ʾuṣūl al-ʾaḥkām, and the risāla of Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, he would have seen that al-Ṭabarī defined the authoritative ʾijmāʿ not as the eight scholars’ agreement but as the agreement of the Prophet’s Companions (ʾaṣḥāb), transmitted in written reports with several transmission chains (mutawātir). 12 This reported disagreement regarding al-Ṭabarī’s concept of ʾijmāʿ has been discussed also in current research. Notably, Devin Stewart pointed out in an initial study that the view of al-Ṭabarī’s concept of ʾijmāʿ as based on written Companion reports is consistent with his general “strong scripturalist leaning”. 13 Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-ʾudabāʾ, p. 2459; see also Stewart, al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām, p. 333. 12 Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-ʾudabāʾ, p. 2458. 13 Stewart, al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām, p. 339. 11

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Stewart also saw it as consistent with al-Ṭabarī’s rejection of istiḥsān, i.e. the use of juristic preference as norm for deriving rulings and guidance, typical for Ḥanafī methodology. 14 More recently, however, in a study focusing on al-Ṭabarī’s concept of ‘the proof’ (al-ḥujja) and comparing Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ with alṬabarī’s Qur’an commentary, Stewart came to side with Ibn Dāwūd’s view. He now concludes regarding Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, that al-Ṭabarī’s term ‘the proof agreed’ (ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja) refers to the relative agreement of the eight selected legal scholars, just as he in the Qur’an commentary aligned his exegesis with a body of exegetical authorities. Thus, the scholars constitute a collective ‘proof’ (ḥujja), in the sense of scholarly consensus (ʾijmāʿ). 15 In my own earlier study, I instead approached the question of al-Ṭabarī’s concept of ʾijmāʿ by looking briefly at his ḥadīth collection Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār, and concluded that he did in fact define ʾijmāʿ on specific topics as the consensus of Companion reports, with which later legal scholars can be seen to agree. 16 Here I will therefore explore in more depth what al-Ṭabarī’s term ‘the proof agreed’ (ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja) actually refers to in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ. As mentioned, Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ can be seen as al-Ṭabarī’s first step towards developing his own independent madhhab, by surveying selected legal topics and rulings, and mapping agreements and disagreements. 17 The eight selected jurists are: Mālik b. ʾAnas (d. 179/795), eponym of the Mālikī madhhab, from Medina; al-ʾAwzāʿī (d. 157/774), identified with an early Syrian madhhab, from Damascus and Beirut; Sufyān al-Thawrī (d. 161/778), from Kufa and Basra; al-Shāfiʿī (d. 204/820), eponym of the Shāfiʿī madhhab, from Fustat in Egypt; Abū Ḥanīfa (d. 150/767), eponym of the Ḥanafī madhhab, from Baghdad; Abū Yūsuf (d. 182/798), Ḥanafī jurist and chief judge in Baghdad; alStewart, al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām, pp. 333, 340; Yāqūt, Muʿjam alʾudabāʾ, p. 2459. 15 Stewart, ‘Consensus’, pp. 142–145. Stewart attributes the same view to Claude Gilliot; see ‘Consensus’, p. 133, notes 12, 14, 16 and 16, ref. to Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 143–145. See also Ibrahim, Al-Ṭabarī’s Book of Jihād, who consistently translates the term ḥujja as ‘the scholars’. 16 Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, p. 41. 17 Cf. Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, p. 20. 14

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Shaybānī (d. 189/805), systematiser of the Ḥanafī madhhab, via Kufa and Baghdad to al-Ray; and Abū Thawr Ibrāhīm b. Khālid al-Kalbī (d. 240/854), identified with an independent madhhab in Baghdad. The selection excludes rationalist Muʿtazilīs, ‘hard literalists’ like al-Ṭabarī’s colleague Dāwūd al-Ẓāhirī (d. 269/883), and Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d. 241/855), eponym of the later Ḥanbalī madhhab. 18 For slightly different reasons, neither Dāwūd al-Ẓāhirī nor Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal allowed for bayān in al-Shāfiʿī’s abovedescribed sense of analytically negotiating meaning within and across the scriptural corpuses, with reference to a selected topic. In practice, therefore, they rejected the use of bayān to develop a canon of law, and instead applied the scriptural canon directly to each legal question that arose. 19 The fact that al-Ṭabarī also excluded Muʿtazilīs suggests that he drew a boundary against their doctrines and deductive ‘hard naturalist’ methodology, in Emon’s terminology. 20 Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ is preserved partially in two editions. One is based on a Cairo manuscript edited by Friedrich Kern (1902) and contains the topical treatises (kutub) al-Mudabbar, ‘Contract for manumission of a slave after his owner’s death’; al-Salam, ‘Advance payment’; al-Muzāraʿa wa-l-musāqā, ‘Sharecropping and irrigation’; al-Ghaṣb, ‘Usurpation of property’; and al-Ḍamān wa-lkafāla wa-l-ḥawāla, ‘Guarantee, surety, and money transfer’. The second edition by Joseph Schacht (1933), based on an Istanbul manuscript, includes the treatises al-Jihād, ‘War as divine obligation’; al-Jizya, ‘Tax (here poll tax and land tax)’; ʾAḥkām almuḥāribīna, ‘Rulings on enemy combatants’; al-Zakāt, On the selected scholars and his selection criteria, see Stewart, ‘Consensus’, pp. 143–144; Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, pp. 20–21. 19 On Dāwūd al-Ẓāhirī’s specific literalist hermeneutics, see Vishanoff, Formation, pp. 78–82; on Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, p. 232. See also Friedrich Kern, Introduction to Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, p. 10, where al-Ṭabarī is reported to have said that Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal was a muḥaddith but not a faqīh, implying that al-Ṭabarī defined fiqh in the analytical sense, as systematic development of principles for law. 20 See Yāqūt, Muʿjam al-ʾudabāʾ, referring to al-Ṭabarī’s creed and rejection of Muʿtazilī doctrine; Gilliot, Exégèse, Ch. 7. 18

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‘Community tax’; Qaṭʿ al-sāriq, ‘Amputation on robbers’; and alJanāʾiz, ‘Funerals’. In addition, there exists an Egyptian manuscript of al-Nikāḥ, ‘Marriage contract’. 21 Al-Ṭabarī begins each treatise by stating a topic, then describing what the jurists agree on, and then mapping their disagreements, giving the judgements and their legal reasons (ʿilal, sing. ʿilla). He then systematically breaks down the main topic and principle into sub-cases or branches, identifying further agreements (ʾajmaʿū, ‘they agree’) and disagreements (ikhtalafū, ‘they disagree’). 22 Sometimes, he also declares ‘the proof agrees’ (ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja), which is the sticking point for the question of consensus. The fact that he distinguished between the frequent formula ‘they agree’ (ʾajmaʿū), referring to the scholars, and the less frequent ‘the proof agrees’ (ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja), suggests that the two phrases are not quite interchangeable. Rather, it seems that al-Ṭabarī employed ‘the proof’ when referring to something irrefutably verified, which the scholars’ agreement can then correspond with. To bring out these nuances I translate the terms as follows: ʾajmaʿū or ‘they converge on’, ikhtalafū or ‘they diverge on’, and ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja or ‘the proof converges on’. The latter allows for the notion that ‘the proof’ is not the human collective of jurists but an authoritative source. For example, the beginning of Kitāb al-Jihād, paragraphs 1– 4 in Schacht’s edition. In paragraph 1, al-Ṭabarī cites three Qur’anic verses, stating that while God sent previous prophets and messengers to ‘particular’ peoples, He has singled out the Prophet’s community and judicial order (dīn) 23 as ‘generally’ valid for all peoples and therefore it will prevail over the others. 21 Stewart, ‘Consensus’, p. 142. Kitāb al-Jihād has been translated into English, by Yasir S. Ibrahim, Al-Ṭabarī’s Book of Jihād: A Translation from the Original Arabic, With Introduction, Commentary, and Notes (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2007). 22 On the structure, see also Ibrahim’s Introduction to Kitāb al-Jihād, pp. 16–18. 23 Note that al-Ṭabarī in his Qur’an commentary gives the following legal senses to the word dīn: ‘recompense and settlement’ (al-jazāʾ wa-l-qiṣāṣ), ‘rule and obedience’ (al-sulṭān wa-l-ṭāʿa), ‘humility’ (al-tadhallul), and ‘reckoning’ (al-ḥisāb); Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 139.

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Consequently, rulings on jihād have to do with establishing the Prophet’s judicial order, the legal terms of which other religious communities (milal) must accept, though they have the right to maintain their own doctrines and rituals in return for tax. Thus, the Prophet’s judicial order is one of ‘true right’ (dīn al-ḥaqq), as it sets the general legal terms: 1. Treatise on jihād By the praise of God we begin and seek help, as He is the Governor Who Protects us from error and Grants us success, and may God abundantly bless and grant peace upon Muḥammad the Prophet and his family! God, Majestic and Praiseworthy, Blessed be His Names, said in what He sent down and communicated to His Messenger (pbuh): “We have in fact written in the Psalter, after the honouring reminder, that My servants who work for the common good shall inherit the land: indeed, in this is a message conveyed to a group of people who serve, that We have not sent you with a message except for the life-protection of the knowing beings!” (Q. 21, 105–107) And He, Majestic and Praiseworthy, said: “We have not sent you with a message except for all people, as a bringer of the divine good word and a warner, but most people do not have this knowledge” (Q. 34, 28). So He, Majestic and Honourable, conveyed the knowledge to His Prophet and Messenger for His creatures, that He sent him with a message to all people, as a bringer of the divine good word and a warner. By conveying to him this knowledge, He, Exalted is His Name, made distinctly clear to him that He had favoured him over His preceding prophets and messengers, who in the past had only been sent out to particular groups of people in specific times. God, Exalted be His Honour, made our Prophet (pbuh) particular through the general message and the all-encompassing invitation, which conveys clear distinctions from God of his standing, explains his favourable position, seals by him the divine message, and makes his community the best of the existing communities, saying: “You are the best nation brought forth to the people, commanding what is known to be good and forbidding what is rejected, as you enact security through God” (Q. 3, 110). [God] guaranteed for him that His judicial order (dīnihi) would prevail over the other judicial orders, and His religious

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community (millatihi) over the other religious communities, saying: “It is He Who sent His Messenger with a message through the divine guidance and the judicial order of true right (dīn al-ḥaqq), to make it prevail over all judicial order, even though those who take other partners resent it (wa-law kariha al-mushrikūna). 24

In the next paragraph 2, al-Ṭabarī describes ‘the conduct regarding fighting those who take other partners’, which refers to the Prophet as acting on the divine mission and message stated in the Qur’anic verses in paragraph 1. This scriptural and Prophetic support is what al-Ṭabarī refers to as ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja, which I render in the sense of ‘the proof converges on’: 2. Mention of the conduct regarding fighting those who take other partners (dhikr al-sīra fī qitāl ʾahl al-shirk). The proof converges on (ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja) that God’s Messenger (pbuh) did not fight his enemies among those who take partners until after he had made the invitation manifest and established the proof (baʿda ʾiẓhārihi al-daʿwa waʾiqāmat al-ḥujja), and that he (pbuh) would order the commanders of his detachments to invite those not reached by the invitation. 25

In the next paragraph 3, al-Ṭabarī proceeds to map the scholars’ disagreements, under the heading ‘Then they diverged regarding the duties of invitation for Muslims in [their] own time when fighting those who take partners’. Having mapped the disagreement between Mālik, al-Shāfiʿī, the Ḥanafīs, and Abū Thawr, al-Ṭabarī proceeded to paragraph 4, where he stated a new sub-topic (how to fight, once the conditions are fulfilled) and agreement: ‘They unanimously converged on (ʾajmaʿū jamīʿan) that when the two armies met in battle (…)’, etc. 26 Thus, we can see in these paragraphs that ‘the proof’ is invoked after references

Das Konstantinopler Fragment des Kitāb Ikhtilāf al-Fuqahāʾ des Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr aṭ-Ṭabarī, ed. Joseph Schacht (Leiden: Brill, 1933), pp. 1–2. 25 Schacht, Konstantinopler Fragment, p. 2. 26 Schacht, Konstantinopler Fragment, p. 3. 24

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to the Qur’an and the Prophet’s conduct, as distinct from the scholars’ agreement. Another example is the topic ‘Judgements on spoils of war and booty’, paragraphs 55–57. Here al-Ṭabarī starts with the Qur’anic verse 8, 41, which states that one fifth of the booty goes to a specific category: 55. [God said,] Majestic and Praiseworthy: “Know that of whatever you take as booty, a fifth is for God, the Messenger, the next of kin, the orphans, the poor, and the wayfarer” (Q. 8, 41).

It follows that the remaining four fifths go to the fighters, and that is ‘the proof’: 56. All of the proof converges on, without divergence within it (wa-ʾajmaʿa al-kull min al-ḥujja lā khilāfa baynahā), that four fifths of the booty is for the fighters.

Paragraph 57 then reports that the scholars disagreed over the fighters and what they are entitled to. 27 Further on, referring to the same topic, paragraph 62 sums up an agreement among the scholars: 62. They unanimously converged on (wa-ʾajmaʿū jamīʿan) that if the sick [fighter] witnessed fighting together with the army in enemy land but did not fight, he should have his part of the booty.

The next paragraph 63 states the proof, which refers back to paragraph 56, which in turn followed from the Qur’anic verse 8, 41 that introduced the topic: 63. The proof converges on (wa-ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja) that the four fifths of the booty that falls to the army in enemy land is for those who fought there, if they entered the enemy land with the permission of the Imam; no one else than them have a right to it. 28

Then paragraph 64 introduces a new disagreement, leading to a new agreement in paragraph 65: “They converged on (wa27 28

Schacht, Konstantinopler Fragment, p. 68. Schacht, Konstantinopler Fragment, p. 78.

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ʾajmaʿū) that the horseman is favoured above the foot soldier in terms of booty”. After this statement there are no further references to ‘the proof’ in the treatise on jihād. Turning now to the treatise on Tax (Kitāb al-Jizya), paragraph 123 begins with a reference to Q. 9, 29: “Fight those among the people who have been given the divine writing who do not enact security through God and the furthest day, do not protect what God and His Messenger have protected, and do not judge by the judicial order of true right, until they give the jizya tax in hand, submissively”. In the subsequent paragraph 124, al-Ṭabarī describes how “all those possessing knowledge converge on, without divergence or dispute”, that the Jews and Christians of the two writings Torah and Gospel who agree to pay jizya and want to remain in their religions will be confirmed in their religions by the Imam. He then proceeds to state, regarding the Zoroastrians: “The proof that refutes all argument converges on (wa-ʾajmaʿt al-ḥujja alqāṭiʿa al-ʿudhr) that God’s Messenger (pbuh) took the jizya from the Zoroastrians (al-majūs).” I.e., the Prophet’s sunna expands the jizya-paying category to include other religious communities than Jews and Christians, and ‘the proof’ is the sunna. In paragraph 125, he proceeds to disagreements over criteria for taking jizya from others than Jews and Christians. In paragraph 126, al-Ṭabarī again refers to ‘the proof’ as written transmitted knowledge (naql) of the Prophet’s practice: 126. The proof that refutes all arguments transmits (wanaqalat al-ḥujja allatī taqṭaʿ al-ʿudhr) that God’s Messenger (pbuh) took the jizya tax from the people of Najrān and those in Yemen who were Arab People of the divine writing (ahl alkitāb min al-ʿarab).

Paragraph 127 then refers to the scholars’ agreement: 127. They converged on (wa-ʾajmaʿū) that God’s Messenger (pbuh) rejected taking jizya tax from the servants of idols among the Arabs and did not accept anything from them except the enactment of peace (ʾislām) or the sword. 29

29

Schacht, Konstantinopler Fragment, pp. 199–200.

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Finally, in paragraph 140, which describes agreement on taking jizya from Christian peoples, al-Ṭabarī emphasises the principle that binding consensus must go back to Companion reports with multiple transmission chains; hence: There are reports with multiple transmissions that ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb entered a treaty with the Christians of Banū Taghlib, that jizya be taken on their lands, their livestock, and their gold and silver (wa-tawātarat al-ʾakhbāru ʾanna ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb ṣālaḥa naṣārā Banī Taghlib ʿalā ʾan tuʾkhadhu jizyatuhum min ʾarḍīhim wa-mawāshīhim wa-ṣāmitihim). 30

These examples suggest that al-Ṭabarī invoked ‘the proof’ when referring to something which is irrefutable because of its evidentiary written nature: either it is stated in the Qur’an, or it is Prophetic sunna transmitted in writing. As such, ‘the proof’ rules out disagreement, and it is binding. It is thus distinct from the scholars’ agreement, though the latter may align with ‘the proof’. 31 Finally, the scholars’ agreement is also held against documented Companion practice, which is binding too. This approach can be tested on Kitāb al-Muzāraʿa wa’lmusāqā (‘Sharecropping and irrigation’, Kern’s edition), which contains no references at all to ‘the proof’ but several to ‘they converged on’. Thus, the treatise begins neither with a Qur’anic verse nor a reference to the Prophet’s sunna, but with a statement of agreement: All those possessing knowledge converged on, without any divergence among them (ʾajmaʿa ’l-ʿulamāʾ jamīʿan lā khilāfa baynahum), that it is permissible (jāʾiz) for a man to lease someone who undertakes to water his date palms and tend to his fruits and the crops on his uncultivated land and till the soil and tend it, on a defined lease (bi-ʾujra maʿlūma) of gold Schacht, Konstantinopler Fragment, p. 228. On gold and silver as ‘silent’ (ṣāmit) assets, as opposed to livestock with ‘voice’ (nāṭiq), see Lisān alʿarab, entry ṣ-m-t. 31 Thus, I disagree with Stewart’s conclusion: “ijmāʿ and its derivatives do not mean ‘unanimous consensus’ but instead indicate preponderant or overwhelming agreement. The ordinary phrase ajmaʿat al-ḥujja therefore means ‘the ḥujja agreed overwhelmingly’; it is understood to allow for limited dissenting opinion”; ‘Consensus’, pp. 161–162. 30

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and silver and good and fruit other than what comes from the palms and the leased land, which the lessee upholds for a defined period of time and a known limit. 32

The agreement is followed by disagreement about specific lease conditions. In particular al-Shāfiʿī is cited referring to the Prophet’s sunna but which he says has two meanings, so he applies analogy (qiyās) to arrive at his own rulings. 33 In other words, neither the Qur’an nor the sunna, which in this case is ambiguous, provide any irrefutable ‘proof’ on the broader topic of sharecropping and water, though the scholars ‘agree’ on certain principles. I therefore find that al-Ṭabarī operated with a concept of consensus (ʾijmāʿ) as having to be based on written ‘proof’, which aligns with what Devin Stewart in his early study identified as alṬabarī’s “strong scripturalist leaning”. 34 ‘Scripturalism’ can be seen as reflecting al-Ṭabarī’s reported commitment to defend the Prophet’s law, embodied in the Qur’an and the written sunna, and implemented also by the Prophet’s Companions. As we saw in Chapter 3, this principle plays out in the History as the continuation of the Prophet’s sunna with the Companions ʿUmar and ʿAlī and their rulings on fayʾ. Subsequent scholarly agreements are authoritative if they align with this Companion consensus or derive from its principles. Al-Ṭabarī described the same methodological principle in his ḥadīth compilation, in the transmission (musnad) from ʿUmar, where he describes how an authoritative topical principle is embodied in written form in reports from the Prophet, with which the scholars’ statements with clarifying distinctions then aligns: What that indicates is followed by the reports about it from God’s Messenger (pbuh) in the form of text, and is stated by those possessing knowledge among the community in the form of clarifying distinctions (wa-binaḥw alladhī dalla ʿalayhi

Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, ed. Kern, p. 141. Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, ed. Kern, pp. 144–147. Cf. Haque, Landlord and Peasant, on the two positions attributed to the sunna, discussed above in Ch. 3, pp. 121–124. 34 Stewart, al-Bayān ʿan uṣūl al-aḥkām, p. 339. 32 33

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ dhālika tatābaʿat al-ʾakhbār bihi ʿan Rasūl Allāh manṣūṣan waqālathu ʿulamāʾ al-ʾumma mubayyanan). 35

Conquered Land and Property Rights

I will now turn to al-Ṭabarī’s own rulings on conquered lands. As mentioned, these have been appended by Maḥmūd Muḥammad Shākir to his edition of al-Ṭabarī’s ḥadīth compilation Tahdhīb alʾĀthār, to the reports transmitted from ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. The rulings pertain to al-Khafīf fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām and were written for the wazīr Abu Aḥmad al-ʿAbbās b. al-Ḥasan al-ʿAzīzī (see above). 36 Since the text was intended for the administration, it can be assumed to reflect al-Ṭabarī’s view on how the administration should manage lands. He defined seven categories of land with corresponding ownership rights, and rules for the division of their resources. Note that mines and precious minerals are also mentioned among these resources, as discussed in Chapter 1 above. What follows here is a summary translation of the text. The Categories of Lands and the Rulings regarding what is found in them (ʾaqsām al-ʾarḍīna wa-ḥukum mā yūjad fīhā). The categories of lands are seven: The first category is land whose inhabitants (ʾahl) accepted Islam or ‘became enacters of peace’, before the Muslims arrived and conquered them, “as God’s Messenger’s (pbuh) acted in Baḥrayn” (ʿamala bihā Rasūl Allāh wa-l-baḥrayn). This is the land on which one can collect the tenth (al-ʿushūr) and alms tax (al-ṣadaqa). If a man finds in them ‘one of the treasures of al-jāhiliyya’ (kanz min kunūz al-jāhiliyya), and they are precious minerals (rikāz), and the owner of the land (rabb al-ʾarḍ) claims them, then they belong to the latter. If the people consent that the treasures do not belong to anyone, and they have not placed them in their land, the ruling is to investigate who owned the lands before and acknowledge

Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, ed. Maḥmūd Muḥammad Shākir (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-Madanī, 1982), vol. 1, p. 66; cf. Mårtensson, ‘Al-Ṭabarī’s Concept of the Qur’an’, p. 41. 36 Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, pp. 289–291. 35

CHAPTER 4. AL-ṬABARĪ’S METHODOLOGY them. If any of these owners, or their inheritors, claims them, they are theirs. If no one claims them, the ruling is that they are findings (al-luqaṭ), and the property can be disposed as with property whose owners have died without leaving any inheritors. If there are mines on the land, which are settled and under extraction, they belong to their owner (ṣāḥib), after the tax of the fifth (al-khums) is taken from him. 37 The second category is land that the Muslims took by force (ʿanwa) and while mounted on horses or camels, from ‘those who assign partners’ (al-mushrikūna), and which the Imam then divided up (qasama) as booty (ghanīma). If a man among them finds ‘one of the treasures of al-jāhiliyya’, and it is precious minerals (rikāz), the ruling is that if the owner of the land (rabb al-ʾarḍ) claims it, it is his. But if they consent that they did not bury the treasure and it does not belong to them, the ruling is to divide it between those who entered the land and conquered it: four-fifths to those entitled to booty (ʾahl alghanīma) who conquered, or their inheritors if they died, and one-fifth to those entitled to the fifth (al-khums). 38 The third category is uncultivated or ‘dead’ land (mawāt) that the Muslims cultivated or ‘revived’ (ʾiḥyāhā), and which none of the Muslims owned before its cultivation. Of the treasures of al-jāhiliyya and other things buried in it, four-fifths belong to the one who finds them, and one-fifth belongs to those entitled to alms (ʾahl al-ṣadaqāt). This applies regardless of whether the findings were in uncultivated lands belonging to those who take partners (ʾahl al-shirk) or the people of the enactment of peace (Islam). 39 The fourth category is land which belonged to those who take partners (ʾahl al-shirk), which the Muslims conquered and drove away its inhabitants, and then the Imam out of fondness for the persons in his army made into a permanent trust (waqafahā) for the Muslims in their vicissitudes. If a man finds there one of the treasures of al-jāhiliyya and he does not claim it himself, it should be divided among the soldiers who entered the land and who the Imam took a liking to. They Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, p. 289. Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, pp. 289–290. 39 Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, p. 290. 37 38

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ should get four-fifths of it, while one-fifth is for those entitled to the fifth (al-khums). If there are mines in the land, the ruling is that the Imam may lease workers, and whatever God extracts from the mines is for those entitled to the fayʾ. And similarly, the ruling for the land plots: gold and silver is paid for the waterways, and it goes to those entitled to the fayʾ. 40 The fifth category is land belonging to those who assign partners, and who feared the Muslims’ attacks and protected themselves against them by turning over to them some or all their lands, and the payment of jizya tax from each individual (ʿan ruʾūsihim). This land is for those entitled to the fayʾ, as a permanent trust for the Muslims in their vicissitudes. The precious metals found in it are for all those entitled to the fayʾ collectively (jamīʿihim), so long as the following do not claim it (ʾidhā lam yaddaʿhu): the one who found them, or the one in whose territory (dār) it was found, or those Muslims or protected peoples (ʾahl al-dhimma) who owned it. 41 The sixth category is land that belonged to those who take partners, who feared the Muslims descending upon them and their dwellings and taking possession of their secluded homes, and therefore vacated their homelands and left them to the Muslims. The ruling is like the previous one: it is immobilised (maḥbūsa) for the Muslims’ vicissitudes, and as sustenance (ʾarzāq) for those entitled to the fayʾ. The precious metals found in it is for all those entitled to the fayʾ collectively (jamīʿan), so long as the one who found it does not claim it, or one of those who owns the territory (dār) in which it was found. 42 The seventh category is uncultivated land which was not owned by anyone of the Muslims, nor of those who take partners, since the emergence of the enactment of peace (Islam). Of precious metals found in it, four-fifths belong to the one who finds them, and the other fifth to those entitled to alms (ʾahl al-ṣadaqāt). 43

Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, p. 290. Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, pp. 290–291. 42 Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, p. 291. 43 Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, p. 291. 40 41

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These rulings on division of lands taken as booty between the conquering fighters (four-fifths) and those entitled to alms (onefifth) aligns with al-Ṭabarī’s treatment of the same topic in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ (Kitāb al-Jihād) and ‘the proof’ that he there derived from Q. 8, 41. Similarly, his above-described references in Kitāb al-Jizya, referring to Q. 9, 29 on ‘the people of writing’, and ‘the proof’ regarding the Prophet’s sunna on the Zoroastrians, seem to be reflected here in his rulings on ‘the protected peoples’ (ʾahl aldhimma) who pay jizya: they too have ownership rights to their lands and the resources in them, subject to the Islamic judicial order. In terms of property rights and given the development in alṬabarī’s time towards re-concentration of large estates under landlords, and states claiming lands for tax farming (Chapter 3, above), it seems that al-Ṭabarī emphasised that all categories of lands and property rights derive from the time of the Muslim conquests by the Prophet and the Companions, not afterwards. Hence, later states cannot turn privately owned lands, whether owned by Muslims or ʾahl al-dhimma, into state property if there are inheritors. Nor can the state turn lands devoted to the common good of Muslims and others entitled to charity into other forms of ownership, once it has been ascertained that there are no entitled claimants. Al-Ṭabarī also rules that the fayʾ lands constitute a source of sustenance for the Muslims as a collective, and we have seen in his History that this issue was at stake from Muʿāwiya’s Caliphate onwards, and that the Companions ʿUmar and ʿAlī examplified good practice and the continuation of the Prophet’s sunna. Hence, one important point with locating binding legal consensus (ʾijmāʿ) in the Companions’ reports would be to protect this specific system of land ownership and rights. This would also explain why he ruled out ‘juristic preference’ (istiḥsān), as mentioned above in connection with al-Bayān ʿan ʾuṣūl al-ʾaḥkām: because the method enables jurists to develop new standards for deriving law, without grounding in the textual proof. 44 In Emon’s terms, istiḥsān would correspond with the On another framing of the same point with reference to al-Shāfiʿī’s critiques of Ḥanafī istiḥsān as usurpation of “God’s role as sole determiner

44

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Rationalist/Hard Naturalist approach: ‘God wants X because it is good’, with ‘good’ being pre-defined by the jurist. As for the topic of peasants’ legal status and rights, it is not treated explicitly in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ or in the rulings on conquered lands. Yet the above-described stated agreement with which al-Ṭabarī introduced Kitāb al-Muzāraʿa wa-l-musāqā specifies that all labourers on lands must be hired on wages according to certain terms, specified in a contract; this was also adduced by Haque as evidence of the change of peasants’ status from serfdom to holders of rights, as discussed in Chapter 3. Consequently, al-Ṭabarī perceived peasants’ right to own the produce of their labour as integral to the judicial order that continues the Prophet’s sunna. Conclusion: al-Ṭabarī’s Legal Methodology and Natural Law Theory

Al-Ṭabarī’s location of legal consensus in written ‘proof’ can be seen as insistence on empirical rather than rationally deduced evidence of what constitutes ‘the good’, in line with Emon’s Positivist/Soft Naturalist model: ‘X is good because God wants it’. This means that the Qur’an and the sunna constitute proof of ‘what God defines as good’, and the legal scholars can then agree with it. Consequently, as we have seen, al-Ṭabarī opened Kitāb alJihād in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ by citing Qur’anic verses (Q. 21, 105– 107, Q. 34, 28 and Q. 3, 110), which frame the Prophet’s divine message (risāla) as ‘general’ because it defines the good for all peoples under the Prophet’s rule, not just for a ‘particular’ people like the previous divine communications to prophets and messengers. In substantive terms, he defined this general good as God’s ‘life-protection for the knowing beings’ (raḥmatun li-lʿālamīna), implemented through the Prophet’s ‘judicial order of true right’ (dīn al-ḥaqq), under whose jurisdiction the other ‘particular’ judicial orders and religious communities (milal) are of the law”, see Devin Stewart, ‘Muḥammad b. Dāʾūd al-Ẓāhirī’s Manual of Jurisprudence, al-Wuṣūl ilā maʿrifat al-uṣūl’, in Bernard G. Weiss (ed.), Studies in Islamic Legal Theory (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 99–158; pp. 134– 135; cit. p. 134.

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subsumed. Hence, the rights and obligations that follow in the treatment of legal agreements and disagreements apply to all peoples and derive from the Qur’an as the ultimate divine moral standard for the law, namely raḥmatun li-l-ʿālamīna. This moral standard of ‘life-protection for the knowing beings’ equates the right to sustenance that all human beings have according to the Covenantal terms that al-Ṭabarī argued shape the entire Qur’an, as shown in Chapter 2.

ḤADĪTH

Al-Ṭabarī’s ḥadīth collection is a gigantic and unfinished undertaking, which has been partially preserved. It appears that he worked on it throughout his career and life, since it is reported that aspects of it were made public from quite early on. It constitutes his definition of the Prophet’s sunna and law, as reflected in its title Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār wa-tafṣīl al-thābit ʿan Rasūl Allāh min al-ʾakhbār, ‘Refinement of the traditions and detailed exposition of the established reports from God’s Messenger’. In it, he combines his concept of consensus as grounded in textual ‘proof’ and agreement with Companion reports, and the bayān method of harmonising meaning between the Qur’an and the Prophet’s sunna with reference to defined topics. In doing so, he delivers his own rulings, and occasionally also provides expositions on ethical, ritual, and theological topics. 45 Consequently, al-Ṭabarī himself singled out Tahdhīb al-ʾāthār as one of his two most important works, the second being his (nonextant) legal treatise Basīṭ al-qawl. 46 The extant parts of Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār are Musnad ʿUmar b. alKhaṭṭāb (3 vols., 1983), Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (1 vol., 1982), and Musnad ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbbās (1982), all three edited by Maḥmūd Muḥammad Shākir. An additional fourth volume includes sections from Musnad ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf, Musnad For basic information, see Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 128–130; Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 58–60; also ‘Le "Tahḏīb al-āṯār" de Tabari’ on the contents of the compilation. 46 Yāqūt, Irshād, p. 2460: al-Ṭabarī urged his colleagues and students to study particularly Basīṭ al-qawl and Tahdhīb al-ʾāthār, because he considered them more important than all his other works. 45

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Ṭalḥa b. ʿUbayd Allāh and Musnad al-Zubayr b. al- ʿAwwām, and is edited by ʿAlī Riḍā b. ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAlī Riḍā (1995). As the titles show, Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār belongs to the musnad genre, i.e. it is organised according to the Companion transmission chains, under which specific topics are defined and treated. Although several musnad collections were compiled during the late first to early third centuries, its main counterpart is the famous musnad of Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (d. 241/855), whose chains it shares, though arranged in a slightly different order after the four Companion Caliphs. 47 Yet al-Ṭabarī’s methodology differs considerably from that of Aḥmad. Under each Companion chain, Aḥmad listed reports, sometimes in several transmissions, but without referring them to a common legal topic or assessing their chains. 48 By comparison, al-Ṭabarī arranged the reports under each major transmission chain according to topic, giving several transmissions, and assessing their chains in terms of soundness. Applying bayān, he also identified the reports’ meanings (maʿānī), analysed their legal reasons (ʿilal), and resolved contradictions between them, leading to a conclusion as to which is the ‘established sunna’, and sometimes also producing his own rulings and expositions, as mentioned. Moreover, his method differs from Muʿtazilī ‘rationalist’ deductive approaches, where ḥadīth are assessed in terms of predefined doctrine. Al-Ṭabarī’s method is more inductive, drawing out rulings and doctrine from the reports’ topics and meanings, just as he does in his Qur’an

47 On early musnad collections, see Editor’s Introduction to Musnad alImām Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal (AH. 164–241), ed. Shuʿayb al-ʾArnaʾūṭ et.al., 50 vols. (Muʾassasat al-Risāla, 2001), Vol. 1, pp. 51–56. On Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal’s musnad and al-Ṭabarī’s Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār, see Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 59. Ibn Ḥanbal’s order is: Abū Bakr – ʿUmar – ʿUthmān – ʿAlī – Ṭalḥa b. ʿUbaydallāh – al-Zubayr b. al- ʿAwwām - Saʿd b. Abī Waqqāṣ – Saʿīd b. Zayd b. ʿAmr b. Nufayl – ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf – Abū ʿUbayda b. alJarrāḥ. Al-Ṭabarī followed suit for the first four Caliphs, but then adopted a different sequence. 48 See also Editor’s Introduction, Musnad al-Imām Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, pp. 50–51.

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commentary. 49 For example, the outline of contents from Musnad ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf (pages 197–205) illustrates his approach: • • • • • • •

Mentioning of another of the reports from ʿAbd alRaḥmān b. ʿAwf from the Prophet (pbuh); Statement concerning the weaknesses in legal reasons (ʿilal) of this report; Mentioning of that; Statement concerning the clarifying distinction (bayān) of the fiqh contained in this report; Mention of the predecessors (al-salaf) who stated: “No amputation of [the hand of] the embezzler”; Mention of those who stated that; Statement concerning the clarifying distinction of the exceptional words (al-gharīb) in these reports.

Bayān as Legal Method in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār

One example of how reports in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār relate to Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ and the issues of ‘proof’, consensus, and bayān, is the report in Musnad ʿAlī about the Prophet’s treaty with the Christian tribe Banū Taghlib. Banū Taghlib hailed originally from the Najd in the interior of the Arabian Peninsula but had settled in the northern regions bordering Syria and Iraq. One of their sub-tribes, al-ʾAbnāʾ, included the famous tribe Rabīʿa. Just before the Prophet’s time, Banū Taghlib resided within the realm of the Lakhmid kingdom, to which they were mostly loyal. They were a hugely powerful military block, capable of mobilising thousands of well organised fighters. However, in the Battle of Dhū Qār (c. 610), they fought on the Sassanid side. They were also part of the ridda rebellions against Abū Bakr’s Caliphate. In the full-scale Muslim conquests under ʿUmar they remained largely on the Sassanid side, though with some exceptions. In the early civil wars, they supported ʿAlī, but later they sided with the Umayyads. During Umayyad and early Abbasid time, some of them gradually became Muslims, though their military strength enabled them to 49 On the importance of the Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār for illuminating his exegetical method in the Qur’an commentary, see Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 60, 348.

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keep de facto sovereign control over their lands even while the majority retained their Christian faith. By the 200s/800s, their numbers of Muslims had increased so that they were granted full de jure administrative control over their lands and were appointed prominent positions in the Abbasid administration. 50 The fact that Banū Taghlib were a military force to be reckoned with both for the early and later Muslim polities should be kept in mind when reading al-Ṭabarī’s report about them. I cite it at length, to illustrate al-Ṭabarī’s references to ‘proof’ and his application of bayān to produce his own rulings. The topic, loosely defined, is “peace treaty with Arab Christians who should technically have fallen under the category of those who must choose between Islam or death, since they were Arabs who fought against the Muslims”: Al-ʿAbbās b. Muḥammad – Abū Nuʿaym ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. Hāniʾ al-Nakhʿī – Sharīk – Ibrāhīm b. Muhājir – Ziyād b. Ḥudayr – ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, who said: “By God, had I lived with Banū Taghlib, I would have fought to kill the combatants and take offspring captives, for in those days I had written the contract (katabtu al-kitāb) between the Prophet (pbuh) and them, that they would not make their sons Christians (ʾallā yunaṣṣirū ʾabnāʾahum)!” 51 Statement concerning the weaknesses of this report: This report is in our view sound in transmission (ṣaḥīḥ sanaduhu), but according to the method of others it must be defect (saqīm), not sound, for [the following] reasons (ʿilal): One of them is, according to them, that Ibrāhīm b. Muhājir is not authoritative for proof concerning the judicial order (lā tuthbitu bihi fī al-dīn ḥujja). Another is that Sharīk, in their view, has made many errors, so it is incumbent to treat his reports with caution.

Michael Lecker, “Tag̲h̲lib b. Wāʾil”, Encyclopaedia of Islam, Second Edition. 51 Note that yunaṣṣirū, “to make s.o. Christian”, also alludes etymologically to the root meaning of n-ṣ-r, “to be or make s.o. victorious”. 50

CHAPTER 4. AL-ṬABARĪ’S METHODOLOGY Third, Abū Nuʿaym al-Nakhʿī is according to them not approved of, so it is not acceptable to use his written transmission for proof (ghayr jāʾiz al-iḥtijāj binaqlihi). Fourth, according to them the peace treaty (ṣulḥ) with Banū Taghlib was concluded between them and ʿUmar b. alKhaṭṭāb. They say that one of the reports indicating that is from: Aḥmad b. ʿAmr al-Baṣrī – Yaḥyā b. Abī Bukayr, the judge of Kerman – ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿUmar al-Qurashī – Saʿīd b. ʿAmr b. Saʿīd – his father – his father – ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, who said: “If I had not heard God’s Messenger (pbuh) say, ‘God indeed withholds from [our] judicial order the Christians of Rabīʿa on the bank of the Euphrates!’, I would not have left a single Arab there without either me killing him or he becoming an enacter of peace (yuslim).” They stated: So, if the peace treaty concluded between Banū Taghlib and the people who enact peace (ahl al-ʾislām) derived from a mutual contract (ʿaqd) between them and God’s Messenger (pbuh), ʿUmar would not have needed to make his proof – to desist from fighting and killing them and ruling on them in accordance with the ruling for the idol worshipping Arabs – through the statement that he narrated from God’s Messenger (pbuh), but he would have said: “If the Prophet (pbuh) had not entered with them the mutual contract of protection (dhimma), and concluded peace with them based on a contract between them and him”. They stated: The way in which ʿUmar made his proof (iḥtijāj ʿUmar bi-mā iḥtajja bihi), as we have mentioned, is a clear indication of the veracity of what we have said, namely that the mutual contract of the peace treaty was between them and ʿUmar, and that what was narrated from ʿAlī about him writing the contract of the peace treaty between them and the Prophet (pbuh) is not of a sound transmission chain. Statement concerning clear distinctions of the fiqh contained in this report, and what its sense is (wa-mā wajhuhu). If someone said to us: You have in fact stated that this report is sound, so what is its sense, if you find it sound? And how come the Muslims have until this day left [Banū Taghlib; UM] living together with them in the abode of Islam? What is the

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ sense of the Imams accepting from them the jizya? And can we marry their women and eat of their slaughtered meat, even though they, according to the narration from ʿAlī, have in fact broken the contract God’s Messenger (pbuh) entered with them, by making their children Christians and including them in the religion (ṣibgha) of Christianity, and as they cannot remain Christians without drinking wine? It is said: The predecessors among the people with knowledge before us have disagreed over this, and we will recall what they have said about it, then follow with the full clear distinction, God willing. 52 Mention of those who pronounced the eating of their slaughtered meat illicit (7 reports). 53 The method of those who prohibited eating their slaughtered meat requires it be prohibited also to marry their women. This is because those among the people who reject security (ʾahl al-kufr) whose slaughtered meat is declared illicit, and the meaning of rejection of security (kufr) being what it is, marriage with their women is illicit according to the same meaning. However, as for the taking of jizya tax from them, it is not illicit when they are people of writing (kitābiyyan), whether Arab (ʿarab) or non-Arab (ʿajam). Others have stated: It is permissible to eat their slaughtered meat and marry their women. 54 Mention of those who stated that (13 reports). 55 Since the disagreement among the predecessors concerning the matter of Banū Taghlib is present, as we have mentioned, and Taghlib were practicing Christianity, and the [Muslim] community has not rejected that ʿUmar took from them the jizya, among the Migrants (al-muhājirīna) and the Helpers to Victory (al-ʾanṣār), without them rejecting that he took it from them. Him taking that from them means that they are ‘the people of divine writing’ (ʾahl al-kitāb), and does not mean

Musnad ʿAlī, pp. 223–225. Musnad ʿAlī, pp. 226–227. 54 Musnad ʿAlī, p. 227. 55 Musnad ʿAlī, pp. 228–230. 52 53

CHAPTER 4. AL-ṬABARĪ’S METHODOLOGY that they are Zoroastrians (majūs) or non-Arab (ʿajam), so that it is true and established that the people of divine writing and that their slaughtered meat and women are permitted for the Muslims, as God, may His Honour be Exalted, has stated: “Today the good things have been made permissible for you: the food of those who have been given the writing is permissible for you and your food is permissible for them, and so are the chaste women among those who enact security and the chaste women among those who were given the writing before you, provided you give them their dowries” (Q. 5, 5). As for the Imams abstaining from killing their fighters and taking their offspring captive, even though they have made their children Christians and counteracted what was mentioned from ʿAlī about the contract they entered with God’s Messenger (pbuh) that they should not make their children Christians. It is possible that they did so because they found that as long as the people paying the jizya stay in their territories and fulfil their due jizya to the Muslims, and willingly obey them and the term that they are subject to the rule of Islam, then there is no cause against them, even if they have broken some of the conditions initially set for them in the mutual contract of protection of them (ʿaqd al-dhimma). Instead, they have been held to what obligates them in [the protection contract], without their blood and landed estates (ʾamwāluhum) becoming permitted. In fact, that is the statement of the majority of the legal analysts (almutafaqqiha). It is [also] possible that they did so because the rule over each infant is the rule of the parents, as long as it is a small child and until it reaches the stage of choice, and [it is they] who obligate it with rulings. Thus, rulings over the children of Banū Taghlib cannot have been outside of the rulings of the Christian parents until they reach maturity. When the child among them reaches that stage, the parents have no cause against it, nor can the Muslims force him or her to Islam, given what we have established before through the sunna of God’s Messenger (pbuh) that [the child] is ruled over by its parents. And the parents are not the ones who made [the child] Christian, since one who makes someone else Christian does so by forcing and compelling him to become Christian, whereas the child of the Christian has not become Christian

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ because his parents compelled him but rather because they rule over him as long as he is a small child. When he reaches maturity, he has the judicial order that he then chooses for himself, whether he chooses the judicial order of his parents or another. So, if the case of Banū Taghlib and their children is as we have described it, the Imams did not regard them as making their children Christians in a way that would make their blood and landed estates permissible. If someone says: If it is as you say, then what is the sense of ʿAlī’s statement, “Had I lived with the Christian Banū Taghlib I would certainly have fought their fighters and taken their offspring captives, for I had written the contract between them and God’s Messenger (pbuh) that they would not make their children Christians!” It is said: It is possible (jāʾiz) that [he said that] because of a command that reached him regarding them, that they were due what they were threatened with, so he said that as threat to them; or he was informed regarding them that they had countered some of the terms that the protection contract bound them to (bikhilāfihim baʿḍ al-ʾumūr allatī ʿuqidat ʿalayhā lahum al-dhimma), without which the command made their blood and landed estates and offspring permissible. But then they reverted to fulfilling what they had to do, so that they were confirmed in the compact they had entered, and the protection was fulfilled for them (faʾuqirrū ʿalā al-ʿahd alladhī ʿūhidū wa-wufiya lahum bi-l-dhimma). 56

The exposition ends here. It shows al-Ṭabarī engaging in a sequential analytical demonstration as to what is an ‘established’ report and sunna. First, to establish the substantive soundness of the report from ʿAlī about the Prophet’s peace treaty with Banū Taghlib, he mobilised a report about ʿUmar’s practice, which aligns with the implications of the Prophet’s treaty. Thus, he established a Prophetic sunna for ʿUmar’s practice. Drawing out the practical implications of both these Companion reports, he then adduced a Qur’anic verse (Q. 5, 5), which topically aligns with and ‘proves’ these practices. The method illustrates bayān in the legal context, i.e. the harmonisation of the Qur’an and sunna 56

Musnad ʿAlī, pp. 230–232.

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through a specific topic. An important part of the harmonising exegesis is his careful construction of contexts for the Prophet, ʿUmar, and ʿAlī, through which he draws out the legal principles in the reports. Even though he is clearly driving the argumentation in a specific direction, legitimising the legal status of Banū Taghlib and the principles he derived from that, he is following Emon’s Positivist approach, which is essentially inductive, finding the principle in the empirical cases and then generalising from that. The case of Banū Taghlib appears also in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, in Kitāb al-Jizya. There the jurists agree that as Arab Christians who had fought the Muslims, Banū Taghlib are distinct from the category ahl al-kitāb, yet subject to the same terms, i.e. jizya in return for dhimma status. Their lands can also become kharāj lands, with corresponding adjustments of their tax burden. 57 The agreement is backed up by the authoritative mutawātir Companion reports from ʿUmar, which prove his treaty with Banū Taghlib. 58 In the context of mapping out disagreement, al-Ṭabarī cites a single, unauthoritative report from ʿUmar, via al-Shāfiʿī, to the effect that one cannot take jizya from Banū Taghlib. 59 Thus again, the authoritative ‘proven’ agreement is that which goes back to the multiply transmitted report from the Companion ʿUmar. Comparing Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ and Tahdhīb al-ʾāthār also helps bring out the more fine-grained sides of al-Ṭabarī’s independent legal reasoning. Where the jurists’ agreement in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ relates to the report from ʿUmar, al-Ṭabarī in Tahdhīb al-ʾāthār instead introduces a report from ʿAlī, which the other jurists have not associated with this case, and which allows him to anchor ʿUmar’s practice in the Prophet’s sunna. In the process of arguing for the soundness of ʿAlī’s report, as we have seen above, he produced an exposition over ‘freedom of religion’ as a legal topic. His aim was to prove that Banū Taghlib had not lastingly violated the term of the Prophet’s peace treaty, that they must not ‘make Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, ed. Schacht, pp. 210, 218 (on kharāj), 224, 227–228. Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, ed. Schacht, p. 228. 59 Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, ed. Schacht, p. 231. 57 58

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their sons/children Christian’, even though the tribe evidently remained Christians. Thus, he argued that ‘to make someone’ adhere to Christianity or any other religion implies use of force and coercion, which is not the case with the normal transmission of a religion from parents to their child within the family. Until the child comes of age, he or she is under the legal guardianship and rule of the parents, so it is their right to raise the child in their religion. Only when the child comes of age can he or she choose whether to keep or leave the parents’ religion, whether that be Christianity or any other religion. At this point, the choice is for the rationally mature young person to make and is no longer the parents’ right. Consequently, parents cannot ‘make’ neither their small nor their mature children Christian. Thus, Banū Taghlib would only have broken the Prophet’s treaty if they had forced their children and youth to become Christian, but not by simply raising them as Christians and letting them choose to remain in their parents’ religion. In this way, al-Ṭabarī both explains why this tribe has remained Christian, and inductively derives from the Prophet’s sunna on this ‘particular’ case a ‘general’ defence of parents’ right to raise their children in their religion, and of the mature person’s right to make a rational, individual choice of religion. 60

Of course, al-Ṭabarī’s approach and terminology differs vastly from contemporary Human Rights-derived formulations of the rights of parents and children – and yet, as with the UDHR Preamble and alṬabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1, there are some overlaps. Thus, the UN Convention of the Rights of the Child (1990), Article 14: “1. States Parties shall respect the right of the child to freedom of thought, conscience and religion; 2. States Parties shall respect the rights and duties of the parents and, when applicable, legal guardians, to provide direction to the child in the exercise of his or her right in a manner consistent with the evolving capacities of the child”. Article 30, concerning ‘minorities’: “In those States in which ethnic, religious or linguistic minorities or persons of indigenous origin exist, a child belonging to such a minority or who is indigenous shall not be denied the right, in community with other members of his or her group, to enjoy his or her own culture, to profess and practise his or her own religion, or to use his or her own language”.

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Social Contract and Separation of Powers in Tahdhīb alʾĀthār

The argument that the Companions in al-Ṭabarī’s legal thought represent specific administrative practices related to land and fayʾ, which explains why he appointed them as the locus of consensus, seems to be supported by reports in Musnad ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb on the topic of succession to leadership and the Caliphate after the Prophet. Multiply transmitted reports from ʿUmar identify six Companions who had earned the Prophet’s satisfaction (riḍā) at the time of his death due to their meritorious virtue (faḍl), and who should therefore constitute the deliberative Council (shūrā) that appointed his successor. This group of six were ʿUthmān, ʿAlī, al-Zubayr, Ṭalḥa, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf, and Saʿd b. Abī Waqqāṣ. 61 Having defined the fiqh in the report in terms of ‘selection criteria’, al-Ṭabarī identified, alongside virtue and scholarly knowledge, their practical knowledge of administrating the polity (al-maʿrifa bisiyāsat al-ʾumma), which as we have seen includes land management: The fiqh contained in this report indicates that ʿUmar’s methodology (madhhab) included [the following principle]: the people most entitled to the leadership and the foremost for the mutual contract of the succession are the most judicially virtuous of them (ʾaḥaqqa al-nās bi-l-ʾimāma waʾawlāhum biʿaqd al-khilāfa ʾafḍaluhum dīnan), whereas those shown favour (al-mafḍūl) do not have the right to it together with the virtuous. Therefore he limited it, after his departure, to the group of six who he had named and with who God’s Messenger (pbuh) was pleased when he passed away, since there was at this time no one among those who affiliated with Islam after him who reached their standing within the judicial order, with respect to migration (hijra), precedence (sābiqa), virtue (faḍl), scholarly knowledge (ʿilm), and practical knowledge of administrating the polity (al-maʿrifa bisiyāsat alʾumma). According to that method (al-minhāj) proceeded

61

Musnad ʿUmar, vol. 2, pp. 922–924.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ those who went before him and succeeded to the Caliphate the Rightly Guided (al-Rāshidūna) Imams after him. 62

Al-Ṭabarī then goes on to treat reasons for weaknesses in the report, leading up to his concluding analysis of how its principles can be generalised and applied also after the rule of the four Rightly Guided Companions. He argues that the logical extension of the principle of having a ‘deliberative council’ (shūrā) who because of their merits can elect the Caliph, and lead the polity, means that the scholars, as transmitters of the same merits, must be the ones who both elect the Caliph and relieve him of his duties if he is deemed unfit to rule. Following the same logic, he refutes the Shīʿī (ahl al-ʾimāma) claim to leadership, where merit is vested in descent and there is no need for a deliberative council to elect a leader. 63 Thus, he argues: [The report] also indicates that the community covenanted (al-jamāʿa al-mawthūq) 64 through their judgements and advice regarding Islam and its adherents, when they conclude the Caliphal contract for someone eligible for the adherents of Islam, through deliberation among themselves (tashāwur), independent interpretation (ijtihād), and critical examination (naẓar), it is not for anyone else among the Muslims to dissolve that contract unless he was part of their contract and deliberation, since the contractors will have attained the right [candidate] (wa-ʾidh kāna al-ʿāqidūna qad ʾaṣābū al-ḥaqq fīhi). That is because ʿUmar singled out for the task of critical examination the group of six, and did not let anyone else do what they did and conclude the contract with [the right to] veto, and they [in their turn] all consented to his deed, without disapproval from anyone of them. If the contract had not been valid without the agreement of the whole community, it would have been appropriate for someone among them to have said: “This right to conclude the contract, the enactment of which you have made exclusive to those six in the group, why have you restricted it to them over the rest of the community?” In fact, all of them are part of this (bal alMusnad ʿUmar, vol. 2, p. 925. Musnad ʿUmar, vol. 2, pp. 931–933; esp. p. 932 on ahl al-ʾimāma. 64 Of the same root as mīthāq, the divine Covenant. 62 63

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jamīʿ minhum fī dhālika shurakāʾ), since its obligating all of them is a right (ḥaqq), as is its obligations towards them. However, at the time when the matter was with the people, as I have described, they accepted and followed suit, without any protests occurring among them, or anyone having any objections. [The report] also indicates that it was part of [ʿUmar’s] method that the matters of the judicial order concerning independent interpretation and derivation, and critical examination and discernment, should be brought to those with knowledge of its principles, and its obligations should be based on their statements and rulings. He made the commanders (al-ʾumarāʾ), in the choice of these six, command the community towards them, and by that he singled them out among the rest of the community and made their contract incumbent upon those other members of the flock (al-raʿiyya) who entered a contract with him. This because they were at the time the most knowledgeable in the community of what they were tasked to do, the most capable of giving advice, and the most experienced in the meanings (maʿānī) through which the contract of the Caliphate can rightfully be concluded. In the same way, it is incumbent that any matter of the judicial order concerning independent interpretation and discernment, and critical examination and derivation, be addressed to those with scholarly knowledge, and any obligation be based on their statements and rulings, and no one else’s, so that no ignorant person or anyone lacking scholarly and practical knowledge can have a legal opinion (raʾy). Instead, the latter are obliged to accept the [scholars’] statements and legal opinions, and follow their rulings and judgements, like ʿUmar made incumbent the contract of the Council members (ahl al-shūrā) upon those who contracted the rest of the community, without giving anyone else the right to questioning, examining, or giving a legal opinion on what they judged on this matter, only to accept and follow their ruling. 65

Thus, al-Ṭabarī argues that the community as a whole have agreed that the Council of Companions can elect the Caliph, and 65

Musnad ʿUmar, vol. 2, pp. 932–933.

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that the principle extends to the function of the scholars after the Companions. Though the topic in this context is limited to the case of succession, it relates to the issue of constitutional division of power, discussed above in Chapter 3. There we saw how al-Ṭabarī in his exegesis of Q. 3, 79 identifies the scholars as the upholders of the people’s welfare and the common good, and as supervisors of the state administration. This example from Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār further supports the thesis that al-Ṭabarī’s social contract theory subordinated the Caliph and administration to the law of the legal scholars, since it is the latter who transmitted the administrative practical knowledge of the Companion Caliphs. Al-Ṭabarī argues here that the sunna authorises deliberation, first among the Companions, then among the legal scholars, as representatives of the people. Thus, he rejects the democratic principle that the public elect the leader directly. In terms of methodology, he derives the deliberated election criteria from statecraft, law, and applied ethics, which he shows in his History to be decisive for equity and the common good. This is yet another way in which he makes the sunna align with empirically grounded principles proven to be good. In a topically related, further rejection of the aristocratic Shīʿī claim to leadership, al-Ṭabarī cites another report from ʿUmar, which states that ability to read the divine kitāb and know its obligations is what matters for authority to lead and administrate, and that this ability elevates some people over others: Abū al-Jamāhir al-Ḥimṣī – Muḥammad b. ʿAbd al-Raḥmān alḤaḍramī – Abū al-Yamān - Shuʿayb b. Abī Ḥamza – al-Zuhrī – ʿĀmir b. Wāthila al-Laythī: Nāfiʿ b. ʿAbd al-Ḥārith al-Khuzāʿī met ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb at ʿUsfān, as ʿUmar was putting him in charge over the people of Mecca. [Nāfiʿ] greeted ʿUmar with peace and ʿUmar said to him: “Who have you made as your vicegerent for the people of the river valley (ahl alwādī)?” He said: “Ibn ʾAbzā”. ʿUmar said: “Who is Ibn ʾAbzā?” Nāfiʿ said: “One of our protégés (min mawālīnā)”. ʿUmar said: “So you have made a protégé vicegerent over them!” He said: “O Commander of the Faithful, he is a reader of God’s writing (qāriʾ likitāb Allāh), knowledgeable of the obligations!” ʿUmar

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said: “Indeed, God’s Messenger (pbuh) said: ‘God certainly elevates through this writing some groups of people and subjects by it others!’”. 66

Again, al-Ṭabarī argues for the soundness of the fiqh in this report, even though others deemed it flawed because ʿUmar cites the Prophet without the chain extending to him, and because the last authority, ʿĀmir b. Wāthila, is unknown. For support, al-Ṭabarī cites other reports attributing the same principle to ʿUmar, namely that knowledge of God’s writing and obligations is more qualifying than descent and general virtue. 67 The analysis again confers administrative authority to the scholars and their institutionalised knowledge, adding the detail that access to the required knowledge is available for all, in theory. Conclusion: Companion Consensus and Individual Interpretation in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār

In Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār, then, al-Ṭabarī defines the Prophet’s sunna, with reference to Companion reports and consensus regarding their fiqh. Effectively, this involves turning topics and principles reflected also in the History and Qur’an commentary into sunna, with substantive consistency across the disciplines and genres. Put in Emon’s terms, he derives fiqh and individual rulings inductively from the texts in the Positivist/Soft Naturalist manner, at the same time as he pushes the outcome in a direction that corresponds with his positions as gleaned from the other works. In particular, the History allows him to show why it is vital, according to the Prophet’s sunna, that those in authority understand the scriptural principles and the administrative issues they refer to. In Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār it also becomes clear that alṬabarī made independent interpretations (ijtihād), which is another reason why he could not locate legal consensus in the scholars’ agreement but in the text-based ‘proof’. Regarding the ḥadīth evidence, he authorised his own independent interpretations by anchoring them in Companion consensus, and thereby ‘defended the Prophet’s sunna’. 66 67

Musnad ʿUmar, vol. 2, p. 779. Musnad ʿUmar, vol. 2, pp. 780–783.

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EXEGETICAL METHODOLOGY

The next oeuvre on the list is al-Ṭabarī’s Qur’an commentary, Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān. Al-Ṭabarī kept working and lecturing on it alongside his other writings and is said to have completed it between 283/896 and 290/903, though parts of it may have been publicized around 270/883-4. 68 It has been fully preserved, including the long Introduction where al-Ṭabarī develops his hermeneutics and exegetical method. This Introduction and al-Ṭabarī’s definitions of Qur’anic Arabic language, rhetoric, and composition, have already been treated in Chapter 2. Here I will focus on those methodological concepts and practices that connect the Commentary with the legal works. The full title Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān conveys some of al-Ṭabarī’s key exegetical points: it is an encyclopaedic collection of the ‘clarifying distinctions’ (bayān) of the Qur’anic ‘signs’ made by a broad, though not exhaustive, selection of exegetes, aiming to reach God’s intended meaning (taʾwīl). 69 As in Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār, bayān involves distinguishing a topic, sometimes with reference to Prophetic reports but mostly to other exegetical reports. Companion authority takes a different form here, since the Commentary does not aim to establish binding consensus in the legal sense, only agreement and disagreement among exegetes over the Qur’an’s meaning. As Companion and exegetical authority, Ibn ʿAbbās nevertheless plays an important role, as we shall see. The following exposition starts with the methodological introduction.

Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 106; Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 62. On taʾwīl and al-Ṭabarī’s aim to attain God’s intended meaning, see Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of Modern Hermeneutics’. On materials excluded from his Commentary, see Walid Saleh, The Formation of the Classical Tafsīr Tradition: The Quran Commentary of al-Thaʿlabī (d. 427/1035) (Leiden: Brill, 2004). Also Scott C. Lucas, Ṭabarī: Selections from The Comprehensive Exposition of the Interpretation of the Verses of the Qur’an (Cambridge: Royal Aal al-Bayt Institute and The Islamic Texts Society, 2017), Vol. 1, pp. xxi–xxii; and Mårtensson, ‘Review Article: Ṭabarī: Selections from The Comprehensive Exposition of the Interpretation of the Verses of the Qur’an. Volumes I & II’, Journal of Qur’anic Studies, 23:1 (2021), pp. 128–174; pp. 131–132, 149–151. 68 69

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Divine and Human Proof and Clarifying Distinctions Each existing thing testifies to His unity, and each senseperception is a guide to His lordship, through the characteristics which He made inherent in things, namely shortage and abundance, impotence and need, susceptibility to accidental facts and subjection to inevitable incidents, so that the persuasive proof (al-ḥujja al-bāligha) shall belong to Him (Q. 6, 149). Then He arranged the indications testifying to Himself, and in the containers of the intellect (qulūb) He established a degree of His splendour to enlighten them, by the Messengers whom He sent to whomsoever He wished of His servants and who called [the people] to the truth that had become clear to them and the proofs that had taken root in their faculties of reasoning, so that the people would have no proof against God, once the messengers had come (Q. 4, 165), and so that He could cause those of discernment and intelligence to remember [allusion to Q. 3, 7]. 70

This passage highlights the significance that al-Ṭabarī attributed to the Qur’an as the divine ‘proof’, recognisable as such by all humans through their natural intellect, once informed about it by the messengers. Due to its divine nature, then, the Qur’an is the ultimate ‘proof’ also in legal contexts, as we have seen above. In this exegetical context, al-Ṭabarī explains that the ‘proof’ is persuasively achieved through bayān, i.e. the divine and human capacity to convey one’s innermost, subjective concerns through clear distinctions, and thus communicate and collaborate with others. 71 Though bayān is a communicative language capacity that God shares with humans, the excellence of God’s bayān ‘incapacitates’ (muʿjiz) all human attempts to replicate it. 72 Moreover, the Arabic Qur’an sent down to the Prophet is a linguistically and rhetorically superior bayān compared with the previous prophetic communications – the Torah, the Psalter, and the Gospel – which only contain some of all the forms conveying God’s intended meaning (maʿānī) that the Qur’an comprises. 73 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 13. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 16. 72 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 16–17. 73 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 19, 126; cf. Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 81. 70 71

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This linguistic and rhetorical ‘partial’ character of the other scriptures compared with the ‘completeness’ of the Qur’an mirrors the legal ‘particularisation’ of the Torah and the Gospel and the ‘generality’ of the Qur’an, which al-Ṭabarī established in the beginning of Kitāb al-Jihād, in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ (see above). Together, the legal and linguistic-hermeneutical statements about the Qur’an’s generality or universality establish that the correctly understood meaning of the Arabic Qur’an equals the divine ‘proof’ of the goodness of the Prophet’s judicial order and its true right (ḥaqq) to rule over the other religious communities. However, the approach is more than a strategy to legitimise legal and political power. Al-Ṭabarī here provides the linguisticcognitive presuppositions for natural law theory. His initial location of the ‘proof’ in the human intellect and definition of bayān as an intrinsic human capability establishes a universal foundation for all humans to recognise the absolute goodness and right of the Qur’anic message, and to clearly convey its distinctions of terms. While this holds true for all humans, it is especially so for the Jews and the Christians who share the same history of prophecy, albeit in their ‘particular’ formulations. Applied Method: The Levels of Meaning Summarily described, al-Ṭabarī’s method combines critical assessment of exegetical reports, and mapping of agreements and disagreements among the exegetes, with his own linguistic analysis and consideration of semantic contexts, both the external-historical and the text-internal ones. Consequently, his exegesis involves several levels of analysis. Structurally, he explains the Qur’an verse by verse, or a couple of verses together if the syntax requires it. Frequently he begins the exegesis by summarising, in his own words, the meaning of the verse. Moreover, he regularly attributes his summarised meaning to God, through such phrases as qāla Allāh, ‘God stated’, or ʿanā bidhālika, ‘He meant by that’. Sometimes he skips this stage and proceeds directly to state whether there is disagreement among exegetes over the meaning. If there is none, he gives the main exegetical reports that agree with each other, and with his own explanation. If there is disagreement, he lists exegetical reports

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according to their explanations, and gives his own conclusion regarding which is the most correct interpretation, using the phrases ʾiṣābat ṣawāb al-qawl ʿindī, ‘attaining (or ‘targeting’) the correct statement, in my view’, or ʾawlā al-ʾaqwāl bidhālika, ‘the foremost of the statements on this’. Finally, he proceeds to assess the different reports and argue for his conclusion, combining grammatical and lexical analysis with analysis of both external contexts conveyed through reports, and internal semantic contexts (siyāq al-ʾāya). 74 In his linguistic analysis, al-Ṭabarī sometimes engaged in critical refutations of unnamed Qur’an commentators coming from the discipline of linguistics rather than that of tafsīr. Scholars have identified these unnamed commentators as especially the Kufan grammarian al-Farrāʾ (d. 207/822) and his Maʿānī alQurʾān, and Abū ʿUbayda (d. 210/825) of the Basra school and his opus Majāz al-Qurʾān. 75 In Claude Gilliot’s view, al-Ṭabarī’s critique reflects not only the explicit technical, grammatical disagreements, but also his ranking of the discipline of tafsīr, and its corollaries fiqh and kalām, as the disciplines conveying specialist knowledge of the Qur’an’s meaning, whereas linguistics is the sub-ordinate tool. Consequently, al-Ṭabarī rejected the grammarians’ interpretations because they are based on general Arabic linguistics rather than on the specialised expertise Again, the reference work on al-Ṭabarī’s exegetical method is Gilliot, Exégèse, though Gilliot finds that al-Ṭabarī did not operate with a theory of language and a semantic of intended meaning, but rather one where meaning is carried by the language forms; pp. 79–80, 190. See also Jane D. McAuliffe, ‘Qurʾānic hermeneutics: the views of al-Ṭabarī and Ibn Kathīr’, in Andrew Rippin (ed.), Approaches to the Interpretation of the Qurʾān (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), pp. 46–62; Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of Modern Hermeneutics’, pp. 30–35, on al-Ṭabarī’s methodology and exegesis of Q. 24, 35. On siyāq, see Tarif Khalidi, ‘AlṬabarī: an Introduction’, in Kennedy (ed.), A Medieval Historian, pp. 1–9; p. 5. 75 Shah, ‘Al-Ṭabarī and the Dynamics of tafsīr’, pp. 84–98; Gilliot, Exégèse, ch. 7. Both Shah and Gilliot refer for the initial observation, that alṬabarī was refuting al-Farrāʾ, to the work by Aḥmad Makkī al-Anṣārī, Abū Zakariyyāʾ al-Farrāʾ wa-madhhabubu fī al-naḥw wa-l-lugha (Cairo: alMajlis al-ʿAlā li-Riʾāyat al-Funūn wa-l-Ādāb wa-l-ʿUlūm al-Ijtimāʿiyya, 1964). 74

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embodied in the exegetical reports. His rejection is therefore, in Gilliot’s view, systematic and reflects al-Ṭabarī’s own disciplinary affiliation. 76 However, it is also possible to explain his critique of the grammarian-commentators of the early 800s through his theory of Qur’anic Arabic. As discussed in Chapter 2, al-Ṭabarī defined the Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn as constituted by distinctions between universals and particulars, and corresponding with the Prophet’s idiom. 77 At the same time, he emphasised that it did not correspond to all the several existing forms of spoken Arabic at the time but constituted one specific idiom, though according to a Prophetic ḥadīth it was compatible with sabʿat ʾaḥruf, ‘seven pronounced particles’. 78 The ʿUthmānic Qur’anic script then represented one of these seven variants, and the others were lost. 79 This approach elevates exegesis over general linguistics by distinguishing Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn as a prophetic discourse distinct from both contemporaneous and later Arabic language. Thus, al-Ṭabarī may well have concluded, for historical and formal-semantic reasons, that the Qur’an actually was and remains distinct from other Arabic vernacular, administrative and poetic idioms, in line with Ernst Knauf’s model of Arabic idioms in the period 500–600, and that knowledge of the Qur’an’s meaning is therefore transmitted within the exegesis-related diciplines. If so, this would align with the argument I developed in Chapter 2, that Qur’anic prophetic discourse generically identifies with exegesis and as concerned with correctly conveying God’s message. Thus, al-Ṭabarī summed up his conclusion as follows: We have provided indications (dalāla) that the whole Qur’an is Arabic, that it descended in the idioms of some of the Arabs but not all of them (nazala biʾalsin baʿḍ al-ʿarab dūna ʾalsin jamīʿihā), and that the Muslims’ readings today and the codices they have before them are in some of the idioms in which the Qur’an descended but not all of them. And we have spoken about clearly distinguishing the light and the Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 202. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 24. 78 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 24–25. 79 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 46–47. 76 77

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evidence, the just judgement and the clear distinction, that the Qur’an contains and which God has laid down in it [in the form of] His command and prohibition, permitted and proscribed, promise and threat, judgements and likenesses, and subtlety of decrees, which suffice those who succeed in understanding it. 80

He then explains the role of linguistics and grammar for gaining both discipline-based knowledge (ʿilm) and legal experiencebased knowledge (maʿrifa) of the meanings of the Qur’an’s concepts and their concrete references. These kinds of knowledge are necessary complements to the understanding the specific rulings and knowledge that God reserved for the Prophet, which cannot be gained from the linguistic or legal knowledge alone. Finally, al-Ṭabarī authorises his exposition through reports from Ibn ʿAbbās, including one with a sound transmission chain to the Prophet: In [the Reading] there are things whose original meaning anyone can know who has knowledge of the idiom in which the Reading descended. That is, to do the desinential inflections, to have practical knowledge of the named things through their corresponding concepts and without association with others, and of the described things by their attributes and no others; none of them are ignorant of this. For example, if someone of them hears another reciting the Reading as follows: “When it is said to them, ‘Do not cause corruption in the land! (lā tufsidū fī al-ʾarḍ)’ and they say, ‘But we are enacting the common good! (ʾinnamā naḥnu muṣliḥūna)’, is it not they who are causing corruption, although they do not perceive it?” (Q. 2, 11–12) he is not ignorant that the meaning of ‘causing corruption’ (al-ʾifsād) is ‘what must be avoided because it is harmful’, and that ‘enacting the common good’ (al-ʾiṣlāḥ) is ‘what must be done because doing it is beneficent’ (fiʿluhu manfaʿa), even if he is ignorant of the meanings that God has made into ‘causing corruption’ and the meanings that God has made into ‘enacting the common good’. Consequently, what the one who has the language in which the Reading descended knows of the original meanings of the

80

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ Reading is what I have described as practical knowledge of the properties of the named things through their corresponding names, without association with others, and the described things through their attributes, in addition to their obligatory rulings, attributes, and classes the knowledge of which God has reserved particularly for His Prophet (pbuh) (dūna al-wājib min ʾaḥkāmihā wa-ṣifātihā wa-hayʾātihā allatī khaṣṣa Allāh bi-ʿilmihā nabiyyahu). His knowledge can only be gained through his clear distinctions (bayān), given that God gave him exclusive knowledge beyond that of His creatures. What we have said about that has been transmitted in reports from Ibn ʿAbbās: From Muḥammad b. Bashshār – Muʾammil – Sufyān – Abū alZinād – Ibn ʿAbbās, who said: “Explanation involves four levels of meaning (al-tafsīr ʿalā ʾarbaʿa ʾawjuh): the level that the Arabs have practical knowledge of from their discursive speech (wajh taʿrifuhu al-ʿarab min kalāmihā); explanation that no one is excused for not knowing; explanation that the scholars have [discipline-based] knowledge of (tafsīr yaʿlamuhu al-ʿulamāʾ); and explanation that only God has knowledge of (tafsīr lā yaʿlamuhu ʾillā Allāh). 81

Note the report’s distinction between ‘practical’ knowledge (ʿ-r-f) and discipline-based or ‘scientific’ knowledge (ʿ-l-m). The former applies to common knowledge of the spoken, discursive language, and the latter to the scholars’ and God’s knowledge. Hence, the Qur’anic divine idiom is shared with those disciplines that know its practical implications, because they also know the Prophetic sunna: (…) What we have said is also reported from God’s Messenger (pbuh), in a report with a matchless transmission chain: From Yūnis b. ʿAbd al-ʾAʿlā al-Ṣadafī – Ibn Wahb – ʿAmr b. alḤārith – al-Kalbī – Abū Ṣāliḥ, mawlā of ʾUmm Hāniʾ – ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿAbbās: “God’s Messenger (pbuh) said: ‘The Reading was made to descend with four levels of meaning: the permitted and the proscribed which no one is excused for not knowing; explanation that the Arabs can do; explanation that the scholars with discipline-based knowledge can do; and 81

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 53–54.

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likenesses which no one has knowledge of except God, and anyone who claims to know it, apart from God, is speaking lies (kādhib)!’” 82

In this way, al-Ṭabarī’s discourse reserves the specialised knowledge of the Qur’an’s meanings for the exegetical scholars over the linguistics-based commentators. Given Kees Versteegh’s conclusion, discussed in Chapter 2, that Qur’an exegesis was the context in which early linguistics developed, and that reports attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās may well date from the second half of the 600s, which coincides with the production of Qur’an manuscripts, al-Ṭabarī could have historically valid reasons for claiming specialised knowledge of Qur’anic Arabic for the discipline of tafsīr. Reports and Readings

In a survey of all al-Ṭabarī’s exegetical reports, Heribert Horst has identified a total of 13.026 different transmission chains, and around 15.700 reports. Of these 13.026 chains, the vast majority are cited only once. Only 1662 chains are cited twice or more; 91 chains more than 14 times; and 21 chains more than 100 times. 83 The majority of all the chains go back to Ibn ʿAbbās. Of these, the following is the most frequently cited, 1560 times, and with reference to all sūras: Muḥammad b. Saʿd (d. 230/845) 84 – his father – his uncle – his father – his father – Ibn ʿAbbās. 85 Interestingly, al-Ṭabarī also gives a chain to Ibn ʿAbbās, which starts with a certain, otherwise unknown al-Muthannā b. Ibrāhīm al-Āmulī (d. c. 240/855), cited 560 times for Q. 1 to 16, and Q. 34, 14. 86 Al-Āmulī was one of al-Ṭabarī’s teachers in his home Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 54. Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, p. 292. 84 Ibn Saʿd is the biographer who chronicled the process of writing down the Qur’an and establishing the ʿUthmānic script; he was also the scribe of the historian al-Wāqidī, one of al-Ṭabarī’s important historical authorities. Al-Ṭabarī’s reports on the topic of establishing the Qur’anic script derive from the Prophet’s scribe Zayd b. Thābit, though not via Ibn Saʿd; Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 43–45. 85 Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, pp. 293–294. 86 Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, p. 293. 82 83

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town Āmūl, but not known outside the region. 87 However, of all the chains, the most frequently cited is a Basran transmission from the Successors Qatāda and al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī: Bishr b. Muʿādh al-Baṣrī (d. c. 245/860) – Yazīd b. Zurayʿ al-Baṣrī (d. 182/798) – Saʿīd b. Abī ʿArūba al-Baṣrī (d. 156/773) – Qatāda b. Diʿāma (d. 117-18/735-36) – al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/729). As Horst points out, al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī is also one of the first scholars representing a distinct Qur’an ‘reading’. The chain is cited 3060 times, covering Q. 1 to 21 and 28 to 114. 88 This is particularly significant, given Anver Emon’s identification of al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī as the earliest case of a jurist employing a concept of natural rights (see Chapter 3, above). Regarding al-Ṭabarī’s use of Prophetic ḥadīth, Horst points out that most of the chains of his exegetical reports do not go back to the Prophet, and that his most frequently cited chain does not even go back to a Companion, only to the Successor generation. This circumstance, Horst argues, shows that by al-Ṭabarī’s time the exegetes did not follow al-Shāfiʿī’s (d. 205/820) methodology, where Prophetic ḥadīth serve as the main interpretive frame of the Qur’an. Instead, it is the human intellect, mastery of the Arabic language, and the scholarly community that serve as the frame for its interpretation. 89 The argument is somewhat misleading, in my view. Al-Shāfiʿī’s bayān methodology pertains to the discipline of fiqh and ʾuṣūl al-fiqh. In al-Ṭabarī’s legal works Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ and Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār, ‘proof’ from the Qur’an and the Prophet’s sunna is the authorising principle, transmitted in Companion reports. He would have engaged among others alShāfiʿī’s model since he rejected the latter’s consensus of the scholars. In tafsīr on the other hand, his aim is to attain the correct See Lucas, Ṭabarī: Selections from The Comprehensive Exposition, Vol. 1, Appendix B, p. 507. 88 Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, p. 301. Qatāda is the key Successor also in reports in the tafsīr of the Yemenite judge ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī (d. 211/826), though there transmitted by the Prophet’s biographer Maʿmar b. Rāshid (d. 153/770). Al-Ṭabarī also cites a chain from ʿAbd al-Razzāq – Maʿmar – Qatāda 630 times in sūras Q. 1 to 26; Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, p. 300. 89 Horst, ‘Überlieferung’, p. 305. 87

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meaning of the Qur’an. Reports on the Prophet’s exegesis are simply too limited in number for this purpose, whereas the community has been engaged in exegesis since the second half of the 600s, and this specialist knowledge is authoritative. Nevertheless, Prophetic ḥadīth were the decisive authority since, as we have seen above, al-Ṭabarī afforded the Prophet special knowledge of the Qur’an’s meaning in his capacity as receiver and communicator of the message. Whenever there is a Prophetic report relevant to a verse or phrase, al-Ṭabarī employed it as the decisive authority, for example in his exegesis of Q. 4, 59 where he decides between two possible interpretations of “Obey God and obey the Messenger and those of you who are in command” (ʾuṭīʿū Allāh wa-ʾuṭīʿū al-rasūl wa-ʾūlī al-ʾamr minkum), and specifically what groups ‘those of you who are in command’ refer to: The foremost of the two statements in attaining [the correct meaning] is that of those who stated that they are the commanders and the governors, because of the soundness of the reports from God’s Messenger (pbuh) in which he commands obedience of the leaders and governors in matters where obedience is conducive to the common good for the enacters of peace (fīmā kāna ṭāʿa wa-lilmuslimīna maṣlaḥa). 90

On this point there is convergence between his legal and exegetical methodologies, namely that Prophetic evidence of the Qur’an’s meaning is the ‘proof’ against which jurists’ and exegetes’ interpretations are measured. Al-Ṭabarī’s use of different Qur’anic readings (qirāʾāt) is another important component of his exegesis. He was himself an authority in this sub-discipline and is attributed a non-extant work comprising over twenty readings. 91 Shady Hekmat Nasser has pointed out that al-Ṭabarī was the teacher of Ibn Mujāhid (d. 324/936), who composed the first collection of seven ‘canonical’ readings. The biographical information about al-Ṭabarī’s own collection of readings corresponds with his observable method in Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, p. 207. For biographical information on this lost work, see Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 62–64; Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 93–97.

90 91

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the Qur’an commentary, where he employed a wide range of readings, and occasionally rejected readings included in his student Ibn Mujāhid’s collection of seven. 92 Nasser’s study also shows al-Ṭabarī was aware that there existed codices which differed from the ʿUthmānic script, but that he consistently rejected all readings that deviated from it. Consequently, alṬabarī rejected some readings by Companions that would have been accepted before the established script, and he defined agreement as the agreement among ‘the readers of the garrison cities’ (qaraʾat al-ʾamṣār). 93 His use of readings thus aligns with his understanding of the Prophetic report about the Qur’an being sent down in seven ‘pronounced particles’ (sabʿat ʾaḥruf), which justified the Companions’ different readings at the Prophet’s time, though some of the surviving ones became invalid after the ʿUthmānic script, since it represented only one of the seven ‘particles’ (see Chapter 2). Given that al-Ṭabarī’s exegetical aim is to attain God’s intended meaning, he also aimed to define the correct reading whenever there are several different ones. Yet Nasser argues that unlike later developments, where ‘canonical’ readings became identified with the divine speech, al-Ṭabarī perceived readings as pertaining to the human sphere: [T]here are acceptable and correct readings, unacceptable and wrong readings, and readings which are neither correct nor wrong. Within all these categories, he [al-Ṭabarī] does not speak of any divine design as the source of these variant readings. When some readings are considered to be better than others, which naturally means that they are not equal in status, the cause of this disparity in quality is human and not divine. 94

We will return to the question of the divinity of the Qur’an and its reading below, in connection with his doctrinal works. Here, an illustrative example of how he assessed variant readings is his exegesis of Q. 19, 34 (Maryam). The vocalisation of the verse in Nasser, Variant Readings, p. 39. Nasser, Variant Readings, pp. 45–47. 94 Nasser, Variant Readings, p. 47. 92 93

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the printed edition of his commentary follows the Cairo edition of the Qur’an (1923), which is based on the modified reading of Ḥafṣ from ʿĀṣim. Al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis brings out a considerable variety in readings due to disagreement about the syntax, and he himself disagrees with ʿĀṣim’s reading, and thus also with the Cairo edition’s vocalisation. Towards the end of this long assessment and commentary, we will also see him agreeing with reports, which define the Muslim community as a particular doctrinal stance on the nature of Jesus: “That is Jesus, son of Mary: the statement of the truth, about which they dispute” (dhālika ʿĪsā ibn Maryam qawla al-ḥaqq alladhī fīhi yamtarūna; Q. 19, 34) He, Elevated be His honour, states: “This one whose characteristics I have clearly distinguished for you, and about who I have informed you, concerning the matter of the boy that Mary delivered, he is Jesus son of Mary. This characterisation is of him and this information is about him, and it is “the statement of the truth” (qawla al-ḥaqq), meaning that this information that I have accounted to you is a statement of the truth, and the speech that I have delivered to you is God’s statement and His information, not anyone else’s, which contains neither misconception nor doubt, neither excess nor shortage, in accordance with what God, Elevated be His honour, always states. So, state about Jesus, O people, this statement in which God has informed you about him, and not what the Jews have stated, claiming that he has no moral stature and is a mendacious magician, nor what the Christians have stated, that he is a child of God even though God does not take any child as that does not befit Him.” The exegetes (ʾahl al-taʾwīl) have made statements in line with what we have stated about that. Mention of those who stated that: Al-Qāsim – al-Ḥusayn – Ḥajjāj – Ibn Jurayj – Mujāhid, about His statement “That is Jesus, son of Mary: the statement of the truth” (dhālika ʿĪsā ibn Maryam qawla al-ḥaqq). He stated: God is the truth (Allāhu al-ḥaqqu). Yaḥyā b. Ibrāhīm al-Masʿūdī – his father – his father’s father – al-ʾAʿmash – Ibrāhīm, who stated: “They used to state this

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ particle (hādhā al-ḥarf) in the reading of ʿAbd Allāh, who said “about who they dispute” (alladhī fīhi yamtarūna): ‘God’s word’ (kalimat Allāh). Though the interpretation is given the sense of ‘That Jesus son of Mary is the true statement’ (dhālika ʿĪsā ibn Maryam al-qawlu al-ḥaqqu), it means ‘that is the true statement’ (dhālika al-qawlu al-ḥaqqu), then the article al- is omitted from al-qawl, which is in a genitive construction with al-ḥaqq, like “Indeed, this is the certain truth!” (ʾinna hādhā lahuwa ḥaqq al-yaqīn; Q. 56, 95), and like “The trustworthy promise which they were promised” (waʿd al-ṣidq alladhī kānū yūʿadūna; Q. 46, 16), so it is a sound interpretation”. The readers have disagreed about how to read this. The readers from Hijaz and Iraq have mostly read it as “the statement of the truth” (qawlu al-ḥaqq), with al-qawlu in the nominative in accordance with the meaning I have described, giving it the declension that follows Jesus as an adjective to him. But the issue of the declension is not in my view in line with those who claim it is nominative as an adjective to Jesus, unless the meaning of ‘the statement’ (al-qawl) is ‘the word’ (al-kalima), as I have mentioned from Ibrāhīm who interpreted it that way. In this case, it correctly works as an adjective to Jesus. If not, the nominative is in my view an elipsed pronoun, as in ‘this is the statement of the truth’ (hādhā qawlu al-ḥaqq), which introduces a new clause where the information leaves the account of Jesus and his mother that is His statement “That is Jesus, son of Mary” (dhālika ʿĪsā ibn Maryam), and introduces the information that the truth about the matter of Jesus, which the communities dispute about, is this statement of which God informs His servants, and no other. In fact, ʿĀṣim b. Abī al-Najūd and ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿĀmir read it in the accusative declension, as if they intended the verbal noun (al-maṣdar): “That is Jesus, son of Mary, as true statement” (dhālika ʿĪsā ibn Maryam qawlan ḥaqqan), then adding the article al- [as in qawla al-ḥaqq]. Regarding what has been mentioned from Ibn Masʿūd’s reading (dhālika ʿĪsā ibn Maryam qālu al-ḥaqq), it means ‘the statement of the truth’ (qawlu al-ḥaqq), like [the forms] al-ʿāb and al-ʿayb, or al-dhām and al-dhaym. Abū Jaʿfar [al-Ṭabarī] said: The correct reading of this (wa-lṣawāb min al-qirāʾa) in our view is the nominative declension, because of the convergence of the proof from the readers

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regarding it (liʾijmāʿ al-ḥujja min al-qurrāʾ ʿalayhi). 95 As for His statement, Elevated be His honour, “about who they dispute” (alladhī fīhi yamtarūna), He means: he about who they quarrel and disagree, as in their statement “I disputed with N.N, i.e. I argued with him and contended with him”. This is in line with what the exegetes have stated. Mention of those who stated that: Bishr – Yazīd – Saʿīd – Qatāda, about His statement “That is Jesus, son of Mary: the statement of the truth, about which they dispute” (dhālika ʿĪsā bnu Maryama qawla ’l-ḥaqqi ’lladhī fīhi yamtarūna): The Jews and the Christians disputed about him. As for the Jews, they claimed he was a mendacious magician, while the Christians claimed he is God’s son, a third of three, and a god. They all lie. Rather, he is God’s servant and messenger, word, and spirit. Al-Qāsim – al-Ḥusayn – Ḥajjāj – Ibn Jurayj, about His statement “About which they dispute. He said: They diverged, and one group stated: “He is God’s servant and prophet”, and they enacted security by him. Another group stated: “He is God”, while another stated: “He is God’s son”. May He be blessed and elevated high beyond what they say! That is [the same as] His statement “The parties diverged among each other” (Q. 19, 37), and what is in al-Zukhruf (Q. 43, 81–83). When God elevated Jesus, someone among Diqyūs, Nasṭūr and Mār Yaʿqūb said “He is God!”, another said “God’s son!”, and yet another said “God’s word and servant!” The [first] two disputing parties said: “Our statements are more like one another than that one’s statement, so come on, let us fight them!” So they fought them and Israel subjugated them, and brought forth among them four groups. Each group brought forth their scholar, and so they disputed about Jesus when he was raised up. One of them stated “He is God Who fell down to earth and gave and took life, and then ascended to heaven; those are the Jacobites. The three said: “You are lying!” Then two of them said to the third: “You make a statement about

It seems he agreed most closely with the reading assessed in the report from Ibrāhīm, in which further Qur’anic examples or ‘proof’ is provided. Otherwise, he agreed partly with the Hijazi and Iraqi readers about the nominative declension of qawl, but not with their syntax.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ him!” He said: “He is God’s son”; they are the Nestorians. The two said: “You are lying!” Then one of the two said to the other: “You make a statement about him!” He said “He is third of three: God is god, he is god, and his mother is god; they are the Israelites, kings of the Christians. The fourth said: “You are lying! He is God’s servant, messenger, spirit, and word; they are the enacters of peace (al-muslimūna). Each man among them gained followers based on what he had stated, and they fought and killed each other, and they vanquished the enacters of peace. That is God’s statement “They kill those among the people who command equity” (wa-yaqtulūna alladhīna yaʾmurūna bi-l-qisṭ min al-nās; Q. 3, 21). Qatāda stated “They are the ones God said: ‘The parties diverged’ (Q. 19, 37): they diverged about him and formed parties”. 96

The concluding report implies that the Qur’anic doctrine on Jesus had brought Muslims into a conflict with Christian factions, in which they were the weaker party. A topical connection is also established between the Qur’anic doctrine of Jesus as a human messenger of God and the virtue of commanding equity (qisṭ), with reference to Q. 3, 21, which implies that attribution of divinity to Jesus (or to any other human) equals injustice. Although there may not be a perfect match between the identifications of the various groups named and the doctrines attributed to them, the doctrinal context adduced here for Q. 19, 37 does explain the legal-political significance of polemics against the Trinity and Jesus’ divinity that defines virtually all Qur’anic topics related to Jesus. With a certain stretch of imagination, the report can also be seen as providing a Qur’anic reference for Sidney Griffith’s argument that Islamic Aristotelian logic was a continuation of the Christological disputes between Jacobites and Nestorians and representatives of the Byzantine state doctrine from the late 500s onwards, as discussed in Chapters 1 and 2. Viewed from this perspective, the report appears as an example of how al-Ṭabarī’s commentary, in addition to theory of language and rhetoric, conveys historical information about Qur’anic

96

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 9, part 16, pp. 104–106.

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readings and intellectual contexts, which in broad terms aligns with findings in current research. 97 Rights and the Moral Standard

As discussed in the Introduction with reference to natural law theory, al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1 defines as moral standard for the law God’s obligation upon all humans that they protect each others’ rights as brothers, and especially the powerful to protect the rights of the weak. The question now is how this moral standard may relate to al-Ṭabarī’s exegetical method. The remainder of Q. 4 (al-Nisāʾ) treats family law, including property and inheritance rights, especially for vulnerable groups such as orphans, women, and war captives, and rules for hospitality and charity towards neighbours, the poor, and wayfarers. The rights-focus that al-Ṭabarī established with reference to verse 1 is continued throughout his exegesis of the sūra. Verse 4, 36 is particularly relevant. It makes the same connection between the doctrinal recognition that God can have no partners (or children), and just and equitable conduct, which we saw above in the report about Q. 19, 34 and 19, 37, where rejection of Jesus’ divinity is identified with equity. Q. 4, 36 reads: (36) Serve God and do not make anything partner with Him: by your parents you do good, and by the next of kin, the orphans, the poor, the close and distant neighbour, the companion by your side, the wayfarer, and what your rights hands possess, for indeed, God does not love those who are arrogant and proud!

Variants of this report, concerning doctrinal disputes about Christology as context for Q. 19, 34, is found also in the earlier commentaries by Muqātil b. Sulaymān (d. 150/767; here it occurs in commentary of the verse 19, 37), ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī (d. 211/827), and Yaḥyā b. Sallām (d. 200/815). Here, the reports in Muqātil and Yaḥyā b. Sallām describe explicitly only the three Christian and ‘Israelite’ doctrinal positions, and imply that the Muslim creed of divine One-ness rules them out. ʿAbd al-Razzāq, however, like al-Ṭabarī, cites the report that explicitly defines the Muslims as the fourth party in the dispute, though ʿAbd al-Razzāq transmits it from Qatāda and al-Ṭabarī from Ibn Jurayj. 97

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Summarising the verse’s meaning, al-Ṭabarī explains that reserving Lordship and servitude exclusively for God equals obeying His commands, and that the command to do good by the parents entails an obligation towards them: He, may His praise be powerful, means by that: Humble yourselves towards God in obedience, and submit to Him in this way, so that you reserve exclusively for Him the Lordship (al-rubūbiyya). Be sincere towards Him in submission and humility by meeting His command and reverting from His prohibition, and do not give Him in His Lordship and servitude any partner who you magnify in the way you magnify Him! (by your parents you do good) He commands you to do good by your parents, meaning to be devoted to the two of them. Therefore He made ‘do good’ in the accusative declension, because the command from Him attaches doing good to the parents, in the sense of inducement. Some [exegetes] have stated: It means ‘Make it your concern to do good by your parents’, which is close to the meaning we have stated. 98

The obligation to do good by one’s parents means that they correspondingly have a right in relation to their children. AlṬabarī states this identification of an obligation with a right explicitly in his explanation of the word ‘the wayfarer’ (ibn alsabīl), in his concluding explanation of that topic: The correct statement about that is that the wayfarer is the one who travels on the roads. (…) He has a right (falahu alḥaqq ʿalā) in relation to those who he passes by if he is in need and obstructed, and if his travel is not for the sake of rebellion against God, that they give him protection if he needs it, take him in if he needs hospitality, and carry him if he needs a mount. 99

In his explanation of ‘what your right hands possess’ (wa-mā malakat ʾaymānukum), al-Ṭabarī argues that God means one’s slaves (mamālīk). However, he also cites as acceptable a report from Mujāhid, which explains ‘what your right hands possess’ as 98 99

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, p. 109. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, p. 117.

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referring not to persons (slaves) but to one’s assets, which God has granted and obligated one to make use of to do good to the listed groups of people: Al-Muthannā – Abū Ḥudhayfa – Shibl – Ibn Abī Najīḥ – Mujāhid: ‘what your right hands possess’ (wa-mā malakat ʾaymānukum), [i.e.] of what God has granted you: He has given obligations concerning all of this (mimmā khawwalaka Allāh kullu hādhā ʾawṣā Allāh bihi).

In al-Ṭabarī’s explanation of this report he spells out the obligation and right that is implicit in the verse: Instead, Mujāhid means by his statement ‘of what God has granted you: He has given obligations concerning all of this’ the parents, the next of kin, the orphans, the poor, the neighbour of kin and the neighbour of proximity, the companion, and the wayfarer. Our Lord, Powerful in His Majesty, has made it obligatory upon His servants to do good to all of them, and He commanded His creatures to protect His obligation regarding them so that His servants have a right to protection of God’s obligation regarding them; then the obligation is protected by His Messenger (pbuh). 100

Obligation and right is treated also in another topical context – distribution of war spoils –in al-Ṭabarī’s commentary on Q. 8 (alʾAnfāl), 3–4, where the parties are God and the enacters of security. The verses read: (3) Those who enact the standing to prayer and spend of the sustenance We have given them (alladhīna yuqīmūna alṣalawāt wa-mimmā razaqnāhum yunfiqūna): (4) They are the enacters of security, rightfully, who have ranks with their Lord in terms of forgiveness and generous sustenance! (ʾūlāʾika hum al-muʾminūna ḥaqqan lahum darajāt ʿinda rabbihim wa-maghfira wa-rizq karīm)

Al-Ṭabarī explains that the verses refer to certain categories of people with rights to a part of the sustenance that God has given one, using the same language of obligations and rights:

100

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol, 4, part 5, p. 118.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ He, Elevated is His honour, states: Those who carry out the obligatory prayer within its limits (biḥudūdihā) and spend of the property that God has given them as sustenance on what God has commanded them to spend, i.e. community tax (zakāt), jihād, pilgrimage and the lesser pilgrimage, and spending on those who are entitled to it so that they are given their rights (fa-yuʾaddūna ḥuqūqahum). 101

A final example: the commentary on Q. 59 (al-Ḥashr), 7. The same categories of rightfully deserving people are mentioned in this verse, which is also a key verse for rules on fayʾ: (7) What God has returned (mā ʾafāʾa Allāh) to His Messenger from the people of the villages belongs to God and the Messenger, and to the next of kin, the orphans, the poor, and the wayfarer, so that it does not circulate among the rich of you. What the Messenger brings to you, take it, and what he prevents you from, refrain from it, and fulfil your obligations towards God; indeed, God is harsh in His retribution!

Al-Ṭabarī begins his exegesis by explaining that (mā ʾafāʾa Allāh) refers to the lands of those in the villages who take other partners (ʾamwāl mushrikī al-qurā), which God has returned (radda) to the Messenger. By defining this landed property as ‘returned’, alṬabarī implies that it was rightfully seized, having previously belonged to those who seized it. 102 He then proceeds to cite a report from ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, which states that the verse encompasses Muslims generally (ʿāmmatan), and that “there is no one who does not have a right” (falaysa ʾaḥadun ʾillā lahu ḥaqq), in the sense that this land is a resource for the common good. 103 This aligns with Haque’s study discussed in Chapter 3, and also al-Ṭabarī’s treatment of fayʾ in his legal works (see above). Moreover, it is not only Muslims who have a divinely conferred right to sustenance. This is brought out in al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 1 and God’s name al-Raḥmān al-Raḥīm. As we have seen in Chapter 2, he argued that because Q. 1 functions as the opening ‘head’ or ‘source’ (ʾumm) of the canon, its meanings Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 6, part 9, p. 239. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 14, part 28, p. 47. 103 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 14, part 28, p. 48. 101 102

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extend through the entire corpus. Al-Raḥmān, al-Ṭabarī argues, refers to God’s general life sustenance, which He as Creator grants to all creatures and humans, al-muʾminūna and al-kāfirūna alike. Thus, al-Raḥmān connotes God as the exemplary model for His command to do good by those who need it (ʾiḥsān), by extending sustenance, directing the clouds with the gentle rain, bringing forth plants from the land, and by the soundness of bodies and intellects, and the other countless material blessings (al-niʿam) in which [both] those who enact and reject security share. For our Lord, Majestic is His praise, is the Giver of life to all His creatures (raḥmān jamīʿi khalqihi), in the nearest and furthest existence, and the Continuous Protector of life particularly for those who enact security (waraḥīm al-muʾminīna khāṣṣatan), in the nearest and most distance existence. Concerning His life-giving power (raḥma), which He makes general (ʿamma) for all of them in the nearest existence, it makes Him their Giver of life (raḥmānan lahum bihi), and we have mentioned it and countless counterparts which are impossible to enumerate, as He stated, Majestic is His honour: “If you add up God’s material blessings, you cannot enumerate them” (Q. 14, 34; 16, 18). Concerning the most distant existence, His life-giving which He makes general for all of them makes Him their Giver of Life. His equal treatment of all of them, Majestic is His honour, through His justice and verdicts, without wronging anyone of them the weight of an atom, but if it was good He increases it and gives from Himself a great recompense; thus each person gets what she has earned. That is the meaning of the life-giving He makes general for all of them in the most distant existence, which makes Him Giver of Life [there]. Concerning His life-giving by which He made those who enact security particular in the temporal nearest existence, and which makes Him their Continuous Protector of life there, as He stated, Majestic be His mention: “He is the Continuous Protector of life for those who enact security” (wa-kāna bi-lmuʾminīna raḥīman; Q. 33, 43). Thus, what we have described of [His] kindness towards them regarding their judicial order is His making them particular, beyond those who forsake Him by rejecting His security.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ As for what He made particular for them in the most distant existence, it makes Him their Continuous Protector of life, beyond those who reject security. Thus, what we have described above of the material blessings and dignity that He has prepared for them above others goes beyond any wishes. 104

It is clear, then, that al-Ṭabarī universalises or generalises God’s life sustenance to all people, in this world and the next, while the particular dignity reserved for ‘those who enact security’ is the judicial order, which also puts them in the position to rule over the others. Precisely because God gives life to all humans, those who follow His command must do good and sustain all people in this life. This understanding of God’s name al-Raḥmān aligns well with the exegesis of Q. 4, 1, where al-Ṭabarī argued that God has commanded the powerful to protect the rights of the weak. It can also be seen as another way of referring to Creation as, in Emon’s words, a site where fact and value are fused (see Introduction, above). Here, the fact is God’s Creator-function of giving life and the value is the legal obligation upon Muslim rulers to sustain people. Structurally and in terms of method, the argumentation also aligns with his above-discussed introduction to Kitāb al-Jihād in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, where he argued in terms of generals and particulars to legitimise Muslim rule based on the Qur’an over ahl al-kitāb. Generals and Particulars as Methodology

These legal and exegetical examples of al-Ṭabarī’s use of the distinction between generals and particulars can be understood in the light of his definition of Qur’anic ʿarabī mubīn as constituted by the same conceptual pair, as discussed above in Chapter 2. There I argued, with reference to Ibn Manẓūr, that the distinction between generals and particulars may correspond to the contractual legal senses pertaining to the root ʿ-r-b-ī. Here I will give a final example of how al-Ṭabarī applied generals and particulars exegetically, interpreting Q. 2, 205, which reads:

104

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 84–86; cit. p. 86.

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(205) When he turns his back on loyalty, he roams in the land to cause corruption in it, destroying the harvest and the offspring, and God does not love corruption! (wa-ʾidhā tawallā saʿā fī al-ʾarḍ liyufsid fīhā wa-yuhlik al-ḥirth wa-l-nasl wa-Allāh lā yuḥibb al-fasād)

Al-Ṭabarī’s explanation focuses on the general and particular meanings, and the context of the verse. After citing some initial reports, he argues that causing corruption can mean severing the kinship lineage (qaṭʿ al-raḥm, i.e. ending ownership rights to the land), but that the context suggests that brigandage (qaṭʿ al-ṭarīq) is the most apparent and approximate meaning: The correct statement about that is to say: God, Blessed and Elevated is He, described this hypocrite such that when he turns away from loyalty and breaks away from God’s Messenger (pbuh), his action causes corruption in God’s land (ʿamala fī ʾarḍ Allāh bi-l-fasād). Corruption includes all [forms of] rebelliousness, and because acting in a rebellious way is to cause corruption in the land, God did not make His description of it particular to some meanings of corruption over others. Causing corruption can mean to block the roads, but it can also be other things, and any one of them is causing corruption in the land because they are rebellion against God, Mighty and Powerful. However, the closest according to the apparent sense of the sending-down (al-ʾashbah biẓāhir altanzīl) is that he obstructs the roads and spreads fear along them, because God, Elevated is His honour, described him in the context of the sign (fī siyāq al-ʾāya) as having proceeded to cause corruption in the land, destroying the harvest and the offspring. That is closer to the act of causing fear on the roads than the act of severing the kinship lineage. 105

He then continues and cites further reports, to define the precise meaning of ‘destruction’ (ʾihlāk). Here he argues that the case can be seen as sustaining (yaḥtamilu) two meanings and frames of reference: either referring to destroying livestock, or to breaking the lineage of proprietors of a tract of land. Eventually, he chooses

105

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 2, part 2, pp. 431–432.

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the first meaning because it is closest to the sign’s apparent meaning (ẓāhir): The exegetes diverge over the sense of this hypocrite’s destruction, which God described as the destruction of harvest and offspring. Some of them stated: It is his burning of the crops belonging to a group of Muslims and castration of their donkeys. This (sense) was reported from Mūsā b. Hārūn – ʿAmr b. Ḥammād – ʾAsbāṭ – al-Suddī. Others stated as follows: Abū Kurayb – ʿIthām – al-Naḍr b. ʿArabī – Mujāhid: (wa-ʾidhā tawallā saʿā fī al-ʾarḍ li-yufsid fīhā wa-yuhlik al-ḥirth wa-l-nasla). [Mujāhid] stated: When he turned away from loyalty he proceeded in the land with aggression and wrong (bi-l-ʿidwān wa-l-ẓulm), and since God has made that tract of land inalienable property [for the common good] (fa-yaḥbis Allāh bi-dhālika al-quṭr), he destroys the harvest and livestock, and God does not love corruption. Then Mujāhid read: “Corruption has become manifest on land and at sea, through what the people’s hands have acquired, so that He can make them taste some of [the fruits of] their actions: hopefully, they will return!” (Q. 30, 41) Then he stated: It is not, by God, your sea that [this is about], but rather each village is adjacent to water, which is sea. Even though what Mujāhid stated is an interpretive method that this sign can sustain, of the interpretations we have mentioned the one by al-Suddī is closer to the apparent meaning of what was sent down, which is why I have chosen it. Concerning ‘the harvest’, it is the crops, and ‘the offspring’ is progeny and descendants, and ‘destruction of the crops’ is burning them. It can be in line with what Mujāhid said about the immobilisation of the tract of land, so that [the hypocrite] rebelled against his Lord and proceeded to cause corruption in the land, and [the verse] could sustain [the meaning] that he killed its custodians and those contractually liable for its maintenance so that it was corrupted and destroyed. Likewise, the meaning of his destruction of offspring can be that he killed the mothers and fathers from which the offspring descend, so that by killing the fathers and mothers he interrupted their lineage. Thus, it can be like Mujāhid stated,

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except that, although the sign can support it, the most apparent [meaning] for it is what al-Suddī stated. However, al-Suddī mentioned that the sign was sent down only because [the hypocrite] killed the donkeys belonging to a group of Muslims and burned their crops. Even though it can be like that, and it is not corrupt [to say] that the sign was sent down on account of it, its intended reference (al-murād bihā) is to everyone who pursues the path of killing any of the animals whose killing is not permissible under any circumstance or killing those permissible to kill in some [other] circumstances but without right (bi-ghayr ḥaqq). It is like that, in my view, because God, Blessed and Exalted is He, did not particularise anything over anything else, but instead generalised it. 106

In this case, then, there is no firm proof (ḥujja) that established the meaning, either from another Qur’anic passage or Prophetic report, only different opinions by two of his exegetical authorities, al-Suddī and Mujāhid. Consequently, al-Ṭabarī employs the distinction between general and particular statements and the verse’s internal semantic context, to arrive at his conclusion. And although he preferred a generalised version of al-Suddī’s interpretation, he did not rule out Mujāhid’s frame of reference, which directs corruption and destruction of lineage towards the problem of land ownership. As discussed in Chapter 3, interruption of a line of descent also interrupts inheritance and the ownership right to land, which can then be seized by a landlord or state authority. By defining Mujāhid’s interpretation as possible (jāʾiz), al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis shows us that this legal topic was part of the Qur’anic frame of reference.

HISTORICAL METHODOLOGY

Al-Ṭabarī’s History has already been treated in Chapters 1 and 3, as examples of his natural law theory and use of historical cases and reports to illustrate critical administrative issues. Focus here

106

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 2, part 2, pp. 432–433.

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is therefore on his historical methodology, as it relates to the legal and exegetical works. 107 Epistemology, Sources, and Reports

The History starts with divine Creation and continues until the year 302/915. Like his other works it has a methodological Introduction. Since it has been preserved, we can see that it is only a few pages long and starts with an invocation to God, followed by a statement of the terms of God’s Covenant. This statement connects the History with the Qur’an commentary. As we have seen in Chapter 2, al-Ṭabarī there defines Q. 1 as the summary of the Covenant terms, that God is obligated to sustain humans and they are obligated to serve Him alone, which are then reflected throughout the entire canon. In the Introduction to the History, he describes the same terms as follows: And now: God, powerful is His Majesty and sanctified are His Names, created His Creation without any necessity for Him to create them, and brought them forth without any need for Him to bring them forth. Rather, He created those He made particular through His command and His prohibition, and who He tried with His servitude so that they would serve Him and He would generously give them His material blessings (biniʿamihi). They would thus praise Him for His material blessings, and He would increase His favours and bounty towards them, so that His favour and might would be further expanded towards them, as He, Mighty and Majestic, has stated: “I have created jinn and humans only so that they may serve Me; I do not want from them any sustenance, nor do I want them to provide food, for indeed: God is the Sustainer, Powerful, Strong!” (Q. 51, 56–58) 108 (…) In the temporal world, He made general for all of them His favour and generosity and included them in His dignity and might. He gave them hearing and seeing and hearts, and made particular for them the intellects which allows them to On the biographical sources’ information about the History, see Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 130–134; for a survey of early western studies and translations of it, ibid, pp. 135–147. 108 HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 166; transl. modified. 107

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distinguish between the right and true and the vain and vacuous (al-tamyīz bayna al-ḥaqq wa-l-bāṭil) and gain practical knowledge of the beneficial and the harmful. And He “made for them the land as a vast expanse, where they can follow paths and passageways” (Q. 71, 19–20), and “the sky a protective roof” (Q. 21, 32) and a lofty construction. From it He let descend for them gentle rain in abundant showers and sizeable sustenance. 109

He then described how God created the sun and the moon, and day and night, so that humans could measure time and know when to perform their obligations (furūḍ), identified as the prayer, zakāt, pilgrimage, fast, and the time for settling their debts and due rights (wa-ḥīna ḥall duyūnihim wa-ḥuqūqihim). 110 Presumably, debts and dues includes land tax and poll tax. Servitude to God thus encompasses both the obligatory rituals and community tax, and the settlements of debts and dues, implying that these are all obligations subsumed under the Covenantal term of servitude to God. Accordingly, it is with reference to these Covenant terms that al-Ṭabarī formulates the aim with his history, namely, to write the history of ‘messengers and kings’ focusing on whether or not they were grateful for the material blessings God has conferred upon them: Abū Jaʿfar said: In this writing of mine, I mention kings from every age, from when our Lord began His Creation to its annihilation, about who information has reached us among those on who God initially conferred His support and material blessings, and who were thankful for His blessings. These include a sent-out messenger of His, or an enthroned king, or a caliph placed in the succession. He increased the material blessings and favours He had initially conferred on them in the temporal world, or postponed it and stored it up with Himself. Those of them who rejected enacting security by His material blessings (wa-man kafara minhum niʿamahu), He deprived of the blessings He had initially given them and hastened for them His revenge. Others who were ungrateful 109 110

HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 166; transl. modified. HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 167; transl. modified.

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for His material blessings He supported through the blessings He conveyed to them until the time of their death and perdition. Everyone I mention in this writing of mine is treated within his time period and a summary of the events that happened during his age and days, since a lifetime is too short for an exhaustive treatment, which also makes the writings too long. This will be combined with references to the length of their natural life and the time of their death. 111

Since time, i.e. the ages of each ruler, provides the main structure for the history, he then proceeds to state that a brief reflection of time is a necessary starting point: First, however, I shall present what for us must properly come first, namely clarifying distinctions regarding time: What is it? How long is its total extent? Its first beginning and final end. Was there before God’s creation anything other than Him? Will [time] be annihilated? And will there be after its annihilation anything other than the sense (wajh) of the Praised Creator, Elevated be His mention? What was before God’s creation of it? And what will be after its annihilation and end? How did God’s creation of it begin? And how will its annihilation be? Indication that there is nothing eternal except God, the One Vanquisher, to Who belongs the kingship over the heavens and the land and what is between them and what is underneath the soil. The indication must be concise and not long, for we do not aim with this writing to prove that, but rather to mention the dates of past kings and summaries of reports about them, the times of the messengers and the prophets and the scope of their lives, and the days of the predecessor Caliphs (al-khulafāʾ

111

HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 168–169; transl. modified.

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al-sālifīna) and some of their biographical data, and the sum total of their governed territories (mabāligh wilāyātihim), as well as the events that took place during their ages. 112

After this he narrows the focus to the Companions and the Successors, stating that, among other things, he will identify who among them ‘did good by others’ (ʾiḥsān): Then, God willing and with His support and empowerment, I continue to mention the Companions of our Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh), their names and patronyms, the extent of their pedigrees and life spans, and the time and place of death for each individual being among them. Then, following them, I continue to mention those who came after them among those who succeeded them in doing good by others (al-tābiʿīna lahum biʾiḥsān), in accordance with the conditions we have set down for mentioning them. 113

Finally, towards the end of the Introduction, al-Ṭabarī describes his use of reports. He makes the important epistemic point that it is impossible to know about past events unless one has primary sources, i.e. testimonies and documentation from that time and place, and the people concerned. Consequently, rational deduction cannot be a source of historical information. Chase Robinson has taken this method-statement on al-Ṭabarī’s part as an expression of a shared Islamic and Rabbinical culture of ‘traditionalism’, where knowledge is preserved and transmitted, not created, and only authoritative when attributed to ancestors representing a glorious past. Given that al-Ṭabarī always critically examined reports, as indeed he does here too, and did not deferentially attribute authority to Companions in disciplines where their knowledge was not always relevant (notably exegesis and ‘readings’; see above), his historical methodology can equally well be seen as a commitment to primary sources and sourcecriticism, with which any modern historian would agree. 114 Thus, al-Ṭabarī stated: HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 169; transl. modified. HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 170; transl. modified. 114 For a more detailed critical engagement with Robinson’s claim, see Mårtensson, ‘Discourse and Historical Analysis’, pp. 291–294; ref. to 112 113

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ Then, following on to them is the mention of those who came after them, in the same way, but I add to their affairs clarifying distinctions concerning those whose narration (riwāya) is praised and whose reports (ʾakhbār) are accepted, those whose narration is rejected and whose reports are dismissed, and those whose transmission (naql) is considered weak and whose report is weakened (too). Also, the cause (alsabab) for considering someone’s report weak and the technical reason (al-ʿilla) for deeming someone’s transmission weak. 115 I turn to God, Mighty and Powerful, desiring assistance in my objective and aim, and success in what I seek and strive for, for He is the Governor of might and strength, and may God’s protection and peace be upon His Prophet Muḥammad and his family! Let the one who consults this writing of ours know that with respect to everything I have mentioned and made it a condition to inscribe in it, I rely in fact on the reports I have narrated and mentioned and on the traditions whose narrations I trace to their transmissions, and resorting to rational proofs and deriving subjective ideas only occasionally. For knowledge about the past comes from reports from past people, and about the present from information from those present, and reaches those who did not witness them and did not know their age only through the information of the reporters and the transmission of the

Robinson, Islamic Historiography, pp. 83–102, esp. pp. 85–86 and 95. Note also Hava Lazarus-Yafeh’s thesis, that Muslim scholars’ criticism of the transmission and canonisation of the Biblical scriptures prefigures modern critical Bible studies, in Intertwined Worlds: Medieval Islam and Bible Criticism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992). Thus, source- and transmission criticism was integral to Islamic disciplines, albeit restricted by the limited technological methods available at the time. 115 The critical assessments of transmitters is collected in a complement to the History, Dhayl al-mudhayyal min taʾrīkh al-ṣaḥāba wa-l-tābiʿīn, translated in incomplete form by Ella Landau-Tasseron as volume 39 of the English translation The History of al-Ṭabarī (40 vols.), with the title Biographies of the Prophet’s Companions and Their Successors (New York: SUNY Press, 1998).

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transmitters, not through rational deduction and subjectively derived ideas. This writing of mine may contain information, which I mention from some men of the past, that the reader disapproves of and the listener finds reprehensible, because he does not recognise in it any sound sense and no real meaning. Then he should know that it has not reached him from our side, only from those who transmitted it to us, and we have only conveyed it according to how it was conveyed to us. 116

Reliance on reports is thus essentially an empirical, source-based methodology, which corresponds with his use of reports and textual evidence in the other disciplines. What is specific here is his explanation why historical knowledge must derive from past or contemporaneous ‘primary’ sources. The Administrative Focus and Rights

The administrative issues treated above in Chapter 3 and prefigured in the Introduction and Chapter 1 suggest that ‘administrative concerns’ can be considered integral to al-Ṭabarī’s historical methodology. According to the biographer Ibn alNadīm (d. 380/990), it was precisely al-Ṭabarī’s connection to the dynastic state (al-dawla) that made him such an outstanding and authoritative historian, in addition to his scholarly knowledge. 117 As the translator Franz Rosenthal remarks, the statement implies that al-Ṭabarī’s government contacts gave him access to important historical information. 118 An illustrative example from Chapter 3 (above) would be the reports from Muḥammad b. Dāwūd b. al-Jarrāḥ, a scribe of the Banū al-Jarrāḥ family, about the Qarmatian movement. Muḥammad b. Dāwūd had initially been part of the movement, and later interrogated their leaders, and al-Ṭabarī himself was particularly close to the scribes and wazīrs affiliated with Banū al-Jarrāḥ, including ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā b. alHT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 170–171; transl. modified. Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 133–134, ref. to Ibn al-Nadīm, al-Fihrist, ed. Gustav Flügel, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Vogel, 1871–72), p. 234, l. 24–235, l. 2. Translated by Bayard Dodge, 2 vols. (New York: Columbia University Press, 1970). 118 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 134, note 453. 116 117

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Jarrāḥ (who, like al-Ṭabarī, appears to have studied Persian royal history). 119 The concern with the fayʾ and the land tax are also obvious administrative issues, which we have already seen him treat in the history (Chapter 3). Although many of his reports from the Caliphal period concern rights, the report that most explicitly defines ‘rights’ with reference to the land tax is a speech attributed to the pre-Islamic, ancient Persian king Manūshihr, who established the vassalage system. The report is transmitted by the Kufan historian Hishām b. Muḥammad b. al-Kalbī, mentioned in Chapter 1 as transmitter of information about ancient Arab history in Iraq. In the report, the king is rallying his commanders, the nobility, and the Zoroastrian High Priest, to fight back Turkish people who had made raids into his imperial realm. Land tax must be collected to pay the army, and the king is laying out the ethics that can make this system equitable. The report quotes him framing the situation in the same terms as those al-Ṭabarī used in the Introduction to the History: God has granted us dominion as a test of whether we will be grateful and He will increase us, or we will be ungrateful and He will punish us, though we belong to a family of renown, for the source of rule belongs to God! 120

The king then opens his speech with a reference to Creation, in which the power imbalance between ‘the strong Creator’ and ‘the weak created’ is emphasised. The discourse then moves on to define the relationship between ‘the strong ruler’ and ‘the weak ruled’ in terms of their rights and obligations with reference mainly to the land tax. Towards the end of the speech, it is emphasised that the concerned parties should enter a mutually agreed upon contract, which protects the rights and interests of both parties. I cite the speech at length, with the key terms in bold: Mohsen Zakeri, ‘Al-Ṭabarī on Sasanian History: a Study in Sources’, in Kennedy (ed.), al-Ṭabarī, pp. 27–40; p. 37, ref. to Harold Bowen, The Life and Times of ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā ‘The Good Vizier’ (Cambridge: The University Press, 1928), p. 35. 120 HT 3/Brinner, pp. 24–25. 119

CHAPTER 4. AL-ṬABARĪ’S METHODOLOGY O People! Just as Creation belongs to the Creator, thanks is due to the Provider of blessings, submission belongs to the Allpowerful, and what is inevitable, there is none weaker than a created being, whether he seeks or is sought, none stronger than a Creator, none more powerful than the one who holds in his hand what he seeks, and none more powerless than he who is in the hand of the one who seeks him! Indeed, reflection is light, carelessness is darkness, and ignorance is error! Because the first is followed by the last, by the inevitable attachment of the last to the first, and thus there have passed before us principles (ʾuṣūl) of which we are the derivatives (furūʿ), since what derivative could be without its principle? Since God Almighty and Splendid gave us the kingdom the praise belongs to Him, and we ask Him to inspire us with the divine guidance, trustworthiness, and certainty. For the king has rights in relation to the people of the kingdom and the people of his kingdom have rights in relation to him (waʾinna li-l-malik ʿalā ʾahl mamlakatihi ḥaqq wa-liʾahl mamlakatihi ʿalayhi ḥaqq). The right of the king in relation to the people of his kingdom is that they obey him, counsel him, and fight his enemy, while their right in relation to the king is that he provide them with their sustenance when it is due, for they have recourse to nothing else since that is their trade. The ruled (raʿiyya) have the right in relation to the king that he see to them, treat them in a friendly manner, and not burden them with more (tax) than they can bear, so that if a disaster befalls them from the heavens or the land that diminishes its returns he reduces the land tax in proportion with the loss. If a calamity ruins them, he should give them what they need to rebuild themselves, and then for a year or two only take from them a proportion that does not harm them. Command of the army is for the king like the wings of a bird: it is the wings of the king, and when a feather is lost from the wings, it is a loss to him; likewise with the king: he depends on his wings and his feathers. Moreover, the king must possess three qualities: first, he must be trustworthy and never lie; he must be munificent and not miserly; and he must control himself when angered, for he is empowered when his hand is stretched out and the land tax is coming to him. He must not appropriate for himself what the army and the ruled are entitled to, and he must be generous with pardoning for there is none more long-lasting king than he

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ who pardons or one more quick to perish than one who punishes. Moreover, a man who errs in pardoning and pardons is better than one who errs in punishing. 121 (…) Know that this kingship stands only through correctness in speech and action (al-istiqāma; cf. Q. 1, 6), 122 obedience in good, suppression of the enemy, fortification of the frontiers, justice towards the ruled, and fairness towards the wronged! Your treatment is within yourselves, for the remedy in which there is no ailment is correctness in speech and action (al-istiqāma) and commanding the good (al-khayr) and prohibiting the bad (al-sharr), and there is no strength except through God. Look after the ruled, for they are your source of food and drink, and when you act justly towards them, they desire cultivation, which will increase your land tax and manifest itself in the increase of your sustenance. But if you wrong the ruled, they will abandon cultivation and leave most of the land idle, which will reduce your land tax and manifest itself as a reduction of your sustenance. Enter into a reciprocal contract (taʿāhadū) of just treatment with the ruled. 123

The initial reference to Creation as a frame for rights, and the focus on the strong and the weak, makes this speech something of a historical parallel to al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1 (Introduction). The concluding imperative, to conclude a mutually agreed contract, also evokes the principle that al-Ṭabarī established in the Introduction to the History, that the divine Covenant is a contract with mutual rights and obligations, which extends into the human political sphere as social contract between rulers and the ruled. 124 At Covenant level, God is the Sustainer and humans serve Him. In the historical, political context of the land tax, the king provides the people with their sustenance, and they work the lands, pay the land tax, and defend the imperial realm. Consequently, the king and his administrators HT 3/Brinner, pp. 25–26; transl. modified. This translation of istiqāma follows al-Ṭabarī’s translation of mustaqīm in Q. 1:6 (ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm) as ‘correct in speech and action’ (qawl wa ʿamal); Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 110. 123 HT 3/Brinner, p. 27; transl. modified. 124 See also Mårtensson, ‘Through the Lens of the Qur’anic Covenant’, pp. 69–70. 121 122

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serve God as much by an equitable tax system as by not assigning partners to Him and ensuring the performance of the prayer, the fast, the pilgrimage, and the collection of zakāt. Finally, the speech emphasises that the kingdom can only last if it is founded upon ‘correctness in speech and action’ (istiqāma). This is a reference to Q. 1, 6, “Guide us along the path of correct speech and action” (ʾihdinā al-ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm), showing the practical implications of this term in the context of social contract and mutual rights and obligations pertaining to equitable land management and land tax. Further on in the History, the Sassanid Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān implements these principles in his reformed system for land tax, payment of the army, and protection of the peasants, as discussed in Chapter 3. We can therefore conclude that there are topical connections between al-Ṭabarī’s Qur’an commentary and History, which relate to theory of natural law and social contract. These connections reflect institutional practices and are conveyed in the form of the reports that constitute al-Ṭabarī’s sources. At the same time, these topical reports are parts of al-Ṭabarī’s oeuvre, where they acquire specific meanings and functions. This observation adds another dimension to our understanding of his use of reports, as discussed in Chapter 3 concerning the issue of rebellions and civil war, and his collations of reports conveying different perspectives on events. Chronology and Time

The administrative focus is reflected also in al-Ṭabarī’s choice of basic chronology and structure for the History. After the Introduction he proceeds to treat the topic of time in some more depth, starting with the question what the total amount of time is, from God’s Creation to the end of time. The authority here is the Prophet, since only God knows the total amount of time and only the Prophet has this kind of divinely communicated knowledge. After citing numerous Prophetic reports, al-Ṭabarī concludes that although God alone knows the full truth, the total amount of time in this world appears to be 7000 years, based on an authoritative report from Ibn ʿAbbās. Based on another Prophetic report from the Companion Abū Thaʿlaba al-Khushanī,

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approximately 6500 had passed at the time of the Prophet’s mission. 125 The significance of having the Prophet authorise the measure of time becomes apparent towards the end of this section, where al-Ṭabarī explains that each polity has its own calendar and timemeasure, depending on who is their ‘founding father’. He states that Jews, Christians, and Zoroastrians were developing their own calendars with reference to the Islamic hijrī one: The Jews assume that they can consider the total (age of the world) from God’s creation of Adam to the time of the hijra as firmly established at 4642 years 126 according to what is clearly stated in their Torah – the one they possess today. They have made a detailed count by indicating the birth and death of each man and prophet from the time of Adam to the hijra of our Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh). I hope to mention those details and other detailed counts made by scholars from among the people of the Scriptures and other scholars expert in biography and history when I get to it, God willing. The Greek Christians assume that the Jewish claim in this respect is false. According to their view of the sequence in the Torah that they possess, 127 the duration of the days of this world from the creation of Adam to the time of the hijra of our Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh) is properly stated at 5992 years and some months. They have made a detailed count to support their claim by indicating the birth and death of each prophet and ruler from the age of Adam to the hijra of the Messenger of God (pbuh). They assume that the smaller number of years in the Jewish chronology as against that of the Christians results from the fact that the Jews rejected the prophethood of Jesus, son of Mary, since [for them] his description and the time of his being sent [as a prophet] are 125 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 182–183. The full treatment of the topic covers pp. 172–184. 126 Rosenthal assesses this and the following numbers that al-Ṭabarī gives against both other Muslim historians and research data; HT 1, pp. 185– 185, notes 148, 149 and 151. There are some minor anomalies with alṬabarī’s numbers, and Rosenthal has not been able to identify his sources; note 148. 127 This would be the Septuagint, presumably.

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firmly established in the Torah. They say: The time that is fixed for us in the Torah for the person whose description is that of Jesus has not yet come. They believe that they are waiting for his appearance and his time. 128 (…) The Zoroastrians (al-majūs) assume that the duration of time from King Jayūmart to the time of the hijra of our Prophet (pbuh) is 3139 years. They do not combine that with a known genealogy beyond Jayūmart, assuming that Jayūmart is Adam, the father of mankind – may God’s prayer and peace be upon him and all the prophets and messengers of God! Historians continue to disagree about him. Some say the same as the Zoroastrians. Others say that he took the name of Adam after he became ruler of the seven climes, and that he was no other than Gomer b. Japheth b. Noah. He was pious, kind and affectionate to Noah and attached to his service. Because of his piety and service to him, Noah prayed for him and his progeny to God to give him a long life, to have him empowered in the region, to help him to victory over those who opposed him and them, and to provide for him and his progeny royal authority that would last uninterruptedly. His prayer was heard. Jayūmart and his children were granted all of that. He is the father of the Persians. He and his children continued to rule until their royal authority came to an end when the Muslims entered Madāʾin Kisrā (Ctesiphon) and took it away from them. Others say other things. We hope to mention the statements that have reached us, when we mention the chronology of the [Persian] rulers, how long they lived, their genealogy and the circumstances of their royal authority. 129

Thus, at the same time as al-Ṭabarī demonstrates that the Prophet’s time-measure is the real one, he shows that historical chronology is specific to each polity and depends on who they select as ‘founding father’. In this way, he introduces the relativistic perspective that ‘time’ as a historical measure is a human construct.

HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 184–185; transl. modified. HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 185–186; transl. modified. Cf. Michael Whitby, ‘Al-Ṭabarī: the Period before Jesus’, in Kennedy (ed.), Al-Ṭabarī, pp. 11– 26; pp. 19–21. 128 129

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However, since the Prophet’s calendar does not start until the year 622 CE, al-Ṭabarī is still left without a commonly accepted chronology for history before the Hijra. This is resolved after the long narration on God’s Creation, including His creation of Adam, Iblīs’ rebellion and temptation of Adam, and Adam’s forced descent from the Garden to earth. 130 Al-Ṭabarī now finetunes the terms for his History. As shown in Chapter 1 (above), Iblīs will constitute a model for those who are ungrateful for God’s favour and reject His divine Lordship (rubūbiyya), as opposed to those kings, messengers and prophets who obey God. 131 The Persian royal genealogy will serve as the chronological backbone for history before the Prophet because of its continuous documentation and administrative legacy: The history of the world’s bygone years is more easily clarified and more clearly exposed based upon the lives of the Persian kings than upon those of the kings of any other nation. For no nation but theirs among those leading their pedigree back to Adam is known whose realm lasted and whose rule was continuous. No other nation had kings ruling all and chiefs protecting them against their adversaries, helping them to gain the upper hand over their rivals, defending those wronged (maẓlūm) among them against those who did them wrong (ẓālim), and providing for them fortunate conditions that were continuous, lasting, and orderly, inherited by later generations from earlier ones. Thus, a history based upon the lives of the Persian kings has the soundest sources and is the most clear. 132

Into the Persian royal history, al-Ṭabarī then interweaves the histories of the Israelite kings and prophets, the pre-Islamic Arab kingdoms, and to some extent the Byzantines. 133 Thus, the history This long Creation narrative spans pp. 198–317 in HT 1/Rosenthal. HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 249. 132 HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 319. 133 On al-Ṭabarī’s sources on ancient Persian kingship, see Whitby, ‘Before Jesus’; pp. 18–19 on the above citation. On his sources for Sassanid and to some extent ancient Persian royal history, see Zakeri, ‘Sasanian History’, in Kennedy (ed.), al-Ṭabarī, pp. 27–40; Zeev Rubin, ‘Al-Ṭabarī and the Age of the Sasanians’, in Kennedy, ibid, pp. 41–71. 130 131

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up to the Prophet is basically organised according to the rules of Persian kings. With the Prophet’s migration to Medina and establishment of the Islamic polity, al-Ṭabarī shifts to the Islamic Hijrī calendar, turning the History into a regular chronicle organised according to year: 1, 2, 3, and so on. 134 Concerning the instituting of the Hijrī calendar in real history, he reported on it first at the end of the Prophet’s time in Mecca. According to the Medinan historian Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī (d. 124/741), the Prophet ordered the establishing of a new time measure (ʾamara bi-l-taʾrīkh) when he arrived at Medina. Other reports explained that it was ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb who actually instituted the calendar because he needed to properly date his correspondence with provincial governors. The Roman and Persian empires and calendars were adduced as possible models, though it was decided that a new Islamic calendar should be developed, with the Prophet’s hijra marking the first year and with al-Muḥarram as the first month. 135 Al-Ṭabarī adds the remark that this universally recognized calendar was a departure from the practices among Arabs polities prior to the Prophet, where each polity had its own dating system based on local events. 136 Further on in the History he provides more details surrounding ʿUmar’s establishment of the calendar in the year 16/637, when the polity was expanding into imperial scale with the conquests of Byzantine and Sassanian territories. 137 In these Rubin emphasises that al-Ṭabarī’s sources and method of interweaving them makes his history of the Sassanids the most important source on this period generally: “al-Ṭabarī is still the most detailed consecutive narrative source for this period, and his collection of material affords insight into the tangle of international relations in Late Antiquity which cannot be gained otherwise, thanks to the very fact that he allowed Arab traditions and reminiscences about Yemen and al-Ḥīra to run parallel to his resumé of the source material about the Sasanians, available to him in Arabic translation”; p. 71. 134 In the English translation of the History, the chronicle form begins with volume 7 (HT 7/McDonald and Watt). 135 HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 157–161. 136 HT 6/Watt and McDonald, p. 160. 137 HT 13/Juynboll, p. 59; HT 14/Smith, p. 114.

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reports, the instituting of the calendar coincided with the instituting of the state register (dīwān), to administrate payments to the military and stipends to the tribes. Here proximity to the Prophet serves as point of departure: Al-Ḥārith – Ibn Saʿd – Muḥammad b. ʿUmar – ʿĀʾidh b. Yaḥyā – Abū al-Ḥuwayrith – Jubayr al- Ḥuwayrith b. Nuqayd: ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb sought the advice of the Muslims on the matter of establishing state registers. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib advised him to distribute all the wealth that accrued to him each year, without keeping any. ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān remarked on the large amount of wealth that was coming to the people in ample quantities. He said: “If they are not subjected to an official census so that you know who has received and who has not, I am afraid that things will get out of hand”. Al-Walīd b. Hishām b. al-Mughīra said to him: “O Commander of the Faithful! I have been to Syria and seen how the rulers there have instituted a state register and conscripted a regular army. So you do the same!” [ʿUmar] took his advice and summoned [ʿAlī’s brother] ʿAqīl b. Abī Ṭālib, Makhrama b. Nawfal, and Jubayr b. Muṭʿim, genealogists of Quraysh, telling them to register people according to their ranks. So they made the registers, beginning with [the Prophet’s tribe] Banū Hāshim, followed by Abū Bakr and his family, then ʿUmar and his family as the first two caliphs. When ʿUmar looked into it he said: “I would indeed like it to be thus, but begin with the relatives of God’s Messenger, the closest, then the next, until you register ʿUmar in the appropriate place!” 138

Here we see ʿAlī again, as shown in Chapter 3, attributed the principle of distributing wealth equally among the people, as a source of public welfare, and ʿUmar the principle that the Prophet’s closest kin who were also among the first to join Islam, i.e. the ʿAlids, are entitled to be first on the list of stipends. The same principle is repeated in a second report, which traces the Prophet’s and all the Arabs’ lineages back to Adam, the first man. It is also emphasised that ‘nobility’ comes to all Arabs through the

138

HT 14/Smith, pp. 115–116; transl. modified.

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Prophet as the Messenger of God, and that noble lineage itself cannot compensate for good deeds: Al-Ḥārith – Ibn Saʿd – Muḥammad b. ʿUmar – ʾUsāma b. Zayd b. ʾAslam – his father – his grandfather: (…) Then [ʿUmar’s tribe] Banū ʿAdī came to ʿUmar and said: “You are the Caliph (khalīfa, successor) of God’s Messenger!” He replied: “Or the Caliph of Abū Bakr and Abū Bakr was the Caliph of God’s Messenger!” “This is so”, they replied, “What if you placed yourself where these people [carrying out the registration] place you?” “Excellent, excellent, Banū ʿAdī!” exclaimed [ʿUmar], “You want to eat off my back! You want me to transfer my good fortune to you. No, indeed, [you must wait] until the call comes to you, even if you come last in the register, even if you are registered after everyone else. I have two colleagues who have gone down a [particular] road already. 139 If I am at variance with them, I myself will be led off in another direction. Indeed, we have achieved excellence only in this nearest existence, and we can only hope for God’s reward in the most distant existence for what we have done through Muḥammad. He is our nobility, his family are the noblest of the Arabs, then the closest related to him, then the next. The Arabs are noble through God’s Messenger. Some of them may share many ancestors with him. We ourselves meet his line of descent after [going back] only a few generations, then do not diverge from it as far back as Adam. Moreover, if non-Arabs carry out [good] deeds and we do not, they are nearer to Muḥammad than we on the Day of Standing to trial (yawm al-qiyāma). Let no one rely on close relationship, rather let him act for God’s reward. For he whose effort falls short cannot get ahead by means of ancestry!” 140

The stipends were not restricted to the fighting men, however. Another report describes ʿUmar giving stipends directly to the women of the Meccan tribe Khuzāʿa, who lived in the agricultural village of Qudayd. 141 The Prophet and Abū Bakr, whose sunna he is following. HT 14/Smith, pp. 116–117. 141 The transmission chain is the same as for the other two reports, except for the two authorities after Muḥammad b. ʿUmar: Ḥizām b. Hishām alKaʿbī – his father; HT 14/Smith, p. 117. 139 140

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To summarise: According to al-Ṭabarī’s reports the Islamic calendar and time-measure, which he used to chronicle history after the Hijra, is related to imperial correspondence and administration, including of the military register and stipends. In the register, kinship with the Prophet and anciennity in Islam are the determining factors, which in their turn require a calendar. Ritual Time

In addition to chronology there is a ritual dimension to time in the History. As we have seen above, in the Introduction al-Ṭabarī defined the ritual obligations (furūḍ) as part of the human Covenantal obligation to serve God. Consequently, in the subsequent section on Creation he cited numerous reports describing how God created the sun and the moon, and day and night, to enable humans to measure time and know when to perform the prayer, fast, zakāt, and pilgrimage, and the time for settling debts and due rights (wa-ḥīna ḥall duyūnihim waḥuqūqihim). 142 These reports also establish the obligatory rituals as intrinsic to the order of Creation. The prostration of the daily prayer ritual is instituted by the angels’ willingness to prostrate before God’s created vicegerent Adam, as a sign that they serve only God and therefore obey His commands, as opposed to the jinn and Iblīs, who refused to prostrate. 143 As we saw in Chapter 1, reports that the first just Persian king Ôshahanj Fêshdâdh established places for prostration (masājid) imply that ‘prostration’ as a sign of service to God is part of the natural order. This aligns with al-Ṭabarī’s argument, that Persian kings and administrations could also uphold rights and rule equitably. The public, congregational Friday prayer with a sermon (khuṭba) has a symbolical reflection in reports that God created Adam on yawm al-jumuʿa, ‘the day of congregation’, i.e. Friday. The reports narrate how God taught Adam the names of things, and Adam then communicated the names to the angels, as a model for how prophets receive the divine message and communicate it to their peoples. Adam is also designated as God’s 142 143

HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 167; transl. modified. HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 251, 254–257.

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vicegerent on earth, khalīfa, symbolical of the institution of the Caliphate (khilāfa) as successor to the Prophet, also in his role as deliverer of the khuṭba in the Friday prayer. 144 However, while prostration is a universal act symbolizing the human capacity to serve God through justice, and while kings, prophets, caliphs and other people are frequently cited delivering rhetorical speeches throughout the History, the Friday prayer itself is not attributed to any pre-Islamic polity even though the day itself is the day that God created the first human. The establishment of the pilgrimage ritual is described in the narrative about Adam’s forced descent from the Garden, after he and Eve fell for Iblīs’ temptation. The place where Adam landed was India. However, he missed the company of God and the angels in the Garden and complained so much that God sent Gabriel to lead him to Mecca. There God threw down a precious stone from the Garden, and commanded Adam to found where the stone landed a place to circumambulate and pray at, just like the angels fly around God’s Throne in the Garden and offer prayers by it. In this way, Adam could maintain contact with God even though he had to remain on the earth down below. 145 The daily prayer, the Friday congregational prayer, and the pilgrimage are thus all inscribed in the order of Creation. Later in history, Abraham founds the Kaʿba temple and the full ritual of the pilgrimage, with its various stations and rites. After the intervening period of polytheism, during which the pilgrimage is in the custody of Abraham’s Arab descendants and eventually Quraysh, the Prophet’s mission is presaged by reports about how he lead the restoration of the Kaʿba building, signalling his imminent re-institution of Abraham’s Covenantal servitude to God the One and correct pilgrimage ritual. 146 Upon the Prophet’s arrival in Medina as ruler, based on a voluntary social contract with its tribes, he institutes the Friday prayer in year 1 of the hijrī HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 257–274, including Adam and the naming of things on pp. 266–274; pp. 282–290 on Adam and the Friday. 145 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 286–295; cf. Whitby, ‘Before Jesus’, p. 21. 146 On Abraham and the pilgrimage, see HT 2/Brinner, pp. 69–105; on the Prophet and his restoration of the Kaʿba, see HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 51–59. 144

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calendar. 147 He then gives the first khuṭba, in which he admonishes the people to adhere to the Covenantal terms and fulfil their obligations towards God: Praise be to God! I praise Him and call on Him for help, I seek His forgiveness and I ask Him for guidance, I enact security by Him and do not reject His security, and I make my enemy whoever rejects His security, testifying that there is no god but God alone, Who has no partner, and that Muḥammad is His servant and messenger, who He has sent with a message of guidance, light and admonition at an interval between messengers when there is scarce knowledge (qilla min al-ʿilm) and the people are erring, and when the age is cut short because of the proximity of the Hour and closeness of the Destiny. Whoever obeys God and His Messenger is definitely rightly guided, while whoever rebels against them has erred, been remiss and gone far astray! I obligate you to fulfil your obligations towards God (wa-ʾūṣīkum bi-taqwā Allāh), for the most good with which any enacter of peace can obligate another is to encourage him to seek the furthest away existence and to command him to fulfil the obligations towards God. So, beware (fa-ḥdharū) of what God has warned you against regarding Himself, as there is no advice and reminder more favourable than that! Indeed, fulfilment of the obligations towards God is for the one who acts in accordance with it, in trepidation and fear (wajl wa-makhāfa) of his Lord, an aid to truthfulness in what you seek concerning the furthest away existence. Whoever sets right the terms (yuṣliḥu) between himself and God concerning His command, in secret and in public, and seeking thereby only God’s countenance, will receive honourable mentioning in this world and a treasure in what comes after death: then a man will need [what good] he has put forth and wish to distance himself as far as possible from what was [not good]! Thus, God urges you to beware of Him, but He is Merciful (raʾūf) towards His servants and is one Who holds His word and fulfils His promise, without going back on it, for He, Mighty and Majestic, has indeed stated: “The statement cannot be changed with Me, for I am not one who does wrong to the

147

HT 7/Mc Donald and Watt, pp. 1–4.

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servant!” (Q. 50, 29) So fulfil your obligations towards God in this life and the next, in secret and in public, for indeed, whoever fulfils his obligations towards God shall have his bad deeds buried and his reward enlarged, since he who fulfils his obligations to God has achieved a great success! Indeed, fulfilling the obligations towards God protects against His resentment and punishment and anger; indeed, it will whiten the countenances and please the Lord and raise the standing! Take hold of your good lot and do not squander it on God’s part. God has given you knowledge of His writing and made plain for you the sum of His obligations (sabīlahu) so that He can know those who are truthful and those who are deceptive. So do good like God has done good by you, make His enemies your enemies, and strive for God in the way He is rightfully entitled to (ḥaqqa jihādihi), having set you aside by naming you Enacters of Peace, “so that those who perish do so upon a clear distinction, and those who live do so upon a clear distinction” (Q. 8, 42): there is no power except with God! So recall God frequently and act for the sake of what comes after today, and anyone who makes right the terms between himself and God will have God fulfil what is between him and the people. That is because God judges over the people, not they over Him, and He is sovereign over them, not they over Him: God is greater, and there is no power except with God the Immense! 148

The fast in the month of Ramadan and the zakāt al-fiṭr, submitted at the end of the fast, are instituted by the Prophet in year 2, the same year in which he changed the prayer direction (qibla) from Jerusalem to the Kaʿba. 149 The prayer direction, the fast and zakāt HT 7/McDonald and Watt, pp. 2–4; transl. modified. I have consistently rendered ittaqā and taqwā as ‘fulfilling one’s obligations towards God’ instead of McDonald’s ‘fear God’, because of the Covenantal obligations and rights that serve as frame of reference, and because other words are used in the speech to convey the narrower meaning ‘fear’, notably wajl and makhāfa, alongside the softer ‘wariness’, ḥadhar. Thus, taqwā literally connotes fulfilling one’s obligations, while knowing that God rewards those who do so and punishes those who rebel; this translation emphasises the contractual framing of obligations. 149 HT 7/McDonald and Watt, pp. 25–26. 148

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are not inscribed in the order of Creation, like the prostration, the Friday prayer, and the pilgrimage. Rather, the Ramadan fast and zakāt continues a Qurayshite practice of penitence and charity, and commemorates that the first sending-down of the Qur’an took place in that month, and institutes in the new polity the obligation to pay a community tax. 150 The month of Ramadan is also connected with the distribution of war booty, since the Battle of Badr took place in Ramadan in year 2, just after the establishment of the fast. The Prophet’s Qurayshite enemies in Mecca launched an attack against the Prophet and his polity in Medina, who defended themselves and won the battle through God’s assistance. The Prophet’s men took booty (nafal) from the defeated Quraysh. Since they could not agree who was most entitled to it, a report from the Prophet’s biographer Muḥammad b. Isḥāq (d. c. 150/767) and Ibn ʿAbbās’ mawlā ʿIkrima (d. c. 105/724) states that God sent down Q. 8 (al-ʾAnfāl) instructing that all booty pertained to the Prophet, for him to distribute equitably (bi-lsawāʾ) among the Muslims, “and in this is the fulfilment of obligations towards God, obedience of His Messenger, and settlement of discord for the common good” (fa-kāna fī dhālika taqwā Allāh wa-ṭāʿat rasūlihi wa-ṣalāḥ dhāt al-bayn). 151 In this way, al-Ṭabarī’s reports connect the Prophet’s ideal practice of equitably distributing booty gained from aggressors with the month of Ramadan, though the command to fast, and the fast itself, is unrelated to this. Similarly, though ʿĪd al-ʾaḍḥā already existed as a festival, it was first celebrated among the Muslims in Medina on the tenth day of the pilgrimage month Dhū al-Ḥijja after the Prophet and his Companions had averted an attack by the Jewish tribe Banū Qaynuqāʿ, who had a treaty with the Prophet but had decided to break it without rightful cause. The distribution of the booty seized from Banū Qaynuqāʿ establishes the principle khums, i.e.

On the first sending-down of the Qur’an in the month Ramadan, and the Quraysh practice of penitence and charity, see HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 62–63, 70–71. 151 HT 7/McDonald and Watt, pp. 63–64; cit. p. 64. 150

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that the Prophet keeps one-fifth and distributes four-fifths among the Muslims. 152 Concluding Analysis

Al-Ṭabarī’s historical methodology is empirical, based on the premise that knowledge of the past can only be gained from reports from those who lived at the time, i.e. primary sources. His stated aim is then to write history to show which rulers rebelled against or fulfilled God’s Covenantal terms. This includes showing whether they did good by others, i.e. sustained several categories of people, including the poor and other weak groups, which is a Covenantal obligation of service to God alongside the obligatory rituals. For the sake of the latter obligations, there is a ritual time dimension to the History, which locates the obligations towards God in the order of Creation, then in the Prophet’s sunna. Viewed from this perspective, the divine Covenantal obligation to sustain humans which originates with Creation becomes transferred to the Prophet’s obligation to equitably distribute wealth for the common good of the polity. It should be noted that God’s obligations include the contractual principle, that the booty that the Prophet distributes is lawfully seized, i.e. its owners were aggressors against the Prophet and his polity, and in the case of the Jewish tribe they broke an existing treaty. Thus, al-Ṭabarī operated with several specific sets of criteria for selecting reports and coordinating them between different parts of the History, so that the ritual time dimension runs parallel to and sometimes intersects with the structure related to equity, redistribution, and taxation. Put in slightly different terms: it would be easy to see the reports on ritual time simply as myths, which ‘found’ and explain the ‘origins’ of institutionalised rituals but do not convey any historically relevant information. However, when referred to the Covenantal framework and natural law theory, these reports become historically significant in another way. They can be seen as al-Ṭabarī’s way of signalling that the divine Covenant with its rights and obligations translates into historical administrative 152

HT 7/McDonald and Watt, pp. 85–88.

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principles and practices, and that the prescribed rituals remind the people to serve God, also through equitable administration. Consequently, the myth-and-ritual-related reports tell the reader that this is a history about real administrative issues pertaining to the institutions of kingship and prophecy.

THE CREEDS

The last discipline and genre presented here is al-Ṭabarī’s works on doctrine (ʿulūm al-dīn). His two works dedicated to it have both been preserved: Ṣarīḥ al-sunna and al-Tabṣīr fī maʿālim al-dīn. The genre addresses a set of doctrinal topics, disputes over which are integral to the polity, and defines its schools of theology and their overlap with political theory and legal hermeneutics. Hence, these two works define concisely the doctrinal standpoints that characterise al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab. Ṣarīḥ al-sunna

Al-Ṭabarī wrote Ṣarīḥ al-sunna or ‘The clear sunna’ towards the later years of his life. 153 It is a short treatise on seven doctrinal topics: leadership of the polity; free will or predestination; the nature of faith; the nature of the Qur’an; the beatific vision; the pronunciation of the Qur’an; and the relationship between the name and the named. Al-Ṭabarī arrives at his positions by combining Qur’anic references and reports (ʾāthār) with analysis (naẓar), engaging with the Ḥanbalī, Muʿtazilī, Qadarī, Murjiʾī and Jahmī schools. In an opening statement, he declares that the role of the scholar possessing knowledge – i.e. himself – is to ensure that the people can know and follow the Prophet’s sunna, which is the embodiment of the ‘true right’ that God conferred to the polity:

Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 125–126, with references to the biographical sources. The edition referred to here contains both the edited Arabic text, a French translation, and an Introduction by Dominique Sourdel, published as ‘Une profession de foi de l’historien alṬabarī’, Révue des études islamiques, 26 (1968), pp. 177–199. When I refer to the treatise itself, I give page numbers for first the French translation, then the Arabic text.

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Praise be to God, Who causes the true right to abound and helps it to victory! (al-ḥamdu li-Llāh mufliḥ al-ḥaqq wa-nāṣirihi) After God’s Messenger (pbuh) passed away, he has been followed, in each time and age, by events and calamities which drove the ignorant to seek refuge with the possessor of knowledge so that the possessor of knowledge may rend the darkness shrouding the ignorant by the knowledge which God has given him as a mark of favour over others, partly through textual sources (ʾāthār) and partly through analysis (naẓar).154

The first topic he treats after this prelude is the Qur’an: is it created or uncreated? The correct statement, he argues, is that it is God’s discursive speech (kalām Allāh) which He causes to descend with a set of meanings which He has sealed (maʿānī yūṣiduhu), and it is not created (ghayr makhlūq), whether in its written or recited form (kayfa kutiba wa-ḥaythu tuliya), as it is preserved in a tablet (lawḥ maḥfūẓ), whether on paper, stone, or contained in the intellect, or articulated as spoken language. 155 Note that the first principle al-Ṭabarī adduces to argue that the Qur’an is God’s uncreated discourse is that it is His meanings (maʿānī). This corresponds exactly with his argument in the Qur’an commentary, that the Qur’an is God’s intended meanings, defined as the terms of Covenant, summed up in Q. 1 (al-Fātiḥa) and from there extended through the entire corpus (see Chapter 2 and above). He adduces two Qur’anic verses in support of this argument (Q. 85, 21–22 and Q. 9, 6), and two reports stating that this is the polity’s authentic creed: one from the sixth Shīʿī Imam Jaʿfar b. Muḥammad al-Ṣādiq (d. 148/765), and one from ʿAmr b. Dīnār (d. c. 126/744); both also cited by Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal. 156 He reinforces the severity of this matter by declaring that anyone claiming the Qur’an is created is a kāfir whose life is forfeit, and that anyone who attributes to himself any other view than the one just stated is accursed. 157 He thus rejects in no uncertain terms Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 186/193. Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 187/194. 156 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 187–188/195. On the reports, ibid, p. 188, footnotes 2 and 3. 157 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 187/194–195. 154 155

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the Muʿtazilī doctrine of the created Qur’an (khalq al-Qurʾān) and aligns with Ibn Ḥanbal (and the later Ashʿarī position). Interestingly, when he reported in the History about Caliph alMaʾmūn’s elevation of khalq al-Qurʾān as state doctrine in the year 212/828 and the inquisition in 217-218/833, he contextualised the inquisition as part of the Caliph’s attempt to raise extra troops and taxes for the war he had re-started against Byzantium. The Caliph fired two sets of judges and governors: those who held to the doctrine of the uncreated Qur’an, who he accused of having a doctrine like the Byzantine Christian creed that Jesus is God’s Word incarnate; and those who obstructed his tax and troop levy. One is left wondering whether al-Ṭabarī wanted the reader to perceive khalq al-Qurʾān simply as the Caliph’s tool for clearing away judges, administrators and scholars (including Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal) who opposed his politics. 158 Moreover, al-Maʾmūn’s decision to pronounce and enforce doctrine oversteps the division of power between the ruler and the scholars, which we have seen al-Ṭabarī endorse: only the scholars with knowledge can pronounce on doctrinal matters (see Chapter 3, above). 159 The second doctrinal topic is the beatific vision. Al-Ṭabarī declares that those who enter the Garden after the resurrection and final Judgement (yawm al-qiyāma) shall see God (ʾanna ʾahl al-janna yarawnahu), because that is stated in transmissions of a sound Prophetic report from the Companion Jarīr b. ʿAbd Allāh (d. 51/671). 160 Thus, he appears to understand ‘seeing’ literally, without any attempt at further explaining the matter here, again in line with the Ḥanbalī view.

158 HT 32/Bosworth, pp. 176–223. For a survey of research on alMaʾmūn’s policies and a new analysis of the societal groups concerned, see John A. Nawas, ‘A Reexamination of Three Current Explanations for al- Maʾmūn’s Introduction of the Miḥna’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 26 (1994), pp. 615–629; however, Nawas’ study does not consider the war-context that al-Ṭabarī constructs for it. 159 On the doctrine of khalq al-Qurʾān and its the exegetical authorisation of individual Imams/Caliphs over the scholarly collective as ‘creators’ of meaning in the Qur’an, which is simultaneously reduced to nothing but language, see Carter, ‘Language control’, p. 68. 160 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 188–189/195–196.

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The third topic is free will or predestination, where al-Ṭabarī states that all acts, good and bad, originate with God and nothing can originate without Him willing it, for “to Him belongs the Creation and the command” (lahu al-khalq wa-l-ʾamr). Hence, the servant of God must confess that God has meted out each person’s capacity to act (al-qadar). He supports the view with a report from the Prophet, from the Companion Jābir b. ʿAbd Allāh (d. 78/697) and Jaʿfar b. Muḥammad al-Ṣādiq. Hence, he rejects the Muʿtazila and their doctrine of free will. He also cites a report from the Companion ʿAbd Allāh b. ʿUmar (d. 74/693), that “the school of free will (qadariyya) are the Zoroastrians (majūs) of this polity. When they fall ill, do not visit them, and when they die, do not attend [their funeral].” 161 As we shall see below in Chapter 5, the doctrine of predestination is also expressed in reports in the History. Regarding the fourth topic, political leadership (ʾimāma), alṬabarī cites a Prophetic report from Jābir b. ʿAbd Allāh, which ranks the four Companion Caliphs in merit according to their order of succession. 162 However, he reserves the title Commander of the Faithful and Leader of those who fulfil their obligations (ʾamīr al-muʾminīna wa-ʾimām al-muttaqīna) for ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. Sourdel remarks that the pro-Shīʿī historian Yaʿqūbī (d. 284/89798) did the same, but that unlike him al-Ṭabarī does not otherwise demonstrate pro-Shīʿī sympathies. Sourdel is also uncertain whether there existed at the time reports conveying this honorific title on ʿUmar. 163 As we have just seen above, al-Ṭabarī did in fact Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 189–190/196. This mean-spirited report is historically interesting. Though Zoroastrianism has a long and complex history, which reflects both ‘predestinarian’ and ‘free will’ accounts, the idea that humans exist within the reality of an ongoing struggle between the forces of good Order and evil Lie and must choose side appears to be what this report refers to, implying that humans originate their own actions; see Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina, ‘Theologies and Hermeneutics’, in Michael Stausberg and Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina (eds.), The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Zoroastrianism (Chichester, West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons, 2015), pp. 211–234; ref. pp. 220–222. 162 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 190/196–197. 163 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, p. 181. 161

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cite historical reports referring to ʿUmar with that title. In Chapter 3, we have also seen how he identified both ʿUmar and ʿAlī as continuators of the Prophet’s equitable sunna on land management and redistribution, emphasising especially the justice of ʿAlī and his descendants in this respect, and how he defended the ʿAlids’ rights in relation to the Umayyad and Abbasid administrations. Nevertheless, in Tahdhīb al-ʾāthār we saw him refuting the Shīʿī aristocratic principle of hereditary leadership and succession from father to son in favour of the conciliar election model (shūrā). Consequently, al-Ṭabarī defended ʿAlid administrative policy and rights, at the same time as he rejected Shīʿī theory of leadership. He then concluded the topic of leadership with a second report, from the Prophet through his mawlā Safīna, stating that the Caliphate only lasted for thirty years, corresponding to the rule of the four Companion Caliphs, but after that it became a kingship. 164 The fifth topic is faith (ʾīmān, ‘enactment of security’) and the question whether it consists of both words and deeds (qawl wa-ʿamal), and whether it can increase and decrease. The correct statement, al-Ṭabarī claims based on a non-Prophetic report from Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, is that faith is word and deed, and that it can both increase and decrease. This, he argues, is the view that the Companions agree on. 165 In the Qur’an commentary, the standpoint appears to be reflected in al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 1, 6 and the term ṣirāṭ al-mustaqīm, which he explains as equivalent to the divine guidance and consisting of ‘words and deeds’. The sixth topic concerns the servant’s words when he or she reads the Qur’an. On this topic, he said, there are no transmitted reports (ʾathar) and the Companions’ knowledge is lost, so one has to rely on an authoritative scholar who follows the first leaders. This person is Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, through a report from al-Tirmidhī. It states that one who claims that the pronounced words of the Qur’an are created is a Jahmī, while one who claims they are uncreated is an inventor (mubtadiʿ). 166 Following Aḥmad Sourdel, ‘Profession’, p. 190/197. Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 190-191/197-198. 166 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 191–192/198. 164 165

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b. Ḥanbal, al-Ṭabarī took a middle ground position: the pronounced word is neither created nor uncreated, since it conveys God’s intended meanings but is voiced by a human speaker. 167 The seventh and final topic is the relationship between ‘the name and the named thing’, i.e. whether the name is the named or not (al-ism ʾa huwa al-musammā ʾam huwa ghayr al-musammā). Again, there are no reports of statements from the Companions. Al-Ṭabarī instead adduces two Qur’anic verses (Q. 17, 110 and Q. 7, 180) to prove that God has several ‘most good names’ (al-ʾasmāʾ al-ḥusnā) by which He should be invoked, and a third passage (Q. 20, 5–6) to demonstrate that God rules over and is above and beyond everything created. Consequently, God’s names are not God but ways of appealing to Him, and anyone who infringes upon this reality is erring onto a path of ultimate ruin. 168 In epistemic terms, this is an empiricist and realist position, i.e. things have real existence independently of their names, which derive from language conventions. Al-Ṭabarī then concluded the treatise by invoking God’s wrath and punishment upon anyone attributing to him any other doctrine than the ones he has defined here, labelling such a person a rejecter of God’s security (kāfir). 169 This speaks to Sourdel’s point, that al-Ṭabarī in his later years faced mounting hostility from Ḥanbalī opponents and that this creed constituted a strategic refutation of their accusations that he was pro-Shīʿī (one might add here, that he refused to recognise Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal as faqīh, as discussed above in the context of his ḥadīth Hence, it appears that Nasser somewhat simplified al-Ṭabarī’s view on Qur’anic readings (qirāʾāt) when he attributed to him the view that all readings, even the correct ones, are entirely human: “Within all these categories, he does not speak of any divine design as the source of these variant readings. When some readings are considered to be better than others, which naturally means that they are not equal in status, the cause of this disparity is human and not divine.”; Variant Readings, p. 47. For al-Ṭabarī, as we have also seen in the section above on exegetical method, and in Chapter 2, the Qur’an conveys God’s intended meaning, so a correct reading does attain, as it were, ‘the divine design’. 168 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 192/198. 169 Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 192/199. 167

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compilation). 170 Yet his creed aligns with principles stated in his other works. This suggests that although producing a succinct creed might have become a matter of urgency, and he might have thought it prudent to explicitly stress doctrinal agreements with Aḥmad b. Ḥanbal, he did not substantially change his positions to accommodate Ḥanbalī opposition. In terms of methodology, the creed also aligns with especially his legal works: proof consists in the Qur’an and sound Prophetic reports from Companions, while later scholars’ statements are adduced as authoritative only when textual proof is lacking. Analysis (naẓar) is applied to derive a meaning that corresponds with the doctrinal topics, broadly similar to his use of bayān in the legal and exegetical works. al-Tabṣīr fī maʿālim al-dīn

The second creed al-Tabṣīr fī maʿālim al-dīn, ‘Instruction concerning the tenets of the judicial order’, was written on request by the scholars of al-Ṭabarī’s home town Āmūl in Tabaristan, to provide guidance for them concerning the many rival doctrinal schools. 171 In Claude Gilliot’s view, the most important schools against who al-Ṭabarī drew a boundary were Muʿtazila and al-Rāfiḍa or the Shīʿī schools, including the Zaydī one represented by ʿAlid rulers in Tabaristan (see Chapter 3, above). 172 Al-Tabṣīr is longer than Ṣarīḥ al-sunna and consists of nine topics: leadership; God’s proof against His creatures; deeds; sinners; faith and deference of judgement; increase and decrease of faith; the Qur’an; torment in the grave; and the beatific vision. The methodology is essentially the same as in Ṣarīḥ al-sunna, although the demonstration is expanded. The Qur’an and sound Prophetic reports from Companions constitute the main proof, but for each topic he indicates disagreement (ikhtilāf) and agreement among the the scholars, defines rationales and weaknesses (ʿilal),

Sourdel, ‘Profession’, pp. 177–185. For summary information, Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 127–128; Gilliot, Exègèse, pp. 46–47. For a detailed study, al-Shibl, Editor’s Introduction, pp. 75–91. 172 Gilliot, Exègèse, p. 47. 170 171

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and argues his case through constructed questions and answers. 173 Moreover, he provided the treatise with quite a long introduction on the necessity of true scholarly knowledge and adherence to the right doctrine – to prevent the dissent and dissipation of the polity that follows from disobeying God’s command – before he proceeded to treat each of the nine topics. Al-Ṭabarī motivates his choice to start with the leadership issue by stating that it was the first disagreement to emerge after the Prophet, and although it does not pertain to the creed of divine One-ness (tawḥīd) it is part of the judicial order (dīn) and remains disputed to his own day. 174 He then establishes, based on Prophetic proof, that the Caliphate belongs to Quraysh alone, which excludes the Khārijī position. 175 Perhaps significantly, he does not here go into the electoral principles that in Ṣarīḥ al-sunna led him to reject the Shīʿī position. Pinning legitimate Caliphate on Qurayshī identity alone might have had the rationale that it accommodated Tabaristan’s ʿAlid, Zaydī rulers. If this was alṬabarī’s intent, such accommodation might align with how he in the History made the local ʿAlids in Tabaristan appear as more equitable and just rulers than the Abbasid governors (Chapter 3, above). This connects with his treatment here in al-Tabṣīr of conflict over the Caliphate within the Quraysh. The Muslims are obligated to help the one who is wronged (maẓlūm) against the wrongdoer (ẓālim), he argued. ‘Wronged’ can refer to the leader who has been duly recognised but is challenged by someone who simply wants the leadership for himself. 176 However, there can be justification for going out against (khurūj) a legitimately appointed leader. If the leader has wronged someone, affecting his life, family, or property, and the wronged has sought equity from the leader without receiving it (fa-ṭalab al-ʾinṣāf fa-lam yunṣaf), and then goes out against the leader, the Muslims must ensure that the leader restores equity, and the rebel returns to obedience. If the rebel does not return, they can go out against

Al-Shibl, Editor’s Introduction, pp. 86–87. Al-Tabṣīr, p. 154–155. 175 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 156–158. 176 Al-Tabṣīr, p. 158. 173 174

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him with a just leader (ʾimām ʿādil). 177 This argument aligns with al-Ṭabarī’s treatment of uprisings and their causes in the History, and the Zaydī teaching that Muslims can legitimately rise against an unjust ruler. It also relates to the natural law topic of equity and natural rights (life, offspring, and property) as the common good (see Chapter 3, above). It is then highly significant that he does not adduce any textual proof or other scholarly authorities for this argument, only his own, independent reasoning. He concludes the section on leadership by establishing that in his view (ʿindī), obedience to the leader is not the criterion for deciding who is a Muslim. The criterion for being Muslim is fulfilment of the obligations transmitted through the proofs of the Qur’an and Prophetic reports, and the leader is obligated to ensure that these are known to the polity (through the scholars). 178 The second topic of disagreement is God’s proof (ḥujja) over His creatures, which can only be known by being heard from Him, not through demonstration and deduction. One group, the Sabāʾīs of Yemen, argue that the earth cannot fathom God, so He appears in each time and place in different images, for example in the form of ʿAlī. These people were killed and burned by ʿAlī himself, al-Ṭabarī asserts. 179 Others adduce angels or God’s Messenger, or his obligating instruction passed on through his successors (the Shīʿī view) as necessary mediums between God and His creatures. These have left the community, al-Ṭabarī finds. 180 Yet others assert that this knowledge is known by necessity and conveyed in God’s writing (al-kitāb), and that it corresponds to practical knowledge (maʿrifa) and the experiences of everyday life and the nature of things (al-fiṭra), such as that fire burns and snow is cold. Al-Ṭabarī sides with this view, declaring that since he has elaborated on its rationale elsewhere, he will not repeat this here. 181 Elsewhere likely refers to his Qur’an commentary, since we saw above in the section exegetical methodology how he Al-Tabṣīr, p. 159. Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 160–162. 179 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 163–164. 180 Al-Tabṣīr, p. 165. 181 Al-Tabṣīr, p. 166. 177 178

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developed the same argument regarding the kinds of knowledge required for understanding the Qur’an. Thus, he represents a natural reason-approach, where what God communicates in His writing accords with empirical experience and practical knowledge. The third topic is actions (ʾafʿāl) and their origination. First out is qadariyya, the Muʿtazilī argument that God delegated (fawwaḍa) origination of deeds to the servants, because if they do not choose their own actions God’s reward or punishment are vacuous (baṭala al-thawāb wa-l-ʿiqāb). 182 The Jahmī or ʾijbārī school argue instead that God created the servants into two groups, destined respectively for the Fire and the Garden, and that by acting in accordance with their destinies they earn them. 183 AlṬabarī then argues that the majority of the scholars, past and present, have shown the inconsistencies of both these positions and instead assert that God made those who enact security (ahl al-ʾīmān) and obey Him succeed in achieving this, whereas He abandoned those who reject security (ahl al-kufr) and rebel against Him. Then he launches into a long and detailed survey of the rationales and propositions involved in this approach, which he deems to be the generally correct one since it is also supported by the Qur’an (Q. 56, 24 and Q. 9, 95). The crucial term here is kasb, ‘acquisition’: God the Creator has commanded obedience and prohibited disobedience. Some obey, with God making them succeed in this, while others disobey, with God deserting them. In this way, the servants acquire their acts and their outcomes at the Judgement. 184 It appears that al-Ṭabarī here aligns with the doctrine of kasb as defined by his contemporary, al-Ashʿarī (d. 324/936). 185 The fourth topic is the people who commit major sins (ʾahl al-kabāʾir) and their outcome. The Khārijī position is that major sins belong to the category of kufr, which is outside of ʾīmān. Al-Tabṣīr, p. 167. Al-Tabṣīr, p. 170. 184 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 170–176. 185 On al-Ashʿarī and kasb, see Binyamin Abrahamov, ‘A Re-Examination of al-Ashʿarī’s Theory of “Kasb” According to “Kitāb al-Lumaʿ”, The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, 2 (1989), pp. 210–221. 182 183

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Others say they are not kuffār whose lives and property are forfeit, but they reject God’s material blessings and therefore are munāfiqūna, ‘hypocrites’, who are still within the boundaries of ʾīmān. 186 A third position, the Muʿtazilite one, is that they represent the category of rebels and enemies to God (fasaqat waʾaʿdāʾ li-Llāh), who live and are judged as Muslims but will end up in the Fire and dwell there forever. 187 A fourth view is that they are within the community who profess God’s One-ness and follow the Prophet’s sunna, and therefore they can theoretically enter the Garden. 188 After this survey follows detailed arguments regarding God’s treatment of the sinners. Al-Ṭabarī concludes that the sinners are not completely within ʾīmān since they have disobeyed God and His Messenger, but they are completely within ʾislām, i.e. subject to God’s rule. Consequently, they are rebellious and disobedient Muslims who belong neither to the Fire nor the Garden because God has said in Q. 4, 48: “Indeed, God will not forgive being shared with other partners, but will forgive anything beyond that for whoever He wishes”. Consequently, if God makes them enter the Fire, He will not keep them there forever, only in accordance with their offense and rightful punishment, and then He will let them enter the Garden. This is because God has promised (waʿada) to reward obedience and to punish disobedience, and that the good deed overrides the bad, so long as the bad is not shirk. He then cites a sound report that the Prophet intercedes on behalf of the sinners, so that they will enter the Garden after their punishment in the Fire, even those whose ʾīmān weighs no more than a mustard seed (alluding to Q. 21, 47). 189 Here al-Ṭabarī is invoking the Covenantal terms that he defines in his commentary on Q. 1, that God has the right to servitude and is obligated to reward people for that at the Judgement. Thus, the servant has the right to be rewarded even for the slightest measure of servitude, excluding shirk because sharing God with other partners voids the terms of the Covenantal contract. Al-Tabṣīr, p. 177. Al-Tabṣīr, p. 178. 188 Al-Tabṣīr, p. 179. 189 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 179–186; pp. 183–186 for al-Ṭabarī’s argument. 186 187

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The fifth topic is knowing who has ʾīmān. Some say ʾīmān is three things: the heart’s practical knowledge (1), confirmed through words (2) and deeds (3). The topic is then diverted into discussions on whether deeds are part of ʾīmān, since ʾīmān in the Arabic language is equivalent to taṣdīq, ‘to hold something for true’, a cognitive attitude which does not involve action. Against those who argue deeds are not part of ʾīmān, al-Ṭabarī concludes they are. Although ʾīmān in Arabic is synonymous with taṣdīq, as attested in e.g. Q. 12, 17, he argues, the full meaning of muʾmin includes all three aspects of ʾīmān, since the muʾmin must perform the obligations (farāʾiḍ) that God has made incumbent on him or her through His Prophet. Similarly, the theoretical, scholarly knowledge (ʿilm), which is also part of ʾīmān, involves practical actions such as dividing inheritance. 190 Closely related is the sixth topic: does ʾīmān increase and decrease? Some argue that since deeds are one third of ʾīmān, it increases with the act of obedience and performance of obligations and decreases with the act of disobedience and neglect of obligations. Al-Ṭabarī agrees with this statement, in accordance with his position on the previous topic. 191 The seventh topic is the Qur’an: is it created (makhlūq) or part of the Creator (khāliq)? Al-Ṭabarī argues it is neither. Speech comes from the person who verbalises it, so it is both part of him or her and created by him or her, i.e. originating in him or her. Accordingly, the Qur’an as God’s speech (kalām) is part of God as His attribute speech, except that God unlike a person does not have bodily or material form. Hence, the Qur’an originates with God and is ‘created’ by Him, but it is not part of the material creation. In this way, it is neither created nor the Creator. 192 Here his reasoning is entirely independent, and he does not adduce any textual proof. The eighth topic concerns the grave: is anyone punished or rewarded already in the grave? Some say God does indeed punish in the grave those He wishes among His enemies and those who Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 187–193; pp. 190–193 for al-Ṭabarī’s argument. Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 194–199. 192 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 200–203. 190 191

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disobey Him. Others, following multiply transmitted reports from the Prophet, say it is definitely the case that God punishes a people (qawm) in their graves after their death. Yet others say this is impossible and that the statement contains errors, because to feel pain or pleasure the being must have its spirit and the spirit has left the dead. Since the grave is a state of death, there can be neither punishment nor blessing there. Al-Ṭabarī follows a report from the Prophet: “Seek refuge in God against the torment in the grave, for indeed: the torment in the grave is real (ḥaqq)!” 193 The ninth and final topic is the servants’ beatific vision of their Maker (ruʾyat al-ʿibād ṣāniʿahum). Al-Ṭabarī begins by saying that some reject the vision because it means imposing spatial and sensory limits on God, which equals kufr. 194 Others say that it is possible to see God, but only with the Resurrection (al-qiyāma) and through a sixth sense. 195 A third group, including the early exegete Muqātil b. Sulaymān (d. 150/767), claim it is possible to see God with the ordinary eyesight. 196 A group of Sufis even assert that they can see God both in the nearest and furthest existence whenever they want to, and that only they as God’s governors can see Him but His enemies cannot. 197 The transmitters of ḥadīth say that all enacters of security see God upon the Resurrection, with their own eyes, and comprehend Him through their sight even though they cannot encompass Him. However, a sub-group among them say that they see Him but do not comprehend Him, in accordance with Q. 6, 103: “The visions do not comprehend Him but He comprehends the visions” (lā tudrikuhu al-ʾabṣār wahuwa yudrik al-ʾabṣāra). 198 Al-Ṭabarī then cites several propositions and arguments, which produce a more subtle view on the vision than in Ṣarīḥ al-sunna. He takes the position that the servants can see God and comprehend Him, in the semantic sense of clearly distinguishing Him (bayān), just as they can comprehend other things, but without that requiring a limitation Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 205–207; cit. p. 207. Al-Tabṣīr, p. 215. 195 Al-Tabṣīr, p. 216. 196 Al-Tabṣīr, p. 217. 197 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 217–218. 198 Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 219–220. 193 194

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of God to the scope that a human being can see with the eye. Hence, they can see and comprehend God and the reality that He is beyond anything created. 199 This focus on bayān as the means to making God distinct and comprehensible aligns the doctrine of the beatific vision of God with al-Ṭabarī’s above-mentioned premise for his Qur’an commentary, that God has implanted in humans the capability of bayān, through which they can understand His proof of Himself, as well as communicate to each other their own innermost subjects and concerns.

CONCLUSION: THE METHODOLOGY OF AL-MADHAB AL-JARĪRĪ

As we have seen in this chapter, al-Ṭabarī like any scholar operated with discipline-specific methodologies, since each discipline has its sources, epistemic principles, methods, and authoritative bodies of scholarship. Yet he also developed an independent madhhab, i.e. a methodology, which spans all his discipline-specific works. I have argued that his natural law theory constitutes an overarching methodological frame, corresponding with Anver Emon’s Positivist or Soft Naturalist model. Accordingly, something is good and constitutes the moral standard for the law because God wants it, and what God wants is contained in the Qur’an and the Prophet’s sound, established sunna, which are textual sources. At the same time, everything in the Qur’an and the Prophet’s sunna corresponds with human ‘natural reason’ and empirical experiences, most importantly those related to imperial administration, which in turn has direct implications for law. Within this paradigm, bayān represents both the human ‘natural capability’ to clearly distinguish and comprehend God, to make and communicate their thoughts and needs to each other through language, and in scholarly contexts to distinguish topics connecting the Qur’an, the sunna, and scholarly reports. This has implications for al-Ṭabarī’s concept of legal consensus and proof. Gilliot and Stewart have argued that both in his work on legal disagreement and in the Qur’an commentary, he defined consensus and proof as the body of authoritative 199

Al-Tabṣīr, pp. 220–222.

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scholars, specific to each discipline. I have found instead that the biographical information about his concept of consensus is more correct. Al-Ṭabarī located legal consensus and proof in written Companion reports on the Prophet’s sunna, which in turn corresponds with the Qur’an. In a second move, the body of authoritative scholars is shown to agree with that evidence. This conclusion can be argued based on his work on legal disagreement alone, but is also expressed in his ḥadīth compilation, which he considered to be one of his two most important legal works. In terms of legal substance, the History shows in context the principles related to equitable land administration that are represented by the Companions ʿUmar and ʿAlī as continuators of the Prophet’s sunna, suggesting there was a substantive motivation behind al-Ṭabarī’s concept of consensus. Locating consensus and proof in the scholarly collective, as Stewart and Gilliot argued, would also jar with al-Ṭabarī’s status as mujtahid and founder of his own madhhab. As mujtahid he must make independent interpretation of the scriptural sources. We have also seen that al-Ṭabarī’s Positivism and scriptural orientation by no means restricted his interpretation. For example, he employed the topic of divine Creation of human in Q. 4, 1 to develop a natural law theory of ‘human rights’. In the ḥadīth compilation, he interpreted a Companion report in a new way, to provide Prophetic sunna for a particular case related to a Christian tribe, and to develop a case for parents’ freedom and right to transmit their religion to their children, and the young adult’s freedom and right to choose religion independently of the parents. Consequently, the Qur’an and the sunna served him as launch pads for new interpretations, not limitations. Finally, al-Ṭabarī’s concept of Covenant as the divine-human contract that translates in his History into the political concepts of constitution and social contract also feeds into his overarching methodology. Firstly, Covenant as a set of mutual rights and obligations welds together ritual and legal obligations, so that the basic obligation to serve God ritually and through undivided loyalty extends into protection of the rights of all humans, especially the weak. It also transfers God’s obligation to sustain

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all humans to the political ruler and the scholars, whose judicial system must ensure sustenance and equity for the sake of the common good. In this way, al-Ṭabarī’s natural law theory is premised on Covenant as a paradigm for deriving the good that God wants from the scriptural sources. Viewed from the perspective of Michel de Certeau’s discourse theory discussed in the Introduction to this book, alṬabarī’s overarching methodology is a subjective discourse, which reflects common concerns within the system of vassalage, and its institutions of the Caliphate (‘kingship’) and the legal scholars (‘prophecy’). This is rather obvious concerning issues such as the land tax, property rights, and commonly owned lands. However, even doctrinal-theological topics have institutional references, as in Covenantal servitude to God translating into administrative and legal equity and justice. Another example is the doctrine of the Qur’an, which in al-Ṭabarī’s view must align with his concept of the Qur’an as God’s clearly distinct communication of His intended meaning. Al-Ṭabarī in several of his works stressed that it is only the scholars’ ‘prophetic’ knowledge that conveys God’s message and the Prophet’s sunna as the protection of equity and the common good, which in turn aligns with his constitutional division of authority between the Caliph and the jurists. We have also seen that this position reflected a concern with the administration of lands and the rights of groups and individuals who are ‘weak’ in relation to the state and its governors. This implies that there was more at stake for al-Ṭabarī than simply bolstering scholarly authority, namely, to elucidate and clearly distinguish the principles that make imperial administration just and equitable, and strong, since their implementation might prevent rebellions and civil wars.

CHAPTER FIVE. COVENANT AS GRAND THEORY In this chapter, focus is shifted from disciplines, works, and methodology, to specific theoretical topics: al-Ṭabarī’s metaphysics, ontology, epistemology, gender theory, and ethics, though with natural law theory and Covenant continuing to serve as a frame of reference. Preliminarily, then, we have seen how al-Ṭabarī defined the human being as created and sustained by God for the sake of serving Him, in accordance with the terms of Covenant. Here I will analyse the ‘grand theories’ underpinning Covenant (metaphysics, ontology, epistemology, and ethics), through a rereading of topics previously treated – Creation and beings, language, writing, prophecy, time, and divine One-ness – and with examples drawn from several of his works. I start with alṬabarī’s metaphysics and ontology. Concerning epistemology, we have in the preceding chapter seen him operate with at least three terms for knowledge about God and the Covenantal rights and obligations: the systematic scholarly knowledge (ʿilm), the practical experiential knowledge (maʿrifa), and cognitive comprehension of a subject or thing (ʾidrāk). Here I will identify the general theory of knowledge that can be assumed to subsume these discipline-specific terms for knowledge; analyse the relationship between his metaphysics, ontology, and epistemology; and discuss how these ‘grand theories’ can be seen to reflect institutional practices and the three natural law-related issues of separation of powers, property rights, and land management. Finally, I will bring all this to bear in a 259

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reconstruction of al-Ṭabarī’s ethics, including his treatment of ethical dilemmas in the History, and a concluding reflection on the subjective dimension of his discourse.

METAPHYSICS AND ONTOLOGY

In Aristotle’s system of sciences and disciplines, the work now entitled ‘Metaphysics’ spans the four subject matters ‘first philosophy’, ‘first science’, ‘wisdom’, and ‘theology’, all of which treat a set of three common topics, which include ontology or theory of being: ‘being as such’, ‘the first causes of things’, and ‘that which does not change’. Of these three topics, ‘that which does not change’ can be seen as the overarching one that defines Aristotelian metaphysics and distinguishes it from other philosophical fields of enquiry. 1 This basic definition will serve here as reference for a preliminary identification of al-Ṭabarī’s metaphysics and ontology. Divine Creation and One-ness

In the Creation-section of the History, al-Ṭabarī gives a narrative exposition of what can be identified as the three metaphysical topics mentioned above, but by citing Qur’anic verses and Prophetic reports. 2 The Qur’anic concept of God’s absolute Oneness, which excludes the possibility that He has any equivalent in form or substance (as in Q. 112), here becomes a metaphysical theory of God as the eternal originator of everything that exists: What is not observable is to be judged as being of the same category as what we do observe (wa-kāna ḥukma mā lam yushāhad wa-mā huwa min jins shāhadnā) in the sense of body or subsisting in a body. What cannot be free from having origination is no doubt originated through composition by someone composing it if it is connected, or through separation by someone separating it if it is separated (muḥdath bi-taʾlīf muʾallif lahu ʾin kāna mujtamaʿ wa-tafrīq mufarriq lahu ʾin kāna

Peter van Inwagen and Meghan Sullivan, ‘Metaphysics’, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2018 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), URL: . 2 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 171–198. 1

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muftaraq). It can be known (kāna maʿlūman) from that, that the one who connects it if it is connected and separates it if it is separated, is someone not similar to it (lā yushbihuhu) and for who being connected or separated is not possible (lā yajūz): He is the One All-Powerful Who Connects the different things (al-wāḥid al-qādir al-jāmiʿ bayna al-mukhtalifāt), to Who nothing is similar; “He exercises power over each thing” (wahuwa ʿalā kull shayʾ qadīr; Q. 2, 20). Thus, it has been made clear from what we have described, that the Shaper of the things and their Originator was before each thing (ʾanna bāriʾ al-ʾashyāʾ wa-muḥdithuhā kāna qabla kull shayʾ), that night and day and time and hours are originated, and that their Originator Who administrates and manages them is before them, since it is impossible for something to originate something unless its originator is before it. In His, Elevated is His Honour, statement “Do they not observe and reflect over the camels how they have been created, over the heavens how they have been raised, over the mountains how they were set up, and over the land how it was spread out flat?” (Q. 88, 17– 20) is the most persuasive of proofs and the most evidentiary of indications for anyone who theorises rationally and draws lessons discerningly, of the pre-existence of their Shaper (qidam bāriʾihā) and the origination of everything of their category, and that they have a Creator (khāliq) Who is not similar to them. 3

Explaining why God must be One (wāḥid) and not two or more, al-Ṭabarī argues that since no two things are identical, two gods would mean that they are different. Thus, a second god could be working to destroy what the other god creates. This would be ruinous for Creation and its beneficent administration and contradicts God’s own statements and proof that He is One and originator of all beings and things. 4 In terms of ontology, al-Ṭabarī’s argument that God the One (al-wāḥid) ‘was’ (kāna) before time and before all the multiple and diverse things and beings which He originated, and Who continues to ‘be’ (kāʾin), suggests that God is ‘being’ as the precondition for creation: 3 4

HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 194–195; transl. modified. HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 195–196, ref. to Q. 21, 22 and Q. 23, 91f.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ It has thus become clearly distinguished that the Eternal Shaper of the things and their Maker (ṣāniʿahā) is the One Who was (kāna) before each thing and Who is the being (al-kāʾin) after each thing, the First before each thing and the Last after each thing. He was (kāna) when there was no momentary and extended time, no night and no day, no darkness and no light except the light of His dignifying countenance, no heavens and no land, no sun or moon or stars; and that everything except He is originated, administrated and made. He alone and uniquely created everything, without partner or helper or assistant: how wondrous is His forceful power! 5

God the One is thus the ultimate, eternal, and unchanging ‘being’, beyond time and the organised or administrated cosmos that is Creation. Covenant as Metaphysics and Ontology

As described in Chapter 4 (History), God has meted out a precise time span for His Creation: 7000 years. 6 However, al-Ṭabarī’s reports also establish that there are two parallel but separate time zones and levels of being: that of God and that of humans. In God’s time zone, a ‘day’ equals 1000 years in human time. In the following report, God’s time and being is described as where He originates all things by calling them into being: “Be!” and they become: Al-Qāsim – al-Ḥusayn – Ḥajjāj – Ibn Jurayj – Mujāhid: God entrusts the management of everything to the angels for a thousand years, and then again until another thousand years have elapsed, repeating the process forever. He said: “A day whose measure is a thousand years!” “Day” is His saying to what He entrusts to the angels for a thousand years: “Be! And it becomes.” (kun fa-yakūnu) But He called it ‘day’, calling it just as He wished. All this is on the authority of Mujāhid. He continued: God’s statement “A day with your Lord is like a thousand years of your counting” (Q. 22, 47) is entirely the same thing. 7 HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 197; transl. modified. HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 172–186. 7 HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 192; transl. modified. See also pp. 226–228. 5 6

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In the Qur’an commentary, al-Ṭabarī explains Q. 22, 47. Against Ibn ʿAbbās’ argument that this calculation refers to the days of creation, and against others who argued it refers to the days of the furthest existence (al-ʾākhira), he concluded that God simply means to say, in general terms, that what human beings perceive as an indefinitely long time is imminent in God’s time zone. 8 Although ‘change’ is intrinsic to everything created, as opposed to the eternal, ‘unchanging’ Creator, the precondition for created being does not change, namely the terms of Covenant: God is the Lord of the knowing beings (rabb al-ʿālamīna), Who sustains them in return for exclusive servitude, and judges them on these terms on Judgement Day (Q. 1; see Chapter 2). In the Qur’an commentary, al-Ṭabarī explains al-ʿālamūna as ‘kinds of communities’ (ʾaṣnāf al-ʾumam), including both humans (ʾins) and jinn, who inhabit each century (qarn) and time period (zamān). 9 God sustains all these beings, the same function reflected in the meaning that al-Ṭabarī derives from God’s name al-Raḥmān: the One Who gives life and materially sustains all beings in the nearest existence (al-dunyā), including the kuffār. 10 In other words: God as unchanging being has originated and materially sustains all other changing beings, through what grows and lives in Creation. This unchanging existential circumstance implies that Covenant is a metaphysical reality and ontology: ‘being’ is the divine Covenant, where God is the independent factor and all other beings are dependent. Therefore al-Ṭabarī, following Ibn ʿAbbās, explains the word Allāh, ‘God’, as meaning ‘possessing divinity and [right to] servitude from all His creatures’ (dhū alʾulūhiyya wa-l-maʿbūdiyya ʿalā khalqihi ʾajmaʿīna). 11 Creation as Language and Writing

The introductory citation above on God’s origination of Creation suggests that al-Ṭabarī perceived the ‘activity’ of Creation as

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 10, part 17, pp. 240–242. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 94. 10 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 85–86. 11 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 82. 8 9

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consisting in connecting and separating things, in the same way that an author (muʾallif) composes a text: What cannot be free from having origination is no doubt originated through composition by someone composing it if it is connected, or through separation by someone separating it if it is separated (muḥdath bi-taʾlīf muʾallif lahu ʾin kāna mujtamaʿ wa-tafrīq mufarriq lahu ʾin kāna muftaraq). It can be known (kāna maʿlūman) from that, that the one who connects it if it is connected and separates it if it is separated, is someone not similar to it (lā yushbihuhu) and for who being connected or separated is not possible (lā yajūz): He is the One All-Powerful Who Connects the different things (al-wāḥid alqādir al-jāmiʿ bayna al-mukhtalifāt), to Who nothing is similar; “He exercises power over each thing” (wa-huwa ʿalā kull shayʾ qadīr; Q. 2, 20).

The image of composition through connecting and separating things evokes Aristotle’s theory of language and meaning, as well as the divine and human capability of bayān, ‘clear distinction’ of things, which al-Ṭabarī elaborated on in the Introduction to his Qur’an commentary (see Chapter 2). This literary and linguistic image is evident also in the Qur’an’s very first sent-down verses (Q. 96, 1–5), which describe God’s creation as an act of separation and connect it with reading and writing, signified by ‘the Pen’: (1) Read by the Name of your Lord Who created: (2) Created humans by separating what clings together! (khalaqa al-ʾinsān min ʿalaq) 12 (3) Read, by your Most Dignified Lord, (4) Who conveyed knowledge through the Pen: (5) Conveyed knowledge to humans that they did not have!

In the Qur’an commentary and exegesis of verse 96, 4, al-Ṭabarī argues that it refers to God’s creation of writing and script (khalqahu al-kitāba wa-l-khaṭṭ), and he cites a report from Qatāda For a very similar translation of khalaqa and ʿalaq, see Abdulla Galadari, ‘Creatio ex Nihilo and the Literal Qur’an’, Marburg Journal of Religion, 22:2 (2020), pp. 1–27; ref. pp. 10–12.

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stating that “the Pen is an immense material blessing from God, without which livelihood could not be sustained and would not be for the common good” (al-qalam niʿma min Allāh ʿaẓīma law-lā dhālika lam yaqum wa-lam yaṣluḥ ʿaysh). 13 Writing is thus a precondition for human livelihood. Consequently, in the History, al-Ṭabarī began his narrative account of God’s creative act by declaring that the first thing that God created was the Pen, as attested to in Prophetic reports from Ibn ʿAbbās and others. Some of these reports mirror the imperative “Read!” (ʾiqraʾ) in Q. 96, verses 1 and 3, with “Write!” (ʾuktub), thus linking God’s first sending-down of His written composition with the composition of Creation. Furthermore, the reports can be seen as reflecting the doctrine on ‘acquired outcomes’ (iktisāb) that al-Ṭabarī established in his doctrinal works (Chapter 4). In the following report on the Pen, which al-Ṭabarī deemed to be correct, I have translated the term al-qadar as ‘measured capacity’, in line with his argument that a person acquires his or her acts and final outcome (Garden or Fire) in accordance with the personal capacity to obey or disobey God, and God’s corresponding support or abandonment. 14 Hence:

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 15, part 30, p. 317. See also Mårtensson, Tabari, pp. 72–73: “The Arabic qadar refers specifically to ‘that which God has meted out’, and as such is equivalent to the term qadr, ‘measure’: that which God has meted out (qadar) is a certain measure (qadr) of sustenance, years, intellect, health, wealth, etc. Qadar can also mean ‘the sum of something (mablagh al-shayʾ), i.e. the totality of what has been meted out. In reference to God, it has a clear connotation of power, in the sense that God has the capacity to mete out the measures and effectuate all that He wills. In reference to humans, qadar refers to what God has meted out to each, the sum total of what an individual has at his or her disposal, the individual’s capacities. Thus it is legitimate to render the sentence uktub al-qadar as ‘Write the measured capacities!’”; p. 73, ref. to entries q-d-r in Lisān al-ʿarab and Tāj al-ʿarūs. Rosenthal instead translates qadar as ‘what is predestined’; HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 200, in the strong predestination sense. However, as argued above, this sense does not do full justice to al-Ṭabarī’s ‘softer’ or ‘synthetic’ doctrine of acquired outcome within the scope of the divinely assigned personal capability. 13 14

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ Some of [the scholars] said about this the same as what has been transmitted from God’s Messenger, pbuh: Wāṣil b. ʿAbd al-ʾAʿlā al-ʾAsadī – Muḥammad b. Fuḍayl – alʾAʿmash – Abū Ẓabyān – Ibn ʿAbbās: The first thing God created is the Pen. God said to it: “Write!”, whereupon the Pen asked: “What shall I write, my Lord?” God replied: “Write the measured capacities! (ʾuktub al-qadar)” He continued: And the Pen proceeded with whatever will become of that until the occurrence of the Hour. Then [God] raised the water mist and split the heavens off from it. 15

Thus, after the Pen has written down the capacities for everything, God begins organising the cosmos. First of all He separated the heavens from water vapour, then split them up into seven spheres, then He separated the heavens from the earth and the land with its nourishing things, then He divided the earth into seven regions, then He distinguished the sun and the moon, day from night, and so on. 16 In other words, God enacts what His own created Pen has written down, so that He is following His own plan – much like an author composing a text according to an outline, except that this Creation is material reality. The Human Being

In Chapter 4, we have seen how al-Ṭabarī reported that God created the first human, Adam, on the Day of Congregation (Friday), and that after God made Adam and Eve descend from the Garden, Adam established the site of the Kaʿba in Mecca and the practice of circumambulation that Abraham, together with Ismail and Hagar, later developed into the ḥajj ritual. This site is said to be the point on earth that is right under God’s Throne, so that Adam could there communicate directly with God and the angels. In metaphysical terms, this compositional strategy establishes the physical location of the ḥajj as a spatial point of HT 1/Rosenthal, p. 200; transl. modified. In al-Ṭabarī’s historical discourse, the report with its imperative “Write!” also points ahead to the Prophet’s first revelation, i.e. his reception of Q. 96, 1–5, when Gabriel commands him “Read!” (96, 1); HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 68, 71; for the full narrative, pp. 67–76. 16 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 200–249. 15

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communication between God’s time zone and eternal being, and that of human beings. Similarly, God sends down (yunazzil, yunzil) His message to prophets and people in different times and places, but the last Prophet is again in Mecca: a return to the beginning and a closure of prophecy. Furthermore, the human ‘being’ is made of two basic constituents: moist soil, which is the body, and God’s breath, which brings the body to life. This substantive identification between the human being and the soil also evokes the Covenantal terms, where God sustains humans from what grows in the land. Hence, the name Adam (ʾĀdam) is explained in al-Ṭabarī’s exegetical reports on Q. 2, 31 as signifying that he was created from ‘the surface of the earth’ (ʾadīm al-ʾarḍ). 17 But al-Ṭabarī’s historical account also alludes to the universalistic dimension of natural law theory: Adam is not only the first human being, but he also represents in his own body and ‘nature’ the whole human species, in all its diversity. Everything of the original Covenant that applies to Adam thus applies equally to all humans, who are reminded of it through the succession of prophets and messengers. This point is elaborated upon in an exegetical report on Q. 7, 172, “When your Lord took from the offspring of Adam, from their backs, their descendants and made them testify against themselves: ‘Am I not your Lord?’ They said: ‘Indeed You are: we testify!’ So that you cannot say on the Day of Standing to Trial: ‘But we were unaware of this!’”: ʿAlī b. Sahl – Ḍamra b. Rabīʿa – Abū Masʿūd – Juwaybir, who said: (…) Ibn ʿAbbās said that God rubbed the loins of Adam and extracted from him every living person He would create until the Day of Standing to Trial, and He took from them the Covenant that they would serve Him and not assign to Him any kind of partner. Hence, the Hour will not occur before everyone He gave the Covenant that day has been born. Those of them who are cognizant of the last Covenant and have fulfilled it benefit from the first Covenant [as well], while those who are cognizant of the last Covenant and do not fulfil it will not benefit from the first Covenant, and those who die

17

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, pp. 307–309.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ young before understanding the last Covenant die within the first Covenant through their human nature (al-fiṭra). 18

God’s composition of Adam’s body manifests the same principle, for he is put together by soil of different colours and qualities, to represent humanity in all its diversity: Yaʿqūb b. Ibrāhīm – Ibn ʿUlayya – ʿAwf. Also Muḥammad b. Bashshār and ʿUmar b. Shabba – Yaḥyā b. Saʿīd – ʿAwf. Also Ibn Bashshār – Ibn Abī ʿAdī and Muḥammad b. Jaʿfar [Ghundar] and ʿAbd al-Wahhāb al-Thaqafī – ʿAwf. Also Muḥammad b. ʿUmāra al-ʾAsadī – Ismāʿīl b. ʾAbān – ʿAnbasa – ʿAwf al-Aʿrābī – Qasāma b. Zuhayr – Abū Mūsā al-Ashʿarī – the Messenger of God (pbuh): God created Adam from handfuls which He took from the entire earth. Thus, Adam’s children came to correspond to the earth in being red, black, white, or in between, and in being plain and rugged, unpleasant or pleasant. The clay from which Adam was made was moistened until it became ‘sticky clay’, then was left to become stinking slime, and then ṣalṣāl (‘dry clay’ or ‘potter’s clay’), as God says: “We created the human being from dry clay, from stinking clay” (Q. 15, 26). 19

The legal principle that each human being is accountable for fulfilling or breaking the Covenant comes with a concept of ‘individual’, shakhṣ, and ‘person’, nafs. Both are expressed clearly in al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1: “[God] (…) described Himself as the One Who Alone (al-mutawaḥḥid) has created humankind as a whole from one individual (min shakhṣ wāḥid), and He lets His servants know how the beginning was when He issued that forth from the one person (min al-nafs al-wāḥida)” (see also Introduction). ‘The one person’ refers to Adam, al-Ṭabarī specifies. 20 A symmetry of sorts is thus created between God the Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 6, part 9, pp. 150–151. The editor points out that this report about Covenant and fiṭra is cited also by Ibn Kathīr (Tafsīr) and al-Suyūṭī (al-Dhurr al-Manthūr), but that they trace it only to alṬabarī; p. 151, footnote 1. 19 HT 1/Rosenthal, pp. 260–261; more versions of the report, pp. 258– 261. The same topic occurs also in the Qur’an commentary, exegesis on Q. 2, 31. 20 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 3, part 4, p. 296. 18

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One and the one first individual and person. The symmetry ends however as soon as the eternal God created Eve by separating her out from Adam, since the human being is characterised by change and diversity. Gender

Al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1 and its counterpart, Q. 7, 189, conjures up the image that the one person Adam is somehow gender neutral, and becomes man and woman when divided into two ‘halves’ (zawjān). This aligns with some other Qur’anic verses, which state that God perceives men and women as equal partners with each other, and with equal rights and obligations in Covenant with God, e.g. Q. 33, 35, Q. 3, 195 and Q. 9, 71–72. In his commentary on these verses, al-Ṭabarī merely reiterates what the verses say, suggesting he agreed that the two genders are identical with respect to Covenant. However, their social rights and obligations differ. This is noticeable throughout al-Ṭabarī’s interpretation of Q. 4, the sūra containing the most rulings on family law. Verse 4, 34 is a case in point. It states that men provide for women, and that women therefore must obey their husbands: (34) Men are providers for (qawwāmūna ʿalā) women with what what God has favoured some of them over others, and what they spend of their property. Hence, the women who act for the common good are pious ones who protect at absence what God has protected. Those whose rebellion you fear you should admonish and leave in their quarters and strike. If they [then] obey you, do not seek a cause against them; indeed, God is High Above and Great!

Al-Ṭabarī interprets the verse in economic terms, explaining God’s ‘favouring’ men as their obligation to provide sustenance for the women from their property, so that they can be educated about their religious and marital obligations (like men must be educated about the same things, but at their own expense). This leads him to conclude that God’s favouring men is a favour to their women: [God], Majestic is His Praise, means by “Men are providers for women”, that men are obligated to provide for their women

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ concerning their education and guidance regarding their obligations towards God and [their husbands] “with what God has favoured some of them over others”. He means with what God has favoured men in relation to their female halves, in terms of giving them their dowries and spending of their property for their sake, and providing sufficient supplies for them. That is God’s, Blessed and Elevated is He, favour to the women, for their sake. Therefore the men become providers for the women, bound to execute for them those of their matters which God has assigned them. (yaʿnī bi-qawlihi julla thanāʾuhu “al-rijāl qawwāmūna ʿalā al-nisāʾi” al-rijāl ʾahl qiyām ʿalā nisāʾihim fī taʾdībihinna wa-l-ʾakhdh ʿalā ʾaydīhinna fīmā yajibu ʿalayhinna li-Llāh wa-liʾanfusihim “bi-mā faḍḍala Allāh bihi baʿḍahum ʿalā baʿḍ” yaʿnī bimā faḍḍala Allāh bihi al-rijāl ʿalā ʾazwājihim min sūqihim ʾilayhinna muhūrahunna waʾinfāqihim ʿalayhinna ʾamwālahum wa-kifāyatihim ʾiyyāhunna muʾanahunna wa-dhālika tafḍīl Allāh tabāraka wa-taʿālā ʾiyyāhunna ʿalayhinna wa-lidhālika ṣārū qawwām ʿalayhinna nāfidhī al-ʾamr ʿalayhinna fīmā jaʿala Allāh ʾilayhim min ʾumūrihinna) 21

Regarding the phrase “protect at absence what God has protected” (ḥāfiẓāt li-l-ghayb bimā ḥafiẓa Allāh), al-Ṭabarī adduces a Prophetic report from the Companion Abū Hurayra, which also provides a topical context for the verse. The meaning according to the report is that women should protect their husbands and their property when the husbands are absent: Abū Ṣāliḥ – Abū Maʿshar – Saʿīd b. Abī Saʿīd al-Maqburī – Abū Hurayra, who said: God’s Messenger (pbuh), said: “The best among women is the one who makes you happy when you look at her, obeys you when you command her, and who, when you are away from her (ʾidhā ghibta ʿanhā), protects you in her mind and protects your property”. [Abū Hurayra] said: Then God’s Messenger (pbuh) read “Men are providers for women”, etc. 22

As for the next sentence, “Those whose rebellion you fear you should admonish and leave in their quarters and strike”, al-Ṭabarī 21 22

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, p. 82. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, p. 86.

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settles for the explanation that the husband must first warn this wife by reminding her of her obligations, and if she does not comply after the reminder, he can confine her to her quarters by tying her, and strike her, lightly and without causing bruises. 23 Concerning the final clause, “If they [then] obey you, do not seek a cause against them; indeed, God is High Above and Great!” al-Ṭabarī concludes that God ultimately upholds the rights and obligations of both husbands and wives, and if the husbands wrong their wives God will give the wives right over their husbands: [God] says: Indeed, God is Elevated above each thing, so if your female halves obey you and your right that God has obligated them to uphold, you must not, O People, seek a cause against them and raise your hands over their hands, for God is highest above you and above each thing, and higher over them than you, and greater than you and each thing, for you are in His hand and in His grasp! So fulfil your obligations towards God and do not wrong your wives and seek a cause against them when they are compliant towards you, for your Lord will give them victory over you, He Who is higher than you and each thing, and greater than you and each thing! 24

It is thus clear from al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 34, that he perceived men and women as equals before God, with identical Covenantal rights and obligations, but that the marriage contract assigns different rights and obligations to men and women. The husband has the economic power over women, which makes them the stronger party, not least since they are also allowed to use force to make their wives comply with their obligations. Here alṬabarī also invokes God’s elevation above all creatures rhetorically, to impress the notion that God monitors that justice and equity is being done between parties ‘down there’. This metaphysical, divine ‘elevation’ mirrors the ontological difference between God as Originator and Creator of all beings, and the created beings. The connection between Creator and creatures is thus both a ‘vertical’ command structure, where God commands 23 24

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, pp. 87–99. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 4, part 5, p. 99.

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human beings to fulfil their obligations towards Him, and a ‘horizontal’, where the same command translates into the duty to fulfil all their obligations towards each other. This point again evokes al-Ṭabarī’s explanation of Q. 4, 1, i.e. the first verse in the same sūra, which emphasises that God reminds people that He has created them all from one person, in order for them to “feel affection for each other so that they seek justice for each other, and do not oppress each other, and so that the strong exerts himself to protect the right of the weak, according to what God has obligated him to do.” (See Introduction, above) Despite these different economic obligations, al-Ṭabarī did not limit women’s roles to household duties. The Shāfiʿī jurist and political scientist al-Māwardī (d. 450/1058), in an exposition on the qualifications and ethics of judges (ʾadab al-qāḍī), states that a judge must be a man and that it is not permissible for a woman to serve as legal authoritative source (lā yajūz taqlīduhā). He then added that “Ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī permitted it (i.e. women’s taqlīd), as for a man” (wa-jawwazahu Ibn Jarīr al-Ṭabarī ka-l-rajul), and that he permitted the scope of a woman’s rule in accordance with the scope of her capacity for formal legal reasoning (ʿallala jawāza wilāyatihā bijawāzi futyāhā). In al-Māwardī’s list, the only other jurist who permitted women to rule as judge was Abū Ḥanīfa. Compared with al-Ṭabarī, however, Abū Ḥanīfa restricted women’s scope of rule to the topics they could testify on, which in his view excluded ḥudūd cases and settlement of accounts (qiṣāṣ). Al-Māwardī, rather angrily, declares that both al-Ṭabarī and Abū Ḥanīfa have ended up in corrupt vacuity (fasād), and as proof he adduced precisely Q. 4, 34. In his view, God’s favouring of men over women, as stated in this verse, is a favouring in terms of reasoning and legal opinion (al-ʿaql wa-l-raʾy), so a woman cannot exercise legal authority over a man. 25 Read against this Al-Māwardī, al-Ḥāwī al-kabīr fī fiqh madhhab al-ʾimām al-Shāfiʿī wahuwa sharḥ mukhtaṣar al-Muzanī, edited by ʿAlī Muḥammad Muʿawwaḍ and ʿĀdil Aḥmad ʿAbd al-Mawjūd, 18 vols (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub alʿIlmiyya, 1994), vol. 16, p. 156; see also Mohammad Fadel, ‘Two Women, One Man: Knowledge, Power, and Gender in Medieval Sunnī Legal Thought’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 29:2 (1997), pp. 185–204; p. 196. It also appears that al-Ṭabarī was cited by later 25

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background, al-Ṭabarī’s interpretation of ‘favour’ as an economic obligation upon the husband, which included the wife’s education (taʾdīb), can be seen as a deliberate strategy to remove any perceivable Qur’anic obstacle to women’s ability to study, and even practice the law. It seems therefore that al-Ṭabarī represents a gender theory of ‘sameness’, in the sense that he perceived no ontological differences between men and women in the intellectual and scholarly sphere. 26 This is not incompatible with the socioeconomically defined distribution of labour and gendered rights and obligations within the household, which makes the husband the economic provider for the wife and obligates her to obey him in matters concerning his property (not her own). Moreover, as can be gleaned from al-Ṭabarī’s legal and doctrinal works, described in Chapter 4, he reserved the highest political office, ʾimāma, for descendants of Quraysh, elected based on merit. Though he does not explicitly say that women cannot hold the office, he also does not say they can. In his History, the regional institution of kingship and state administration, with its material base being mainly land and its produce, appears grounded in patrilineal succession, on the whole. 27 A notable exception is reports about King Solomon and Bilqīs, the queen and sovereign ruler of Sabaʾ in Yemen, which indicate that there had been female rulers in the region. A report from the Prophet’s scholars as taking the exceptional view that women could lead men in prayer, together with, among others, one of the jurists he covered in Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, Abū Thawr (d. 240/854); see Simonetta Calderini, Women as Imams: Classical Islamic Sources and Modern Debates on Leading Prayer (London: I.B. Tauris, 2022), p. 119. 26 Similarly, the exegesis of Q. 2, 282, which treats witnesses to a contract and states that two male witnesses can be replaced by one man and two women, so that “if one of the women errs, the other can remind her”. AlṬabarī argues that it is a mere factual statement, that if one forgets the other can remind her, which could equally apply to a man; i.e., there is nothing specific about women’s nature that makes them more prone to error; Jāmiʿ al-bayān, 3:3, pp. 168–172. 27 However, Stijn Boekholt’s fortcoming project on the genealogies in alṬabarī’s History will clarify this matter; see above, Chapter 1, footnote 8.

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biographer Muḥammad b. Isḥāq (d. 150/767), from the Yemenī judge Wahb b. Munabbih (d. 120/738), narrates that Bilqīs converted from sun-worship to Islam. Once she became Muslim, Solomon gave her in marriage to another Yemenī ruler, of her own choice, who Solomon then made sovereign king over Yemen in her place. As Muslim, then, Bilqīs had to marry and transfer her royal power to her husband, according to this report. 28 In the Qur’an commentary and exegetical reports on the verses that refer to Bilqīs’ royal authority (Q. 27, 23–24), on the other hand, the issue of her right to rule as woman is not raised, nor does alṬabarī push the argument in that direction. 29 All things considered, however, he appears to have conformed to the view that the Caliphal office was reserved for men.

EPISTEMOLOGY Induction and Empiricism

Epistemology addresses the questions ‘what is knowing?’ and ‘what is knowledge?’ In the quote twice referred to above, about God’s origination of creation, we can see that al-Ṭabarī establishes a general epistemic premise: induction, or the derivation of general principles from empirical observations. Here I cite the same passage applied to the issue of how to know the nonobservable, and al-Ṭabarī argues that it can be known through what is observable: What is not observable is to be judged as being of the same category as what we do observe (wa-kāna ḥukma mā lam yushāhad wa-mā huwa min jins shāhadnā) in the sense of body or subsisting in a body. What cannot be free from having origination is no doubt originated through composition by someone composing it if it is connected, or through separation by someone separating it if it is separated (muḥdath bi-taʾlīf muʾallif lahu ʾin kāna mujtamaʿ wa-tafrīq mufarriq lahu ʾin kāna muftaraq). It can be known (kāna maʿlūman) from that, that the one who connects it if it is connected and separates it if it is separated, is someone not similar to it (lā yushbihuhu) and 28 29

HT 3/Brinner, pp. 163–164. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 11, part 19, pp. 180ff.

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for who being connected or separated is not possible (lā yajūz): He is the One All-Powerful Who Connects the different things (al-wāḥid al-qādir al-jāmiʿ bayna al-mukhtalifāt), to Who nothing is similar; “He exercises power over each thing” (wahuwa ʿalā kull shayʾ qadīr; Q. 2, 20).

Thus, al-Ṭabarī here expresses empiricist epistemology: knowledge is empirical observation, from which general principles are derived inductively. This epistemic stance aligns neatly with Emon’s Positivist/Soft Naturalist methodology, according to which the general moral standard is derived from scripture inductively, through observable instances, rather than deductively as in the Rationalist model. Although this is not the place to go into a comparison with alternative epistemologies, an inverse parallel appears to be Plato’s dialogue Timaeus. Here, Socrates’ interlocutor Timaeus begins an account of Creation by stating that one cannot take sensorial, observable things as starting point for knowledge about what is not observable, and that the created things cannot have been created according to a created pattern but only according to eternal principles, notably the Good. 30 This rationalist epistemology jars with al-Ṭabarī’s inductive assertion that “What is not observable is to be judged as being of the same category as what we do observe”. It also jars with his above-cited reports on Creation, that God is the eternal Being, Who created the Pen first of all, then made it write down the measured capacities for everything, and then began to separate out the constituent parts of the created cosmos. For alṬabarī’s epistemic purposes, it is essential that God’s Creation is like a composition (taʾlīf) in writing (kitāb), as discussed above. Epistemology and Language Al-Ṭabarī theorised language as a general capacity to communicate one’s innermost, subjective concerns to others, through clarifying distinctions (bayān), as we saw in Chapters 2 and 4. Thus, what one can know from someone’s spoken or written statements is what he or she intends to communicate. http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/timaeus.html, accessed 6 September 2019. 30

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Applied to God’s Qur’an, this approach implies that one can only know from it what God intended to communicate to people, through the medium of their language. Accordingly, and as also discussed in Chapter 2, al-Ṭabarī defined God’s maʿānī as ‘forms conveying His intended meaning’. It is therefore the manifest (ẓāhir) forms of the Qur’anic Arabic, with its distinctions between particulars and generalities (khuṣūṣ wa-ʿumūm), that convey God’s intended meaning, and al-Ṭabarī frequently refers to the syntactically and contextually apparent meaning in his exegesis. For example, “the first interpretation is the foremost of the exegetes’ statements, because that is the most apparent of the meanings they have stated about that” (wa-kāna al-taʾwīl alʾawwal ʾawlā bimā qālahu al-mufassirūna li-ʾanna dhālika ʾaẓhar maʿānī qawlihim alladhī qālūhu fī dhālika). 31 This aligns al-Ṭabarī with Sībawayhi’s theory of language, also discussed in Chapter 2, that a speaker communicates an intended meaning through the conventional forms of language. Thus, God’s intended message can be known through the empirically manifest and written Arabic language of the Qur’an, from which one can know what it is about Himself that He wished to communicate. Similarly, al-Ṭabarī argued concerning ‘the name and the named’, treated in Chapter 4 (Doctrinal works), that the name is not identical with a named thing but a conventional term for it. Hence, the term ‘God’ in the Qur’an means what God intended to communicate about Himself, but it is not identical with God. This epistemic theory of language appears compatible with the metaphysical argument that one can know the non-observable from the observable through the distinction between particular statements and the generalities that can be derived from these. A generality moves something observable to the theoretical, paradigmatic level, which is the same as turning it into a nonobservable: not all instances of a general, theoretical truth are observable when a particular statement about this generality is made, but the general can nevertheless be inductively derived from the particular.

31

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 143.

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ETHICS

Among al-Ṭabarī’s non-extant works are unfortunately his treatises on ethics. According to Yāqūt’s information, al-Ṭabarī’s massive work Marātib al-ʿulamāʾ, ‘The Ranks of the Possessors of Knowledge’, which covers and critically asseses the Companions, Sucessors, and subsequent scholars, and the various schools, had an off-shoot in the one thousand folio treatise ʾĀdāb al-quḍāʾ, ‘Ethics for Judges’. In it al-Ṭabarī treated judges and their writings; the duties of a judge with authority over a district, and the issues he must look into; what reverses rulings of those judges who preceded him; seals, testimonies, legal cases, and evidence; and the fiqh that he must know in order to give verdicts. 32 Again according to Yāqūt, al-Ṭabarī also wrote a five hundred folio treatise on general ethics, entitled ʾAdab al-nufūs aljayyida wa-l-ʾakhlāq al-nafīsa, ‘Ethics for the good persons and the morally valuable personal characters’. 33 Here he treated doctrine (ʿulūm al-dīn) with reference to the virtues and vices merit (faḍl), piety (waraʿ), sincerity (ʾikhlāṣ), gratitude (shukr), dissimulation (riyāʾ), self-aggrandisement (kabr), humility (takhāḍuʿ), submissiveness (khushūʿ), forbearance (ṣabr), perceptiveness (baṣar), and commanding the known good and prohibiting the detrimental (al-ʾamr bi-l-maʿrūf wa-l-nahy ʿan al-munkar). AlṬabarī introduced the treatise with the topics ‘the Satanic whisper’ or temptation (al-waswasa) and the deeds of the heart (ʾaʿmāl al-qulūb). After this topic followed an extensive treatment of how to invoke God (duʿā), the merit of the Qur’an, the appropriate times for and indications of God’s response to invocations (ʾawqāt al-ʾijāba wa-dalāʾiluhā), and reports from Companions and Successors on these matters. It also contained discourse on God’s rights in relation to the human beings that they gain insight about Him and listen to Him (ḥuqūq Allāh alwājiba ʿalā al-ʾinsān fī baṣarihi wa-l-ḥuqūq al-wājiba fī samʿihi). It is reported that al-Ṭabarī began working on this section in the same Yāqūt, Irshād, pp. 2459–2460; cf. Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 88; Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 41. 33 Yāqūt, Irshād, p. 2460; also Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, pp. 82–85 and Gilliot, Exégèse, pp. 51–54. 32

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year he passed away (310/923), and that he had wanted to continue the topic of God’s rights and treat the Standing to trial (qiyāma), and the destinations of the Fire and the Garden. 34 Thus, at a broader level, he framed the ethics related to God’s and people’s rights and obligations with reference to the Covenantal contractual terms. Regarding al-Ṭabarī’s personal ethics, it has been seen as related to the Sufi ascetic discipline. The biographer al-Dhahabī (d. 749/1348) reported that al-Ṭabarī was famous for his asceticism and renunciation of material riches (zuhdahu fī aldunyā wa-rafḍahu lahā), expressed in his modest subsistence from trading produce of his inherited lands in Tabaristan. 35 Thus, alṬabarī’s choice of modest self-sufficiency over a well-paid public position (which he was offered) was counted as an expression of his personal asceticism (zuhd). More generally, asceticism was a virtue associated with the scholars of the law and their obligation to pursue justice. This is conveyed in a report in al-Ṭabarī’s History, where the jurists’ ‘sitting on wool felts’ instead of on elevated seats covered with luxurious materials is depicted as a sign of their commitment to uphold rights and defend the sunna: [s]end to the jurists (al-fuqahāʾ) in your entourage and summon them to the True Right and to act in accordance with it, to revive the sunna, to sit on wool felts (al-lubūd), and to relieve the wronged. 36

Hence, al-Ṭabarī’s personal asceticism should be understood as part of the ethos of law and justice as a discipline and institution. Furthermore, al-Dhahabī described ʾAdab al-nufūs and its introductory treatise on temptation and the deeds of the heart as containing “statements of the Sufis” (ʾaqwāl al-ṣūfiyya). 37 Gilliot contextualises ʾAdab al-nufūs with reference to the earlier Sufi Yāqūt, Irshād, p. 2460. Al-Dhahabī, Siyar ʾaʿlām al-nubalāʾ, ed. Ḥassān ʿAbd al-Mannān, 3 vols. (Bayt al-ʾAfkār al-Duwaliyya); vol. 3, entry 5035, Muḥammad b. Jarīr alṬabarī, p. 3368. 36 HT 31/Fishbein, p. 17; transl. modified. 37 Rosenthal, ‘Introduction’, p. 84; see al-Dhahabī, Siyar ʾaʿlām al-nubalāʾ, vol. 3, p. 3368. > 34 35

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acetics and ethicists al-Ḥārith al-Muḥāsibī (d. 243/857) and alḤakīm al-Tirmidhī (d. 255/869), and points out that the biographer Yāqūt attributed to al-Ṭabarī renunciation and guarding against any bad thoughts and actions, practices later shared by al-Ghazzālī (d. 505/1111). 38 The ascetic and Sufi aspect of al-Ṭabarī’s scholarship and ethics might also shed more light on the prominence of al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī as authority in his Qur’an commentary, as discussed in Chapter 4 (Exegesis), since al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī was a renowned ascetic (zāhid) and played an important part also in Sufi chains of authority (salāsil, sing. silsila). 39 Regarding significances of ‘the heart’, then, we have seen in al-Ṭabarī’s Introduction to his Qur’an commentary how he defined the heart as the container (qalb) of the intellect and rational faculty (ʿaql). Accordingly, in the introduction to ʾAdab al-nufūs he establishes the necessity to discipline the intellect and thoughts, so that they are expressed through virtuous speech and action. This is expressed in al-Dhahabī’s quote of the opening paragraph of the introduction, which in his view illustrates the superb expressions and rhetoric (ʿibāra wa-balāgha) that characterise of al-Ṭabarī’s writings: Statements concerning clarifying distinctions of the circumstance that necessitates the servant to supervise his state of mind regarding the deeds for God that proceed from himself: (al-qawl fī al-bayān ʿan al-ḥāl alladhī yajibu ʿalā al-ʿabd murāʿāt ḥālihi fīmā yaṣduru min ʿamalihi li-Llāh ʿan nafsihi) Indeed, there is no state that the enacter of security [can attain] where his enemy [Satan], who is assigned to [tempt] him, neglects to call him to his path and desists from spying Gilliot, Exégèse, p. 53. On al-Muḥāsibī’s asceticism and ‘surveyance of the self’, see Faraz Masood Sheikh, ‘Encountering “Opposed Others” and Countering Suggestions [khaṭarāt]: Notes on Religious Tolerance from Ninth Century Arab-Muslim Thought’, Comparative Islamic Studies, 11:2 (2015), pp. 179–204. 39 Suleiman A. Mourad, ‘al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī’, Encyclopaedia of Islam, THREE, edited by Kate Fleet, Gudrun Krämer, Denis Matringe, John Nawas, Everett Rowson. Consulted online on 08 September 2019

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ on him, so as to divert him from his Lord’s paths of correct speech and action, just as he said to his Lord, Mighty is His Honour, when He made him one whose punishment is postponed: “I will lie in wait for them on Your path of upright speech and action, then I will come upon them, both straight ahead and from behind” (Q. 7, 16–17), desiring that his belief would be proven true, saying to Him: “If You grant me reprieve until the Standing to trial, I will certainly destroy [Adam’s] progeny, except for a few!” (Q. 17, 62) Therefore, every rationally thinking person has a right and obligation to exert himself to prove [the enemy’s] belief false, to frustrate his hope, and to make every effort at humiliating him! There is nothing the servant can do that more aptly attains his hatred than compliance with his Lord, just as nothing gives him more joy than when [the servant] disobeys His command and follows that of himself [instead]! 40

Consequently, al-Ṭabarī’s ethics starts with the commitment to comply with God’s commands and reject the Satanic temptation. More information on al-Ṭabarī’s view of the nature of the Satanic temptation can be gleaned from his other works. The topic of Satan’s ‘whisper’ (wiswās) appears in, among other places, Q. 20, 120, a verse describing how Satan whispers to Adam to ignore God’s command that he and Eve must not eat from the tree in the Garden: (120) Then Satan whispered to him, saying: “O Adam! Shall I lead you to the tree of immortality and a kingdom that never ends?”

Paraphrasing the verse, al-Ṭabarī explains that Satan here offers Adam eternal life and a kingdom for himself that will never end. He then quoted a report from al-Suddī, which states that ‘a kingdom that never ends’ means ‘you will be a king like God’ (malik mithl Allāh). 41 In this case, then, the Satanic whisper is the temptation of power, specifically the power reserved only for God, namely everlasting kingship. Another example appears in the History in al-Ṭabarī’s report from Ibn Isḥāq on Satan’s 40 41

Al-Dhahabī, Siyar ʾaʿlām al-nubalāʾ, vol. 3, p. 3369. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 9, part 16, p. 277.

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temptation of the Prophet. The context is this: the Prophet was facing escalating persecution and boycott from Quraysh, to make him stop preaching the message about the One God and recruiting followers among them. However, he did not give in. The Quraysh then came up with another strategy: if the Prophet agreed that their goddesses were worthy of service, they would cease to boycott and persecute the Prophet and his followers. Since the Prophet was concerned for the welfare of his people and desperately eager to reconcile with his tribe Quraysh, he became vulnerable to Satan, who inserted in the divine sending-down words to the effect that the intercession of al-Lāt, al-ʿUzzā and Manāt was accepted and approved, and the Prophet read out these words. Quraysh were then happy to acknowledge him and participated with the Muslims in the prayer and prostrated alongside them. Then the angel Gabriel appeared and told the Prophet it was Satan who had made him read them. The Prophet was devastated. To comfort him, Gabriel ensured him that God lets Satan tempt all prophets and messengers, and that this was simply his personal moment of temptation. 42 Consequently, the circumstance in which the Prophet found himself, namely that his power as leader appeared to gain from compromising the divine message, opened a breach in his rational faculty and Satan’s whisper came through. In this way, the report exemplifies a situation where God’s servant must supervise his or her thoughts and words and shows that even the Prophet himself once failed in this respect. In the Qur’an commentary, al-Ṭabarī also explains in substantive ethical terms why it is necessary to keep God’s kingship exclusive to Him. As mentioned in Chapter 2, when alṬabarī explained that the opening sūra Q. 1 comprises the meanings of the entire Qur’an, he also said that he will return to this issue when he arrives at Q. 39 (al-Zumar). 43 The opening verses of Q. 39 relate specifically to one of the virtues he treated in ʾAdab al-nufūs, namely sincerity (ʾikhlāṣ; see list above) in serving God: 42 43

HT 6/Watt and McDonald, pp. 106–110. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 1, part 1, p. 75.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ (1) The sending down of the writing is from God the Mighty Who Judges: (2) It is We Who have sent down to you the writing with the True Right, so serve God by making the judicial order sincere for Him! (ʾinnā ʾanzalnā ʾilayka al-kitāb bi-l-ḥaqq faʿbud Allāh mukhliṣan lahu al-dīn) (3) Does not the sincere judicial order belong to God? (ʾalā liLlāh al-dīn al-khāliṣ) But those who have taken instead of Him protective governors [say]: “We serve them only so that they will bring us closer to God in rank!” Indeed, God will judge between them with regards to what they diverge about!

Al-Ṭabarī explained: By His statement “It is We Who have sent down to you the writing”, He says to His Prophet Muḥammad (pbuh): ‘It is We Who have sent down to you, O Muḥammad, the writing’, meaning by ‘the writing’ the reading (al-qurʾān), “with the True Right”, meaning with justice (bi-l-ʿadl). Thus, He says: ‘We have made descend to you this reading which commands the True Right and justice, and it is part of that True Right and justice that you serve God by making the judicial order sincere for Him, because the judicial order belongs to Him, not to idols who can cause neither harm nor benefit. 44 (…) By His statement “Does not the sincere judicial order belong to God?” He says: ‘Does not the servitude and obedience belong uniquely to God, Who has no partner, in sincerity without sharing it with anyone else than He? That does not befit anyone, because everything that is not He is His royal domain, and the subject of rule must obey his ruler and not someone who has not the slightest power over him. 45

Consequently, al-Ṭabarī defined sincere servitude to God as the practical implementation of the True Right and justice that God conveys through the Qur’an, which evokes the natural right- and equity-principles of natural law theory. The definition aligns with al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 4, 1 (see Introduction), where he states that God obligates people to uphold each other’s rights as 44 45

Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 23, p. 226. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 23, p. 227.

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brothers, especially the rights of the weak. Viewed from this perspective, the Satanic temptation with its claim to God’s eternal Kingship is detrimental to the implementation of rights and equity that requires sincere servitude to God. The final passage of Q. 39, verses 67–75, expounds on the Covenantal terms, with ‘True Right’ serving as a key concept. I cite the passage in full: (67) They do not equal the true measure of God’s capacity (wa-mā qadarū Allāha ḥaqqa qadrihi)! The whole earth is in His grasp on the Day of Standing to trial, and the heavens are folded up in His right hand: Glory be to Him, may He be Exalted above the partners they assign! (68) The Horn shall be blown so that those in heaven and on earth expire, save those who God wishes. Then it is blown again and they stand up, looking! (69) The earth shall shine through the light of its Lord and the writing shall be established, and the prophets and the witnesses shall come and judgement shall be passed between them with True Right (bi-l-ḥaqq), without them being wronged: (70) Each person shall receive according to her deeds (mā ʿamilat), as He has the most knowledge of what they have been doing! (71) Those who have rejected security shall be brought to Jahannam in throngs (zumaran), and when they arrive and its gates are opened, its guardians will say to them: “Did not messengers from your own people come to you reading to you your Lord’s signs, warning you of the encounter on this Day of yours?” They will say: “Yes indeed!” but the word ‘punishment’ has become rightly applied to (ḥaqqat ʿalā) the rejecters of security. (72) It will be said: “Enter the gates of Jahannam to dwell there forever: wretched is the dwelling of those who aggrandise themselves!” (73) And those who fulfilled their obligations towards their Lord will be led to the Garden in throngs, and when they reach

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ its gates and they open and its guardians say: “Peace be upon you! You have done well, so enter it and dwell forever!” (74) they will say: “Praise be to God Who has been truthful to us in His promise and let us inherit the land so that we can settle wherever we wish in the Garden!” Blessed is the wage of those who work! (wa-qālū al-ḥamdu li-Llāh alladhī ṣadaqanā waʿdahu wa-ʾawrathanā al-ʾarḍ natabawwaʾu min al-janna ḥaythu nashāʾu faniʿma ʾajr al-ʿāmilīna) (75) You will see the angels circling around the Throne proclaiming the praise of their Lord when it has been judged between [the persons] with the True Right (bi-l-ḥaqq), and it will be said: “Praise be to God, Lord of the knowing beings!”

In al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of verse 73, he refers to the virtue of sincere servitude from the beginning of the sūra, which he here identified as fulfilling one’s obligations towards God: He, Exalted is His Honour, says: Those are assembled who have fulfilled their obligations towards their Lord by accomplishing His proscribed duties (alladhīna ittaqū rabbahum biʾadāʾi farāʾiḍihi) and turning away from rebelling against Him in the nearest existence, and there holding the divinity sincere for Him and reserving servitude only for Him, without sharing His servitude with anything. 46

On verse 74 and “Praise be to God Who has been truthful to us in His promise”, he explains that this is what they say who in throngs have been let into the Garden: “the gratitude is sincere to God Who has been truthful in His promise to us, which He promised us in return for obedience to Him, and which is a right that He has effectuated (ḥaqqaqahu) for us today”. 47 And the sentence “Blessed is the wage of those who work!” he refers to those who obeyed God and worked for Him in the nearest existence, and therefore earned the Garden in the furthest existence. 48 These samples of al-Ṭabarī’s exegesis of Q. 39 illustrate how he perceived the meanings of Q. 1 to lay down the Covenantal Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 24, p. 44. Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 24, pp. 47–48; cit. p. 48. 48 Jāmiʿ al-bayān, vol. 12, part 24, p. 48. 46 47

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terms that extend throughout the canon, and how he perceived the outcomes of Judgement Day to be the effectuation of the Covenantal rights and obligations. It also provides insights into what he meant by the virtue ‘sincerity’ (ʾikhlāṣ), i.e. the complete sincerity in acknowledging God’s right to exclusive servitude, and on that basis acting ‘for God’ in the world by upholding rights and serving justice. Disciplining the heart’s deeds and supervising one’s thoughts to withstand Satan’s temptation therefore means to foster sincerity. The Fratricide: Betrayal of Covenant

Although al-Ṭabarī consistently describes Covenant as a general obligation and right upon each individual person in relation to God, it also refers to the institution of the state, including the issue of succession to power. We have seen in Chapter 4 how alṬabarī in his ḥadīth compilation Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār argued that the sunna for electing a Caliph requires deliberation and agreement among the scholars of law, in their capacity as successors to the Companions’ shūra council. Hence, this is his normative view of how the succession to state power should be administrated. In Chapter 3 we have seen examples from the History of how disagreement over the succession to ʿAlī’s Caliphate generated civil war and the killing of both ʿAlī and his son al-Ḥusayn. Here I will introduce another historical case, to illustrate al-Ṭabarī’s general ethics of Covenant and its institutional references, and an ethical dilemma: the conflict and war between the brothers and Caliphs al-ʾAmīn and al-Maʾmūn, which ended with the murder of al-ʾAmīn at the hands of al-Maʾmūn’s military commander over Khurasan, Ṭāhir b. al-Ḥusayn (of the Ṭāhirī dynasty of governors). 49 The root of the conflict was the succession to the ʿAbbasid Caliph Hārūn al-Rashīd (r. 170/786–193/809). In the year 186/802, the Caliph decided that he should not be succeeded by one son who ruled over the whole Caliphate, as was the norm. For an analytical summary of al-Ṭabarī’s reports on these events, including their different psychological impacts on the reader, see Michael Fishbein, ‘Translator’s Foreword’, HT 31/Fishbein, pp. xiii–xx.

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Instead, the Caliphate and its regions should be divided between two of his sons: the oldest son al-ʾAmīn should be Caliph ruling over Syria and Iraq, and the younger son al-Maʾmūn should be his successor but also ruler over the eastern provinces and Khurasan, while waiting to succeed his brother. 50 Al-Ṭabarī then reported, from al-Ḥasan b. Quraysh, that the scribe and poet ʿAbd al-Malik b. Ṣāliḥ, who was the patron of the Caliph’s third son al-Qāsim, proclaimed a poem, proposing that as God is One and singular, the realm should be singular by including in its government also al-Qāsim: O King, who, (yā ʾayyuhā al-malik alladhī) if he were a star would be a felicitous one: (law kāna najman kāna saʿdā) Have the oath of allegiance pledged to Qāsim (iʿqid li-Qāsim bayʿatā) and ignite the flame for him in the kingdom! (wa-iqdaḥ lahu fī al-mulk zandā) As God is singular One: (Allāh fard wāḥidū) make the governors of the compact a single unit! (fa-ijʿal wulāt al-ʿahd fardā) 51

The Caliph agreed and gave al-Qāsim rule over the Iraqi province al-Jazīra and the frontier regions against Byzantium. 52 Al-Ṭabarī continued the report, stating that while some people deemed the Caliph’s divison of the imperial lands between his three sons a wise decision that would strengthen the dynastic rule, others voiced deep concern: “On the contrary, he has thrown [the sons’] grievances at [the people], and the outcome of what he has arranged will be a source of fear among the subjects!” 53 To further spell out the extent of the Caliph’s delusion, al-Ṭabarī cited yet another poem. Note that the Caliph’s decision is described in the fourth couplet as an ‘evil opinion’ (sharra raʾyin), HT 30/Bosworth, pp. 179–180. HT 30/Bosworth, p. 181; transl. modified. 52 HT 30/Bosworth, p. 181. 53 HT 30/Bosworth, pp. 181–182; transl. modified. 50 51

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which is juxtaposed in the fifth couplet to the skilful king’s ‘knowledge’ (ʿilm). The message is hammered home that the Caliph has exercised his legal opinion (raʾy), but since he does not have access to the required ʿilm, the outcome is disastrous. This is followed up in the last couplet, where a pun is made of the Caliph’s epithet al-Rashīd, ‘the rightly guided’: was his opinion, the poet asks rhetorically, really ‘right guidance’ (rashād)? I say to myself and my feeling of grief, as the tears make my eyes flow over: Take suitable precaution against the dread, with resolve, as we face what keeps you sleepless! Should you live through it you will see an affair, which torments you and keeps you from rest! The skilful king would have seen the evil opinion in his dividing the Caliphate and regions: He would have seen, if he examined it with knowledge, what would turn white the black parting of his hair! He intended to divert from his sons their dissent and turn it to amity, But he planted animosity knowing no family, inheriting to their solidarity a legacy of division As he sowed among them the enmity of war, easing their avoidance of each other! So woe to the subjects, in the near future: he presented them the gift of fatal violence, Cloaking them in the garb of endless plight, obligating them to destruction and the voidable [contract]! Seas of their blood shall flow, without any end in sight.

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AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ The crime of their suffering is forever upon him: Was this error, or right guidance? 54

Couplet number ten gives another key term, which signals the events that will unfold from the Caliph’s decision: the corruption of ‘the voidable’ (al-fasād). When applied to a contract, ‘voidable’ means that its terms are not set in such a manner that it binds the parties in a mutually obligating manner, as discussed in Chapter 3 with respect to land lease. In this case, the poem alludes to the terms of the succession contract that unleashed the people’s misery. 55 Consequently, al-Ṭabarī’s continued report from al-Ḥasan b. Quraysh then proceeds to describe how the Caliph, having decided to appoint his three sons, starting with al-ʾAmīn, followed by al-Maʾmūn, then al-Qāsim, each one with his personal governorate meanwhile, drew up a succession contract (kitāb) to this effect together with jurists and judges who ‘exerted their opionions’ (ʾārāʾ) – though the above poem implies that they should not have agreed to set up this kind of contract at all, given its disastrous premises. The contract was written in Mecca in the year 186/802, after the Caliph, al-ʾAmīn, and al-Maʾmūn had performed the pilgrimage ritual by the Kaʿba. Note that God and His angels can personally witness the contract since it is taken by the Kaʿba, which as we have seen above is the point of contact and communication between humans on earth and God and the angels above: When [the Caliph] has completed his pilgrimage ritual, he wrote two contracts for his son ʿAbd Allāh al-Maʾmūn, over which the legal scholars and judges had exerted their opinions (kataba li-ʿAbd Allāh al-Maʾmūn ibnihi kitābayn ʾajhada alfuqahāʾ wa-l-quḍā ʾārāʾahum fī himā). One of them comprised conditions laid upon Muḥammad [al-ʾAmīn] and the deeds he must fulfil regarding handing over the governorate to ʿAbd Allāh, and he conveyed to him landed estates, sources of revenue, precious stones and properties. The other was the HT 30/Bosworth, pp. 182–183; transl. modifed. On this point and the escalating conflict between al-ʾAmīn and alMaʾmūn, see HT 31/Fishbein, p. xv.

54 55

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document of the oath of allegiance that he had taken from the nobles and general public, and the conditions obligating ʿAbd Allāh in relation to Muḥammad and them. He placed the two written contracts in the Sanctuary House (al-bayt al-ḥarām) after he had taken the oath of allegiance for Muḥammad and taken as witnesses to [the oath] God and His angels, and those who were with him in the Kaʿba of the rest of his children, his family, his protected clients, his commanders, his wazīrs, and his scribes. The testimony to the oath of allegiance took place in the Sanctuary House, and he committed the two contracts to the guardians for safe keeping, preventing anyone from taking them away and making off with them. (…) [H]e ordered the contract to be read to ʿAbd Allāh and Muḥammad and he took everyone present as witnesses that the two of them [had read the contract]. Then he got the idea to hang the contract in the Kaʿba, but when it was lifted up to be suspended, it fell down. It was then said: “This matter will be speedily ended before being completed!” 56

The ominous comment sets the tone for the rest of the account. Al-Ṭabarī then proceeds to quote the contract in full, with its specific documents and terms. 57 One of the conditions for alʾAmīn is that he must not “transfer from [al-Maʾmūn’s] control any military commander or subordinate nor a single person from among those companions of his” who the Caliph has “attached to his side”. 58 This condition is violated immediately upon al-ʾAmīn’s succession to the Caliphal office, through a series of events initiated by the scribe al-Faḍl b. al-Rabīʿa. Al-ʾAmīn begins his rule by writing letters to ensure that his two brothers’ rights are upheld, and their administrations run smoothly. 59 However, in the city of Ṭūs, located within al-Maʾmūn’s governorate, a group of commanders, soldiers and affiliates of the deceased Caliph deliberated whether they should rather join al-ʾAmīn in Baghdad, since he was the new Caliph. Al-Faḍl b. al-Rabīʿa encouraged them to do so, and they abandoned their obligations to alHT 30/Bosworth, pp. 183–184; transl. modified. HT 30/Bosworth, pp. 185–199. 58 HT 30/Bosworth, p. 187. 59 HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 6–11. 56 57

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Maʾmūn. When the latter got news about their departure, he went after them and turned them back. 60 Once al-Faḍl was with alʾAmīn in Baghdad as his wazīr, he realised that if al-Maʾmūn came to power during his own lifetime, he would be in serious trouble. Therefore, he began persuading al-ʾAmīn to bypass al-Maʾmūn in the order of succession, and instead appoint his own son Mūsā. Al-Ṭabarī’s report states that al-ʾAmīn had every intention to uphold his father’s contract and his obligations vis-à-vis his brothers. Al-Faḍl then drew in other officials to support his argument that as the legitimate Caliph, al-ʾAmīn had the right to appoint his own son over his brothers. Eventually, al-ʾAmīn gave in and announced his son Mūsā’s name as his rightful heir. Of course, al-Maʾmūn responded by cutting all ties to his brother alʾAmīn. The conflict escalated from then onwards, with al-ʾAmīn deciding to depose al-Maʾmūn from his position as governor. Instead, the outcome was that al-ʾAmīn was killed and al-Maʾmūn took power. 61 The case illustrates how the Covenant can refer to contracts generally, in such a way that the problem of violating the divine contract mirrors the problem of violating any contract. Within alṬabarī’s historical discourse, al-ʾAmīn thus illustrates the ruler who fell for the Satanic temptation, personalised as the wazīr alFaḍl and his manipulation of al-ʾAmīn to save his own skin. Even though al-ʾAmīn initially had no intention other than to uphold his contractual obligations, he fell for the temptation to gain more power for himself and his own son, and then his breach of contract generates evermore irreversible and disastrous consequences. Accordingly, in a speech attributed to the person who eventually had al-ʾAmīn killed, al-Maʾmūn’s commander Ṭāhir, the parallel between breaking God’s Covenant and the succession contract is explicitly drawn: You have seen the fulfilment of God’s promise, Exalted and Glorified be He, against the one who behaved insolently against Him: how He brought His inflictment and retribution

60 61

HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 13–14. HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 22ff, to the end of the volume.

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upon him after he had turned from his promise, rebelled against Him and disobeyed His commandment. 62

Yet one cannot, as we shall see below, assume that al-Ṭabarī agreed with this statement, where the speaker implies that he acted on behalf of God when killing the Caliph. Personality, Virtue, and Duty

Al-Ṭabarī’s metaphysics, ontology and epistemology of Covenant could be seen as expressing a legalistic ethics, where adherence to the objectively stated rights and obligations is all that matters in moral judgement. However, his historical reporting frequently dwells on the personality and morals of each ruler and actor, in ways which problematise legalism. 63 This historiographical practice, which is one of the most moving literary and rhetorical features of the History, shows him consistently probing the roles that personality and personal interests and motivations play when individuals choose how to act. I will try to illustrate this ethical dimension in his reports about al-ʾAmīn’s fate. 64 Al-Ṭabarī’s reports on the events leading up to the killing of al-ʾAmīn establish a parallel with the traumatic killing of the HT 31/Fishbein, p. 205. In this respect, his ethics can be seen as similar to that of the ascetic al-Muḥāsibī, as analysed by Sheikh, ‘Encountering Opposed Others’. See also note 38 above, on al-Muḥāsibī’s ethics and al-Ṭabarī’s ʾAdab al-nufūs. 64 See also Fishbein, in HT 31/Fishbein, pp. xviii–xix: “The vigor of alṬabarī’s history of this period will be apparent to the reader. There is extensive use of accounts by participants in the events – al-Faḍl b. Sahl for events at the court of al-Maʾmūn and a number of courtiers in the entourage of al-ʾAmīn. The account of the last hours of al-ʾAmīn’s life by Aḥmad b. Sallām ranks as one of the most dramatic pieces of Arabic historical writing. Many diplomatic letters exchanged between al-ʾAmīn and al-Maʾmūn are included verbatim, as well as Ṭāhir’s long letter to alMaʾmūn explaining the circumstances of al-ʾAmīn’s death – a letter filled with cold self-justification that is all the more shocking following as it does the heartrending eyewitness narrative of the murder of the caliph. There are long selections from the poetry of the period, both the panegyric and elegy that accompanied all politically significant events and the less formal poetry that commemorated the day-to-day events of the war. A noteworthy inclusion is the 135-verse poem by Abū Yaʿqūb al-Khuraymī describing the devastation of Baghdad”. 62 63

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Prophet’s grandson al-Ḥusayn. In terms of scope, the account about al-ʾAmīn make up the entire volume 31 in the English translation of the History, just as the killing of al-Ḥusayn fills most of volume 19. The comparison between the two cases is also explicitly made in one of the reports about how al-Maʾmūn’s commander Ṭāhir was preparing to apprehend and kill al-ʾAmīn. Ṭāhir was told: “Do not do as was done to Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī!” Yet the reminder did not make Ṭāhir change his mind, only to order his mawlā Quraysh al-Dandānī to do the execution instead of himself. 65 In this way, al-Ṭabarī shows Ṭāhir as a cold and calculating person and casts the killing of al-ʾAmīn as a tragedy on a par with the killing of al-Ḥusayn. There are other parallels between them as well. Al-Ḥusayn, convinced that he had a formal right to the Caliphate, fell for the Kufans’ promises of support. In this sense, al-Ḥusayn was tempted by the possibility of attaining power, even at the cost of his own life and the lives of his family and troops, just as al-ʾAmīn was tempted to gain more power by his wazīr al-Faḍl and ultimately had to pay with his life for that choice. Their personalities and morals differ greatly, however. AlḤusayn was a model of piety, virtue, and resolve, 66 while al-ʾAmīn was drawn to worldly pleasures, neglectful of his religious duties, and flayling. In the section with poetry and eulogies, which follows the account of several Caliphs in the History, al-Ṭabarī opens with a derisory poem, which declares that no one should weep over al-ʾAmīn’s demise for he was not fit to rule in the first place, and God ‘wrote’ to bring him down because He was enraged by his actions. 67 The framing in this poem suggests that a person’s actions cause a response from God, Who is constantly monitoring the scene from above (see Chapter 4, Doctrine, on kasb). However, al-Ṭabarī let this derisory poem be followed by one about Ṭāhir’s cruelty, and other ones expressing grief at the loss of al-ʾAmīn from people who loved him, and who deplored the whole chain of events leading to his death, accusing his killer HT 31/Fishbein, p. 188. HT 19/Howard, p. 190; and depictions of al-Ḥusayn throughout the volume. 67 HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 212–213. 65 66

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of breaking oaths to provide security for him. 68 Similarly, alṬabarī cited al-Maʾmūn’s own minister accusing Ṭāhir of having broken his order to bring al-ʾAmīn alive: “We commanded [Ṭāhir] to send him as a prisoner, and he sent him slaughtered!” Hearing that, al-Maʾmūn replied: “What is past is past. Use your ingenuity to find an excuse for it”. His men then wrote a legalistic text, which described the killing as lawful, because al-ʾAmīn had caused dissent and broken the unity of the Islamic polity. 69 Then follows numerous testimonies, including poetry by the famous Abū Nuwās, 70 to al-ʾAmīn’s taste for luxury and splendour, his debauchery and drinking habits, and occasional cruelty to boon companions. 71 Thus, al-Ṭabarī conveys the impression that alʾAmīn was not the person capable of surveying and disciplining his thoughts and actions, which made him particularly vulnerable to the temptation of ‘everlasting kingdom’, by appointing his own son as successor. The significance of personality also comes across in the reports on how al-ʾAmīn acted when he had decided to depose alMaʾmūn and replace him in the succession with his own son Mūsā. He consulted one of his courtiers, the scribe Yaḥyā b. Sulaym, who confronted him with the graveness of what he was about to do: Commander of the Faithful, how can you do such a thing, given the oath of allegiance to him that al-Rashīd confirmed, binding himself in the matter by his promise and by taking oaths and stipulating conditions in the document that he wrote? 72

Al-ʾAmīn defended his decision by referring to the flawed nature of his father’s succession contract, for which he blamed his wazīr Jaʿfar al-Barmakī: Al-Rashīd’s decision was a whim that Jaʿfar b. Yaḥyā [alBarmakī], with his beguilement, represented to him as good; HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 214–223. HT 31/Fishbein, p. 224. 70 The famous Abbasid poet, d. 199/814. 71 HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 225–250. 72 HT 31/Fishbein, p. 40. 68 69

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The courtier Yaḥyā then advised al-ʾAmīn that if he was to go ahead with deposing al-Maʾmūn, he should not announce it openly. Instead, he should summon one commander and armed contingent after another and bring them over to his side peacefully, through payments and gifts. Once that was accomplished, he could summon al-Maʾmūn to submit to his conditions, and if he resisted, he would be unable to raise troops to fight for his cause. In this way, conflict could be contained, and damage limited. However, al-ʾAmīn rejected the advice, saying: Nothing settles an affair like a firm decision! You are a garrulous speech-maker, not a man of counsel. Turn from this view to [that of al-Faḍl b. al-Rabīʿa]! Up, and get back to your ink and your pens!

Yaḥyā responded in anger that al-Faḍl’s advice was nothing but deceit and ignorance. 74 Al-Faḍl in his turn started enquring from people close to al-Maʾmūn, to find out if there is any way to bring his high ranking officers and the common people in his region over to al-ʾAmīn’s side. He was told that both groups were very loyal in their commitments to al-Maʾmūn, and the common people particularly so. Previous governors had caused them great misery by infringing on their properties (taḥayyuf wulātihim fī ʾamwālihim), but al-Maʾmūn had secured their property and means of livelihood (ṣārū bihi ʾilā al-ʾamniyya min al-māl wa-lrifāgha fī al-maʿīsha); in other words, al-Maʾmūn’s rule protected peasants’ property rights, which had been violated by other governors. Thus, there was no chance that crucial groups in alMaʾmūn’s governorate would secede to al-ʾAmīn. 75 As more members of al-ʾAmīn’s court learn about his plans, he is warned against becoming the first caliph to violate his promise to uphold the covenant of his predecessor’s contract. To HT 31/Fishbein, p. 40. HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 40–41. 75 HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 41–42. 73 74

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that al-ʾAmīn responded by ridiculing the adviser for being a lesser man, saying that there cannot be two stallions in one camel herd, i.e. he could not let his brother share the rule, and so he decided to depose him. He then turned to his military commanders, but they too warned him, arguing that any commander who agreed to depose a legitimate governor and successor would just as easily turn against and depose himself, i.e. he would set a dangerous precedent. However, he ignored them too, and instead picked a commander who did not object to his orders, which he thought was a commendable stance. 76 Thus, against all sound advice, al-ʾAmīn persisted in breaking his father’s contract concluded by the Kaʿba, and appointing his own son Mūsā as his successor over al-Maʾmūn. Next, al-ʾAmīn turned to his courtiers and his wazīr al-Faḍl for advice on how to proceed in relation to al-Maʾmūn. Al-Faḍl recommended he avoid both military confrontation and trickery to subdue him, since that would leave a very bad record. Instead, he should write him an honest letter, informing him of his decision but allaying any fears on his part, and persuading him to yield to the Caliph’s supreme authority. Al-ʾAmīn agreed that this was a good idea. However, the scribe appointed to write the letter came with a new suggestion. To be open about his decision in this way would only raise suspicion in his brother and raise his guard, he argued. A better way would be to cloak the matter and instead ask al-Maʾmūn to come to his brother’s side, to assist and counsel him in administrating the empire, including the regions under his own control. Hearing this, al-Faḍl changed his mind thinking this was the better approach, and he persuaded al-ʾAmīn to let the scribe write the letter accordingly. 77 Here we again see al-ʾAmīn arrogantly refusing to listen to sincere advisers and following those who agreed with his own view, not unlike the Caliph ʿUthmān’s stubbornness (see Chapter 3, above). At the same time, both al-ʾAmīn and his wazīr al-Faḍl are shown to be fumbling in the dark, signified by their readiness to change the letter into a subterfuge even though they had first agreed on transparency. 76 77

HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 64–65. HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 65–67.

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Al-Maʾmūn of course saw through the letter. He asked his own wazīr for advice, and he told him that his brother was probably coveting control over his regions, that he should prepare for war and build his military strength where he was and not make himself vulnerable by departing to his brother’s stronghold, and that he was fully entitled to reject his brother’s request because he was in the right: Either God will give you victory over him in reward for your loyalty [to the Meccan agreement] and good intention, or the other will happen, and you will have died steadfast, with your honour intact; you will not have sat idle and enabled your enemy to have his way with your person and your blood! 78

Al-Maʾmūn, who is throughout described as a pious and resolved man, with a just administration, declared that his wazīr was right, and he acted accordingly. However, the fact that al-Maʾmūn’s rule is just, his personality is resolved, and his sincerity and piety stronger than that of al-ʾAmīn does not affect the outcomes in any positive way whatsoever. On the contrary, the combined effects of al-ʾAmīn’s unresoluteness and impiety, al-Maʾmūn’s resolve and piety, and his commander Ṭāhir’s ruthlessness, are disastrous, with the two brothers and their support groups dancing around each other in a deadly spiral of mutual distrust and vengefulness. As predicted by the poets, those who suffered the worst consequences were the people, especially the inhabitants of Baghdad, where the final battle raged. Al-Ṭabarī reported, assessing Ṭāhir’s motivations in his own words: When so many of his forces were killed or wounded at Qaṣr Ṣāliḥ, Ṭāhir was pained and troubled. Never had he had a battle that had not gone in his favour, rather than against him. Feeling troubled, he ordered razing and burning. He tore down the houses of those who opposed him between the Tigris, Dār al-Raqīq, and the Syrian Gate, and [from] al-Kūfa Gate to the Ṣarāt Canal, the mills of Abū Jaʿfar, the suburb of Ḥumayd, the Karkhāyā Canal, and al-Kunāsa. He began to make attacks on [al-ʾAmīn’s] forces during the night and just 78

HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 70–72; cit. p. 71.

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before daybreak. Every day he gained possession of one district after another, dug trenches around them, [and set] watchposts of soldiers [in them]. [Al-ʾAmīn’s] forces also began to demolish, adding [to the destruction]. Ṭāhir’s forces would wreck a house and depart, whereupon [al-ʾAmīn’s] forces would pull off its doors and roofing and would be even more damaging in their depredations upon their own people than Ṭāhir’s forces were. 79 (… poem …) According to ʿAmr b. ʿAbd al-Malik al-ʿItrī: When Ṭāhir saw that [the people] were not heeding the killing, destruction, and burning, he commanded that merchants be forbidden to take any flour or other commodities from his district into the City of Abū Jaʿfar, al-Sharqiyya, and al-Karkh. He commanded that boats coming from al-Baṣra and Wāsiṭ be diverted at Ṭarnāyā onto the Euphrates, thence to al-Muḥawwal al-Kabīr, then into the Ṣarāt [Canal], and then into the trench by alAnbār Gate. Zuhayr b. al-Musayyab for a certain price would give protection up to Baghdad: from each ship containing cargo he took from 1,000 to 2,000 or even 3,000 dirhams, more or less. Ṭāhir’s agents and forces in Baghdad did the same or worse on all the roads of the city. Prices rose. People were caught in the tightest kind of siege. Many of them despaired of relief and ease. Those who had left the city were glad; those who had remained regretted that they had done so. 80

Al-ʾAmīn does not admit to having done wrong until towards the end, when he is beleaguered in his palace and addresses his remaing soldiers and supporters, blaming himself for relying on his wazīr al-Faḍl: O sons of the dynasty and people who preceded in following right guidance! You know of my negligence in the days when al-Faḍl b. al-Rabīʿa was my wazīr and adviser and how his days continued, causing me regret among the upper echelons and the general public alike. Finally, you alerted me and I took notice; (…) 81

HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 156–157; transl. modified. HT 31/Fishbein, p. 159. 81 HT 31/Fishbein, p. 203. 79 80

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In the remainder of the speech, he lists the mistakes that they have made and that made many desert him, while enumerating all the good things he has done to them, trying to show himself in a favourable light. 82 History as Legal Cases and Ethical Dilemmas

The historical events as outlined above can be seen as the gradual unpacking of a legal case involving several ethical dilemmas: the actors are faced with choices of what is the best course of action in a specific situation, and it is not evident what the best option is. While all actors have access to recognised professional and ethical standards for their offices, the situations at hand are complex and become increasingly complicated by conflicting interests. In this case, the actors can be identified in terms of the professional categories of the Caliphal office, with its scribes and advising wazīrs; the jurists; and command of the military. The main ethical standards at play in al-Ṭabarī’s discourse are virtue ethics, including sincerity and the ascetic renunciation of material gain and power; duty ethics, including contractual rights and obligations, the command to promote the commonly acknowledged good and prohibit the detrimental through legal and professional standards, and to fight for the Caliph or governor; and situational ethics, represented as the necessity to discern what decision is morally good in each context. It is at this level of specific situations that general ethical standards appear as crucial to provide adequate guidance. The act that caused the chain of choices leading to the fratricide was the Caliph al-Rashīd’s decision to draft a flawed and therefore voidable succession contract. Formally, the contract met the standard requirements: there were jurists and judges involved in its drafting. However, they are not reported having raised concerns about the conflict potential in dividing the succession and governing of the realm between three brothers, which was a breach of the existing standard of appointing one successor. They should have reacted, according to the ethical principle of commanding what is known to be the common good 82

HT 31/Fishbein, pp. 203–204.

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and prohibiting the detrimental (al-ʾamr bi-l-maʿrūf wa-l-nahy ʿan al-munkar), a duty-ethical principle listed in al-Ṭabarī’s ʾAdab alnufūs (see above). Instead, they complied with al-Rashīd’s orders. By not speaking out, the jurists ensured that the flawed succession contract gained official recognition as legally valid. Once the contract had been validated, al-ʾAmīn’s personality and morals became the main reason that it came undone: he was unable to recognise the scribe al-Faḍl’s recommendation to break the terms as the Satanic temptation it was. He also failed to enquire into al-Faḍl’s motivation, namely his quite realistic fear for his personal safety in relation to al-Maʾmūn, given his encouragement of defectors from the latter’s region to come over to al-ʾAmīn. Had al-ʾAmīn cultivated the virtue of sincerity (ʾikhlāṣ) and disciplined his thoughts and actions in the ascetic manner, he would not only have recognised temptation, but also have stuck to his duty to protect his brother’s right, as he originally intended to do. He was also repeatedly warned by courtiers and military commanders against the recognised offense of breaching the covenant, which he studiously ignored. Thus, he failed the standards of virtue ethics, duty ethics, and situation ethics that apply to a ruler, namely, to be able to distinguish between good and bad advice in a given case (see also Chapter 3, Division of powers). Yet all involved parties are responsible for the final disaster. Ṭāhir made the independent decision to kill al-ʾAmīn, even though it was not necessary in the situation of his arrest, and he was ordered by al-Maʾmūn to take him captive. Thus, he chose eradication of resistance over obedience to his superior. He was also prepared to use extraordinary force against the civilian population to break al-ʾAmīn’s support in Iraq and Baghdad, again prioritising erasure of resistance over the military duty to spare non-combatants. One also wonders whether al-Maʾmūn could have spared everyone, had he decided that resisting al-ʾAmīn would lead to disaster and that he therefore should relinquish his own succession, despite his contractual right to it. Here another parallel with al-Ḥusayn’s case presents itself: al-Ḥusayn too had the option of not fighting for his right and honour. This choice would have saved his own life and the lives of his seventy-two

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supporters and other family members killed together with him and spared the community the trauma of seeing the Prophet’s grandson killed. But as we saw in Chapter 3 (Rebellions), alḤusayn thought that his enemies would have him killed whether he rose up against them or not. Thus, while not rebelling would likely have saved the lives of his followers and family members, it might not have saved his own life; and once he had promised the Kufans to join his cause with theirs he was bound by that contract and could not turn back. Al-Maʾmūn too had reason to believe that giving in to his brother’s request could cost him his life. Thus, al-Ṭabarī presents no simple answers to these ethical dilemmas, which his reports disclose and develop. In situations when individuals are weighing presumed outcomes and ethical standards, the Covenantal terms can be too general to offer guidance, which ultimately leaves the individual to his or her own judgement. The only recourse is the ascetic capacity to survey and discipline one’s thoughts and actions so that temptation can be identified and managed, but this too will not always give answers about the outcome of decisions made. The individual must make a leap into the unknown. Viewed from this perspective, alṬabarī’s History appears like the work of an existentialist philosopher.

CONCLUSION: THEORY, IMAGES, AND INSTITUTIONAL PRACTICES

I conclude this chapter on the ‘meta-theory’ of Covenant by referring to Chapter 2 and al-Fārābī’s model of the relationship between philosophical-theoretical knowledge (ʿilm) and religion as rhetorical communication of theory to the public in the form of similitudes and images. I suggested tentatively that the Qur’an can be seen in these terms, as theory communicated in the form of images for the sake of persuasion, and that al-Ṭabarī may have understood it in this way. Applying the model to the main observations in this chapter, one can argue that when al-Ṭabarī explained the Qur’anic concept of God as One ‘without child or partner’, the image expresses the metaphysical theory of the origination of all beings from One Being. Similarly, he explained

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the Qur’anic concrete images of divine Creation and the tool of the Pen as expressing the epistemology of empiricism and induction. He also employed the images of how God created Adam and Eve out of one person to develop his own gender theory of ‘sameness’. Moreover, the concept of God the One as a Lord Who requires sincerity in servitude serves as reference for his virtue- and duty ethics, and his theory of natural rights, justice, and equity. Finally, all these theories connect with each other through their references to the Covenantal contract concluded in the scene where God brings forth all Adam’s future descendants at one of the pilgrimage stations, which can then be seen as the ‘meta-image’ expressing the ‘meta-theory’ underpinning alṬabarī’s madhhab jarīrī. In terms of institutional references, al-Ṭabarī’s discourse on Covenant reflects the jurists’ practices: fiqh is his main discipline and institutional affiliation, as founder of a madhab. Viewed from this perspective, the image of the divine Judgement, though applying to all human beings, appears especially significant for judges and jurists, duty-bound to pronounce just and equitable judgements. The metaphysics of God as Originator of all beings, i.e. as the One Who gives life, then corresponds to ethics for jurists whose rulings must protect and sustain life. Al-Ṭabarī is also generally concerned with this point. His attention to the killings of Caliphs and al-Ḥusayn, and his reports on the other conflicts, always dwell on the fact that conflicts harm the common people, their properties, their livelihood, and ultimately destroy their lives. It is therefore only the divinely revealed, theoretical ʿilm of the legal scholars that, as a continuation of the sunna of the Prophet and the Companions, can protect the polity from injustices leading to loss of life. Judgement, however, is complicated by ethical dilemmas. We do not know the details of al-Ṭabarī’s non-extant treatise on the ethics of judges. Yet the dilemmas he explores in the History suggest that he took very seriously the difficulty of judging what is right and wrong considering conflicting ethical standards, interests, and personalities, and the corruption coming equally from excessive legalism, excessive leniency, self-interest, and quests for power. His repeated emphasis that only God is the truly

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rightful King to Who servitude is due, implies on the one hand that only God has the full overview of all situations and factors at play, and on the other hand that a judge and legal scholar must strive as far as possible to gain overview of factors impacting on a case. This requires ascetic renunciation of worldly power and wealth ‘in the heart’, so that the jurist is not out of self-interest predisposed towards protecting the powerful over the weak but capable of making independent analysis. Consequently, as the image of a human organ, ‘the heart’ expresses an ethical theory of divine justice and how it can be implemented by human judges and jurists.

CHAPTER SIX. CONCLUDING ANALYSIS This chapter concludes the book by focusing on three overlapping topics. First, conclusions regarding the Aristotelian trajectory developed in Chapters 1–3, and discussion of the implications for seeing al-Ṭabarī’s works as theoretically informed analysis, not only as sources of information about early Islamic history and stages in the history of disciplines. Second, conclusions regarding the significance of natural law theory for al-Ṭabarī’s madhhab jarīrī and the implications for understanding what motivated him to develop it. Third, a reflection over al-Ṭabarī’s concept of religion, with reference to Michel de Certeau’s discourse. To begin with, I conclude that al-Ṭabarī through his theoretical paradigms has contributed to research into early Islamic history, the Qur’an’s language, rhetoric and composition, and Islamic law, in four main ways. Firstly, he explained historically the rise of the Prophet in terms of the Arabs’ roles within the Sassanid imperial administration and system of vassalage, and the general significance of social contract, administration, tax, equity, and rights for the development of political history. Secondly, he explained the Qur’anic Arabic language, rhetoric, and composition with reference to the terms of Covenant. Since Covenant refers also to political theory, this can be seen as implying that the Qur’anic language and composition reflects the formation of the Islamic polity and the principles that were at stake. Thirdly, he illustrates a concept of religion as rhetorical conveyance of theoretical-philosophical paradigms through images. Fourthly, his works constitute a 303

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slightly earlier systematic use of natural law theory within Islamic law than previously identified and show what natural law and rights imply in other disciplines than law. Indeed, his Qur’an commentary and exegesis show that natural law theory can be attributed to the Qur’an itself. This could represent an important new research trajectory for current Qur’anic studies, which would then find itself, as a discipline, busy catching up with al-Ṭabarī. In what follows, I will summarise the results that lead to these conclusions. Given Aristotle’s significance for legacies of natural law theory, Chapters 1–3 contain reconstructed transmissions of Aristotle’s theoretical paradigms related to politics, ethics, equity and natural rights, logic, language, and rhetoric, through the Persian Sassanid court and administration, Arab vassals and clients in Syria, Iraq, and the Arabian Peninsula in the late 500s and early 600s, into the time of the Prophet and the Qur’an and beyond, to al-Ṭabarī’s time and place. The reconstruction shows there is no evidence of any Arabic writings on Aristotle from the time when the Qur’an emerged and the ʿUthmānic script was established (ca. 610 to ca. 650). That leaves us with the ‘canonised’ Qur’anic corpus, whose production was intrinsically connected with the development of Qur’an exegesis and Arabic linguistics in the second half of the 600s. To explain how the Qur’anic canon can be seen as reflecting theoretical paradigms akin to those of Aristotle (Chapter 2), I resorted to the philosophical and exegetical school of Alexandria and its possible transmission to al-Ṭabarī’s near-contemporary, alFārābī (d. 339/950), via primarily the Syriac-Arab Christian Jacobites and Nestorians and their translations and commentaries from the late 500s onwards. I argue that al-Fārābī’s theory of religious language as rhetorical persuasion, which uses images to convey philosophical-theoretical truths to the common people and non-philosophers, echoes Aristotle’s semeion, or proposition demonstrated through signs and used for deliberative speech to the public. Al-Ṭabarī defined the Qur’an as God’s demonstration and persuasive proof (ḥujja bāligha), through signs (ʾāyāt), of the reality of Covenant and its terms. Given that al-Ṭabarī also applied Qur’anic concepts and accounts when developing other

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theoretical paradigms related to politics, hermeneutics, law, and philosophy (Chapter 5), I conclude that he himself understood Qur’anic images as expressions of theory even though he did not spell it out in those terms. Since he consistently cites historical and exegetical reports, it is possible to date the view of Qur’anic images as conveyors of theoretical truths to the beginning of the disciplines in the late 600s. Such a scenario offers a broader theoretical context for Anver Emon’s tracing of e.g. the natural law paradigm to the same period, i.e. to al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (d. 110/728), who is one of al-Ṭabarī’s most important exegetical authorities. Consequently, even if it is not possible to map a road directly connecting Aristotelian theory in Arab milieus around 600 with the Qur’an and al-Ṭabarī, I have laid out some steppingstones, which allow me to conclude that al-Ṭabarī was working within an ‘Aristotle-like’ theoretical legacy. The argument that al-Ṭabarī worked with theoretical paradigms might affect our understanding of how his works were and can be used. In the Introduction, I showed how Michel de Certeau argued that analysis requires theory, and the academic should make the choice and application of theory explicit and transparent. This way he or she avoids the ideological modus operandi, in which analysis is made to seem self-evident and intrinsic to the topic, instead of dependent on a theoretical paradigm. Al-Ṭabarī expounded his methodological premises in the treatises (rasāʾil) that introduce each of the main works representing a discipline (jurisprudence, Qur’an exegesis, history, ethics) (Chapters 2 and 4). It may seem like he did not define any theory. However, I have argued that it is contained in the Qur’anic and ‘religious’ concepts that he employed. For example, when he says in the introduction to the History that he will report on historical actors’ choices between obeying God and prostrating, or following Iblīs’s temptation and rebelling against God, the obvious meaning is to follow or reject divine commands and prohibitions. However, Chapter 5 shows that these terms refer to to virtue-, duty-, and situation-ethics. Ethical theory can thus be seen as conveyed through the ‘religious’, image-based concepts of submission to God versus following Iblīs. Some concepts, notably Covenant in the image of a divine-human

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contract, take on different theoretical aspects in different contexts. In Chapter 1, I showed how Covenant can refer to social contract theory and argued that al-Ṭabarī in the History analysed the downfall of the Sassanids and the ascendance of the Prophet in terms of the formers’ violation of the terms of their vassal contract with the Arab king of Lakhm in al-Ḥīra. In other contexts and cases, God’s Covenant serves as reference point for contracts of political succession and allegiance (Chapters 3 and 5). In several of these cases, Covenant relates to the natural law and natural rights paradigm, with its principles of contractual rights and obligations, the common good, and justice and equity, which in turn refer to administrative and legal topics such as land ownership, land tax, and redistribution of assets for public welfare. Consequently, al-Ṭabarī’s image of God and His Covenant translates into a focus on the socio-economic, political, and moral factors that drive history. The bulk of current historical studies referred to in Chapter 1 convey similar information about the roles and functions of religion and gods. Despite the fact the authors frequently refer to al-Ṭabarī’s History for information, they do not consider whether the information is shaped by theory. This matters because attention to theory highlights the significance of the institutions and academic disciplines that produce historical knowledge, and the societal implications of topics the scholars considered important. Theory-focus could therefore enhance the historical value of the information, by highlighting and contextualising the explanatory paradigms that guide knowledge production, and attempting to identify, localise, and date their genealogies. Viewed from this perspective, some facts discussed in Chapters 1 and 2, e.g. that the Arabs’ history can be traced to Antiquity and that al-Ṭabarī dates Arab settlements in Iraq to the 500s BCE, imply that as far as Arabs are concerned, philosophical and theoretical paradigms do not necessarily emerge for the first time in the 800s-900s when they appear in translations into Standard Arabic. Rather, such paradigms might transcend the developments of the languages and constitute theoretical continuum between periods.

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Reading al-Ṭabarī’s works as expressions of theoretically informed analysis also facilitates appreciation of topical and methodological connections between them and understanding what may have motivated him to develop his madhhab jarīrī. Applying the natural law paradigm as meta-theory has brought out his general concern, as educator and scholar, with the problem of upholding equity and rights, also for ‘weak’ groups such as peasants, and the detrimental societal and political consequences that failure in this respect brought with it. We have seen how he based legal consensus on the Qur’an and the sunna transmitted in written reports from Companions, and how he singled out the Companion Caliphs ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb and ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib as continuators of both the Prophet’s sunna and the best of Sassanid administration, represented by Khusraw Anūshirwān – the same Shah who sponsored translations of Aristotle’s works at his court. Thus, when al-Ṭabarī defined his own scholarly mission as the protection of the Prophet’s sunna through the ʿilm he produced in his writings, it implies that he perceived his madhhab as the same kind of synthesis between Sassanid administrative legacies and the sunna. Natural law theory aligns with this approach since it locates the moral standard for the law – that humanity is a universal brotherhood with rights and that justice requires that the strong protect the rights of the weak – in divine Creation, i.e. before the historical appearance of the Prophet and the Islamic polity. Consequently, as we have seen in Chapter 4 with reference to the Qur’an commentary, al-Ṭabarī reported that the original Covenant between God and all Adam’s future descendants means that anyone belonging to the subsequent Covenant renewals, through messengers to specific times and peoples, speaking different languages, is part of the original Covenant. This brings us back to Michel de Certeau, specifically his reasoning about the practical-theoretical relationship between religion and modern sociological theory of religion (Introduction). Because of the modern institutional separation between ‘religion’ (the Church) and ‘science’ (the university with its disciplines), he argued, academic discourses construct ‘religion’ as something ‘other’ than ‘science’, concerned mainly

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with morals and ritual. Given the preponderance of sociological paradigms in modern religious studies, de Certeau observed that ‘scientific’ study of religion is equated with the conceptualisation of ‘religion’ as a social category. However, he argued, this concept of religion in fact started within Christianity. The diversification of European Christianity with the Reformation and subsequent eruption of Protestant churches, the Catholic CounterReformation, and the alliances between new churches and rulers over new polities, entailed a new conceptualisation of religion as a marker of social groups and political allegiances. This is the conceptual turn that later, from the late 1800s onward, comes to dominate the modern discipline Religious Studies. In other words, there is a continuous theoretical genealogy connecting postReformation Christianity and modern Religious Studies, de Certeau argues. In historical terms, his analysis implies that ‘religious’ theory of religion presaged the ‘scientific’ theory of religion. In al-Ṭabarī’s time, as we have seen, there was no hard institutional boundary between ‘science’ and ‘religion’. Furthermore, religion was perceived as a social category, in so far as political theory is concerned. For example, the idea that the original divine Covenant is re-enacted through messengers to different people in different languages implies that Covenant defines a polity. We have also seen examples from the History of how al-Ṭabarī described the Prophet’s mission as related to the Arabs’ uprisings against especially the Sassanid empire, and later religious movements, such as the Khawārij, the Qarmatians and to some extent the Zanj uprisings, as simultaneously social movements among groups of people. He also showed how different religious polities have different calendars and time measures, depending on their respective ‘founding fathers’ and mythologies; and he pointed out that they also disagree internally on such matters. Another case would be his argument in the ḥadīth compilation, that parents transmit religion to their children. All these examples show him conceiving of religion as the constitution, law, and ethics of a polity. In the case of the Islamic polity, Muslims are obligated to follow the Qur’an’s divine guidance as The Truth and The Moral Standard for law, which no

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other religion can replace. From the viewpoint of history, however, al-Ṭabarī shows that although the Prophet seals the history of prophecy, he follows in the footsteps of other prophets before him – Abraham as the establisher of the right pilgrimage ritual and Moses as lawgiver to his polity. Thus, al-Ṭabarī’s works can be seen as examples of Islamic sociological categorisations of religion, which also continue ancient legacies in the region (Chapter 1). In al-Ṭabarī’s case, I perceive the sociological approach to religion to relate to his aim to reform the practices of the state administration through the knowledge he produced. But the fact that he developed an independent madhhab suggests that the aim involved reforming the disciplines. The encyclopaedic scope of his works, and their methodological introductions, indicate that he was concerned to establish both the practices that constitute the continuation of the Prophet’s sunna, and the sources, theories, and methods that led him to his conclusions. In terms of de Certeau’s theory of discourse as constituted by practices and ‘investments’ related to institution, discipline, and subject (a scholar and a topic), this concerns the subjective dimension of alṬabarī’s discourse. He ‘invested’ his income from his inherited lands into this scholarly project. Though the investment earned him great fame and acclaim already during his lifetime and gave him access to the administration (Chapter 3 and 4), he may have had other personal motivations as well. The biographers report that he took from the produce of his farm only what he needed for his modest subsistence in Baghdad (Chapter 5). It is entirely possible that something as lofty as his natural law paradigm with its divine obligation of the strong to uphold the rights of the weak, and his insistence across his oeuvre on the importance of protecting the peasants’ property rights and livelihoods, reflects his own, personal dependence on the labour of the peasants at home in Āmūl. Viewed from this perspective, his concerns for the state administration and the law are directly linked with his personal concerns related to his own subsistence. He may, then, have taken the divine Covenant and God’s promise to sustain His creatures as an obligation upon himself as landlord to ensure that the peasants on his lands had enough for their subsistence, after

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he had taken his share; I quote again a section of his exegesis of Q. 4, 1, given in full in the Introduction: What obligates them to guard over each others’ right after the coming together of the descent from the father who is common to them, is like what obligates them of that concerning the closest descent. By that they feel affection for each other so that they seek justice for each other, and do not oppress each other, and so that the strong exerts himself to protect the right of the weak, according to what God has obligated him to do.

Considering the argument that the natural law theory that underpins this ‘human rights declaration’ encompassed all alṬabarī’s works (Chapter 4), it becomes possible to read his reports about Iblīs in the beginning of the History too in this light (Chapters 1 and 3). The reports describe how Iblīs refused to obey God and prostrate before Adam, the first human being and the first prophet. Since Adam represents humanity as bearers of rights, refusal to prostrate before him can be understood as a refusal to recognise ‘human rights’, following the logic of alṬabarī’s discourse.

FURTHER REFLECTIONS: AL-ṬABARĪ AND CONFLICT RESOLUTION

An interesting topic that emerged in Chapter 3 and to some extent in Chapter 5, is al-Ṭabarī’s approach to conflicts and their causes. The issue deserves to be treated in depth and with reference to conflict resolution theory, something I cannot do within the scope of this book. Nevertheless, I will highlight some aspects of his approach which relate to concepts of ‘religion’. All al-Ṭabarī’s reporting on conflicts produce a ‘holistic’ picture: major legal and political principles and practices overlap with the interests and needs of certain groups, and personal characters, morals, interests, needs, and choices. Although this complexity often makes it hard to establish which factor set the chain of events in motion, al-Ṭabarī afforded overall responsibility to the governing institutions and their divinely authorised legal and political principles and practices. If these are not upheld and enacted there will be social conflict, one way or another, as the cases in Chapters 3 and 5 show. Accordingly, the

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main way to prevent conflict is to uphold the divine principles and corresponding practices: justice, equity, and protection of rights and public welfare. If conflict breaks out, there are some ways in which they can be resolved. When the administration is at fault, the simple solution is for them to admit mistake and make repairs. However, this is rarely done. Most of the time, matters get out of hand as the administrators are intransigent, the wronged party rallies support among other discontents, and then the administration mobilises to crush the rebellion, often with devastating results and carnage. A particularly interesting case is al-Ṭabarī’s reports about ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib’s governor Ziyād, who quelled the uprising against ʿAlī’s rule in the region of Fars and the withholding of the land tax (Chapter 3). Here, it was the people in the region who were largely at fault, since ʿAlī was the appointed Caliph with a right to the land tax, even though his rule was contested by ʿUthmān’s family. Ziyād came to Fars with a strong military force but did not initiate a punitive campaign. Instead, he used kindness, persuasion, and knowledge about the region to bring most of the regional nobles over to his side and give them hope of a good outcome, and then made them fight the remaining rebels. Ziyād also visited all districts in the region and raised the hopes of the people everywhere, and in this way, he pacified the region again. According to a report from local people, Ziyād ‘the Arab’ was the closest resemblance ever seen of the great Shah Khusraw Anūshirwān’s practices when he resolved the conflict through kindness and persuasion. Hence, this case too shows that the administration is responsible for the ways in which a conflict is resolved: if it acts wisely, it can minimize the force used and lives lost by bringing over opponents through persuasive means. These observations only recount a few cases. A more focused study of conflicts in the History might reveal that ‘best practice’, such as Ziyād’s exemplary conduct, does not always work. But now to the main topic: ‘religion’. Despite frequent references to God, the Qur’an, and the Prophet’s sunna in speeches attributed to the main actors in reports, and even though different factions referred to these sources to legitimize their own, specific claims, none of the conflicts treated in Chapters 3 and 5 are reported to

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have originated as conflicts about ‘religion’. This circumstance aligns with the more generic argument above, that al-Ṭabarī operated with a sociological concept of religion as signifying institutional principles and group identity. However, the argument can be pushed further, to suggest that al-Ṭabarī at one level analysed religion in ways similar to modern Marxists, i.e. as a ‘superstructure’ to the economic ‘base’. In terms of metaphysics and ontology, God is for al-Ṭabarī the eternal, unchanging Creator of all that exists, and therefore Real and non-contingent. Furthermore, God has conveyed the message about Himself and the terms of His Covenant in the Qur’an. Yet at the level of human society and social conflicts, al-Ṭabarī shows how people refer to God and Covenant to serve their own agendas, with their economic and political motivations. The fact that such human use of God may or may not correspond with what God really wants, as conveyed in the Qur’an, does not negate the fact that this is how they use God. If this analysis is correct, it resembles de Certeaus non-ideological use of Marxist theory to analyse discursive knowledge about religion, without subscribing to Marxist ontology of dialectical materialism.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AL-ṬABARĪ’S WORKS IN ARABIC

Jāmiʿ al-bayān ʿan taʾwīl ʾāy al-Qurʾān, ed. Ṣidqī Ḥamīd al-ʿAṭṭār, 15 vols. (Beirut: Dār al-Fikr, 1995). Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ, ed. Friedrich Kern (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub alʿIlmiyya, 1999). Das Konstantinopler Fragment des Kitāb Ikhtilāf al-Fuqahāʾ des Abū Jaʿfar Muḥammad b. Jarīr aṭ-Ṭabarī, ed. Joseph Schacht (Leiden: Brill, 1933). al-Tabṣīr fī maʿālim al-dīn, ed. ʿAlī b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz b. ʿAlī al-Shibl (Riyadh: Dār al-ʿĀṣima, 1996). Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb, 3 vols., ed. Maḥmūd Muḥammad Shākir (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-Madanī, 1982). Tahdhīb al-ʾĀthār: Musnad ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, ed. Maḥmūd Muḥammad Shākir (Cairo: Maṭbaʿat al-Madanī, 1982). Tārīkh al-Ṭabarī: tārīkh al-ʾumam wa-l-mulūk (i.e. Tārīkh al-rusul wa-l-mulūk), Manshūrāt Muḥammad ʿAlī Bayḍūn (Beirut: Dār al-Kutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 1997). Ṣarīḥ al-sunna, Arabic-French text : Sourdel, Dominique, ‘Une profession de foi de l’historien al-Ṭabarī’, Révue des études islamiques, 26 (1968), pp. 177–199.

AL-ṬABARĪ’S HISTORY IN ENGLISH TRANSLATION

The History of al-Ṭabarī, General Editor Ehsan Yar-Shater, 40 vols. (New York: SUNY Press). HT 1/Rosenthal: Volume 1. General Introduction and From the Creation to the Flood. Translated by Franz Rosenthal (1989). 313

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HT 2/Brinner: Volume 2. Prophets and Patriarchs. Translated by William M. Brinner (1987). HT 3/Brinner: Volume 3. The Children of Israel. Translated by William M. Brinner (1991). HT 5/Bosworth: Volume 5. The Sāsānids, the Byzantines, the Lakhmids, and Yemen. Translated by C. E. Bosworth (1999). HT 6/Watt and McDonald: Volume 6. Muḥammad at Mecca. Translated by W. Montgomery Watt and M. V. McDonald (1988). HT 7/McDonald and Watt: Volume 7. The Foundation of the Community. Translated by M. V. McDonald and W. Montgomery Watt (1987). HT 12/Friedmann: Volume 12. The Battle of al-Qādisiyya and the Conquest of Syria and Palestine. Translated by Yohanan Friedmann (1992). HT 13/Juynboll: Volume 13. The Conquest of Iraq, Southwestern Persia, and Egypt. Translated by Gautier H. A. Juynboll (1989). HT 14/Smith: Volume 14. The Conquest of Iran. Translated by G. Rex Smith (1994). HT 15/Humphreys: Volume 15. The Crisis of the Early Caliphate. Translated by R. Stephen Humphreys (1990). HT 17/Hawting: Volume 17. The First Civil War. Translated by G. R. Hawting (1996). HT 19/Howard: Volume 19. The Caliphate of Yazīd b. Muʿāwiya. Translated by I. K. A. Howard (1990). HT 26/Hillenbrand: Volume 26. The Waning of the Umayyad Caliphate. Translated by Carole Hillenbrand (1989). HT 30/Bosworth: Volume 30. The ʿAbbāsid Caliphate in Equilibrium. Translated by C. E. Bosworth (1989). HT 31/Fishbein: Volume 31. The War between Brothers. Translated by Michael Fishbein (1992). HT 32/Bosworth: Volume 32. The Reunification of the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate. Translated by C. E. Bosworth (1987). HT 33/Bosworth: Volume 33. Storm and Stress along the Northern Frontiers of the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate. Translated by C. E. Bosworth (1991). HT 35/Saliba: Volume 35. The Crisis of the ʿAbbāsid Caliphate. Translated by George Saliba (1985).

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HT 36/Waines: Volume 36. The Revolt of the Zanj. Translated by David Waines (1992). HT 37/Fields: Volume 37. The ʿAbbāsid Recovery. Translated by Philip M. Fields (1987). HT 38/Rosenthal: Volume 38. The Return of the Caliphate to Baghdad. Translated by Franz Rosenthal (1985). HT 39/Landau-Tasseron: Volume 39. Biographies of the Prophet’s Companions and Their Successors. Translated by Ella LandauTasseron (1998).

OTHER WORKS BY AL-ṬABARĪ IN ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Ibrahim, Yasir S., Al-Ṭabarī’s Book of Jihād: A Translation From the Original Arabic, With Introduction, Commentary, and Notes (Lewiston, NY: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2007). Lucas, Scott C., Ṭabarī: Selections from The Comprehensive Exposition of the Interpretation of the Verses of the Qur’an, 2 vols. (Cambridge: The Royal Aal al-Bayt Institute for Islamic Thought and The Islamic Texts Society, 2017).

OTHER ARABIC AND TRANSLATED PRIMARY SOURCES

Abū Yūsuf, Yaʿqūb b. Ibrāhīm, Kitāb al-kharāj (Būlāq: al-Maṭbaʿa al-Miṣriyya, 1884). al-Anṣārī, Aḥmad Makkī, Abū Zakariyyāʾ al-Farrāʾ wa-madhhabubu fī al-naḥw wa-l-lugha (Cairo: al-Majlis al-ʿAlā li-Riʾāyat alFunūn wa ’l-Ādāb wa ’l-ʿUlūm al-Ijtimāʿiyya, 1964). al-Balkhī, Abū Qāsim, Qubūl al-ʾakhbār wa-maʿrifat al-rijāl, ed. Abū ʿAmr al-Ḥīnī b. ʿUmar b. ʿAbd al-Raḥīm (Beirut: Dār alKutub al-ʿIlmiyya, 2000). Butterworth, Charles E. (tr.), Alfarabi, The Political Writings: ‘Selected Aphorisms’ and Other Texts (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 2001). al-Dhahabī, Muḥammad b. Aḥmad b. ʿUthmān b. Qāyamāz, Siyar ʾaʿlām al-nubalāʾ, ed. Ḥassān ʿAbd al-Mannān, 3 vols. (Bayt al-ʾAfkār al-Duwaliyya). al-Fārābī, Abū Naṣr Muḥammad, Fuṣūl muntazaʿa, ed. Fawzi Mitri Najjar (Beirut: Dar al-Mashriq, 1971).

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INDEX GENERAL INDEX

A Aaron 81, 84 ʾAbān, Ismāʿīl b. 268 al-ʿAbbās b. al-Ḥasan (Abbasid wazīr) 131, 165, 176 Abbasid (second caliphal dynasty) xii, 1, 14, 28, 80, 108, 110–113, 115– 118, 128–130, 132, 143, 145, 150, 156–158, 183– 184, 246, 249, 285, 293, 314–315, 319, 321, 325, 327–329 Abbasid Caliphs: - al-Manṣūr 108 - al-ʾAmīn 118, 285–286, 288–297, 299 - al-Maʾmūn 118, 150, 244, 285–286, 288– 296, 299–300 - al-Muʿtaḍid 130–131 ʿAbd al-Raḥmān b. ʿAwf (Companion) 114, 191; 181–183 (musnad) ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-Ṣanʿānī (exegete, ḥadīth scholar) 204, 211, 317

331

Abdel Haleem, Muhammad 42–43, 87, 91–92, 317 Abdelkader, Deina 108–109, 317 abnāʾ (sons or offspring, ref. to Banū Taghlib) 184 Abraha 27–30 Abraham (prophet) xxvii, 2, 6–8, 32, 67–68, 88, 155, 237, 266, 309 Abrahamic 16 (Abrahamitic), 88 Abrahamov, Binyamin 251, 318 abridgement (of al-Laṭīf fī ʾaḥkām sharāʾiʿ al-ʾislām) 165 abrogated, abrogating 166 abstract (principles) 9 Abū Bakr (Companion, first Caliph) 27, 114, 142, 182–183, 234–235 Abū Bishr Mattā (Nestorian logician) 25, 80 Abū Ḥanīfa (founder, Ḥanafī madhab) 106, 110, 123, 167, 272

332

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Abū Hurayra (Companion, transmitter of reports) 39, 46, 270 Abū Kurayb (transmitter of historical reports) 139, 143, 218 Abū Mikhnaf (historian, transmitter of reports) 138–139, 141, 143–146, 148 Abū Nuwās (poet) 293 Abū Thawr Ibrāhīm b. Khālid al-Kalbī (jurist, Baghdad) 168, 171, 273 Abū ʿUbayda (linguist, exegete) 199 Abū Yūsuf (jurist, Ḥanafī madhhab) 111, 125, 167, 315 account (qiṣṣa) 41–49, 54, 83, 95, 207 accountable 56, 58 (in connection with qaṣṣa), 268 (for terms of Covenant) acquisition 127 (of rent, landlords), 251 (kasb) action (ʿamal) 4, 47, 59–60, 95, 144, 218, 228–229, 279–280 (and speech); 77, 84, 96, 103 (and rhetoric); 279, 293, 299 (ethics); 245, 251, 292 (theology) adab xiii, 277–279, 282, 299 (ethics); 272 (ethics for judges); 99 (literature) Adam xvi, xxvii, 2–7, 32, 54–55, 58, 60, 86, 88, 93, 135–136, 155, 230–232,

234–237, 266–269, 280, 301, 307, 310 address (rhetorical) 37, 42, 76–77, 93–95, 108 ʿAdī b. Zayd (LakhmidSassanid official, poet) 71–72 ʾadīm (surface of the earth, related to Adam) 267 ʿadl (justice) xix, 4, 85, 99, 151–152, 282 administrate 17, 32, 191, 194, 234, 261–262, 285, 295 administration xvii, 12–13, 16, 26, 30, 33, 64, 69, 71– 72, 97, 104, 113, 128–132, 134, 137, 143–144, 149, 152, 157–158, 160, 176, 184, 194, 236, 242, 246, 255–257, 261, 273, 289, 296, 303–304, 307, 309, 311 administrative xvii, xxvii, 9, 32, 63–65, 67, 71–73, 86, 97, 112, 128, 130–132, 137, 149, 157–158, 160, 184, 191, 194–195, 200, 219, 225–226, 229, 232, 241–242, 246, 257, 306– 307 administrator 28, 65, 144, 228, 244, 311 advice 77 (Aristotle); 112, 144, 192–193, 234, 238, 294–299 (political); 161 (on the Prophet’s sunna)

INDEX ʾafāʾa (to return lands; God) 121–122, 138, 159, 214 affection xvii, 272, 310 (and “human rights”); 70 (language, Aristotle) Afghanistan 23 ʾaflaḥa (to cause to prosper, abound) 57; 57, 59, 122 (mufliḥūna); 243 (mufliḥ, God) Africa (East) 152 Agathias 24 aggrandisement (of self) 3, 135–136, 277, 283 aggression 108, 218; 240– 241 (aggressors) agrarian xxii, 18; xix (agrarian-mercantile); 15, 31, 111, 119 (agrarianate) agriculture 4, 15, 20, 57, 120, 129, 157; 16, 19, 119– 120, 123–124, 127–129, 157, 235, 329 (agricultural); 31 (agriculturalists) agricultural 16, 19, 119– 120, 123–124, 127–129, 157, 235, 329 ʾaḥbār (scholars) 104 ʿahd (compact) 59, 88, 114, 145–146, 148–149, 159, 188, 286 Ahl al-bayt (People of the House, ʿAlids) 148 Ahearne, Jeremy xxi, 318 al-Ahwāz (region, southwestern Iran) 130 ʿĀʾisha bt. Abī Bakr 11

333 ʿajam (non-Arab; Persian) 9, 82, 129, 186–187 ʾajīr (hired labourer) 123 ʾajmaʿa (to agree, to converge on; consensus) 166–167, 169, 171–174 ʾajr (reward, wage) 284 ʾākhira (the furthest existence; eschatological) 263 Aksūm (Ethiopian kingdom) 27–30 al-ʿālamūna (the knowing beings) 47, 180–181, 263 ʿalāma (indicator, for ʾāya) 46 Allāh (meaning of the word) 263 Alexander the Great (Macedonian emperor) 23 Alexandria (school; and Antioch) 25, 75, 79–80, 85–86, 92 ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (the Prophet’s cousin, Companion, fourth Caliph) 3, 114–115, 137– 147, 154, 158–160, 165, 175–176, 179, 183–189, 191, 234, 245–246, 250, 256, 285, 307, 311 ʿAlid (family, Banū Hāshim) 116, 118–119, 132, 134, 145–147, 149–152, 157– 158, 160, 234, 246, 248– 249 ʿAlids: - al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (ʿAlī’s eldest son) 145

334

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

- al-Ḥasan b. Zayd (Tabaristan) 151 - al-Ḥasan b. ʿAlī al-Uṭrūsh (Tabaristan) 151–152 - al-Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (ʿAlī’s younger son) 116, 145–146, 149, 158, 285, 292, 299, 301 - Jaʿfar b. Muḥammad alṢādiq (sixth Imam, twelver genealogy) 243, 245 - Zayd b. ʿAlī b. al-Ḥusayn (grandson of al-Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī) 146–151, 158 - Yaḥyā b. ʿUmar (grandson of Zayd b. ʿAlī b. alḤusayn) 150–151 Ali, Mohamed M. Yunis xxv, 318 allegiance (pledge, oath) 11, 17, 21, 31, 33, 65–66, 97, 140, 145–146, 148–149, 153, 155, 286, 289, 293, 306, 308 allegory 91 alliance 21–22, 27, 66, 308 (political); 11 (the Prophet) allies, ally 27, 30; 8 (Quraysh); 130, 308 (Banū al-Jarrāḥ) alms (ṣadaqa) 176–179 ʿamal (pl. aʿmāl, action) 217, 277, 279 (ethics); 47, 228, 246 (in connection with speech)

ambiguity (fiqh context) 61, 162–163, 166, 175 ʿāmilīna (those who work) 284 ʾamīr al-muʾminīna (Commander of the Enactors of Security, or “the Faithful”) 156, 245 ʿāmm (general, opposite of khāṣṣ) 93, 214; 215 (ʿamma, generalise) ʾamn (security) 67–68, 79, 147; 294 (ʾamniyya) amputation (legal topic) 169, 183 ʾamr (command) 4, 10, 41– 42, 140, 205, 245; 270 (matter); 277, 299 (ʾamr bil-maʿrūf wal-nahy ʿan almunkar) al-ʾamṣār (garrison cities) 164, 206 Āmūl (city, Tabaristan) 128, 203–204, 248, 309 analogy (qiyās, legal method) 24, 175 analysis (as performed by alṬabarī) xii, xx, xxvi–xxix, 15, 32–33, 45, 133–134, 168, 182, 188, 192, 195, 198–199, 242–243, 248, 302, 306, 312 al-Anbār (region, Iraq) 20, 72, 297 ancestors 223 (authoritative); 235 (noble lineage)

INDEX anciennity (in Islam, merit, dīwān) 236 ancient xvi (history writing); xviii, xxvii, 98 (philosophy); 4–5, 14, 226, 232 (Persian kings); 18–22, 226 (Arab history); 79, 88, 97–98 (Middle East, vassalage); 84, 114, 309 (prophecy) angels 3, 135, 236–237, 250, 262, 266, 284, 288–289; 10–11, 237, 266, 281 (Gabriel) anger 48, 239 (God’s); 141 (on behalf of God; alkhawārij); 227, 294 (human vice) animals 4, 20, 151, 159, 219 (general); 12 (Aristotle, political philosophy); 80, 99 (treatise, al-Jāḥiẓ) al-ʾAnṣār (Helpers to Victory) 186 answers (and questions, method) 249 Antioch (school; and Alexandria) 75, 92 Antiquity 15, 19, 306; xxvii, 17–21, 23, 75, 233 (late Antiquity) ʿanwa (land conquered by force; legal term) 177 apostle 131 (Christian sense, said about al-Ṭabarī); 155 (Qarmaṭian movement) apparent (semantics) 217– 219, 276

335 appeal (legal, rhetorical) 89, 94–95, 102, 247 appointment (official) 3, 7, 81, 134, 136 (by God); 8– 10, 28–29, 31, 113, 116– 118, 136, 142–143, 145, 150, 191, 288, 290, 293, 298, 311 (by ruler) appropriate 78, 192 (rhetoric, style); 115, 234 (legal context) appropriation (of property) 127, 145, 153, 157–159, 227 ʿAqaba (pledges, First and Second) 11 ʿaqada 4 (be crowned as king); 159 (enter lease contract) ʿaqd 66, 79, 82, 123, 185 (mutual contract, general); 124 (sharecropping contract); 148 (land lease contract); 187 (al-dhimma, protection contract); 191 (caliphal succession contract) al-ʿāqidūna (contractors, caliphal succession) 192 ʿaql (intellect, rational faculty) 66, 82, 107, 272, 279 ʾaqsām 45 (oaths, sing. qasam, on “the cut-off letters”); 82, 176 (categories, sing. qism) Aquinas, Thomas xviii ʿarabī (Qurʾanic language, meaning of, and ʿarab,

336

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

speakers of ʿarabī) 19–21, 38–39, 52, 65–69, 75, 82, 100, 121, 200–202, 216 Arabia (and Arabian Peninsula) xxvii, 15, 18–20, 22, 26– 29, 63, 66, 71, 116, 120, 157, 183, 304 Arabs 8–9, 14, 18–23, 26– 29, 31–33, 62–63, 65, 68– 69, 72, 173, 184–185, 200, 202, 233–235, 303, 306, 308 ʿArafāt (place, pilgrimage station, Mecca) 4 Aramaic 62–63 arbitration 139, 143; 140, 142 (arbitrators); 113 (arbitrate); 135–136 (arbiter) archaeological 29 archeology (Religious studies, discourse) xxi areal (miṣāḥa, land tax) 126, 128 argument (and argumentation, rhetoric, logic) 77–78, 88, 92–93, 147, 173, 189, 216, 243, 250–254, 261, 263, 265, 276, 290, 308 aristocracy 26, 31 aristocratic 16, 25, 31, 194, 246 Aristotelian xiii, xxvii–xxix, 14, 23, 25, 32, 69, 76, 86, 90, 111, 131, 303; 30, 71, 75, 79, 89, 98–99, 210 (logic); 35, 72–75, 79, 264 (language theory); 35, 84–

92 (rhetoric); 98–102 (natural law); 260 (metaphysics) Aristotle xiv, xviii, xxvii– xxviii, 23–25, 30, 35, 61– 62, 69–115, 129–131, 160, 260, 264, 304–305, 307; 5, 11–12, 32 (Politics); 13 (Ethics); 80 (Animals) Aristotle-commentator 24– 25 Aristotle-like 87, 99, 105, 305 Arkoun, Mohammed 14 army 9, 17, 26, 130, 171– 172, 177, 226–227, 229, 234 artistic (form of persuasion, rhetoric) 79, 81, 87, 90; 79, 88 (non-artistic) arts (and literature, ʾadab) 98–99 ascetic 83, 278–279, 291, 298–300, 302 asceticism 278–279 Ashʿarī (school, theology) 106, 244 al-ʾAshʿarī, Abū Ḥasan (theologian) 251 al-ʾAshʿarī, Abū Mūsā (transmitter of reports) 114–115, 268 al-Ashtar, Mālik (commander of ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālin) 138 Alhassen, Leyla Ozgur 89, 318 aspects (linguistic, ʾawjuh, wujūh; and senses) 43–

INDEX 44, 46, 48, 52, 79, 84, 132– 134, 169, 185, 188, 202, 208, 212, 216–218, 225, 253 asset (as discourse) xxiii assign (partners to God, ʾashraka) 177–178, 229, 267, 283 assistance (God’s) 117, 224, 240 association (conceptual, semantic) 201–202 Assyrian (empire, and Arabs) 18–20, 22 astronomy (Sassanid context) 24 ʾathar (transmitted reports) 246 Athenian (philosophy) 30 Athens (school of philosophy) 22, 24 atom (image, divine justice) 215 attain (God’s meaning, ʾaṣāba, ṣawāb; hermeneutics) 36, 43, 60, 95, 196, 199, 204–206, 208, 247 attributes 45 (God’s); 201– 202 (of things, conceptual) attribution (of divinity to Jesus) 209–210 audience (rhetoric) 77–78, 83, 89 authoritative 99 (Qurʾan and sunna); 113 (ruler’s interpretation); 272 (woman’s rulings); 166,

337 169, 175, 189, 255–256 (consensus, agreement); 184, 246, 248, 255–256 (scholars); 189, 229, 256 (reports); 205 (exegesis); 223, 225 (knowledge) authorities xvii, 116 (legislative, judicial, executive); 250 (scholarly); 110, 167, 219, 305 (exegetical); 166, 235 (reports); 74 (Qurʾanic readings); 143 (governorial); 147, 152– 155, 157–158 (Caliphal) authority xviii, 99 (natural law); 111–114, 118–119 (law-making); 104, 195, 272 (legal scholars); 165 (legal consensus); 160, 205, 229 (Prophetic ḥadīth; sunna); 196, 223 (Companions); 139, 195, 262, 279 (reports); 43, 196 (exegetical); 277 (judge); 147, 194–195, 219, 295 (Caliphal); 231, 274 (royal); 157 (governorial); 145 (oppressive); 279 (Sufi chains) autonomous 26 (Arab tribesmen), 118 (jurists, judges) Avesta (Zoroastrian scripture) 24 ʾawliyāʾ (protective governors) 56

338

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

ʾawqāt (appropriate times) 277 Aws (tribe, Yathrib/Medina) 11, 19, 28, 121 al-ʾAwzāʿī, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān ibn ʿAmr (jurist, Syria) 123 ʿaysh (livelihood) 265 ʿazāʾim (concerns, personal; language theory) 37 ʾaẓhar (most apparent meaning; hermeneutics) 276 ʾazwāj (female halves, spouses) 270 B Baalbaki, Ramzi 75, 318 baʿatha (send s.o. with a mission, God) 6, 81 Babylonian (king Nebuchadnezzar II) 20 backs (of Adam’s offspring; Covenant; Q. 7:172) 4, 60, 88, 267 bad 228, 239, 245, 252, 279 (deeds); 299 (advice); 295 (record) Badr (battle of) 240 badīʿ (innovation, originality; balāgha, rhetoric) 41–42, 61, 91 Baghdad (Abbasid capital) xii, 14, 25, 80, 128, 167– 168, 289–291, 296–297, 299, 309, 315, 321 al-Baghdādī, al-Khaṭīb (historian) 163

Baḥrayn (eastern Arabian Peninsula) 8, 152–153, 156–157, 176 balāgha (the art of conveying meaning; rhetoric) 40– 42, 52, 61, 76, 82–83, 87, 90–92, 279 bāligha 36, 197, 304 (persuasive proof, ḥujja; rhetoric); 7, 49 (persuasive just judgement, ḥikma, pl. ḥikam) balance 16–17 (social order); 28, 226 (of power) al-Balkhī, Abū Qāsim (Muʿtazilī ḥadīth compiler) 162, 315 banned 22 (teaching of philosophy, Justinian I); 123–124 (land lease, Prophet ḥadīth) banner 46 (rāya, referring to Q. 1); 153 (in battle) al-bāriʾ (Shaper, God) 261 Barnes, Jonathan 12, 69, 317 baṣar 83 (identification of proof; rhetoric); 277 (perceptiveness, insight; ethics) Basra (city, Iraq) 38, 83, 139–144, 153, 156, 165, 167, 297; 72–74, 199 (linguistics); 204 (exegetical transmission) baṭala (vacuous, void) 251 battle 9, 27–28, 46, 67, 139, 143–144, 146, 148–149,

INDEX 153, 157, 171, 183, 240, 296, 314 bayʿa (oath of allegiance) 140, 286 bayān (to make clear distinctions) 36, 264, 275 (language theory); 37, 40– 41, 48–49, 61, 81–82, 84, 91 (speech, rhetoric, balāgha); 61, 100, 162, 168, 181–184, 188, 204, 248, 255 (legal hermeneutics); 196–198, 202, 248, 264 (exegesis); 254–255 (doctrine); 279 (ethics) al-bayt al-ḥarām (the Sanctuary House, Kaʿba) 289 beatific (vision; doctrine) 242, 244, 248, 254–255 bedouin 20, 151 beings 88 (human); 48, 53 (living); 47, 53–54, 170, 180–181, 263, 284 (knowing); xvi–xvii, xxix, 102, 181 (natural law); 277 (ethics); 259, 261, 263, 267, 271–272, 300–301 (metaphysics, ontology) Beirut 167 Belhaj, Abdessamad 61, 100, 162, 318 belong 18 (to land, serfs); 122, 159, 176–178, 214 (land belongs to); 218–219 (crops, animals belong to)

339 benefit 104, 107–109 (legal principle, objective); 201 (exegetical principle); 221 (historical knowledge) Bêwarâsb (ancient Persian king) 7 Bible 19, 87–88 (Hebrew); 102 (golden rule); 224 (Bible studies); 87 (New Testament) Biblical 71, 81; 40, 87, 224 (scriptures); 62 (prophetic); 71 (creation, doctrine) al-Bīḍa (place) 145 Bilqīs (queen, Yemen) 273– 274 Bin Sattam, Abdul Aziz 103– 104, 108–109, 111, 318 binding (legal sense) 5, 53– 54, 65, 69, 82, 120, 147, 174, 179, 196, 288, 293; 4, 7, 31, 65, 142, 188, 270, 300 (bound) biographer 5, 10, 114–115, 161, 203–204, 225, 240, 274, 278–279, 309 biographical 163–165, 205, 220, 223, 242, 256, 328 biography xii, 118, 230, 319; xi (biographies) bism Allāh (not introducing Q.9) 45 blessing (material, niʿma) 37, 47–50, 53, 55, 58, 60, 139, 156, 215–216, 220– 222, 252, 265, 284

340

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

b-l-gh (to convey the message, Qurʾanic verses) 52–53, 92 blood-tie (kinship) 21 bodily (form; doctrine) 253 body xxi (the subject); 260, 267–268, 274 (metaphysics, ontology, epistemology) Boekholt, Stijn 6, 273 bond 12 (justice, serving as); 23 (of serfdom) booty (legal topic) 172–173, 177, 179, 240–241 born xvii (free and equal); 4 (as king); 21, 65 (or adopted, ʿarab) Bosworth, Charles E. 8–10, 20, 129, 150, 244, 286, 288–289, 314 boundary 108, 145, 168, 248, 252, 308 Bowen, Harold 226, 318 boycott (Quraysh against the Prophet) 281 breach (of contract) 10, 31, 90, 290, 299 break (oaths, contract terms, agreement) 2, 17, 33, 66, 121, 139, 146, 186–187, 190, 217, 240, 268, 293, 295 breath (God’s) 267 Brett, Michael 154, 318 brigandage (legal topic) 217 bringer (of the good word) 170

Brinner, William M. 226, 228, 237, 274, 314 brocade (silk, first revelation to the Prophet) 10 brotherhood (universal, human rights) xvi–xvii, 307 brothers (universal family, human rights) xvii, 103, 211, 283, 307 bureaucracy 15–16, 26, 119 buried (treasures) 177 burn (as trial, fitna) 133 Butterworth, Charles E. 12, 85–86, 315, 318 Byzantine 8–9, 15, 22–31, 62, 71, 73, 120, 123–124, 210, 232–233, 244 Byzantium 8, 18, 22, 26–27, 30, 63, 244, 286 C Cain 6 Cairo 168 (manuscript, Ikhtilāf al-fuqahāʾ); 207 (edition of the Qurʾan) calamity (affecting livelihood, crops) 227, 243 calculate (time) 155, 263 (time) calculating (attitude) 292 Calderini, Simonetta 273, 318 calendar 230, 232–234, 236, 238, 308 calf (golden, Israelites) 55 caliph 1, 3, 40, 45, 64, 83, 108–109, 111–112, 114– 115, 118, 130, 136–137,

INDEX 144, 146–150, 157, 182, 192–194, 221–222, 234– 235, 237, 244–246, 257, 285–292, 294–295, 298, 301, 307, 311 caliphal 15–16, 64, 72, 112, 114, 156, 158, 192, 226, 274, 289, 298 caliphate 3, 19, 64, 114– 116, 118, 126–127, 130, 137, 142, 152, 154, 179, 183, 191–193, 237, 246, 249, 257, 285–287, 292, 314–315, 325 camel 20, 177, 261, 295 canal 17, 129, 141, 296, 297 canon (law, Christian) 22 (canones); 23, 102 canon (law, al-Ṭabarī) 162, 168 canon (the Qurʾan) 43, 46– 49, 56, 87, 91, 214, 220, 285, 304 canonical (readings, the Qurʾan) 205–206 canonisation (Biblical scriptures) 224 capability 36 (natural, to understand divine message); 37, 81, 84, 198, 255, 264–265 (to communicate through clear distinctions) capacity 3 (to interpret); 32, 93–95, 103, 237 (for justice); 272 (for legal reasoning, woman); 33 (to create, God); 190 (of the

341 child); 205 (to convey divine message); 245, 265– 266, 275, 283 (to act, qadar); 300 (to survey thought/action, asceticism) capital xxiii–xxiv (as discourse); 26 (Lakhmid, al-Ḥīra); 140 (Sassanid, alMadāʾin); 153 (Zanj movement, al-Mukhtāra) career (al-Ṭabarī) xii, 111, 163, 181 carelessness (vice, ethics) 117 (judges); 227 (administrators) carry (meaning, ḥamala; language, semantics) 39, 44, 75, 100, 104, 199 Carter, Michael 66, 73, 75, 118, 244, 318–319, 328 case xxvii, 7–11 (lawgiving, History); 52, 54 (universalparticular, the Qur'an); 59, 95, 100, 107, 109, 113, 139, 146, 151, 158, 169, 188–190, 194, 241, 256, 269, 272, 277, 290, 292, 298–299, 302, 306, 311 (legal cases) category xxv–xxvi, 308–309 (social, religion); 24, 30, 76 (Aristotle); 82–83 (semantics, rhetoric); 131, 176–179 (conquered lands) Catholic xviii, xxi, xxv, 98, 308; 102 (CatholicAristotelian)

342

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

causal (analysis of political history, al-Ṭabarī) 9, 129, 157, 298 cause (of uprisings) 134, 136, 143 census (for dīwān) 234 centralise 26, 128, 130 (taxation); 128 (army, administration) centralizing (reforms) 22, 25 Certeau, Michel de xx–xxvi, xxix, 32–33, 257, 303, 305, 307–309, 312, 318–319 chain (of transmission, ʾisnād) 43, 74, 143, 166, 174, 182, 185, 195, 201–204, 235, 279 Chalcedon 22–23 (council of, 451); 30 (creed) change xxvi (theoretical); 120–128 (legal) character 76 (moral, rhetoric); 277, 310 (moral, ethics) charity 23, 179, 211, 240 child (God does not have) 54, 207, 211, 300 children 58, 93, 268 (of Adam); 186–190, 256, 308 (of Banū Taghlib; religion, rights); 212 (obligations to parents) choice (moral responsibility) 187, 190, 292, 298–299, 305, 310 Christ 23; 27 (Trinity) Christian xvi, xxi, xxiv–xxv, 8, 16, 18, 20, 22–23, 27,

30, 32, 63, 71–72, 75–76, 92, 97, 130–131, 155, 173– 174, 183–190, 198, 207, 209–211, 230, 244, 256, 304 Christianity 18, 26–27, 186, 190, 308 christology 23, 29–30, 210– 211 chronicle 114, 203, 233, 236, 329 chronology 6, 45, 49, 66, 229–232, 236 church 18, 22–26, 71, 98, 131, 307–308 circle (of philosophers, Baghdad) 80 circumambulate (Adam, place of the Kaʿba) 237, 266 citizen xxiii–xxiv, 102 city 4, 15–16, 18, 28, 31, 45–46, 55, 72, 77, 85–86, 116, 119, 140, 148, 156, 164, 206, 289, 297 city-state 153 civil xv (rights); xxviii, 132, 136, 147–148, 183, 229, 257, 285 (wars, conflict); 22–23 (law, nomoi) civilian (population) 299 claim xix (epistemic, natural law); xxv (epistemic, discursive); 13, 57–59, 89, 127, 148, 159, 176–179 (legal); 117–119, 137–160, 192–194 (political); 118 (authority to interpret)

INDEX Clarence-Smith, William Gervase 152, 319 clarify (ref. to ʿ-r-b) 21, 65 clarifying (distinctions, b-y-n) 38, 66–68, 175, 183, 196– 197, 222, 224, 275, 279 clarity (Aristotle, rhetoric) 78–84 clause (grammar, on Q. 19, 34) clay (multi-coloured; Adam’s nature) 268 clients 19, 289 (protected, mawālī); 304 (vassals) climatic (factors, agriculture) 120 climes (seven, world spheres) 4, 231 code (of law, Justinian I) 22 codices (Qur'anic) 200, 206 cognitive (presuppositions, natural law) 198; 253 (belief); 259 (comprehension) collaborate (through language, communication) 197 collect 9–10, 18, 26, 28, 31, 110, 121, 126–127, 150– 152, 176, 226, 229 (tax); 24 (philosophical writings) collection 167, 181–182 (ḥadīth); 205–206 (Qurʾanic readings) collective xiv, 167, 169, 244, 256 (scholarly authority); 151 (use of land) collectivistic 123, 178–179 (definition of fayʾ lands)

343 combination (and separation; language theory, Aristotle) 70 command 4 (upright, king); 10 (God’s, written); 8, 41– 42, 102, 140, 166, 170, 201, 220, 228, 251, 277, 298–299, 305 (and prohibition); commandments (list, Q.6:151) commentary (Qurʾan, alṬabarī) xii, xiv, xviii, xx, xxvii–xxviii, 1, 35–36, 61, 110, 132, 157, 163–169, 182–183, 195–219, 220, 229, 243, 246, 250, 252, 255, 263–264, 268–269, 274, 279, 281, 304, 307 commentary (Qur'an) 38, 211 (Muqātil b. Sulaymān); 38–39, 44, 211 (Yaḥyā b. Sallām); 38 (Ibn Abī Zamanīn); 204, 211 (ʿAbd al-Razzāq al-al-Ṣanʿānī) commentary (on Aristotle) 25, 30, 69, 85 commerce 15, 21, 66 commercial xxviii, 21, 26, 29, 31, 33, 62, 65 commoners (social movements, reforms, Sassanid rule) 25, 30 communal 124 (property), 147 (unity) communicate 36, 44, 60, 135, 170, 236, 251, 276 (intended message, God); 37, 197, 255, 275 (through

344

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

clear distinctions); 125, 229, 236 (prophets); 266 (with God) community 13–14, 112, 115, 121, 130, 133, 139, 145, 147, 157, 160, 169–170, 175–176, 186, 192–193, 250, 252 (political, ʾumma); 11, 85, 171 (religious, milla) compact (ʿahd) xviii, 33, 66, 145–146, 148–149, 159, 188, 286 companions (ṣaḥāba, ʾaṣḥāb) 3, 39, 42, 45–46, 83–84, 108, 112, 114–115, 136, 141, 166–167, 174–175, 179, 181–182, 188–189, 191–196, 204, 206, 223, 229, 240, 244–248, 256, 270, 277, 285, 301, 307 compilation (ḥadīth) 131, 163–165, 175–176, 181, 247–248, 256, 285, 308 composition xxvii–xxviii, 35, 41–42, 47–48, 53, 56, 60, 86, 196, 303 (of the Qurʾan); 260, 264–268, 274–275 (of creation) conceptual 15 (framework); 216 (pair); 308 (turn) conceptualise xxii (history); xxvi, 32 (religion); 32, 85 (the Prophet, prophecy); 67, 91 (the Qurʾan); 76 (Qurʾanic rhetoric); 81 (bayān); 101 (ḥadd); 111 (Caliphate)

conciliar 23 (orthodoxy, Christian); 246 (election of Caliph, shūrā) confiscate (wealth, property) 9, 148 conflict xxviii–xxix, 107, 117, 133, 136–137, 143– 144, 150, 157, 160, 210, 249, 285, 288, 290, 294, 298, 301, 310–312 Conley, Tom xxi, 319 conquered (land) 121, 123, 129–131, 158, 165, 176180 conquest 27, 29, 119, 121, 123, 126, 159, 179, 183, 233 Conrad, Lawrence E. xii, 319 conscience xvii (Universal Declaration of Human Rights); 190 (UN Convention of the Rights of the Child) consensus (ʾijmāʿ, al-Ṭabarī) 164–169, 174–175, 179– 183, 191, 195–196, 204, 255, 256, 307 consonant 43, 92 (roots); 63 (script); 40, 64, 74 (Qurʾanic script) Constantinople 22 constitution 14, 308; xxviii, 3, 109, 111, 118, 194, 257 (separation of powers); 89, 256 (Covenant); 5, 77 (Aristotle) context-dependent (semantics, meaning) 43, 91

INDEX continuity xxi, xxv–xxvi, 308 (religion, academia); 115, 120, 240 (institutional practices); 14, 97, 114, 309 (historical, al-Ṭabarī); 159– 160, 179–180, 246, 256, 301, 307 (Prophet’s sunna); 73, 75, 80, 86, 92 (Aristotle) convention (language) 64, 70, 73–75, 247, 276 Cooperson, Michael 118, 319 Córdoba 38 correct (speech and action, istiqāma) 47, 60, 74, 95, 144, 228–229, 280, corruption (fasād, ʾifsād) 58, 77, 104, 135, 142, 157, 201, 217–219, 272, 301; 125, 138, 145, 288 (voidable contract) cosmopolitan (cities) 15 cosmos 2, 262, 266, 275; 17, 88 (cosmic) council 22–23 (ecumenical); 140 (deliberative); 191– 193, 285 (electoral, shūrā) counsel (advice) 227, 294– 295 court 15–16, 25, 30, 69, 71, 86, 97, 138, 291, 294, 304, 307 courtier 291, 293–295, 299 covenant xxvii–xxix, 2, 4–5, 7–8, 12, 15, 18, 21, 31–32, 35–36, 49–50, 52–56, 60– 62, 75, 86–90, 93, 97, 105– 106, 110–111, 114, 146,

345 148, 149, 158, 160, 192, 220–221, 228, 241, 243, 256–257, 259, 261–263, 265, 267–269, 271, 273, 275, 277, 279, 281, 283, 285, 287, 289–291, 293– 295, 297, 299–301, 303– 309, 312, 322, 324, 329 covenantal 46, 49, 53, 55, 56, 60–61, 88, 181, 221, 236–239, 241, 252, 257, 259, 267, 271, 278, 283– 285, 300–301 covenanted 4–5, 192 covenant-sūra (Q. 7) 125 create xi, xvi, xix, 3, 9–10, 22, 26, 36–37, 42, 53, 92, 102, 105, 107, 109, 136, 162, 220–221, 223, 226– 227, 236–237, 243–244, 246–247, 251, 253, 255, 259, 261–269, 271–272, 275, 301 createdness (of the Qurʾan, khalq al-Qurʾān) 118–119, 243–244, 253 creation xi, xvi, xviii–xix, xxix, 1–3, 7, 24, 32–33, 49– 50, 53, 55, 71, 81, 102, 106–107, 135, 216, 220– 222, 226–230, 232, 236– 237, 240–241, 245, 253, 256, 259–266, 274–275, 301, 307 creation-section (of the History) 260

346

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

creative 50 (power, God); 102, 265 (act, God); 147 (rhetorical speech) creator 33, 54, 105, 215– 216, 222, 251, 253, 261, 263, 271, 312 (God); 226– 227 (God and king); 244 (of meaning, scholars) creature 3, 135, 156, 170, 202, 213, 215, 248, 250, 263, 271, 309 creed 27 (Monophysite); 30 (Ethiopian, Chalcedonian); 49, 50 (Qurʾanic); 155 (Qarmaṭian); 163, 168, 242–255 (al-Ṭabarī) criteria 168, 191, 194, 241 (for selection, al-Ṭabarī); 173 (legal, jizya); 250 (being Muslim) critical 134, 219 (assessment of administration), 192– 193 (examination); 198, 223 (assessment of reports); 199 (refutation, exegesis); 277 (assessment of scholars) critique xiii (of prophecy, rationalist); 89 (of rhetoric, Aristotle); 125 (of tax farming, Abū Yūsuf); 179– 180 (of istiḥsān, al-Shāfiʿī); 199–200 (of linguists’ exegesis, al-Ṭabarī) Crone, Patricia 106, 319 crops 120, 127–128, 174, 218–219

cross-references (exegetical) 53, 58–59, 92 Ctesiphon (Sassanid capital) 25, 30, 69, 71, 231 cultivate (lands) 17, 19, 21, 23, 57, 121, 123, 177, 228 cuneiform 19 currency (monetary) 29 Cuypers, Michel 76 D dalāla (indicator of meaning, semantics) 82, 200 dalla (indicates) 46, 175 ḍamīr (pl. ḍamāʾir, subject) 37, 81 Damascus 116, 130, 167, 327 ḍarar (harm, legal principle) 107 date 19–20 (Arab settlements); 23, 80, 111 (translations, theory, Aristotle); 62 (Namāra inscription); 64 (Qurʾan manuscripts); 73 (administrative connections Hijaz-Iraq); 127–128 (agricultural development); 163, 165 (al-Ṭabarī’s works); 203 (exegetical reports); 233 (Hijrī calendar); 305–306 (theory) David (king and prophet) 2, 93–95, 99 daʿwa (Fatimid campaign) 154

INDEX dawla (dynastic state) 225 Dāwūd al-Ẓāhirī (Ẓāhirī scholar) 168 day (time, metaphysics) 262 debt 120 (peasants); 221, 236 (times for settlement) decisiveness (al-qaṭʿ, by expounding distinctions, alfaṣl) 94–95 declaration (of human rights, al-Ṭabarī, UDHR) xvi, xix, 310 declension (syntactic, ʾiʿrāb) 66, 75, 208–209, 212 declination (of verbs) 67, 104 decline 116 (economic); 127, 157 (agricultural) decrease (or increase of faith; creed) 246, 248, 253 deduction 77 (logos, rhetoric, Aristotle); 106, 162–163, 168, 180, 182, 275 (hermeneutics, natural law); 223, 225 (historical method); 250 (method, creed) definition 23, 27, 37, 40, 45, 67, 69, 75, 84, 89–90, 98– 100, 123, 162, 181, 196, 198, 216, 260, 282 delegate (origination of deeds, fawwaḍa; doctrine) 251 deliberation 98, 111 (of political issues); 194 (among scholars) deliberative 77–79, 83–84, 87, 89–90, 92–95, 97, 304

347 (speech, rhetoric); 191– 192, 285 (council, shūrā) democratic xix, 33 (social contract); 194 (election) demonstration (logic, rhetoric) xx, 89, 188, 245, 247–248, 250, 304 Denkart (Avesta) 24 depose (a Caliph) 290–295 derivation xx, 52, 61, 75, 104, 193, 274 Déroche, François 64, 319 desalinate (marsh lands) 152 descent xvii, 310 (common human, natural law); 111, 118–119, 152, 154, 192, 195, 235 (dynastic legitimacy); 219 (line of, inheritance) design (divine) 206, 247 destiny 145–146, 238, 215, 278 (set by God); 242, 245, 265 (predestination, topic, theology) development xxv–xxvi (of theory); 119–120, 128–129 (agricultural); 108–111, 124–127, 158–160 (legal); 114–116 (institutional, problematization of) al-Dhahabī, Muḥammad b. Aḥmad (biographer) 278–280, 315 dhimma 149, 185, 187–189 (protection contract); 142, 159, 178–179 (ahl aldhimma, protected peoples) dialect (Arabic language) 63

348

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

dialogue 25, 275 (Plato, Timaeus) dilemma (ethics) xxix, 260, 285, 298–301 dīn (judicial order, religion) 11, 107, 133, 138, 161, 169–171, 180, 191, 249, 282; 44 (definition of) dīnār (Miskawayh, theory of law) 13 dinar (money) 155 dirham (money) 297 disagreement 116–118, 123, 164, 166–175, 181, 186, 189, 255–256 (ikhtilāf, legal topic, see also divergence); 196, 198–199, 207, 255 (exegesis); 248– 250 (doctrine) discipline xxiii–xxvi, xxix, 306–310 (methodology, see also discourse, institution); 161, 255–259 (disciplinespecific methodology); 278–279, 299–300 (ascetic, of self) discipline-based (knowledge) 201–202 discourse xx–xxvi, xxviii (methodology, see also discipline, institution) divergence 135, 209–210; 169–174 (ikhtilāf, legal topic, see also disagreement); 218 (exegesis) dīwān (state register) 234 Dmitriev, Kirill 71, 319

doctrine xiii–xxv, xxviii, 22– 23, 27, 29–30, 33, 71, 118– 119, 132, 162, 164, 168, 170, 182, 206–207, 210– 211, 242–249, 251, 255, 257, 265, 276–277, 292 document 5, 128, 289, 293 (legally binding) documentation 223, 232 (historical method) documented (binding sunna) 174 dream xiii (interpretation); 161 Druwé, Wouter 22, 319 al-Duʾalī, Abū al-ʾAswad (linguist, administrator) 74, 143 Duophysite 23, 30 Duri, Abd al-Aziz xii, 18–19, 21, 28–29, 31, 319 duties xviii–xix (social contract) duty 59, 94–96, 99, 104, 153, 156, 171, 190, 192, 272, 292; 277, 284, 291 298–299, 301, 305 (ethics) dynastic 4, 17, 25, 97, 115– 116, 118–119, 159, 225, 286 dynasty 8, 16, 26–27, 110– 111, 115–116, 119, 143, 150, 285, 297 E ecclesiastical 22–23 economic xvii, xx, 15, 23, 29–30, 32–33, 116, 161,

INDEX 269, 271–273, 312, 321– 322, 325 economy xix, xxvii, 3–5, 14– 20, 29, 31, 119, 128–129, 134, 150, 152–155, 325 education 270, 272 (women’s) egalitarian 17, 25, 31–32, 62, 76 egalitarianism xvi (Islamic), 31, 119 (prophetic) Eggen, Nora 68, 319 Egypt 8, 132, 167 Egyptian 65, 169 Elad, Amikam 116, 319 elect (a Caliph, leader) 192– 194, 246, 249, 273, 285 elipsis (linguistics) 208 eloquence 40, 81, 83, 147 Emon, Anver xiv, xviii, xxviii, 106–110, 162, 168, 179–180, 189, 195, 204, 216, 255, 275, 305 empire 8, 15, 17–18, 20–22, 24, 26–27, 29, 63, 109, 150, 154, 158, 233, 295, 308 empirical xxvii, 180, 189, 194, 225, 241, 251, 255, 274–276 empiricism (al-Ṭabarī) 274– 275, 301 enact security (ʾīmān) 5–6, 9, 22, 50, 56, 67–68, 93– 95, 112, 121–123, 125, 135, 140–142, 153, 156, 164–165, 170, 173, 176– 178, 185, 187, 192, 201,

349 205, 209–210, 213, 215– 216, 238–239, 246, 251, 254, 266, 279, 310 enemy combatants (legal topic) 168 Enlightenment xxiv–xxv Enoch (ʾAkhnūkh, ʾIdrīs; prophet) xxvii, 2, 5–8 enslavement (of peasants, serfdom) 18 enthymeme (proposition, rhetoric) 78 (Aristotle), 89 (the Qurʾan) Ephesus (council) 22 epistemology 161, 220, 223, 247, 255, 259, 274–276, 291, 301 equitable 99–100, 113, 115, 123, 129, 137, 140, 144, 145, 148, 158–160, 163, 211, 226, 229, 236, 240– 242, 246, 249, 256–257, 301 equity xxviii, 59, 93–94, 99– 100, 105, 107, 113, 119, 125, 132, 149, 152–153, 157–158, 194, 210–211, 241, 249–250, 257, 271, 282–283, 301, 303–304, 306–307, 311 essences (of things) 84 estates (land) 18, 23, 119– 120, 123–124, 127, 130, 156–158, 179, 187–188, 288 eternal 222 (God, History context); 260, 262–269, 275, 312 (God,

350

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

metaphysics); 275 (The Good, Plato); 280, 283 (kingship) eternity (Aristotelian concept) 71 ethicist 13, 279 ethics xiii, xxix, 13, 18, 47, 60–61, 78, 99–100, 102– 103, 117, 141, 165, 181, 194, 226, 259–260, 272, 277–281, 285, 291, 298– 302, 304–305, 308 Ethiopian 27, 31 ethnicity (Arabs) 18–21 ethos 16, 31, 62, 76, 119 (populist, prophetic); 89 (rhetoric, Aristotle) Euphrates 20, 185, 297 evidence 66, 79, 89, 95, 121, 205, 277 (legal); 89, 180, 201, 205 (logical, rhetorical); 225, 256 (textual) evil 88, 100, 103, 107, 138, 245, 286, 287 example (paradigmatic, rhetoric) 41–42, 47 exegesis (tafsīr) xii, xiv, xvi, xx, xxviii, 32–36, 42–47, 60–64, 73–76, 80, 92–95, 103, 105, 110, 132–133, 143, 162, 167, 189–190, 194, 198–200, 203, 205– 207, 211, 214, 216, 219, 223, 228, 246, 264, 268– 269, 271, 273, 276, 279, 282, 284, 304–305, 310

exegete xxviii, 41, 43–44, 73, 91–92, 105, 143, 162, 196, 198, 204–205, 207, 209, 212, 218, 254, 276 exist xi, 36, 197, 260–261 (metaphysics), 312 existence 89 (semiotics); 247, 263 (ontology, epistemology) existentialist (al-Ṭabarī) 300 exploitation 124 (of peasants); 157 (of slave labourers, the Zanj) exposition (of distinctions, tafṣīl) 181–182 expound (distinctions, faṣṣala) 82, 93–95 expropriate (lands) 158 expulsion (of peasants from land) 157 extort (peasants) 111, 125 eyesight (to see God, doctrine) 254–255 eyewitness 291 F fact xix, 107, 163, 216 (and value, natural law); xxii, 15, 163, 301 (historical) factor xx, xxii–xxiii, 31, 120, 127, 129, 236, 263, 302, 306, 310 Fadel, Mohammad 272, 320 fairness (ʾinṣāf) 95, 99, 228 fall 27, 306 (of the Sassanid empire); 28 (of Jewish kingdom in Ḥimyar)

INDEX fallible (sign, sēmeion, rhetoric) 78 family xv, 137, 149, 190, 226, 249, 287, 311; 211, 269 (family law); xvi, xix, 103 (universal human, natural law); 111, 116, 130, 138, 145–147, 151, 156, 170, 224, 234–235, 289, 292 (the Prophet’s family); 129, 225 (of scribes); 159 (Sassanid royal family) al-Fārābī, Abū Naṣr Muḥammad (philosopher) 11–12, 25, 80, 85–86, 90, 92, 300, 304, 315–316 farm 16, 119, 157, 309 farmer 130, 153–154 farming 120, 125, 127, 130, 157, 179 farmland 152, 154, 157 Fars (province) 143–144, 311 al-Farrāʾ (linguist, Qurʾan commentator) 73, 199 fasād (corruption) 104, 125, 133, 142, 145, 217, 272, 288 al-Fātiḥa (Q. 1, summary of Covenant terms, paradigm for the Qurʾan) 46–50, 53–60, 90, 95, 155, 203– 204, 214, 220, 228–229, 243, 246, 252, 263, 281, 283 Fāṭima bt. Muḥammad b. ʿAbd Allāh 145

351 Fatimid (dynasty) 116–118, 127, 154 al-fayʾ (returned lands; conquest) 121, 123, 137– 139, 145, 148–149, 158– 160, 178–179, 191, 214, 226 Fertile Crescent xxvii, 15 fertilisation (of lands) 120 feudal (system) xxii, 16, 119 Fiema, Zbigniew T. 63, 320 fifth (of revenue, booty, khums) 172, 177–179, 241 Finnis, John xviii–xix, 320 fiqh (jurisprudence) xiii, xxvii, 61, 75, 92, 99, 104, 106, 113, 116, 123, 168, 183, 185, 191, 195, 199, 204, 277, 301 Fishbein, Michael 278, 285, 288–298, 314 Fisher, Greg 26, 150, 320 fitna (conflict, civil war, trial) 132–134, 142, 147, 157 al-fiṭra (nature, of things, humans) 250, 268 food 7, 58, 68, 187, 220, 228 forgiveness (what God does not forgive; doctrine) 252 forms (conveying meaning, maʿānī; semantics) 37, 39–42, 48–49 France xxv fratricide (al-Maʾmūn, alʾAmīn) 285–298 free xvii (humans, UDHR); 8 (the Israelites); 23

352

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

(serfdom); 31 (vassalage); 102 (male citizen); 242, 245 (free will; doctrine); 260, 264, 274 (metaphysics) freedom xv–xvii (human rights, UDHR); 189–190, 256 (of religion, the child) Freudian xxi Friday (al-jumuʿa) 83, 236– 237, 240 (congregational prayer); 266 (Day God created Adam) Friedmann, Yohanan 159– 160, 314 fruits 68, 174–175 (harvest, for sustenance); 120 (new kinds) Frye, Richard N. 26, 150, 323 fulfil obligations (ittaqā) xvi, 17, 33, 49, 55, 58–59, 66, 93, 102, 104–105, 122, 125, 140, 142, 145, 149– 150, 156, 171, 187–188, 214, 238–241, 245, 250, 267–268, 271–272, 283– 284, 288, 290 al-Furāt, Banū (scribal family) 129–130 al-furqān (the Distingusiher, the Qurʾan) 49 Fustat (city, Egypt) 38–39, 44, 167 G al-gharīb (exceptional words) 183

al-ghaṣb (usurpation of property, legal topic) 168 al-Ghazzālī, Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad 107, 109– 110, 279 al-Ghifārī, Abū Dharr (Companion, transmitter of reports) 6 Gabriel (angel) 10–11, 237, 266, 281 Galadari, Abdulla 264, 320 garden 3, 93, 101, 135, 139, 153, 156, 232, 237, 244, 251–252, 265–266, 278, 280, 283–284 garrison cities 148; 72 (linguistic schools); 164 (legal scholars of); 206 (readers of) Gellner, Ernest xvi, 320 gender xxix, 259, 269, 272– 273, 301 gendered (words) 65 genealogical 18, 139, 158 genealogists 234 genealogy 4, 6–7, 19–20, 45, 231–232, 273, 306, 308, 325 generalise (as opposed to particularise; exgesis) 95, 192, 216, 219 general (and particular) 38, 52, 60–61, 94, 162, 217, 219 general (principles, theory) xxi–xxii, xxiv, 52, 274–275 generic 40, 68–69, 84, 200 (scriptural identity); 42

INDEX (rhetorical forms); 48 (forms; semantics) genre 195; 40 (form; semantics, exegesis); 44 (exegesis); 83 (qaṣaṣ); 98 (scientific definitions); 164 (ikhtilāf); 182 (musnad); 242 (doctrine) geographer 28 ghanīma (booty, legal topic) 177 Ghassān (Byzantine vassal kingdom, Syria) 8, 19, 26, 29 Gilliot, Claude xii–xiv, 36, 40, 131, 161–165, 167– 168, 181–183, 196–197, 199–200, 205, 248, 255– 256, 277–279, 320 Gobillot, Geneviève 89, 320, 322 God (Allāh, meaning of) 263 god-centred xvi, xviii–xx, 33 goddesses 281 gods 7, 21–22, 29, 48, 261, 306 gold 19 (reserves); 29 (mining); 174, 178 Golden Rule 102 Goldfeld, Yeshayahu 73, 75– 76, 92, 320 good, the (value, principle) 54, 58, 86, 103–104, 108, 180, 228, 257, 275 goodness 54, 198 gospel 41, 173, 197–198 government 106–107, 113, 225, 286, 319

353 governor 8, 17–18, 28, 31, 55–56, 67, 71, 93, 104, 116, 118, 136, 143–144, 146–148, 150–151, 155, 157–158, 160, 170, 205, 224, 233, 244, 249, 254, 257, 282, 285–286, 290, 294–295, 298, 311 governorate 288–289, 294 governorship 23, 55, 116, 158 Gramlich, Richard 105, 320 grammar 45, 64, 66, 73–75, 201 grammarian 73–74, 118, 199; 200 (grammariancommentators of the Qurʾan) grammatical 41, 67–68, 73– 75, 199 granaries, the (al-Anbār, region, Iraq) 20 Greek 11, 23, 73, 85, 88 (philosophy, thought); 11, 21, 24, 32, 76, 99–101 (terms); 80, 82, 87, 91 (rhetoric); 20, 62 (sources of Arab history); 230 (Christians) Griffith, Sidney 23, 71, 210, 321 guardian (legal) 190, 283– 284, 289; 33 (of contracts, gods); 67 (God) guardianship (parents for children) 190 Gutas, Dimitri 25, 30, 79–80, 86, 321

354

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Gwynne, Rosalind Ward 90, 321

87–

H ḥadīth xiii–xiv, xxviii, 39– 40, 46, 65, 74–75, 80, 84, 108, 118, 121, 123, 141– 142, 162, 167, 181–182, 195, 200, 204–205, 247 ḥadīth compilation 131, 163, 165, 175–176, 256, 285, 308 Hagar (and Ismail) 266 Hainthaler, Theresia 71–72, 321 ḥajj (the pilgrimage) 2, 7, 11, 266 ḥakīm (just in judgement, scholar) 104 al-Ḥakīm al-Tirmidhī (Sufi, theorist of walāya) 279 al-ḥāl 82, 91 (context; rhetoric, balāgha); 279 (circumstance; ethics) ḥalāl-ḥarām (permittedprohibited; legal topic) 113 Halldén, Philip 84, 91–92, 321 Halm, Heinz 154, 321 Ḥamdān Qarmaṭ (leader of Qarāmiṭa movement) 154 Ḥanafī 106, 167–168, 179 (madhhab); 111, 171 (jurists); 124–126 (law)

Ḥanbalī 168, 242, 244, 247– 248 (madhhab); 131–132 (movement) hand 33, 66 (God’s and humans’, affirming compact); 149 (humans’, affirming compact) Haque, Ziaul 15, 18, 22–23, 31, 120–121, 123–125, 127, 158–160, 175, 180, 214, 321 ḥaqq xvii, xix, 57, 94–96, 99–100, 105, 115, 135– 136, 138, 140, 152, 170– 171, 180, 192–193, 198, 212–214, 219, 221, 227, 239, 243, 282–284 (right); 207–209, 283 (truth); 254 (real) ḥaratha (till the land) 57 al-Ḥārith al-Muḥāsibī (ascetic, ethicist, theologian) 279, 291 harmonise 11 (Plato and Aristotle); 30 (religion and philosophy); 181, 188–189 (the Qurʾan and sunna, meaning) Hārūn al-Rashīd (Abbasid Caliph) 285, 287, 293, 298–299 harvest 57, 68, 217–218 al-Ḥasan al-Baṣrī (exegete, transmitter of reports, ascetic) 46, 106, 110, 204, 279, 305

INDEX Hāshim, Banū (the Prophet’s family) 111, 116, 130, 156, 234 Hawting, Gerald 42, 132, 139–141, 143–144, 314, 317, 328 heart (container of the intellect, qalb) 10, 38, 122–123, 142, 220, 253, 277–279, 285, 302 heaven 41, 135, 209, 283; xi, 122, 222, 227, 261–262, 266, 283 (heavens) Hebrew 16, 19, 87, 88 Heck, Gene W. 29–30, 321 Heck, Paul L. 110–114, 321 Hellenistic 73, 88 hermeneutical xx, xxviii, 42– 43, 109, 162–163 hermeneutics xiii, xxv, 35– 36, 61, 162, 168, 196, 199, 242, 245, 305 Herodotus 21, 65 hierarchical (and hierarchicalaristocratic) 31 Hijaz (region, Arabian Peninsula) 8, 19, 21, 27– 30, 32, 71–74, 86, 97, 111, 120, 147, 165, 208–209 hijra 191 (migration); 230– 233, 236–238 (calendar, historical chronology) ḥikma (just judgement, capacity for) 49, 93, 104 Hillenbrand, Carole 146, 148–149, 314 Himma, Kenneth Einar xviii, 99, 102

355 Ḥimyar (region and kingdom, Yemen) 27–28, 30 al-Ḥīra (capital, Lakhmid kingdom, Iraq) 26, 28, 71–72, 121, 233, 306 Hishām b. al-Kalbī (transmitter, historical reports) 6, 20, 129, 131– 132, 148, 226 historian xv–xvi, xviii, xx, xxii–xxiii, 11, 13–15, 20, 24, 61, 110, 114, 119, 129, 136, 138, 158, 199, 203, 223, 225–226, 230–231, 233, 245 historiography xii, xxi, xxiii, 61, 134, 224, 291 history xi–xvi, xix–xxiii, xxvi–xxix, 1, 3–5, 7, 9, 13– 15, 17–20, 25–26, 29, 31– 33, 42, 44, 61–62, 73, 84, 98–99, 110, 115, 118–119, 127–129, 133–134, 136– 137, 143, 150–151, 154, 157–158, 163–164, 175, 179, 194–195, 198, 219– 222, 224, 226, 228–230, 232–233, 236–237, 241– 242, 244–245, 249–250, 256, 260, 262, 265, 273, 278, 280, 285, 291–292, 298, 300–301, 303, 305– 306, 308–311 Hodgson, Marshall G. S. 14– 18, 25–27, 31, 62, 119, 321 homonymous 44

356

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

hope (conflict resolution strategy) 144, 311 Horst, Heribert xii, 43, 203– 204, 321 Howard, I. K. A. 146, 292, 314 Hoyland, Robert 19, 21, 29– 30, 322 ḥudūd 145 (boundaries, land); 101, 113, 214 (defined limits); 272 (cases) Hūd (prophet) 55 ḥujja (proof) 36, 83, 135, 166–167, 169, 171–174, 197, 209 ḥukm (pl. ʾaḥkām; judgement, ruling) 67, 113, 131, 141, 164–168, 176, 179, 202, 260, 274 human xv–xix, xxix, 4–5, 10, 12, 32–33, 55, 42, 60, 69, 81, 84, 88, 99, 102–103, 105–106, 169, 181, 190, 197–198, 204, 206, 210– 211, 215–216, 220–221, 228, 231, 236–237, 241, 245, 247, 255–257, 259, 262–269, 272, 277, 288, 301–302, 307, 310, 312 human rights xv–xix, 33, 190, 256, 310 Humphreys, R. Stephen 61, 127–128, 314, 322 al-ḥurūf al-muqaṭṭaʿa (cut-off letter particles) 44–45 Hylén, Torsten 146, 322

I Iblīs (Satan) 3, 5, 7, 134– 136, 232, 236–237, 305, 310 Ibn ʿAbbās, ʿAbd Allāh (Companion, transmitter of reports and exegesis) 3– 4, 6, 43, 45, 73, 76, 101, 115, 143–144, 161, 165, 181, 196, 201–203, 229, 240, 263, 265–267, 317 Ibn Abīhi, Ziyād (governor) 143–144, 311 Ibn Abī Zamanīn (exegete) 38, 316 Ibn ʿAsākir (historian) 163 Ibn Dāwūd b. al-Jarrāḥ, Muḥammad (scribe and historical source) 153– 154, 225 Ibn al-Ḥanafiyya, Aḥmad b. Muḥammad (messenger, Qarmaṭian movement) 155 Ibn Ḥanbal, Aḥmad 168, 243–244, 246–248, 316; 182 (musnad compilation) Ibn Hishām, Muḥammad (biographer of the Prophet) 116, 316 Ibn Isḥāq, Muḥammad (biographer of the Prophet) 5, 10, 240, 274, 280 Ibn Jurayj (transmitter of reports, exegesis) 207, 209, 211, 262

INDEX Ibn Kāmil, Aḥmad (al-Ṭabarī’s student) 13, 161, 163, 165– 166 Ibn Kathīr (exegete) 268 Ibn Khurradādhbih (geographer, administrator) 28 Ibn Manẓūr (lexicographer) 20, 65–67, 72, 79, 82, 132, 216 Ibn Masʿūd, ʿAbd Allāh (Companion, reader of the Qurʾan) 42, 64, 74, 114, 208 Ibn Mujāhid (Qurʾanic readings, qirāʾāt) 205– 206 Ibn al-Muqaffaʿ (political theorist, administrator) 73, 108–113, 115, 129, 131– 132 Ibn al-Nadīm (biographer) 35, 74, 225, 316 Ibn Saʿd, Muḥammad (historian) 6, 114–115, 203, 235, 316 Ibn Sahl, Muḥammad (transmitter of historical reports, the Zanj) 152 Ibn Sallām, Yaḥyā (exegete) 38–39, 44, 211, 316 Ibn Shihāb al-Zuhrī (historian, transmitter of reports) 11, 194, 233 Ibn Wahb, Isḥāq (rhetorician) 66, 84–86, 90, 316 Ibrahim, Yasir S. 167, 169, 315

357 identity xxiii–xxv (national, academic; discursive formation of); 29 (political); 31, 69 (religious); 32, 97, 312 (group); 23, 33 (doctrinal); 40 (generic); 97 (dynastic); 154 (Fatimid); 249 (Quryash) ideology xxi–xxii, xxiv, 305, 312 idiom 38–39, 63, 200, 202 idiomatic 64–65 idol 6, 8, 32, 48, 87, 173, 185, 282 ʾijāra (tenancy contract) 124– 125 ʾijbār (predestination; doctrine, theology) 251 ijtihād (interpretation, individual effort) 3, 135– 136 (Iblīs); 166, 192, 195 (al-Ṭabarī) ikhtilāf (disagreement, scholarly) 116–118, 123, 124, 164–169, 171, 175, 179–180, 183, 189, 198, 204, 216, 248, 273, 313 ʿilla (pl. ʿilal, reason; legal, technical) 169, 182–184, 224, 248, iltifāt (change speaker’s position; rhetoric, balāgha) 92–93 image 11–12, 86, 92, 250, 264, 300–302, 305–306; 97 (image-language; rhetoric)

358

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

ʾimāma (political leadership; legal-doctrinal topic) 191–192, 245, 273 ʾīmān 67–68, 121 (meaning, senses of); 246, 251–253 (topic; doctrine, theology) impartiality (virtue, judges) 117 imperial xxvii, 14, 17–20, 22–23, 26–29, 31, 33, 62, 73, 97, 111, 116, 126, 129, 226, 228, 233, 236, 255, 257, 286, 303 inalienable xvi, xix (rights); 218 (property) incapacitation (of humans by the Qurʾan) 41, 197 independent 166, 193, 195, 256 (interpretation); 167, 168, 255, 309 (madhhab); 189, 250, 253, 302 (legal reasoning); 263 (factor, God; metaphysics) India 23–24; 82–83; 237 (place where Adam landed) indication 36, 46, 81, 197 (of God); 82 (of meaning); 89 (semiotics); 90, 93, 200 (and proof) induction (methodology) 77– 78, 106, 162–163, 182, 189–190, 195, 274–276, 301 inherit (and inheritance) 5, 17, 101, 117, 120, 126– 128, 131, 138, 170, 177, 179, 211, 219, 232, 253, 278, 284, 287, 309

injustice 17, 100, 117, 136, 157, 210, 301 innovation 41–42 (badīʿ; rhetoric, balāgha); 87 (alṬabarī); 119–120, 124, 127, 129 (agricultural, legal); 138, 140 (negative sense of) inquisition 244 ʾinṣāf (fairness, equity) 99, 249 institution xxi–xxviii (methodology); 1–2, 5, 14– 16, 18, 22, 29–31, 33, 35, 63, 66, 84, 85, 97, 111– 115, 195, 229, 237, 241– 242, 257, 259, 273, 278, 285, 300–301, 306–310, 312 intellect 10, 36, 85, 107, 109, 197–198, 204, 215, 220, 243, 265, 279 intended (meaning) 40–44, 75, 82–83, 196–197, 199, 206, 243, 247, 257, 276 interests (of actors) xiv, xxiii, 104, 113, 119, 133–134, 150, 152, 226, 291, 298, 301, 310 interpretation xiii, 3, 44–45, 73, 87, 111–113, 128, 132, 157, 163, 166, 192–193, 195–196, 199, 204–205, 208, 218–219, 256, 269, 273, 276 introduction (to works) 25, 35–36, 164, 196, 216, 220,

INDEX 223, 226, 228–229, 236, 249, 264, 279, 305, 309 iʿrāb (declension; syntax) 66 Iran 17, 23, 26, 150–151 Iranian 16, 153 Irano-Semitic 16–17 Iraq xxvii, 8–9, 18–19, 26, 28, 32, 63, 71–74, 86, 97, 116, 126, 129–130, 145, 149, 152–153, 165, 183, 208, 226, 286, 299, 304, 306 Iraqi 20, 27, 31, 72, 106, 110–111, 123, 130, 150, 157–158, 209, 286 irrefutable 89, 169, 174–175 irrigation 17, 26, 116, 120, 123, 128–129, 168, 174 Isak 7 Isfahan 130 ʾiṣlāḥ (restore the common good, welfare) 59, 112, 125, 201 ʾislām (enactment of peace) 6, 142, 173, 185; 252 (subject to God's rule) al-ism (the name of a thing, and the named, musammā; topic, doctrine) 247 Ismail (Abraham’s son) 7, 266 Ismāʿīlī (shīʿa, sevener genealogy) 116; 154 (Fatimid) Israel 209 Israelite 2, 7–8, 55, 88, 96, 210–211, 232 Istakhr (region, Iran) 144

359 Istanbul (manuscript) 168 istiḥsān (legal method, principle) 108, 166–167, 179 istiqāma (correct speech and action) 74, 144, 228–229 J Jackson, Sherman 80–81, 322 Jacobites 23, 26, 30, 71, 79, 209–210, 304 jadal (disputation; rhetoric, Qurʾan) 41–42 Jafnid (dynasty, Jacobite) 26 al-jāhiliyya (treasures of; legal topic) 176–177 al-Jāḥiẓ (rhetorician, litterateur) 37, 80–84, 86, 90, 99, 316 Jahmī (school; doctrine, theology) 242, 246, 251 al-Jallad, Ahmad 63, 320 al-jamāʿa (the community, normative sense) 147, 192 al-janāʾiz (funerals, legal topic) 169 Japheth 231 Jared 5–6 al-Jarrāḥ, Banū (family, scribes) 130–131, 153, 225; 131, 225–226 (ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā b. al-Jarrāḥ, wazīr); 153, 225 (Muḥammad b. Dāwūd b. al-Jarrāḥ)

360

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Jayūmart (first ancestor/ human, Persian genealogy) 4–5, 231 al-Jazīra (region, Iraq) 286 Jerusalem 28, 67, 155, 239 Jesus 155, 207–211, 230– 232, 237, 244 Jewish xxv, 11, 20, 27–29, 63, 76, 121, 230, 240–241 Jews 173, 198, 207, 209, 230 jihād 148, 167–169, 170, 173, 179–180, 198, 214, 216, 239 jīl (group of people) 21, 65 jinn 3, 135, 220, 236, 263 jizya 159, 168, 173–174, 178–179, 186–187, 189 Johansen, Baber 124–128, 158, 160, 322 Jomier, Jacques 89, 322 Jones, Linda G. 83, 322 Jordan (region) 120 Judaism 27, 30 judge 4, 13–14, 38, 49–50, 77, 94–95, 99–100, 103, 105, 107, 109, 114–118, 127–128, 135–136, 161, 165, 167, 173, 185, 204, 239, 244, 263, 272, 274, 277, 282, 288, 298, 301– 302 judgement 7, 47, 49, 53, 58– 59, 67–68, 89, 93, 95–96, 100, 103–104, 110–111, 115, 117, 122, 127, 141, 156, 164–165, 169, 172, 192–193, 201, 244, 248,

251–252, 263, 283, 285, 291, 300–301 judicial xvii, 11, 48, 77, 79, 93, 104, 107, 138–139, 142–143, 147–148, 152, 154, 161, 169–171, 173, 179–180, 184–185, 188, 191, 193, 198, 215–216, 248–249, 257, 282 jurisdiction 22, 180 jurisprudence xiii–xiv, xx, xxviii, 1, 16, 61, 104, 180, 305 jurist xii, xiv, xxviii, 96, 99, 102, 104–107, 109–112, 114, 116–120, 123–124, 126, 128, 162, 164–165, 167, 169, 179–180, 189, 204–205, 257, 272–273, 278, 288, 298–299, 301– 302 juristic 106, 166–167, 179 justice xvi–xvii, xix, xxvii, 1, 4–5, 7, 12–14, 16–17, 32, 53–55, 60–62, 69, 77, 85, 95, 97, 99, 103–105, 108, 110, 112, 114, 116–117, 119, 128–129, 136, 149, 151–152, 215, 228, 237, 246, 257, 265, 271–272, 278, 282, 285, 301–302, 306–307, 310–311 Justinian I (Byzantine emperor) 22–25, 30 Juynboll, Gautier H. A. 233, 314

INDEX K Kaʿba 2, 7–8, 237, 239, 266, 288–289, 295 al-kabāʾir (major sins; doctrine) 251 kabr (self-aggrandisement; ethics) 277 kafara (reject security/God) 122, 139, 221; 39, 133, 139, 186, 251, 254 (kufr, rejection of security/God); 121, 215, 243, 247 (kāfir, one who rejects security/God); 252, 263 (kuffār, rejecters of security/God) kāʾin (being, and kāna, to be; kun, be, imp.; metaphysics, ontology) 261–262 kalām xiii, 92, 98–99, 199 (theology); 243, 253 (kalām Allāh, God’s discursive speech, the Qurʾan) kalima (ref. to Jesus) 208 Karbala (battle of) 146 al-Karkh (area, Baghdad) 297 kasb (acqusition of deeds; doctrine, theology) 251, 292 Kennedy, Hugh xii, 110, 130, 199, 226, 231–232, 322, 326, 329 Kennedy, George A. 76, 78, 317 Kerman (region, Iran) 185

361 Kern, Friedrich xiii, 168, 174, 175, 313 Key, Alexander xxv, 322 khabar (pl. ʾakhbār; report, information) 46, 95, 118, 135, 174, 176, 224 Khālid b. al-Walīd (Abū Bakr’s general) 27 Khalidi, Tarif xii, 3, 14, 199, 322 khāliq (God the Creator; metaphysics, ontology) 261 Khāniqīn (city, Iraq) 9 kharāj (land tax) xix, 16, 108, 110, 112, 124–126, 128, 159–160, 189 Khārijī (pl. Khawārij; movement, doctrinal position) 137, 139–143, 153, 159, 249, 251, 308 khaṣṣa (particularise) 202, 215; 39, 69, 100, 166, 276 (khuṣūṣ, particularities) khaṭāba (the art of public speech, oratory; rhetoric) 83–85, 91–93; 37, 40, 9395 (khiṭāb, public speech, judicial); 4, 83, 95, 236– 238 (khuṭba, sermon, public speech, address) al-Khaṭīb al-Baghdādī (historian, biographer) 163 Khazraj (tribe, Yathrib/ Medina) 11, 19, 28, 121 khilāfa (succession to Caliphate) 191

362

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Khurasan 116, 126, 150, 158, 165, 285, 286 Khūzistān (region, Iran) 153, 154 kin 131, 172, 211, 213 (next of); 21, 59, 102, 217, 236 (kinship) Kinda (tribe) 19 al-Kindī (philosopher) 80 kindness 137 (personality); 144, 311 (layn, in conflict resolution); 215 (God’s) king xi, xxvii, 1–2, 4, 6–9, 11, 20, 24–29, 31, 47, 62– 63, 71–72, 83, 121, 138, 210, 221–222, 226–228, 231–233, 236–237, 273– 274, 280, 286–287, 302, 306 kingdom 5, 8–10, 18–20, 23, 26–30, 93, 132, 183, 227, 229, 232, 280, 286, 293 kingship xxvii, 1–2, 4–7, 14, 32, 48, 222, 228, 232, 242, 246, 257, 273, 280–281, 283 kitāb (writing) 5, 184, 288 (document, legally binding); 10 (God’s written command); 264–265 (God’s creation of writing, script); 45, 53–54, 65, 113, 139, 141, 194, 282 (God’s legally binding writing) Knauf, Ernst Axel 63–64, 69, 200, 322 Koc, Mehmet Akif 45, 323 Kropp, Manfred 63, 323

Kufa (city, Iraq) 14, 129, 135–138, 145–151, 154, 156–157, 161, 165, 167– 168, 226, 292, 300; 72–74, 199 (linguistics, exegesis) kuhhān (soothsayers) 56 L labour 17, 21, 31, 119–120, 152, 154, 273, 309; 17, 23, 123–125, 180 (labourer) Lakhm, Lakhmid (kingdom, Sassanid vassals) 2, 8–10, 19–20, 26–27, 30, 71–72, 121, 132, 183, 306 land xi, 3, 6, 8, 15–19, 23– 26, 31, 55–58, 94, 101, 111, 116, 119–135, 137– 139, 142, 145–146, 148– 154, 156–161, 165, 168, 170, 172, 174–180, 184, 187–191, 201, 214–215, 217–219, 221–222, 226– 229, 237, 246, 256–259, 261–262, 266–267, 273, 284, 288, 306, 311 Landau-Tasseron, Ella 224, 315 landlord 15, 18, 23, 25–26, 31, 111, 119–121, 123– 128, 130–131, 150, 153– 154, 157, 159–160, 175, 179, 219, 309 landowning 121, 158 al-Lāt (goddess) 281 Latin (translation, Aristotle’s Rhetoric) 85

INDEX lawful 241 (booty); 293 (killing) lawgiving xxvii, 1–2, 7–8, 10–12, 14, 32, 85–86, 309 law-making 61; 111, 113 (authority) lawsuit 147 Lazarus-Yafeh, Hava 224, 323 leadership 27, 115, 137, 158, 191–192, 194, 242, 245–246, 250 lease (land, labour) 120– 126, 148, 159–160, 174– 175, 178, 288; 125 (lessor); 175 (lessee) Lecker, Michael 27–28, 121, 184, 323 legalism 291, 293, 301 legislation 30, 77, 105–106, 108–109, 112 legislative (authority) xvii legitimacy 111, 115–116, 118–119 legitimate 9, 15, 116–117, 137, 139, 150, 158, 160, 249–250, 265, 290, 295 leniency 301; 137 (lenient) letter (official correspondence) 140–141, 145, 159, 289, 291, 295– 296 levy (tax, troops) 26, 244 lexica 20 lexical 45, 199 lexicographer 72 lexicographical 44, 326

363 liberal xvii (political freedoms); xix, 33 (social contract) liberate 8, 127, 151 liberty 109 life-giving 215 (power, God’s; raḥma) life-protection (God’s) 146, 170, 180–181 lineage 107, 109, 217–219, 234–235 lingua franca (administrative language) 63, 67 linguist 65, 73–74, 143 linguistic (and linguistics) xx, xxviii, 36, 44, 60–62, 66, 68, 71–75, 79–80, 86, 97, 143, 190, 197–201, 203, 264, 304 lisān (language) 37–38, 84 literalist (Ẓāhirī hermeneutics) 168 literary 87 (unit, the Qurʾan); 91 (Qurʾanic rhetoric); 264 (image); 291 (features, the History) litigant 89, 93, 94, 100–101, 117, 147; 146 (litigation) livelihood 9, 32, 58, 128, 265, 294, 301, 309 livestock 153, 174, 217–218 logic xi, xviii, 23, 25, 30, 71, 73, 75, 77–79, 84–85, 87– 89, 98–99, 192, 210, 304, 310; 37 (manṭiq) logician 25, 80 logos (argument; rhetoric) 77–78

364

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

lordship (God’s, rubūbiyya) 36, 86, 197, 212, 232 love 33, 141, 211, 217–218 (God’s); 122, 147, 292 (human) Lowry, Joseph 112–113, 115, 119, 323 loyal 26, 139, 153, 183, 294 loyalty 53, 147, 158, 217– 218, 256, 296 Lucas, Scott C. 196, 204, 315 M al-Madāʾin (Ctesiphon, Sassanid capial) 140, 231 Macdonald, Michael C. A. 63, 320 macro-level (and meta/micro/meso-levels; semantic context, the Qurʾan) 43–46, 49, 52, 56, 58, 61–62, 90 Madelung, Wilferd 118–119, 150, 323 madhhab (pl. madhāhib) 106, 108, 154, 165, 167– 168, 191 (general); xii, xiv– xv, xx, xxviii–xxix, 97–98, 162, 164, 167, 242, 255– 256, 272, 301, 303, 307, 309 (jarīrī) magician (said about Jesus) 207, 209 majlis (council) 12, 86, 199 majūs (Zoroastrians) 173, 187, 231, 245 Makdisi, George 106, 323

māl (pl. ʾamwāl, property, wealth) 59, 102–103, 107, 153, 187, 214, 270, 294 Mālik b. ʾAnas (founder, Mālikī madhhab) 167, 171 Mālikī (scholars, madhhab) 38, 167 Maʿmar Abū al-ʾAshʿath (theologian) 83 Maʿmar b. Rāshid (biographer of the Prophet) 204 management 59, 129, 137, 143, 160–161, 191, 229, 246, 259, 261–262 Manāt (goddess) 281 manfaʿa (benefit; legal principle, method) 107, 201 manifest (ẓāhir; meaning, apparent form; semantics) 39, 82, 155, 171, 276 manumission (of a slave; legal topic) 168 manuscript 64, 74, 80, 168– 169, 203 Manūshihr (Persian king, founder of vassal system) 226 maqāl (statement, form of speech; rhetoric, balāgha) 42, 91 maqām (context, standpoint; rhetoric, balāgha) 42, 82, 91

INDEX maqāṣid (objectives of the law; legal method) 107– 109 maʿrifa (experience-based knowledge) 83, 191, 201, 250, 259 market 15–16, 31 Marogy, Amal E. 75, 323 marriage 169, 186, 271, 274 Marsham, Andrew 21–22, 323 marshes (southern Iraq) 152, 157, 159 Mårtensson, Ulrika xii–xv, xviii–xx, xxv–xxvi, 3, 5, 14– 15, 18, 35–36, 40, 49, 53– 54, 56, 58, 67, 89–90, 110– 111, 114, 128–129, 134, 137, 146, 150–155, 162, 167–168, 176, 196, 199, 223, 228, 265, 324–325 Marxist xxi, xxvi, 312 Mary (Maryam) 155, 206– 209, 230 marzubān (governor, Sassanid term) 17, 28 maṣāḥif (sing. muṣḥaf, written manuscript of the Qurʾan) masājid (sing. masjid, lit. places for prostration before God) 4, 236 maṣlaḥa (common good; legal principle, method) xvii–xviii, 103–105, 107– 111, 205 masters (rabbāniyyūna; legal scholars) 103–104, 110

365 material xv; 47–49, 53, 55, 58, 60, 139, 156, 215–216, 220–222, 252, 263, 265 (niʿam, blessings, God’s); 56, 68 (security, life); 116, 273 (conditions, base); 253 (form) materialism xxi, 312 mathal (paradigmatic example; rhetoric, balāgha) 41–42 mawāt (uncultivated land) 177 al-Māwardī (political theorist) 110, 272, 316 mawḍiʿ (topical context; semantics) 43, 74 mawlā (pl. mawālī, protective client) 19, 194, 202, 240, 246, 292 Mazdaism (Zoroastrianism) 16 Mazdak (prophet, leader of movement) 129 maẓlūm (wronged) 232, 249 Māzyār b. Qārin (governor, Tabaristan) 149–150, 157 McAuliffe, Jane D. 199, 323 McDonald, M. V. 10–11, 42, 233, 237, 239–241, 266, 281, 314 meaning xviii, xxviii, 21–22, 36–37, 39–52, 60, 65–66, 74–75, 81–83, 92, 101, 103, 131, 135, 168, 175, 181–184, 186, 193, 196– 208, 212–215, 217–219, 225, 229, 243–244, 247–

366

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

248, 253, 257, 263–264, 270, 276, 281–284, 305 measure 13 (money); 57–59, 125 (scales; ethics, eschatology); 128–129 (administrative); 155, 221, 230–231, 233, 236, 262 (time); 265–266, 275, 283 (capacity; doctrine, theology, metaphysics) Mecca 8, 21, 27–29, 31, 46, 49–51, 66–68, 72, 88, 116, 165, 194, 233, 237, 240, 266–267, 288 Meccan 50, 74, 235, 296 medicine 24, 130–131 Medina 11, 27–29, 49, 52, 66, 68, 72–73, 116, 121, 137, 145–146, 165, 167, 233, 237, 240 Medinan 74, 136, 233 Melchert, Christopher xiii, 324 Melkite (Byzantine church) 22 mercantile 16, 31, 119 merchant 16, 18, 129–130, 154–155, 297 merit 102, 191–192, 245, 273, 277 Mesopotamian 19, 26 Messiah 27 Messianic 112 metals 19, 29, 132, 178 metaphor 45, 91, 78–79 metaphorically 67, 132 metaphysical 25, 85, 260, 263, 266, 271, 276, 300

metaphysics xxix, 47, 86, 259–260, 262, 291, 301, 312 meta-theory (Covenant) xxix, 300–301, 307 method xxii–xxiii, xxviii, 45, 87, 89, 104, 109, 132, 153– 154, 162, 179, 181–184, 186, 188, 191, 193, 196, 198–199, 205, 211, 216, 218, 224, 233, 247, 255, 309 methodology xii, xx, xxviii– xxix, 15, 35, 38–39, 42–44, 47, 98, 100, 106–109, 112, 136, 161–165, 167–169, 171, 173, 175, 177, 179183, 185, 187, 189, 191, 193–197, 199, 201, 203– 205, 207, 209, 211, 213, 215–217, 219–221, 223, 225, 227, 229, 231, 233, 235, 237, 239, 241, 243, 245, 247–251, 253, 255– 257, 259, 275 metropolitan (Church of Persia) 25 Midian (and Midyan, people) 55, 125 migrants 122, 186 migration 159, 191, 233 al-miḥna (the Inquisition) 244, 325 military 9, 15–17, 20, 26, 77, 113, 128, 138, 151, 183–184, 234, 236, 285, 289, 295–296, 298–299, 311

INDEX milla (pl. milal, religion, community) 11, 85, 170, 171, 180 Miller, Fred D. 101–103, 324 mine (for metals, minerals) 4, 19, 29; 30–31, 176–178 (mines) minerals 4, 176–177 miṣāḥa (land tax system) 126, 128, 160 Miskawayh (ethicist, historian) 13–14, 25, 80, 86, 317 mīthāq (Covenant) 4–5, 88, 148–149, 192 modern xv–xvi, xviii, xx– xxvi, 29, 33, 36, 98, 105, 109, 196, 199, 223, 224, 273, 307–308, 312 modernity xvi (Islam being the religion closest to); 108–109 monastery 23 monetary 126, 128 money 13, 18, 123, 126, 130, 138, 168 Monophysite 23, 27, 29–30 moral xviii–xix (standard, natural law); xxiv, 3, 76, 88, 99, 102, 105–106, 117, 133–134, 162–163, 181, 207, 211, 255, 275, 291, 308 moralising 157 morally 132, 134, 277, 298 morals 291–292, 299, 308, 310 morphology 64

367 Moses (prophet) xxvii, 1–2, 6–8, 10–12, 14, 32, 37, 55, 67, 81, 84, 96, 140, 155, 309 Motzki, Harald 66, 73, 75, 318 Mourad, Suleiman A. 279, 324 movement xxi, xxv, 25–26, 30, 112, 119, 143, 153– 154, 157, 159, 225, 308 (social, religious); 24 (topic, philosophy) Muʿādh b. Jabal (Companion) 114–115 muʾallif (composer, creator) 260, 264, 274 mufliḥ (the one who causes sth. to abound, God) 243 mufliḥūna (those who cause prosperity) 57, 59, 122 al-muhājirūna (those who migrated) 186 muḥdath (originated) 260, 264, 274 Mujāhid (exegetical authority) 104, 207, 212–213, 218– 219, 262 muqāsama (land tax system) 126 Muqātil b. Sulaymān (exegete) 38, 44–45, 211, 254, 317 mutawātir (reports with multiple transmission chains) 166, 189 Muʿtazila (school; theology, doctrine) 106–107, 162,

368

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

168, 182, 242, 244–245, 248, 251–252 muzāraʿa (share-cropping) 120, 123, 168, 174, 180 myth 61, 241–242 mythical 4 mythologies 308 N Nabatean (language) 62–63 al-Naḍīr, Banū (Jewish tribe, Yathrib/Medina) 121 Namāra inscription 62–63 al-Nāmūs 10–11 (the first revelation; The Law); 12– 14, 32, 85 naql (written transmission) 173, 185, 224 Naṣrid (name, Lakhmid dynasty) 26 Nasser, Shady Hekmat xiii, 205–206, 247, 325 natural law xiv, xviii–xx, xxvi–xxvii, xxix, 5, 32, 86, 97–102, 105–106, 111, 161–162, 180, 198, 211, 219, 229, 241, 250, 255– 257, 259, 267, 282, 303– 307, 309–310 naturalists/positivists 108 naturalists/rationalists 108 nature xviii, 12, 102, 106, 267–268 (human); 273 (women’s); 12, 71, 250 (of a thing); 32 (of the state) Nawas, John A. 244, 325 Nebuchadnezzar 20 Nehmé, Leila 63, 320

Nestorian 8, 23–25, 26, 30, 71, 79–80, 132, 210, 304 Nestorianism 30, 72 Nguyen, Martin 45, 325 Nicaea (council) 22 Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle) 13, 61, 99–100, 102–103 Nimrod (the arch-tyrannical king) 7 Nisibis (city, Anatolia) 25 Noah (prophet) 6, 55, 155, 231 nobility xxii, 25, 119, 148, 226, 234–235, 289, 311 noble 3, 41, 235 Nöldeke, Theodor (dating of Qurʾanic sūras) 49, 66 nomadic 18, 20 nomads 120 nomos (civil law) 11–12, 22, 32 al-Nuʿmān (last Lakhmid king) 9, 26, 28 O oath 21–22, 33, 45, 49–50, 65–66, 72, 79, 88, 95, 140, 145–146, 148–149, 286, 289, 293 obedience 6, 44, 48, 54, 96, 133, 144–145, 147, 169, 205, 212, 228, 240, 249– 253, 282, 284, 299 obey 101, 187, 205, 212, 227, 232, 236, 238, 251, 265, 269–270, 271, 273, 282, 284, 305, 310

INDEX obligate xvii, 17, 49, 56, 59, 66, 81, 95, 101, 103, 105, 107, 125, 139, 142, 187, 193, 213, 220, 238, 249– 250, 252, 269, 271–273, 282, 289, 308, 310 obligation xvi–xvii, 17, 33, 46–47, 49, 53, 55, 58–59, 65, 69, 81, 84, 93, 101– 102, 105–106, 113, 117, 122, 140–142, 147, 150, 156, 158, 168, 181, 193– 195, 211–214, 216, 221, 226–229, 236, 238–241, 245, 250, 253, 256, 269, 273, 278, 280, 283–285, 289–291, 298, 306, 309 obligatory 202, 213–214, 221, 236, 241 observation (epistemology, empiricism) 260, 274– 276 One-ness (divine) xxix, 36– 37, 53, 87, 211, 249, 252, 259, 260 ontology xxi, xxix, 12, 47, 259–263, 271, 273, 291, 312 oppression xvii, xix, 272, 310 (natural law context); 9, 145, 148 (rule); 10 (tax) Opwis, Felicitas 104, 108– 109, 325 oratory 77, 83–84, 91 organ 10, 302 (qalb, container of intellect); 24 (philosophy, categories)

369 Organon (Aristotle) 23, 25, 73, 79–80 original 36, 201 (meaning; exegesis); 267, 307–308 (Covenant) originality (rhetoric, balāgha) 41 origination 251 (actions; doctrine); 260–261, 263– 264, 274, 300 (metaphysics, ontology) Originator (God; metaphysics, ontology) 260–261, 271, 301 orphans (legal topic) 59, 62, 103, 105, 117, 122, 172, 211, 213–214 orthodox 8, 26, 29, 79 (Syrian Orthodox); 22 (Eastern Orthodox/Melkite); 23 (Oriental Orthodox)ruler orthodoxy 23 (Byzantine) Ôshahanj Fêshdâdh 4–5, 12, 236 oversee (the administration, legal scholars) 104, 128 owner xi (God, of heaven and lands); 31, 121 (peasants, of product of labour, of land); 123–126 (contract parties); 168 (of slaves); 176–177 (of lands and their assets); 241 (of lands lawfully seized) ownership 17–19, 119–120, 126, 159, 165, 176, 179,

370

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

217, 219, 306 (of land); 31 (of product of labour) P pact 22, 66, 116 pagan 16, 21, 26, 28–32, 63, 72 Pahlavi 24–25, 69, 71, 73, 75 Palestine 27 paradigm (theory, methodology) xiv–xvi, xviii–xx, xxvi–xxvii, xxix, 8, 15, 22, 43, 46, 54, 61–62, 75–76, 78, 85, 87, 90, 92, 95, 97–99, 111, 162, 255, 257, 303–309 paradigmatic 41–42, 47, 50 (example, mathal; rhetoric, balāgha); 134 (case, Iblīs); 276 (theoretical level) parallel (time zones) 262 parallelism (exegesis) 43 parents 187–190, 256, 308 (and children; freedom of religion); 211–213 (obligations towards) particularisation (and generalisation; the Biblical scriptures vs. the Qurʾan, law) 198 particularise (and generalise; exegesis) 219 particularities (and generalities; law) 166 particular (and universal, general) 39–40, 61, 69,

75, 90, 100, 163, 200, 216, 276 pastoral 18–19 path 47, 59–60, 78, 95, 229, 279–280 (of correct speech and action, al-ṣirāṭ almustaqīm); 94, 99–101, 140 (of equity, sawāʾ alṣirāṭ); 161 (of divine guidance, sharīʿa) pathos (rhetoric, Aristotle) 76, 89 patrilineal (succession, kingship) 273 Paul the Persian (Aristotle commentator, Nestorian theologian) 25, 30, 69, 71, 79–80, 86 peace xvi (natural law); 147, 150 (communal); 121, 123, 156, 184–185, 188–189 (treaties); 6, 9, 142, 164– 165, 173, 176–178, 205, 210, 238–239 (enactment of, ʾislām) peacefully 125, 145, 294 peasants (al-falāḥūna) xvii, xxviii, 16–18, 23, 26, 30– 32, 111, 119–121, 123– 129, 131, 150–151, 153– 155, 157–160, 175, 180, 229, 294, 307, 309 pen 2, 264–266, 275, 301 (and divine creation); 5–6 (and prophecy) permissible 65, 145, 174, 186–188, 219, 272 permission 102, 117, 172

INDEX permit 115, 145, 187, 201– 202, 272 persecution (as trial, fitna) 133, 281 Persia 24–25, 63 Persian xxvii, 2, 4–5, 7–9, 14, 17, 110, 226, 231–233, 236, 304 (kingship); 82–83 (rhetoric); 150 (landlords) person (nafs) 59, 268 personality 137, 291–293, 296, 299, 301 persuade (rhetoric) 46, 49, 54, 77, 86, 90, 92; 12, 42, 76–77, 79, 81, 87, 92, 144, 300, 304, 311 (persuasion); 7, 36, 49, 144, 197, 261, 304, 311 (persuasive) Peters, F. E. 23–25, 30, 69, 71, 98–99, 325 Pharaoh 2, 8, 55, 81 philosopher 11–12, 30, 32, 80, 89, 91, 300 philosophical xiii, xxvii, 22, 24–25, 30, 73, 80, 85–86, 92, 97, 260, 300, 304, 306 philosophy xviii, xxvii, 1, 11–12, 22–25, 29–30, 85– 86, 98–99, 260, 305 Physics 98 pilgrimage 4, 29, 72, 116, 155, 214, 221, 229, 236– 237, 240, 288, 301, 309 Pines, Shlomo 12, 325 place (discourse; methodology) xxii–xxiii plaintiff 95 Plato xiii, 11–12, 25, 85, 275

371 pledge 11, 21–22, 29, 31, 33, 50, 65–66, 79, 148– 149, 153, 158, 286 poem 71–72, 78, 286, 288, 291–292, 297, 321 poet 41, 48, 56, 71, 74, 286– 287, 293, 296 poetic 63–65, 78, 90, 200 Poetics (Aristotle) 85 poetry 40, 63, 74, 78, 80, 291–293 policy xx, 107, 118, 127, 129, 130, 158, 244, 246 politics 12, 102, 304 (Aristotle); 104, 244, 305 polity xxvii, 1, 3, 5, 7–11, 13–15, 17, 19, 21, 23, 25, 27–29, 31–33, 96, 191, 192, 230, 231, 233, 237, 240–243, 245, 249–250, 293, 301, 303, 307–309 poll tax (jizya) 168, 221 polytheism 87, 237 polyvalence 162 poor 121–122, 124, 172, 211, 213–214, 241 positivism 106–107, 162, 180, 189, 195, 255–256, 275 power xxiv, 9, 17, 25–26, 28, 33, 48, 50, 54, 113, 122, 124, 126, 128–129, 145, 150–151, 157, 194, 198, 215, 226, 239, 244, 261–262, 264–265, 271– 272, 274–275, 280–282, 285, 290, 292, 298, 301– 302

372

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

powerful xxv, 112, 117, 120, 129, 150, 158, 183, 211– 213, 216–217, 220, 224, 227, 302 powerless 117, 227 powers xv, 3, 14, 18–19, 29; xvii, xxviii–xxix, 111, 119, 132, 191, 259, 299 (separation of) pragmatism (semantics) 74– 75 praises (seven, ref. to Q. 1) 46–47 praise-sūra (Qarmatian) 155 prayer 11, 46, 83, 154, 213– 214, 221, 229, 231, 236– 237, 239–240, 273, 281, 318 preamble (of the UDHR) xvi, xix, 190 precedence (in Islam, sābiqa) 191 precedent (legal) 113, 128– 129, 141, 295 precious 176–178 (metals, minerals); 237, 288 (stones) predestination (doctrine, theology) 242, 245, 265 predictability (rule of law) 107, 109 pre-existence (of God, qidam; metaphysics, ontology) 261 pre-Islamic 19, 28–29, 71, 82, 86, 110, 119, 124, 128, 226, 232, 237 prestige (language of) 63

priest 15–16, 226 Prior Analytics (Aristotle) 25 private (property) 102, 105, 109, 123, 127, 145, 158, 179 privilege 16–17 produce xxi–xxiv, 306–307, 309–310 (discursive knowledge; methodology); 16–19, 31, 119, 123–124, 126, 128, 180, 273, 278, 309 (of labour, agricultural) production (mode of) xxii progress (political theory) xxiii–xxiv, 7–8 progression (of a topic, the Qurʾan) 92 promise 8, 139, 153, 157– 158, 284 (of land); 55, 87, 208, 238, 252, 290–291, 309 (the divine message, terms); 137, 139, 158, 292– 294, 300 (contractual); 201 (rhetorical form) proof xx, 36, 82–85, 99, 117, 147, 166–167, 169, 171– 175, 179–181, 183–185, 197, 208, 224, 255–256 (rhetoric, logic, law, exegesis); 135–136, 166– 167, 169, 171–175, 179– 181, 183–185, 195, 204– 205, 209, 219, 248–250, 253, 256, 272 (textual sources, reports); 36, 40, 47–49, 67–68, 81, 88–90, 197–198, 204–205, 248,

INDEX 255, 261, 304 (divine, the Qurʾan) property xvii, xxviii–xix, 15, 21, 59, 62, 65, 102–103, 105, 107, 109, 111, 113, 116–117, 119–120, 123– 124, 126–127, 132, 138, 140, 145, 148, 153, 159– 160, 165, 168, 176–177, 179, 211, 214, 218, 249– 250, 252, 257, 259, 269– 270, 273, 294, 309 prophecy xiii, xxviii–xxix, 1– 2, 5–7, 12, 14, 32, 48, 81, 84–86, 90, 103, 110, 114, 198, 242, 257, 259, 267, 309 prophet xi, 1–5, 7–14, 20, 27–29, 31–33, 38–42, 45, 47–48, 53–55, 64, 75, 83, 85–88, 93, 96, 111–112, 114–116, 119, 121, 124, 127, 130, 137, 140–143, 145–146, 148, 151–152, 158–161, 166, 169–175, 179–181, 183–185, 188– 191, 195, 197–198, 200– 206, 209, 223–224, 229– 237, 239–242, 245–246, 249, 252–257, 266–267, 273, 281–282, 292, 300– 301, 303–304, 306–311 prophetic xiii, xxvii–xxviii, 1, 3, 16, 18, 25–26, 30–32, 39–41, 46, 62, 65, 67–69, 74, 76, 80–81, 84–87, 99, 110, 118–119, 121, 123, 129, 162–163, 171, 174,

373 188, 196–197, 200, 202, 204–206, 219, 229, 244– 245, 248–250, 256–257, 260, 265, 270 proposition 78–79, 82, 85, 89–90, 92–93, 251, 254, 304 prosperity 26, 57, 59, 122 prostrate 3, 43–44, 54, 56, 135, 236, 281, 305, 310 prostration 3–5, 11, 93, 236, 237, 240 protected xvii, 213, 294 (rights); 112 (the common good); 142, 159, 178–179 (peoples, ahl al-dhimma); 289 (clients, mawālī) protection xv, xix, 110, 117, 256, 311 (of rights); 257, 311 (of the common good, equity); 307 (of the Prophet’s sunna); 47, 50, 55–56, 146, 149, 170, 180– 181 (by God); 120 (by landlords); 159, 185, 187– 188 (ahl al-dhimma); 212– 213, 229 (of those in need, of peasants) province 17, 143–144, 153, 158, 286 Psalms 41; 170, 197 (Psalter) psychological 141, 285 public 11, 42, 86, 92, 194, 289, 297, 300, 304 (the public); xvii–xviii, 104, 107, 112, 234, 306, 311 (welfare, common good); 4,

374

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

37, 40–42, 48, 76–78, 81, 83–84, 91, 93, 97, 139 (speech); 123 (authority); 151, 158 (lands); 236 (prayer) Q qadar (measured capacity; doctrine, theology) 242, 245, 251, 265, 283 qalb (pl. qulūb, heart, seat of the intellect) 10, 36, 197, 279 Qarmaṭ, Ḥamdān (Qarmatian leader) 154–155 Qarmatian movements 152– 154, 156–157, 225, 308 qaṣṣa (to account) 56, 58; 45–46, 95 (account, qiṣṣa) Qatāda b. Diʿāma (Successor, transmitter of reports) 115, 204, 209–211, 264 qawwāmūna ʿalā (men are providers for women; Q.4:34) 269–270 Qaynuqāʿ, Banū (Jewish tribe, Yathrib/Medina) 121, 240 qirāʾāt (Qur'anic readings) xiii, 64, 205, 247 qiyās (analogy) 24, 175 qualities 40 (Qurʾanic forms); 227 (in a king); 268 (in the human being) Qudāma b. Jaʿfar 110, 112 queen (Bilqīs, of Sabaʾ, Yemen) 273

the Qurʾan (canon, ʿUthmānic script) 64–65, 200, 203, 206 Quraysh (the Prophet’s tribe) 8, 29, 42, 234, 237, 240, 249, 273, 281, 286, 288, 292 Qurayẓa, Banū (Jewish tribe, Yathrib/Medina) 28, 121 R rabbāniyyūna (masters, legal scholars) 103 rabbinate 16 rabbinical 75, 91–92, 223 rabbis 27 al-Rabīʿa (tribal group) 9, 183, 185 al-Rāfiḍa (Shīʿism; doctrine) 248 al-Raḥīm (name of God; definition) 47, 214–216 al-Raḥmān (name of God; definition) 47, 214–216 rain (gentle showers, God’s sustenance of humans) 215, 221 al-raʿiyya (the ruled, the flock) 193, 227 Ramadan (month, fast; institutioning of) 239– 240 al-rāshidūna (the rightly guided Caliphs) 192 rationalist xiii (critique of prophecy); 106–108, 162, 180, 182, 275 (methodology; natural law)

INDEX al-Ray (city, Iran) 168 raʾy (legal opinion) 138, 193, 272, 286–287 rāya (banner, ref. to Q. 1) 46 reader (qāriʾ, of the Qurʾan) 20, 74, 83, 114, 194, 206, 208–209 reading xiii, 64–65, 74, 200, 203–209, 211, 223, 247, 282 (qirāʾa, of the Qurʾan); 38, 39, 42, 46, 68, 201– 202, 264 (The Reading, ref. to the Qurʾan) realist (epistemology) 247 reality xxi–xxii, xxv (methodology); xxix, 245, 263, 266 (metaphysics, ontology); 46, 49, 54, 60, 70, 88, 247, 255, 304 (language, semiotics, rhetoric); 115 (historical) realm (imperial) 17, 24–25, 111, 117, 183, 226, 228, 232, 286, 298 reason xvii, 106–107, 251, 255 (natural, and natural law); 24 (and revelation); 82 (and science); 169, 182– 184, 192, 224 (legal) rebellion xvii (natural law); 134–157 (reasons for); xxviii, 48, 54, 111, 129, 132, 183, 212, 217, 229, 232, 257, 269–270, 300, 311 reclaim (land) 17, 131 recompense (divine; Covenant terms) 44, 139, 169, 215

375 records (historical) 18–20, 22, 33, 79, 132 redistribution xvii, 110, 241, 246, 306 reduction (ideological; methodology) xxi–xxii, xxiv–xxv reform 17, 22, 25–26, 30, 109, 128–131, 229, 309 Reformation xxv, 308 re-formation (of large estates) 120 refutable (signs; rhetoric, Aristotle) 78, 90 register (dīwān, of the state) 234–236 reject (security, kufr) 39, 68, 121, 142, 156, 186, 215– 216, 251 relativistic (time measures) 231 religion xx–xxi, xxiii–xxvii, xxix, 1, 5, 8, 11, 15, 17, 22, 24, 26–30, 32–33, 44, 61, 63, 85–86, 97, 106–107, 116, 155, 173, 186, 189, 190, 256, 264, 300, 303, 306–312 religious xx–xxi, xxiii–xxvii, 16–17, 21, 24, 31–33, 63– 66, 69, 71–72, 75, 86, 92, 154–155, 170–171, 173, 180, 190, 198, 269, 279, 292, 304–305, 308 rent 18, 31, 124–127 renunciation (zuhd, asceticism) 278–279, 298, 302

376

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

report (and reports) xxviii– xxix, 3–4, 7, 10, 12, 20, 28, 32, 45–46, 64–65, 73, 76, 95, 101, 108, 114–116, 118, 121, 123, 129, 132, 134–139, 141, 143–146, 150, 152–160, 163–164, 166–167, 172, 174–176, 181–186, 188–189, 191– 196, 202, 205–207, 209– 214, 217, 219–220, 222– 226, 229, 233–237, 240– 248, 250, 252, 254–256, 260, 262, 264–268, 270, 273–275, 277–278, 280– 281, 285–286, 288, 290– 293, 300–301, 305, 307, 309–311 resurrection (qiyāma; doctrine, theology) 244, 254 Retsö, Jan 19–22, 31, 62–63, 65–66, 69, 325 return (land, God, ʾafāʾa) 121–122, 159, 214 revenue 15, 17, 26, 77, 120, 125, 127, 130, 158–160, 288 rhetoric xxvii–xxviii, 35, 37, 39–41, 43, 45, 47, 49, 51– 53, 55, 57, 59, 61, 63, 65, 67, 69, 71, 73, 75–81, 83– 85, 87–93, 95–97, 99–100, 196, 210, 279, 303–304 rhetorical xx, xxviii, 11, 37, 41–42, 49, 59–61, 76, 78– 79, 81, 83–87, 89–92, 94, 141, 197–198, 237, 271, 287, 291, 300, 303–304

rhetorician 41–42, 48, 83, 91, 147 rhyme 48, 56, 79 rhythm 56, 78, 90 al-ridda (rebellion against Abū Bakr) 183 rightful 193, 213–214, 239– 240, 252, 290, 302 rights xiv–xix, xxviii–xxix, 16–17, 32–33, 46–47, 49– 50, 62, 65, 93, 97–99, 101– 103, 105–111, 113, 115, 117, 119–121, 123–129, 131–133, 135–137, 139, 141, 143, 145, 147, 149, 151, 153, 155, 157–161, 176, 179–181, 190, 204, 211, 213–214, 216–217, 221, 225–229, 236, 239, 241, 246, 250, 256–257, 259, 269, 271, 273, 277– 278, 282–283, 285, 289, 291, 294, 298, 301, 303– 304, 306–307, 309–311 Rippin, Andrew 44, 199, 323, 326 risāla 46, 81, 180 (God’s message); 164, 166 (introduction to treatise; methodology) ritual xxiv, 7, 11, 113, 170, 181, 221, 236–237, 241– 242, 256, 266, 288, 308– 309 rīṭūriyya (Aristotle’s Rhetoric) 84 Robin, Christian Julien 18, 22, 27–28, 66, 326

INDEX Robinson, Chase xv–xvi, xix, 223–224, 326 Roman 82 (rhetoric); 98 (law); 233 (empire) root (consonant, Arabic) 43, 46, 52, 57, 58, 62, 65–67, 82, 91–92, 111, 125, 184, 192, 216 Rosenthal, Franz xi–xiii, 3–7, 35, 110, 130–131, 134, 136, 152, 154, 156–157, 161, 163–165, 181, 196, 205, 220–223, 225, 230– 232, 236–237, 242, 248, 260–262, 265–266, 268, 277–278, 313, 315, 326 royal 4, 14, 16, 24, 30, 63, 86, 159, 196, 226, 231– 232, 251, 274, 282 Rubin, Zeev 26, 110, 129, 232–233, 326 rubūbiyya (lordship, God‘s) 212, 232 ruler xiv, xvii–xix, xxii, xxviii, 3–4, 10–11, 17–20, 22, 25–26, 28, 61, 66, 112– 113, 115–116, 119, 126, 128, 151, 158, 216, 222, 226, 228, 230–231, 234, 237, 241, 244, 248–250, 257, 273–274, 282, 286, 290–291, 299, 308 rule xi, 233 (of kings and caliphs); 247 (of God) rulings 60, 67, 75, 94–95, 100, 106–107, 110, 112– 115, 135–136, 138–141, 149–150, 162, 164–168,

377 170, 175–182, 184–185, 187, 193, 195, 201–202, 232, 269, 277, 286, 301 ruʾya (beatific vision; doctrine, theology) 254 S Sabāʾīs (group, Yemen) 136– 137, 250 sabʿat ʾaḥruf (seven pronounced particles) 39, 64, 200, 206 sabīl 59, 95, 153, 239 (duties towards God); 140 (equitable path) sābiqa (precedence in Islam) 191 ṣadaqa 146 (the Prophet’s fund); 176–178 (alms tax) Sadowski, Yahya xv, 326 Sahel (zone, Africa; the Zanj) 152 sajʿ (rhymed prose, soothsaying; the Qurʾan) 48, 56 al-salaf (the predecessors) 183; 222–223 (al-sālifīna) Saleh, Walid 196, 326 Saliba, George 151, 314 sanctuary 72, 93, 289 Sassanid (Persian dynasty) xxvii, 2, 8–10, 14–17, 20, 22–33, 63, 69, 71, 86, 97, 119–121, 123–124, 128– 129, 131–132, 140, 143– 144, 159–160, 183, 229, 232–233, 303–304, 306– 308

378

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Sassanid shahs: - Anūshirwān (Khusraw I) 2, 8, 24–26, 30, 71, 86, 128–131, 144, 160, 229, 307, 311 - Artaxsathr (Ardashir) 24 - Parvez (Khusraw II) 9– 10, 26 - Qubādh 25 - Shapur 24 Satan 3, 5–7, 54–55, 93, 134, 145, 148, 280, 281, 285 (shayṭān, also Iblīs); 2, 277, 280, 283, 290, 299 (satanic) ṣawāb (attaining the correct meaning; hermeneutics) 43, 95, 199, 208 al-Sawād (rich farm lands, Mesopotamia) 26, 130, 148, 158–160 Sayf b. ʿUmar (transmitter of historical reports) 136– 137 scales (mīzān) 57–59 (eschatology, ethics), 125 Schacht, Joseph xiii, 168– 169, 171–174, 189, 313 Schoeler, Gregor 73 school xii, xxvi, 22, 24–25, 73, 75, 79–80, 85–86, 92, 105–106, 110, 116, 156, 199, 242, 245, 248, 251, 277, 304 science xxiv, xxvi, 24, 41, 77, 85, 98–99, 260, 307– 308; xxi, xxiv, xxvi, 24, 77,

82, 92, 98, 112, 202, 308 (scientific); 11, 110, 272 (scientist) scribe 45, 64, 72, 108, 112, 114, 129, 150, 153, 203, 225, 286, 289, 293, 295, 298–299; 129, 155 (scribal) script 82, 264 (khaṭṭ, general sense); 40, 45, 64–65, 74, 115, 200, 203, 206, 304 (rasm, the ʿUthmānic Qurʾanic); 62–63 (Aramaic, Namāra inscription) scriptural xxiii–xxv, 7, 65, 87, 106–107, 113, 168, 171, 195, 256, 257 scripturalism xvi; 166, 175 (about al-Ṭabarī) scripture xviii, xx–xxi, xxv, 40, 54, 87, 89, 106–108, 198, 224, 230, 275 scrolls (ṣaḥīfa) 5–6 secure (connotations of ʿ-r-b-ī) 67–68 security (root ʾ-m-n) 21, 39, 50, 56, 65, 67–68, 77, 79, 85, 93–95, 121–123, 125, 140–142, 147, 153, 156, 170, 173, 186–187, 209, 213, 215–216, 238, 246– 247, 251, 254, 279, 283, 293 sedentary 18, 20, 63 seed (in share-cropping contract) 124–125 self-interest (ethics, judges) 301–302

INDEX semantic 43, 45, 54, 61–62, 68, 80–81, 87, 90–92, 132, 162, 198–199, 219, 254 sēmeíon (sign, proof; rhetoric, Aristotle) 70, 78, 89–90, 93, 304 sending-down 11, 68, 217, 240, 265, 281 (tanzīl, of the Qurʾan); 7–8, 12, 32, 53, 264 (sent-down; writings, law, principles) senses (wujūh, ʾawjuh; polysemy, homonyms) 43–44, 46, 66, 79, 84, 132, 169, 216 Septuagint 230 serfs 18, 23, 31, 119–120, 124; 31, 127, 158, 180 (serfdom) Seth (Adam’s descendant) 6 settlement 19–20, 31, 72, 306 (Arab); 120 (farming communities); 221, 272 (of debts and dues); 240 (of discord) Severus Sebokht (Aristotle commentator) 25 al-Shāfiʿī, Muḥammad b. Idrīs (founder of the Shāfiʿī madhhab) 100, 162, 164, 166–168, 171, 175, 179, 189, 204 Shah, Mustafa xii–xiii, 21, 38, 44, 74, 199, 326, 327 Shalabī, Hind 39, 44, 316 shaper (bāriʾ, God; metaphysics, ontology) 261–262

379 sharecropping 15, 120–121, 123–124, 127, 158, 168, 174–175 sharīʿa 13–14, 161 al-Shaybānī (jurist, Ḥanafī madhhab) 168 Sheikh, Faraz Mahmood 279, 291, 327 shīʿa 61, 84, 105, 116, 118, 148, 151, 155, 192, 194, 243, 245–250 al-Shibl, ʿAlī b. ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz b. ʿAlī 248–249, 313 Shiner, Roger A. 99–100, 327 shirk (to take other partners than God, share God with other partners) 133, 171, 177, 252 Shoshan, Boaz 134, 137, 327 Shuʿayb (prophet) 55, 58, 125 shūra (council) 191–193, 246, 285 shuʿūbiyya (movement, Persian culture) 83 Sībawayhi (linguist) 65–66, 73–75, 81, 276, 317 sign 70, 78–79, 89–90, 93, 97, 304 (sēmeíon); 36, 45– 46, 54–55, 57–58, 67–68, 93, 95, 101, 152, 196, 217– 219, 283 (ʾāya, the Qurʾan) silsila (Sufi transmission chain, authorities) 279 silver 19, 29, 174–175, 178 simile 78–79, 86, 91; 300 (similitude)

380

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Simplicius (Aristotle commentator) 24 sin 103, 132–133, 138, 248, 251–252 Sinai 8, 18, 20, 96 sincerity (ʾikhlāṣ) 53–54, 277, 281–282, 285, 296, 298–299, 301 situation (choices, actions; ethics) 144, 146–147, 226, 281, 294, 298–300, 302, 305 siyāq (topical context, progress; the Qurʾan) 199, 217 slave 21, 65, 152–153, 157, 168, 212–213 slavery xvii Smith, G. Rex 233–235, 314 social contract (political theory) xiv, xviii, xix–xx, xxvii–xxviii, 1, 5, 7–10, 12, 31–33, 61, 66, 86, 97, 127, 147, 158, 163, 191–194, 228–229, 237, 256, 303, 306 sociological (theory of religion) xxiv–xxv, 307–309, 312 Socrates 275 Solomon (prophet-king) 2, 273–274 soul 12, 70, 117, 156 sound (transmission chains, reports, sources) 184– 185, 188–189, 195, 201, 205, 232, 244, 248, 252, 255

sounds (language theory, Aristotle) 70, 78 source-based (methodology) 225 Sourdel, Dominique xiii, 130–131, 242–248, 313, 327 sovereign 8, 96 (polity); 184 (control of territory); 239 (God); 273–274 (royals) spirit (rūḥ) 82, 209–210, 254 spiritual (egalitarianism) xvi spoils 113, 172, 213 sponsoring (of philosophy) 24, 30, 129, 160, 307 standard (moral; natural law) xviii–xix, 99, 102, 105– 106, 162–163, 181, 211, 255, 275, 307–308 standpoint (maqām; rhetoric, balāgha) 42, 82 state xv, xxiii, 12, 15–17, 23, 26, 29–30, 32, 77, 102, 107, 111, 113, 116, 120, 125–131, 134, 150–151, 157–158, 179, 190, 219, 225, 234, 244, 257, 273, 285, 309 statecraft (siyāsa) 12–13, 113, 191, 194 status 18, 28, 31, 102, 119– 121, 124, 131, 159, 180, 189 (legal); 128, 256 (social, scholarly) Stausberg, Michael 245, 329 Stetkevytch, Suzanne P. 42, 327

INDEX Stewart, Devin xiii–xiv, 117, 131, 164–165, 166–169, 174–175, 180, 255–256, 317, 327–328 subject xxi–xxiv, (person, subject-matter; methodology); xxiii–xxiv, 197, 224–225, 257, 260, 275, 309 (subjective) subjects 25, 30 (classification, Aristotle); 37, 77, 255 (personal) succession 15, 21, 118, 191, 194, 221, 245–246, 267, 273, 285, 288–290, 293, 298–299, 306 successor 16, 108, 129, 143, 191, 204, 223–224, 235, 237, 250, 277, 285–286, 293, 295, 298 al-Suddī (transmitter of exegetical reports) 218– 219, 280 al-ṣūfiyya (Sufism) 278 Sufi 83, 105, 254, 278–279 sunna xxviii, 11–12, 99, 109, 111–113, 116, 124, 136, 138, 140–141, 145, 148, 158–160, 162–163, 173– 175, 179–182, 187–190, 194–195, 202, 204, 235, 241–242, 246, 252, 255– 257, 278, 285, 301, 307, 309, 311 sun-worship 274 superstructure (Marxist sense) 312

381 supervise 279, 281, 285 (thoughts, words); 194 (the administration, scholars, ref. to 104–105) sūra 41–46, 49–50, 53, 59, 66, 88, 91–92, 102, 203– 204, 211, 269, 272, 281, 284 survey 33 (contracts); 128 (lands, infrastructure); 164–167, 251–252 (of jurists, scholars, arguments); 293, 300 (thoughts, actions) surveyor 33 (of contract, God); 102 (of claimsmakers, God) sustain (materially) 17, 49, 50, 53–54, 56, 68, 124, 216, 220, 241, 256, 259, 263, 265, 267, 301, 309 sustainer (God) 220, 228 sustenance (rizq) 53, 55, 68, 178–179, 181, 213–216, 220–221, 227–228, 257, 265, 269 al-Suyūṭī (exegete) 91 syllogism 78, 88–89, 99 syllogistike 24 symbol 70, 78, 112; 91, 132, 236, 237 (symbolic); 5, 70, 237 (symbolise) symmetry 268–269 synonym 39–40 syntax 66, 198, 207, 209, 276 synthesis 85 (Plato and Aristotle); 90 (Qurʾanic and

382

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

Aristotelian rhetoric); 265 (free will and divine power); 307 (Sassanid administration and sunna) Syria (region) 8, 18–19, 21, 26, 62–63, 73, 97, 120, 137, 156, 165, 183, 234, 286, 304, 314 Syriac 23, 25, 69, 73–76, 79, 304 Syrian 6, 8, 23, 26, 29, 79, 123, 139, 143, 167, 296 system xiv, xxvii, 14, 17–18, 22, 25, 29, 97, 111, 118– 121, 144, 179, 226, 229, 233, 257, 260, 303; 111, 137 (systemic) systematic xiv, xxviii, 23, 85, 98, 108–110, 129, 132, 168–169, 200, 259, 304; 98, 107, 109, 168 (systematise) T Tabaristan 128, 132, 134, 149–152, 157–158, 248– 249, 278 tablet 243 (lawḥ maḥfūẓ); 8, 55 (tablets) taʾdīb (education, wives) 270, 273 tafsīr (exegesis, commentary) xii, xxvii–xxviii, 38–39, 44, 199, 202–204 Taghlib, Banū (tribe) 174, 183–190 Ṭāhirids (governors) 149– 151, 157–158

al-Ṭāʾif (city, Hijaz) 8, 72 Ṭalḥa b. ʿUbayd Allāh (Companion, musnad) 182, 191 taʾlīf (composition) 41–42, 260, 264, 274–275 Talmon, Rafael 72–74, 328 taqlīd (follow, legal authority) 272 tax xix, xxviii–xxix, 9, 15–19, 26, 28, 30–31, 71, 108, 110–112, 120–121, 124– 132, 143–144, 150, 152, 155, 157, 159–161, 168– 170, 173, 176–179, 186, 189, 214, 221, 226–229, 240–241, 244, 257, 303, 306, 311 tax-collector 10 Tayob, Abdulkader 132–134, 147, 157, 328 teachers (al-Ṭabarī’s) 203– 204 temple 15–16, 18, 29–30, 159, 237 temptation 2, 93, 140, 232, 237, 277–281, 283, 285, 290, 292–293, 299–300, 305 tenancy 124–125; 123 (tenure) tenant 120–121, 125–126, 131, 153 tenth (ʿushr) 176 terminology xxiv (de Certeau); 78 (Aristotle); 82, 84 (al-Jāḥiẓ); 91 (the Qur'an, rhetoric); 126

INDEX (Ḥanafī); 168 (Emon); 190 (al-Ṭabarī) terms xiv, xx–xxi, xxviii, 5, 10, 12–13, 16, 21–22, 24, 29–33, 36, 41–42, 45–47, 49–50, 52–62, 66, 75–76, 87, 90–91, 102, 108, 123– 125, 136, 141, 154, 158– 159, 163, 169–170, 179– 182, 188–189, 195, 198, 213, 220–221, 226, 232, 238, 241, 243, 247–248, 252, 256, 259, 261, 263, 266–267, 269, 272, 278, 281, 283, 285, 288–289, 299–300, 303–306, 309, 312 territory xi, 8, 17–18, 32, 63, 123, 178, 187, 223, 233; 19, 21 (territorial) test (fitna) 132–133, 145, 155–157, 160, 226 testify 4, 36, 41, 60, 65, 86, 88, 141, 197, 238, 267, 272 testimony 55, 60, 62, 66, 223, 277, 289, 293 text-based (proof) 195 textual 179, 181 (proof); 225 (evidence); 243 (sources) Thamūd (people, the Qurʾan) 55 thawāb (divine reward) 48, 251 al-Thawrī, Sufyān (jurist, Iraq) 167

383 theology xiii, xviii, 22, 30, 98, 181, 242, 257, 260; 16, 25, 30, 79, 83–84 (theologian); 105–106 (and natural law, Islamic) theoretical xiv–xv, xviii–xxi, xxvi–xxvii, xxix, 10–11, 14, 22, 31–32, 35, 42, 61–62, 69, 72, 76, 81, 85, 97, 113, 114, 119, 252–253, 259, 276, 301, 303–308 theoreticians (Fatimid) 116 theorise xxi, 11, 64, 91–92, 112, 115–116, 129, 261, 275; xviii, 73, 109 (theorist) theory xiv, xviii–xxii, xxiv– xxix, 1, 11–12, 14, 17, 25, 30, 32–33, 35–36, 40, 60– 61, 69–76, 80–81, 84–86, 97–99, 101–103, 105–106, 108–118, 126, 161–162, 180, 194, 198–200, 210– 211, 219, 229, 241–242, 246, 255–257, 259–260, 264, 267, 273, 276, 282, 300–310, 312 throne 26–28, 221 (king’s); 53, 237, 266, 284 (God's) Tierney, Brian 98, 102, 328 Tigris (river) 296 Timaeus (dialogue, Plato) 25, 275 time xi, xxix, 2, 24, 70, 155, 170, 175, 221–223, 229– 233, 236–241, 243, 259, 261–263, 267, 277, 308

384

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

al-Tirmidhī (ḥadīth compiler) 246 topics 35, 40, 45–46, 49, 53– 54, 58, 62, 68, 90–93 (the Qurʾan); 74, 78, 85, 90 (linguistics, rhetoric) topical connections (al-Ṭabarī’s works) xiv, 229, 307 Torah 5, 41, 96, 173, 197– 198, 230–231 trade 15–16, 18–21, 29, 31, 227; 16, 31 (traders); 19, 128, 278 (trading) tradition xxiii–xxv, 1, 16–17, 92, 106; 16, 76, 181, 224, 233 (traditions); 223 (traditionalism) translation xi–xii, xiv, xxviii, 12, 23, 25, 32, 35–36, 40, 47, 67, 69, 71, 73–76, 79– 81, 83–85, 97, 113, 129, 131, 133, 144, 149, 152, 159–160, 176, 220, 224, 228, 233, 239, 242, 264, 292, 304, 306, 307 transmission xiv, xxvii–xxviii, 35, 62, 74, 79, 92, 97, 131, 304 (of Aristotle’s works); 43, 165–166, 174–175, 182, 184–185, 190, 201– 204, 224, 235, 244 (of reports) Transoxania (region) 126 transparency (rule of law) 109 treasure 176–177, 238

treasury 17, 24, 130, 135, 150–151 treaty 22, 121, 123, 156, 159, 174, 183–185, 188– 190, 240–241 trial 53–54, 58–60, 88, 132– 134, 155–157, 235, 267, 278, 280, 283 tribe xv, 11, 19, 21, 26–28, 42, 65, 71, 116, 121, 152– 154, 183, 190, 234–235, 237, 240–241, 256, 281; 9, 19, 21, 29, 63, 121, 152 (tribal); 26 (tribesmen) Trinity 27, 210 truth xxiv, 24, 36, 54–55, 70, 77, 86, 89, 92, 97, 152, 156, 197, 207–209, 229, 276, 304–305; xix, 308 (absolute; natural law) true right (ḥaqq; natural law) 95, 170–171, 173, 180, 198, 242–243, 278, 282– 284 Ṭulūnid (dynasty, North Africa) 132 tyranny xvii, xix, 133, 148; 7, 134, 138, 156 (tyrant) U ʾUbayy b. Kaʿb (Companion, Qurʾan reader) 114–115 ʾulūhiyya (divinity; metaphysics, ontology) 263

INDEX ʿUmar b. al-Khaṭṭāb (Companion, second Caliph) 3, 114–115, 129– 130, 142, 144–145, 159– 160, 174–176, 179, 181– 183, 185–186, 188–189, 191–195, 214, 233–235, 245–246, 256, 307 Umayyad (first caliphal dynasty) 19, 62, 64, 80, 116, 123, 143, 145–147, 158, 183, 246 Umayyad Caliphs: - Muʿāwiya 137–138, 140, 143, 145, 158, 179 - Yazīd b. Muʿāwiya 145– 146 - Hishām b. ʿAbd al-Malik 146 ʾumm al-qurʾān (ref. to Q. 1) 46, 48–49, 214 uncreated (the Qurʾan; doctrine, theology) 243– 244, 246–247 uncultivated (land; legal topic) 151, 174, 177–178 uniquely (pertaining to God, One, Creator) 53, 262, 282 unit 41, 45 (semantic, sūra); 87, 91 (semantic, the Qurʾan) United Nations xvi (Universal Declaration of Human Rights); 190 (Convention on the Rights of the Child) universal xvi, 307 (human family); 1 (history); 52–54

385 (Covenant); 70–71 (and particular); 100 (application; law); 198 (capability); 237 (servitude to God) universalism xvi, 100, 109, 198, 233, 267 universals (and particulars) 39, 40, 61, 69, 75, 90, 100, 200 unjust 2, 137, 250 uprising 9, 129, 134, 144– 145, 151–153, 157, 250, 308, 311 ʿurf (established knowledge, ref. to Q. 7) 125 ʾuṣūl al-fiqh xiii, xxviii, 100, 131, 164–167, 175, 179, 204 usurpation 168 (legal topic); 179 (of God’s role) ʾuswa (ideal model) 145–146 ʿUthmān b. ʿAffān (Companion, third Caliph) 40, 45, 64, 114–115, 136–137, 142, 157, 182, 191, 234, 295, 311 ʿUthmānic (script; the Qurʾan) 64–65, 200, 203, 206, 304 V Vagelpohl, Uwe 79–80, 84– 85, 328 Vali, Abbas xx, 17–18, 328 valid 24, 86 (paths to truth, reason and revelation); 78 (syllogism); 124–125 (sharecropping contract);

386

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

135–136 (proof); 169 (the Prophet’s dīn), 192, 299 (succession contract) Vallat, Philippe 80, 85–86, 328 variant xiii, 64, 206, 247 (readings; the Qurʾan); 39– 40, 200 (the pre-ʿUthmānic Qurʾan) Vasalou, Sophia 118, 329 vassal 2, 8–10, 17, 20–23, 26, 28–33, 71, 88, 111, 121, 150, 304, 306 vassalage 17–18, 28–29, 31, 63, 97, 111, 149, 226, 257, 303 Versteegh, Kees 45, 73–74, 203, 328 Vevaina, Yuhan SohrabDinshaw 245, 329 vicegerent 3, 94, 111, 236– 237 (God’s); 194 (governor's) vices (ethics) 277 Vikør, Knut 118, 329 village (qarya, pl. qurā) 18, 20, 56–57, 121–122, 140, 153, 155–156, 214, 218, 235; 20 (villagers) virtue (ethics) 53, 99–100, 121, 132, 191, 195, 210, 277–278, 281, 284–285, 291–292, 298–299, 301, 305; 60, 85, 116, 191, 279 (virtuous) Vishanoff, David xiv, 162, 168, 329

vision (of God; doctrine, theology) 242, 244, 248, 254–255 voidable 125, 145, 252, 287– 288, 298 (contract); 138 (judicial order) vulnerable 211 (groups; law); 89 (to litigation); 281, 293 (to temptation) W wāḍiʿ al-nawāmīs (establisher of the laws) 11, 85 wage 119–120, 123–124, 148, 154, 180, 284 Wahb b. Munabbih (transmitter of historical reports) 274 al-wāḥid (the One, God; metaphysics, ontology) 261, 264, 275 al-wāḥida (the one person; metaphysics, ontology) 268 Waines, David 152–153, 315 wajh (pl. wujūh, sense; semantics) xi, 13, 43–44, 46, 49, 185, 202, 222 Waldron, Jeremy 109, 329 Wansbrough, John 87, 88, 90–92, 329 waqf (land trust) 127 al-Wāqidī (historian, transmitter of reports) 136–137, 203 warlord 149–150

INDEX waswasa (whisper, Satanic temptation; ethics) 277 water 4, 70, 73, 142, 174– 175, 218, 266; 178 (waterways) Watson, Andrew 119–120, 124, 127–129, 157, 329 Watt, Montgomery W. 10– 11, 42, 118, 233, 237–241, 266, 281, 314, 329 wazīr 129–131, 165, 176, 225, 289–290, 292–293, 295–298 Wazīrs: - al-ʿAbbās b. al-Ḥasan 131, 165, 176 - ʿAlī b. ʿĪsā b. al-Jarrāḥ 131, 225 - al-Faḍl b. al-Rabīʿa 289– 292, 294–295, 297, 299 - Ḥāmid b. al-ʿAbbās 130 - Jaʿfar b. Yaḥyā al-Barmakī 293 - Muḥammad b. ʿUbayd Allāh b. al-Khāqān 130 - ʿUbayd Allāh b. Yaḥyā alKhāqān 130 wazn 56 (pl. ʾawzān, poetic meter); 57 (measure, weight, on the scales) weak xiv, xvii, 62, 103, 117, 148, 210–211, 216, 241, 256–257, 272, 283, 302, 307, 309–310 (groups); 226–228 (the created); 224 (transmission, report)

387 weaken 120 (property rights, peasants) weakness (ʿilla, legal reason) 183–184, 192, 248 wealth xvii, 9, 32, 59, 102, 150, 234, 241, 265, 302; 129–130 (wealthy) Weiss, Bernard G. 61, 106, 180, 327, 329 welfare xvii–xviii, 105, 107– 109, 112, 128, 194, 234, 281, 306, 311 Weststeijn, Johan xiii, 329 whisper (Satan; ethics) 277, 280–281 Whitby, Michael 231–232, 237, 329 wife (rights/obligations) 271, 273 wilāya xi, 223 (territorial domain, governorate); 272 (scope of legislation, woman) witness 21–22, 29, 31, 149, 288–289 (gods/God, to contract); 273 (humans, to contract); 79 (rhetorical forms); 224 (historical events); 283 (on Judgement Day) woman 269–274 (gender theory); xvii, 102, 186– 187, 211, 235 (women; legal topics) Wood, Philip 26, 320

388

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

wool felts (asceticism; ethics) 278 word 42 (rhetoric, balāgha); 44, 74–75 (semantics); 65 (gender; linguistics); 70 (language theory, Aristotle); 65, 155, 170, 208–210, 244 (kalima, of God); 244, 246–247 (the Qurʾan; doctrine); 246, 253 (words and deeds; doctrine) work 23, 154, 228 (the lands); 94, 170 (for the common good); 152 (slave labour); 284 (for God) workers xvii (peasants); 157 (farm labourer); 178 (in mines) writing xi, xv, xx, xxi–xxiv, 15 (of history); xxv (scriptural-academic); 4–5, 128, 185 (contract, transparency); 174, 179 (as proof, evidence); 2, 5, 7–8, 10, 12, 103, 110 (and prophecy); 38, 40–41, 45– 46, 49–52, 53–58, 65, 68, 103, 110, 113, 139, 141, 173, 186–187, 194–195, 239, 250–251, 259, 263– 265, 275, 282–283 (God’s); 70 (as signs); 72 (Arabic, scribes) wrong (ẓulm) xix, 57, 68, 87, 94, 116, 132–133, 137– 138, 140, 144, 146, 148– 149, 215, 218, 228, 232,

238, 249, 271, 278, 283, 297, 311 wulāt (governors) 160, 286, 294 Y al-Yamāmah (region, central Arabian Peninsula) 8 Yaʿqūbī (historian) 245 Yāqūt (biographer) 161, 163– 168, 181, 277–279, 317 Yathrib (Medina, city, Hijaz) 11, 27 yatīm (orphan; legal topic) 59 Yemen (south Arabia) 19, 27, 29–30, 136, 173, 204 233, 250, 273–274 Z ẓāhir (manifest, apparent; hermeneutics) 39, 217– 218, 276 al-Ẓāhirī, Dāwūd 168 al-Ẓāhirī, Muḥammad b. Dāwūd 166–167, 180 Zahniser, Mathias 76 zakāt 168, 214, 221, 229, 236, 239–240 Zakeri, Muhsin 110, 226, 232, 330 Zanj (slaves, uprising) 152– 154, 157, 308 Zayd b. Thābit (the Prophet’s scribe) 114–115, 203 Zaydī (doctrine, movement) 248–250

INDEX Zebiri, Kate 87, 89, 91–92, 330 Zoroastrian (religion) 16, 18, 24–25, 173, 179, 187, 226, 230–231, 245

QURʾANIC REFERENCES 1

1:2,4,6 1:6 1:6–7

46–49, 53, 56, 90, 95, 203–204, 214, 220, 243, 246, 252, 263, 281, 284 53 228–229 59–60

2:1–2 2:11–12 2:20 2:30 2:31 2:126 2:191 2:193 2:205 2:217 2:282

44 201 261, 264, 275 135 267–268 68 133 133 125, 216 133 273

3 3:7 3:5 3:20 3:21 3:76 3:76–77 3:79

106 36, 133, 197 52 52 210 33 66 103–105, 110, 128, 162, 194 88

3:81

389 al-Zubayr b. al-ʿAwwām (musnad) 182, 191 zuhd (renunciation, asceticism) 278; 279 (zāhid, ascetic)

3:92 3:99 3:110 3:195

52 52 170, 180 269

4 4:1

4:1–2 4:2–12 4:13–14 4:34 4:36 4:48 4:59 4:89 4:165

106 xvi, 32, 105, 110–111, 162, 190, 211, 216, 228, 256, 268– 269, 272, 282, 310 105 101 101 271–272 211 252 205 66 36, 197

5:5 5:74 5:89 5:106–109

187–188 134 66 66

6:19 6:82–83 6:103 6:149

52 67 254 36, 52, 197

390

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

6:151 6:152 6:152–153

59 57, 59 59–60

7 7:7 7:8–9 7:16–17 7:26–29 7:26–53 7:27 7:35 7:56 7:85 7:172 7:172–173 7:180 7:189

54–56 58 58–59 280 93 58 133 58 125 58–59, 125 4, 54, 60, 86, 88, 267 105 247 269

8 8:3–4 8:25 8:39 8:41 8:42 8:58 8:73

240 213 133 133 172, 179 239 141 133

9:6 9:47–49 9:29 9:95 9:71–72 9:100 9:111 9:126

243 133 173, 179 251 269 153 153 134

10:85

133

12:1 12:2 12:17

84 38 253

13:37 13:40

67 53

14:4 14:4-5 14:34 14:52

37, 84 67 215 52

15:26 15:87

268 46

16:18 16:35 16:64 16:82 16:90 16:91

215 52 38 52 108 66

17:34 17:62 17:73 17:79 17:110

66 280 133 131 247

18:50

135

19:34 19:37

206–211 209–211

20:5–6 20:27 20:120

247 37 280

INDEX

391 38 38:20–26 38:22 38:23 38:26 38:83

105 93, 99 100 64 95 53

39 39:1–3 39:3 39:21 39:29 39:31–32 39:41 39:67–75

47, 53–54, 284 281–282 53 53 53 90 90 283

41:1–4

68–69

274

43:81–83

209

28:4–5 28:21–23

148 140

44:13

84

29:2 29:10 29:18

134 133 53

46:10

208

48:10

33, 66, 149

30:41

218

50:15 50:29

135 239

33:10 33:35 33:43

53 269 215

51:13–14 51:56–58

133 220

34:14 34:28

203 170, 180

54:5

52

36:17

53

55:1–3 55:1–4 55:6

42 81, 84 43

21:22 21:32 21:47 21:105–107 21:107

261 221 252 170, 180 53

22:11 22:47

133 262–263

23:91

261

24:35 24:54 24:63

199 53 133

26:13 26:192–195

37 38

27:23–24

AL-ṬABARĪ’S MADHHAB JARĪRĪ

392 56:24 56:95

251 208

85:10 85:21–22

133 243

59:1–2 59:6–10 59:7

121 121 214

87:18–19

6–7

88:17–20

261

65:3

53

68:39

52

71:19–20

221

96:1 96:1–3 96:1–5 96:5

10 265, 266 264 10

72:23 72:28

53 53

112

260