Najam Haider - Shi'i Islam An Introduction (2014)

¯ ¯
¯
SHI‘I ISLAM
An Introduction
The initial centuries after the Prophet Muhammad’s death witnessed the prolifera-
tion of diverse ideas and beliefs. It was during this period
of roughly three centuries that two dominant intellectual traditions emerged, Sunnism
and Sh¯ı‘ism. Sunn¯ı Muslims endorsed the historical caliphate, whereas Sh¯ı‘¯ı
Muslims lent their support to ‘Al¯ı, cousin of the Prophet and the fourth caliph. The
Sh¯ı‘a also articulated a distinctive set of theological doctrines concerning the nature of
God and legitimate political and religious authority. This book examines the
development of Sh¯ı‘¯ı Islam through the lenses of belief, narrative, and memory. In
an accessible yet nuanced manner, it conceives of Shı‘ism as a historical project
undertaken by a segment of the early Muslim community that felt dispossessed. It also
covers, for the first time in English, a wide range of Sh¯ı‘¯ı communities from the
demographically predominant Twelvers to the transnational Ism¯a‘¯ıl¯ıs to the scholar-
activist Zaydıs. The resulting portrait of Sh¯ı‘ism reveals a distinctive and vibrant
Muslim community with a remarkable capacity for reinvention and adaptation,
grounded in a unique theological interpretation of Islam.
Najam Haider is Assistant Professor of Religion at Barnard College of Columbia

University. His articles have been published in many journals, including Der Islam, the
Journal of Near Eastern Studies, and Islamic Law and Society. His research interests
include early Islamic history, Islamic law, and the impact of modernity on the
contemporary Muslim world. His first book, The Origins of the Sh¯ı‘a (Cambridge
University Press), was published in 2011. His new project focuses on early Muslim
historical writing.
¯ ¯ ISLAM
SHI‘I
An Introduction
NAJAM HAIDER
Barnard College/Columbia University
32 Avenue of the Americas, New York, ny 10013-2473, usa
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First published 2014
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Haider, Najam Iftikhar, 1974–
Shi‘i Islam : an introduction / Najam Haider.
pages cm – (Introduction to religion)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
isbn 978-1-107-03143-2 (hardback) – isbn 9781107625785 (paperback)
1. Shi‘ah. 2. Shi‘ah – History. 3. Shi‘ah – Doctrines – History. I. Title
bp193.5.h25 2014
297.8 2–dc23 2014009780
isbn 978-1-107-03143-2 Hardback
isbn 978-1-107-62578-5 Paperback
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For Saman, Ayaan, Shahzaib, and Sareena
Contents
List of Tables and Maps page ix

Acknowledgments xi
Note on the Cover Image xiii
A Note on Transliteration and Dating xv
Introduction 1
section 1: theology 13
1 ‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 18
2 Imamate
¯ (Legitimate Leadership) 31
section 2: origins 51
3 Community 53
4 Fragmentation 84
section 3: constructing shı̄‘ism 101

5 Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı‘a
¯ 103
6 The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 123
7 Twelver Shı‘ism
¯ and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 145
section 4: shı̄‘ism in the modern world 167

8 Zaydism at the Crossroads 169
9 (Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 182
vii
viii Contents
10 The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 200
Conclusion: Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ Relations 218
Appendix: Verses Mentioned in the Argument from Qur’ānic

Expectations in Chapter 3 229
Index 233
List of Tables and Maps
tables
2.1 The Imāmate page 46
3.1 The Main Characters of the Karbala Narrative 68
4.1 The Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ Imams
¯ 94
5.1 Batrı̄ and Jarudı̄
¯ ¯ Zaydism 109
5.2 The Qāsimı̄ Imams
¯ of Yemen 114
6.1 The Fāt.imid Dynasty (909–1171) 128
6.2 The Nizārı̄ Rulers, Alamut Period (1090–1256) 133
6.3 The Nizārı̄ Imams,
¯ Post-Alamut (1256–Present) 138
10.1 The Role of the Jurist in the Iranian Constitution 214
maps
1 World Muslim Population Distribution xvi
2 ¯
World Sunnı/Shı̄‘ı̄ Population Distribution xvii
3 The Shı̄‘ı̄ Population of the Middle East xviii
4 The Middle East in the Early Muslim Period xix
5 The Middle East and North Africa in the Modern Period xx
6 The Khoja Population of Pakistan and India xxi
ix
Acknowledgments
A number of people were pivotal in bringing this book to fruition. I

thank Marigold Acland at Cambridge University Press for proposing the
project and providing insightful comments in its formative stages. William
McCants and Justin Stearns were incredibly helpful in reading and com-
menting on early iterations of the book proposal. They then generously
offered feedback on drafts of chapters and (later) the full manuscript. I also
benefited from valuable feedback on either individual chapters or the full
book from Mona Abdallah, Aun Ali, Gene Garthwaite, Iago Hale, Abdullah
Hamidaddin, Tariq al-Jamil, Hossein Kamaly, and Hussein Rashid. Many
others have contributed to this book either directly or indirectly. These
include Sumaira Arastu, Grace Bickers, Elizabeth Castelli, Celia Deutsch,
Jack Hawley, Bernard Haykel, Gale Kenny, Amena Saeed Lone, and Intisar
Rabb. A special thanks to Michael Cook and Hossein Modarressi for their
meticulous feedback on a late version of the complete text. Although this
book would not be possible without the help and support of my teachers,
colleagues, and friends, I bear full responsibility for any errors of fact or
interpretation.
xi
Note on the Cover Image
The cover image is an illustration of the investiture of ‘Alı̄ by the Prophet

at Ghadı̄r Khumm from the earliest extant illustrated manuscript of
al-Birunı̄’s
¯ (d. 1048) Āthār al-bāqiya ‘an al-qurun ¯ al-khāliya (commonly
known as The Chronology of Ancient Nations) located in the Special Col-
lections Department of Edinburgh University Library. The manuscript
(Arab Ms. 161) was produced by the calligrapher Ibn al-Kutbı̄ in 1307. Its
geographic origin is not known with certainty, but possibilities include
Maragha or Tabriz, major urban centers of the Ilkhānid dynasty (1256–
1335). Recent scholarship has shown that the manuscript’s images, fusing
Arab and Chinese motifs, served as the basis for many subsequent pictorial
representations of the Prophet’s life.
Al-Birunı̄’s
¯ text focuses primarily on competing calendrical systems. The
Edinburgh manuscript intersperses the Arabic text with twenty-five illus-
trations of varying size. The image of the investiture of ‘Alı̄ (folio 162r) is the
final illustration and reflects a clear pro-Shı̄‘ı̄ orientation. The manuscript
is often discussed with reference to the conversion of the Ilkhānid ruler
Uljaytu (r. 1304–16) to Twelver Shı‘ism
¯ in 1310, possibly through the influ-
ence of the Shı̄‘ı̄ scholar Ibn al-Mut.ahhar al-‘Allāma al-H . illı̄ (d. 1325). The
portrait of investiture is the largest of the manuscript, occupying almost
an entire page.
In the illustration, note the swirling red and gold clouds and the dark
blue sky, signifying the dramatic importance of the moment. The Prophet
(on the left and cloaked) appoints ‘Alı̄ (in a blue robe with his left hand on
his sword) as his successor by reciting the formula “Of whomever I am the
master (mawlā), ‘Alı̄ is his master (mawlā).” Also significant is the Prophet’s
placement of his left hand on ‘Alı̄’s shoulder. According to Priscilla Soucek,
this gesture reflected a popular Iranian tradition in which individuals could
forge intimate bonds that exceeded those of kin or marriage in importance
through a ceremony performed on the day of the investiture (the eighteenth
of the Islamic month of Dhu¯ al-H . ijja).
xiii
xiv Note on the Cover Image
A final point to consider concerns the pictorial representation of the faces
of the Prophet and ‘Alı̄. There is no indication that this was considered
religiously problematic in the Ilkhānid period. The three faces scratched
out in the image likely belong to the first three Sunnı̄ caliphs, Abu¯ Bakr,
‘Umar, and ‘Uthmān. Christiane Gruber interprets this act as a polemical
attack on Sunnı̄ religious claims rather than a general condemnation of
pictorial representation.
For more on the cover image and the manuscript, see the following
works:
Sheila Blair, “The Development of the Illustrated Book in Iran,” Muqarnas 10
(1993): 266–74.
Christiane Gruber, “Questioning the ‘Classical’ in Persian Painting,” Journal of
Art Historiography 6 (2012): 1–25.
Robert Hillenbrand, “Images of Muhammad in al-Biruni’s Chronology of Ancient
Nations,” in Persian Painting, ed. Robert Hillenbrand (London: I. B. Tauris,
2000), 129–46.
Teresa Kirk, “The Edinburgh Al-Biruni Manuscript,” Persica 20 (2005): 39–81.
Priscilla Soucek, “An Illustrated Manuscript of al-Birunı̄’s
¯ Chronology of Ancient
Nations,” in The Scholar and the Saint, ed. Peter Chelkowsi (New York: New
York University Press, 1975), 103–68.
A Note on Transliteration and Dating
The system of transliteration employed in rendering Arabic names, technical

terms, and other phrases into Latin characters is essentially the same as
that used in most modern academic journals (e.g., International Journal of
Middle Eastern Studies or Islamic Law and Society). The primary exceptions
to this strict transliteration are certain well-established locations that are
referred to by their common names. Most prominent among these are the
cities of Mecca and Medina and the geographic regions of Syria, Yemen,
Iraq, and Iran. Dates are given according to the Common Era calendar.
This differs from the Islamic (Hijr¯ı) calendar, which is lunar and begins
in the year 622 c.e. Death dates are provided at the first mention of each
historical figure in the main text and repeated when considered appropriate.
xv
Map . World Muslim Population Distribution
xvi
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of use, available at http:/www.cambridge.org/core/terms. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/CBO9781139381710.003
Map . World Sunnı̄/Shı̄‘ı̄ Population Distribution
xvii
Map . The Shı̄‘ı̄ Population of the Middle East
xviii
Map . The Middle East in the Early Muslim Period
xix
Map . The Middle East and North Africa in the Modern Period
xx
Map . The Khoja Population of Pakistan and India
xxi
Introduction
In , I was living in Syria and studying Arabic at the language center of
the University of Damascus. I had also arranged classes in Islamic law in
Sayyida Zaynab, a small suburb of Damascus built around an important
Shı̄‘ı̄ shrine, which contained a number of formal schools for the training
of Shı̄‘ı̄ religious scholars. The Muslim month of fasting (Ramad.ān) that
year fell in January. Ramad.ān is a festive month in which Muslims abstain
from food, water, and sex each day from sunrise to sunset. I often broke
my fast in Sayyida Zaynab, as many schools would open their doors to
the public near sunset and provide free food and drink. After the evening
prayer, a scholar would offer a small talk centered on ritual or theology
in simple Arabic that even I (as a student) could understand with little
difficulty.
One day, the talk was given by an extremely distinguished scholar who
was in Damascus representing a prominent Iranian Grand Ayatollah (the
most senior scholarly title in Twelver Shı̄‘ism). He began by identifying the
five central pillars of Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam (these are discussed further in subsequent
chapters) as (i) the belief in one God, (ii) the belief in Muh.ammad as the
last Prophet, (iii) the belief in the Day of Judgment, (iv) the belief that God
is just in a manner humans can rationally understand, and (v) the belief
in Imāms, divinely inspired leaders descended from the Prophet. The first
three pillars were foundational to Islam and anyone who accepted them
was unquestionably a Muslim. This meant that all Sunnı̄s were Muslims
and had to be treated as coreligionists rather than as apostates or heretics.
The acceptance of the final two pillars established that an individual was
 In many works, the Shı̄‘a are referred to as “Shı̄‘ites” as a result of a translation convention adopted
by early European and American scholars. I use the term “Shı̄‘a” for the larger community and the
term “Shı̄‘ı̄” as an adjective (e.g., “a Shı̄‘ı̄ belief”). “Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslim” denotes a single believer.
 In the interests of clarity, I use the term “Twelver” throughout the book to describe the group that
came to be known as the Twelver Shı̄‘a. This is anachronistic because the term would have made
little sense before the disappearance of the Twelfth Imām in .
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 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
not just a Muslim but a Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslim as well. The scholar marked this
distinction through the use of the term “believer.” Both Sunnı̄s and Shı̄‘a
were Muslims. The Shı̄‘a, however, were also “believers,” which placed
them in a more select category with access to a greater truth.
The scholar’s creation of a hierarchy of belief deftly affirmed the unity
of the larger Muslim community while preserving the special status of the
Shı̄‘a. It managed to deemphasize religious differences even as it maintained
the theological independence of Shı̄‘ism. This tension between a broad
Muslim collective and a discrete Shı̄‘ı̄ identity is a central feature of Shı̄‘ı̄
history. In many respects, it is difficult to differentiate between Sunnı̄ and
Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims. Both groups share the same prayer ritual, fast during the
same month, and perform the pilgrimage to Mecca. At the same time,
variations persist in the structure of the prayer, the rules for breaking the
fast, and the order and form of the rites of the pilgrimage. The relevance
of these differences has varied over time depending on social and political
factors, as discussed throughout the book.
When Muslims are asked to explain the differences between Sunnı̄ and
Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam, they usually cite the historical disagreement over the succession
to the Prophet or variations in ritual such as the placement of the hands
in prayer. The theological explanation given by the Shı̄‘ı̄ scholar in my
anecdote is rare. Yet it is theology that supports and reinforces historical
disputes or minor ritual variations. To make sense of the terms “Sunnı̄”
and “Shı̄‘ı̄,” it is necessary first to document theological differences and
then to explore their implications. These implications are not obvious, and
they are often shaped by historical context and communal need. This book
traces the development of Shı̄‘ı̄ communities by examining the dynamic
interplay between theology, memory, and historical circumstance.
Subtle differences in theological interpretation among the Shı̄‘a them-
selves influenced their remembrance of the past. In other words, the Zaydı̄,
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver Shı̄‘a offered competing visions of the early history
of Islam that aligned with their particular theological outlooks. As the
experiences and circumstances of each Shı̄‘ı̄ community changed, they
continually reimagined their past to make sense of their present. The evo-
lution of each Shı̄‘ı̄ group was thus a constant negotiation of theology,
narrative, and historical contingency. Each group was also in continuous
conversation with different Sunnı̄ communities. At times, these relations
were cordial and cooperative; at other times, they could be quite hostile
and antagonistic.
In this book, I hope to shed light on the some of the questions that likely
motivated a reader to pick it up in the first place: What are the differences
Introduction 
between a Shı̄‘ı̄ and a Sunnı̄ Muslim? How did these differences develop
over time in varying political contexts? Why do these identities appear to
provoke so much conflict in the contemporary Muslim world? The first
two questions provide the central framework for much of the material in
Chapters  through . In the conclusion, I turn to the third question
and demonstrate how a complex and historically informed understanding
of Shı̄‘ism can help us better understand the political developments in
and religious geography of the modern Muslim world. Here I provide, for
example, an analysis of the Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ civil war that erupted in Iraq in 
that draws on theology (i.e., the Imāmate – Chapter ), narrative (i.e., the
disappearance of the twelfth Imām – Chapter ), and historical experience
(i.e., the relations between the Twelver Shı̄‘a and political authority –
Chapters  and ).
i. previous approaches in introductory

w o r k s o n s h ı̄ ‘ i s m
This section focuses on previous introductory works on Shı̄‘ism and is
designed specifically for those interested in the history of the genre. Those
readers with little interest in such matters may wish to proceed directly to
the section titled “The Structure of the Book.”
Most introductory works on Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam employ one of two approaches.
The first rests on a historical framework that emphasizes a distinct moment
of fragmentation in the early history of the Muslim community. It contends
that when the Prophet Muh.ammad died in the western Arabian town of
Medina in , a dispute arose as to the identity of his successor. The
majority of his Companions supported Abū Bakr, Muh.ammad’s father-
in-law and close confidant, who led the Muslim community (umma) as
the first caliph for two years and was followed, in turn, by three other
prominent Companions (i.e., ‘Umar, ‘Uthmān, and ‘Alı̄). This group of
four successors was revered by subsequent generations of Sunnı̄ Muslims
and labeled “the rightly guided caliphs.” A minority of the Companions
rejected the selection of Abū Bakr and argued that the strongest claim for
succession rested with ‘Alı̄, the Prophet’s son-in-law and first cousin. This
group was particularly devoted to Muh.ammad’s close family – referred
to as the ahl al-bayt (lit. people of the house) – and maintained that
the leadership of the Muslim community was the exclusive purview of
the Prophet’s direct descendants. The views of the first group are today
associated with Sunnı̄ Muslims, whereas those of the second characterize
Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The second approach prevalent in introductory studies of Shı̄‘ism utilizes
a theological or legal framework. This involves summarizing the central
theological tenets of Shı̄‘ı̄ belief with a particular emphasis on the Shı̄‘ı̄
institution of the Imāmate (the legitimate leadership of the Muslim com-
munity). Scholars of this variety often follow their theological analyses
with an examination of Shı̄‘ı̄ legal principles and practices. The resulting
works take the form of handbooks or primers recounting the basic beliefs of
most Shı̄‘ı̄ communities. Most such introductions concentrate exclusively
on the Twelver Shı̄‘a, who constitute a vast majority of the global Shı̄‘a
population, while excluding numerically smaller groups such as the Zaydı̄s
and the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s.
Both of these approaches have some benefits, but they do not account
for a dynamic and evolving Shı̄‘ism, the modern manifestation of which
is in fact the result of a significant number of theological and political
compromises. The challenge lies in simplifying the history and theology of
the Shı̄‘a without losing its critical nuances. In this book, I attempt to strike
such a balance by examining the foundational theological doctrines, his-
torical narratives, and political developments of Shı̄‘ism without drowning
readers in a cacophony of names, dates, and technical terms. Thus, I begin
with a discussion of the core theological beliefs that underlie contemporary
Shı̄‘ism. Many of these doctrines are later developments (dating from the
ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries), but they have come to hold a central
place in Shı̄‘ı̄ understandings of history, ritual, and politics. Moreover, they
have profoundly affected the ways in which different Shı̄‘ı̄ communities
remember the past, replacing the complexities of the first few centuries of
Islam with a cohesive (but revisionist) narrative. Unlike previous introduc-
tions to Shı̄‘ism, the present work covers the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Zaydı̄s in
addition to the more populous Twelvers.
ii. the structure of the book

This book is divided into ten chapters organized into four distinct the-
matic sections. The first two sections highlight the fundamental beliefs
of different Shı̄‘ı̄ communities and the ways in which these beliefs helped
shape (and reshape) Shı̄‘ı̄ historical memory. The same dynamic is charac-
teristic of memory in non-Muslim contexts (e.g., the American Civil War)
and has been commented on by a long line of scholars going back as far
as Thucydides, who remarked that people make “their recollection fit in
with their sufferings.” The US Civil War, for example, is remembered
 Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, bk. II, chap. .
Introduction 
in fundamentally contradictory ways by different demographics. A white
Virginian landowner in the early twentieth century might have viewed it
as a failed struggle for southern independence. A black former slave may
have considered it a war for emancipation. A white conscript from New
York may have seen it as a rich man’s war that simply exploited the poor.
Historical accounts written from each of these perspectives would have
been shaped by personal beliefs, values, and economic realities. The same
can be said of Shı̄‘ı̄ historical memory of the early Islamic period. It is
necessary, therefore, to identify the central theological beliefs of Shı̄‘ism
before turning to Shı̄‘ı̄ historical narratives.
The chapters in Section  (Chapters  and ) focus on the theological
framework held in common by most modern Shı̄‘ı̄ communities. Chapter 
examines the seminal Shı̄‘ı̄ doctrine of rational divine justice (‘adl ) accord-
ing to which God is just in a manner than can be rationally understood
by human beings. In other words, God’s actions are always just by human
standards. They can be explained by reference to our common under-
standing of justice. This idea has profound implications for free will and
motivated many Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars to advocate for revolution for the purpose
of establishing a just social order. It certainly provided the impetus for the
founding of Zaydı̄ and Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ states throughout history and contributed
to the growth of modern Twelver political activism.
Chapter  focuses on the institution of the Shı̄‘ı̄ Imāmate (the legiti-
mate leadership of the Muslim community). Related to the doctrine of
divine justice, the Imāmate is an important arena of contention among
the three Shı̄‘ı̄ communities at the heart of this study. Although every Shı̄‘ı̄
group restricts the office to descendants of the Prophet through ‘Alı̄, they
differ on issues such as the Imām’s primary role or the scope and source
of his knowledge. Is the Imām simply a scholar entrusted with creating
and administering a state founded on Islamic principles of justice, or is
the Imām a divinely inspired figure whose religious interpretations are
protected from error and beyond human scrutiny?
It is important to bear in mind that the theological distinctions made in
the first section are in no sense inevitable. They were later developments
that won acceptance in Shı̄‘ı̄ scholarly circles. There is often a tendency
to seek “essential” differences between Sunnism and Shı̄‘ism to explain in
a definitive manner the split in the Muslim community. This approach
misconstrues the Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘a divide and borders on a deterministic
 Shı̄‘ı̄ groups also differ regarding the importance of the Imām in the salvation of the community on
the Day of Judgment. This topic is particularly relevant in Chapters  and  (for the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s) and
Chapters  and  (for the Twelvers).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
explanation of the historical development of two equally plausible interpre-
tations of Islam. I foreground theology strictly to provide context for the
history. As mentioned earlier, this is because Shı̄‘ı̄ theology helped shape
the Shı̄‘ı̄ community’s remembrance of its past.
The second section of the book turns to the historical memory of differ-
ent Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. Here it is necessary to distinguish between moments that
unite a community and others that fragment it. A contemporary example
of such a distinction might be found in American discourse on immigra-
tion. There is a broadly accepted narrative that claims that the United
States is a land of opportunity for immigrants, who can achieve wealth
and status through hard work. The biography of Andrew Carnegie serves
as a unifying narrative for this broad American ideal. On the fragmentary
side are narratives of dissent and polarization embodied perhaps in labor
history. Some interpretations of the Pullman Strike of railroad workers in
Chicago during the summer of  focus on the disruption of the econ-
omy, whereas others emphasize the drive for social justice and humane
working conditions. In this case, an event serves to fragment social groups
or economic classes on the basis of their specific interests.
A similar dynamic of unifying or fragmenting historical narratives is
evident in Shı̄‘ı̄ historical works. The summaries of Chapters  and  that
follow contain a lot of names and dates. There is no need to commit them
to memory at this point. They will be discussed again with more context
and background in the chapters themselves. At this point, I am simply
flagging their importance for interested readers.
Chapter  explores narratives that unite the Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver
Shı̄‘a. These include (i) the succession to Muh.ammad and (ii) the mas-
sacre of H . usayn (Muh.ammad’s grandson) and his followers in the Iraqi
region of Karbala in . Although all three Shı̄‘ı̄ groups ascribe a crit-
ical importance to these events, they offer quite different narratives of
them, reflecting each group’s specific theological views. The Zaydı̄s, for
example, articulate a predominantly political narrative that differs sharply
from the grand cosmological narratives of the Twelvers and the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s.
This chapter also discusses ritual commemorations of the appointment
of ‘Alı̄ as the Prophet’s successor and the massacre of H . usayn, which
played a central role in the coalescence of Twelver and Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communal
identity.
 The most popular interpretation of US history from the perspective of labor might be Howard
Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States (New York: Harper & Row, c).
Introduction 
Chapter  examines divisive narratives that reflect the fragmentation of
the larger Shı̄‘ı̄ community. These include (i) the revolt of Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ (a
grandson of the earlier-mentioned H . usayn) in Kufa in , (ii) the disputed
succession to Ja‘far al-S.ādiq (a great-grandson of H. usayn) in , and (iii)
the occultation of the twelfth Imām in . Zayd’s revolt became the basis
for the Zaydı̄ prototype of the Imāmate. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s grafted a number
of important doctrinal beliefs onto their accounts of al-S.ādiq’s succession,
emphasizing the designation and death or disappearance of his eldest son,
Ismā‘ı̄l. The occultation of the twelfth Imām provided the Twelvers with
their most distinctive feature: a belief in a hidden Imām who remains the
titular head of the larger community.
After covering the theological and narrative foundations of Shı̄‘ism, the
book turns, in the third and fourth sections, to the historical development
of Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. The third section weaves together material from the first
two sections to evaluate the influence of political and social forces on
the emergence of the “classical doctrines” of Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver
Shı̄‘ism. Chapter  focuses on a series of oscillations in Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism
between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ theological positions. Chapter  examines the
development of an Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism that had to balance the expectations of
a living Imām with the reality of his potential human failings. Chapter 
traces the shift that took place in Twelver Shı̄‘ism as the authority of the
Imām was increasingly appropriated by religious scholars.
The fourth and final section of this book documents more recent devel-
opments in the three Shı̄‘ı̄ communities. Recent is, of course, a relative
term. These chapters specifically examine those shifts and transformations
over the past few centuries that directly resulted in the current formula-
tion of Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver Shı̄‘ism. Chapter  highlights fissures
within Zaydism along tribal and genealogical lines. These divisions became
particularly potent in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, when they
were exploited by groups backed (financially and politically) by the Saudi
state. Chapter  discusses changes in (Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism ushered in by
the community’s recent Imāms (known by the title Aga Khan), including
the conscious production of a transnational community vested in global
humanitarian causes. Finally, Chapter  confronts the dramatic politiciza-
tion of the Twelver Shı̄‘a over the past half century as evidenced by the
writings of secular and religious scholars.
Each of the ten chapters concludes with a list of recommended readings
for further study. These lists provide structured guidance for those seeking
more detailed information in a particular area or those interested in recent
scholarly developments in the study of Shı̄‘ism. The reading lists also
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
include the primary and secondary sources used in the course of a given
chapter. The lists are provided in lieu of detailed footnotes, which are
minimized in the interest of readability.
iii. a user’s guide

The structure of this book is intentionally flexible and provides multiple
avenues for approaching the study of Shı̄‘ism. Although a chronological
reading (beginning with Chapter  and proceeding through Chapter ) is
strongly recommended, readers may choose to take a different approach if
they are interested in a particular aspect of Shı̄‘ism (e.g., history) or a specific
Shı̄‘ı̄ group (e.g., the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s). The discussion that follows outlines the
benefits of a few strategies. There are certainly others that may be employed
at a reader’s discretion.
For those with some background in Islam, I suggest a cover-to-cover
reading. Such an approach begins with the current theological edifice of
Shı̄‘ism (Chapters  and ) before turning to its historical narratives with
an understanding that theology influenced the Shı̄‘ı̄ remembrance of the
past (Chapters  and ). This strategy conforms to one of the central
premises of the book – namely, that it is important to understand the belief
structures of Shı̄‘ı̄ groups before plunging into a dizzying array of names
and places. It then traces the evolution of different Shı̄‘ı̄ groups into the
modern period (Chapters –). This is not a conventional structure for
an introductory work, but it is one that provides the best context for the
growth and development of Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver Shı̄‘ism.
For a novice with no background in Islam, the best approach might
involve reversing the first two sections, thereby privileging historical nar-
ratives over theology. This would entail beginning with Chapters  and
, which focus on key moments in Shı̄‘ı̄ history while also providing a
broad chronology of the Prophet’s life and a significant amount of his-
torical context for the seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries. Theological
elements are mentioned in the historical chapters, but these remain fairly
accessible. Readers could then turn to Chapters  and , which examine
more abstract doctrines such as free will and the nature of evil. Such a
reading foregrounds the intrigues, rebellions, and succession disputes that
feature heavily in the early history of Islam.
The book may also be used as a primer for individual Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. For
example, if a reader is exclusively interested in Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism, he or she
may follow the first two sections with Chapter  from the third section
and Chapter  from the fourth section. This sequence would provide a
Introduction 
strong theological and historical understanding of Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism coupled
with an examination of its evolution into the modern period. A similar
strategy is feasible for Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ (particularly Nizārı̄) Shı̄‘ism (the first two
sections together with Chapters  and ) and for Twelver Shı̄‘ism (the first
two sections together with Chapters  and ).
Finally, it is possible to read individual sections of the book in isolation.
The first section’s discussion of theology, for example, offers a detailed
analysis of the central pillars of modern Shı̄‘ism. It also addresses some of
the critical differences between the Shı̄‘a and other theological groups. In
the process, the section explores the implications of numerous theological
ideas and the ways in which these implications were either integrated or
rejected by the later Shı̄‘a. The first section thus focuses not only on the Shı̄‘a
but also on the broader landscape of early Muslim theology. In a similar
vein, the second section explores key moments in the early history of the
Muslim community, the third section surveys key historical transitions
in Shı̄‘ism, and the fourth section evaluates the impact of modernity on
majority-Shı̄‘ı̄ regions of the Muslim world.
iv. disclaimers
It is necessary, in any introductory work, to make difficult decisions about
the inclusion or exclusion of particular topics. This book is no exception:
treatment of certain topics and subjects is either severely curtailed or alto-
gether absent. The most striking omission is that of a broad survey of the
basic principles of Islam. The current study is not intended as an intro-
duction to Islam in the traditional sense. There is no discussion of the
“pillars of Islam” or examination of the meaning of prayer or the annual
pilgrimage to Mecca (the H . ajj). The book assumes that readers understand
that Muslims believe in the Prophet Muh.ammad, pray five times each day,
fast during the month of Ramad.ān, and conceive of the Qur‘ān as the
word of God. The Prophet’s biography and the Qur‘ān are discussed in the
context of Shı̄‘ı̄ views of ‘Alı̄, but they are not analyzed in their own right.
In other words, this book is primarily about the Shı̄‘a and their distinctive
practices and beliefs; it is not an introductory work on Islam as a whole.
Ritual practice is an important topic that might merit an entire chapter
or section of its own in an introductory work. There are a number of
distinctive Shı̄‘ı̄ rituals that developed around the purported designation
of ‘Alı̄ as the Prophet’s successor and around the killing of H . usayn. The
forms of these rituals vary from region to region under the influence of
local cultural practices. In addition, as mentioned earlier, there are subtle
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
(and sometimes more pronounced) differences in the Shı̄‘ı̄ performance of
universal Muslim rites such as the daily prayer, fasting in Ramad.ān, and
the annual pilgrimage. Although pertinent rituals are discussed in some
chapters, this book does not offer a comprehensive discussion of ritual
itself. In those chapters in which ritual is particularly important, references
to useful primary sources and secondary studies are provided in the lists of
recommended readings.
This book also does not offer a detailed analysis of Sufi influences
in Shı̄‘ism (often referred to as ‘irfān). This is not meant to minimize
the importance of Sufism. It may even be argued that Sufi thought was
one of the guiding elements in the development of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver
Shı̄‘ism. The absence of a specific chapter on Sufism stems from two
considerations. First, there are numerous excellent introductory works on
Sufism in print, some of which discuss its relationship with Shı̄‘ism. In
fact, the study of Sufism is arguably the most-developed and best-known
aspect of the Muslim intellectual tradition. The benefits of repeating much
of this material are outweighed by the need to discuss elements of Shı̄‘ism
(e.g., theology, historical memory) that are rarely found in introductory
works. Second, although Sufism is not analyzed in its own right, it features
prominently in Chapters  and  during discussions of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver
struggles to balance rationalist legal and mystical interpretations of core
religious texts. The study of Sufism is thus partially integrated into relevant
parts of the book.
Difficult choices also had to made with respect to the scope of the Shı̄‘ı̄
groups discussed in the book. There is little mention of early Shı̄‘ı̄ sects
that have not survived into the modern period. In some instances, these
groups may have encompassed a majority (or at least a plurality) of the
overall Shı̄‘ı̄ population or articulated theological doctrines later adopted
by a wide range of Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. A comprehensive historical survey would
certainly need to address these groups, but the current study is primarily
interested in the contemporary landscape of Shı̄‘ism. Smaller communities
of Shı̄‘a with a localized presence are also notably absent in this book due
to the space limitations of an introductory text. These include the Alawites
(or Nus.ayrı̄s), power holders in Syria under the Assad regime; the Alevis
of Turkey, who hold distinctive beliefs and practice unique rituals; and the
Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s of Yemen and India.
A final point to bear in mind concerns the issue of perspective. The first
two sections of the book rely on the writings of Shı̄‘ı̄ groups themselves.
The theological framework that informs these chapters developed centuries
after the death of the Prophet and then influenced historical memory. It is
Introduction 
important for readers to understand that this perspective is (to a degree)
anachronistic and reflects the core beliefs of later Shı̄‘ı̄ communities. I am
not making claims about authenticity or provenance but rather recounting
each group’s self-understanding. The final two sections of the book adopt
a different perspective, as I examine the historical development of Zaydı̄,
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver Shı̄‘ism into the modern period. In these sections,
I am actively “constructing” each community from an outsider’s frame of
reference. The authorial voice is entirely mine.
section 1
Theology
The Mu‘tazila, whose name means “those who set themselves apart” or
“those who stand aside,” were a theological school known for their unique
interpretation (ta‘wı̄l) of Qur’ānic passages and their application of reason
(‘aql) to scripture and other sources of religious knowledge. They emerged
from obscure origins in the middle of the eighth century and lasted as an
independent school until as late as the twelfth century. Despite sharing
a core set of principles (as described subsequently), the Mu‘tazila were
a highly heterogeneous group, with representatives articulating radically
different views and theories. At its peak in the ninth and tenth centuries,
Mu‘tazilı̄ thought coalesced around two intellectual poles centered on the
Iraqi cities of Basra and Baghdad.
Initially, the relationship between the Mu‘tazila and the Shı̄‘a was quite
adversarial. During the eighth and ninth centuries, the Mu‘tazila criticized
the Shı̄‘a – in particular, the Imāmı̄s (precursors of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the
Twelvers) – for their views pertaining to the succession to the Prophet,
the nature of God, and the characteristics of the Imām. The broader Shı̄‘ı̄
community eventually aligned (to differing degrees) with many of the
central tenets of Mu‘tazilism. The Zaydı̄s embraced almost the entirety
of Mu‘tazilı̄ thought beginning in the tenth (among Yemeni Zaydı̄s) and
eleventh (among Caspian Zaydı̄s) centuries. The Twelvers were more selec-
tive in their appropriation, rejecting those principles that conflicted with
 The Mu‘tazila constituted a broad theological movement purportedly founded by Wās.il b. ‘At.ā’ (d.
) in the first half of the eighth century in the Iraqi city of Basra. Rather than being a formally
structured and hierarchical school, Mu‘tazilism united a number of scholars with dramatically
different explanations for central theological questions. It was only in the ninth century that Abū al-
Hudhayl al-‘Allāf (d. between  and ) formulated the five principles that marked the Mu‘tazila
as a distinct theological school.
 For a different perspective on the nature of this relationship, see Wilferd Madelung, “The Shiite and
Khārijite Contribution to Pre-Ash‘arite Kalām.”

Downloaded from http:/www.cambridge.org/core. University of Warwick, on 12 Dec 2016 at 14:38:37, subject to the Cambridge Core terms of use,
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
their doctrine of the Imāmate. By the eleventh century, however, Mu‘tazilı̄
influence on Twelver theology was fairly pronounced.
The five core beliefs that came to be associated with Mu‘tazilism, in
a form first elaborated by the ninth-century Mu‘tazilı̄ theologian Abū al-
Hudhayl al-‘Allāf, are as follows:
(i) The principle of divine oneness (tawh.ı̄d) held the attributes of God
in the Qur’ān to exist only metaphorically to avoid any potential for
anthropomorphism. Qur’ānic descriptions of God’s “hand” (Q:)
or of His “sitting on a throne” (Q:) were metaphors for His grace
or His power and did not reflect a physical reality. This belief led to
the doctrine most directly associated with the Mu‘tazila – namely, a
belief in the createdness of the Qur’ān. This held that the Qur’ān
was created by God in time as opposed to existing eternally as part
of God’s essence. The latter possibility was seen (by the Mu‘tazila) as
compromising divine oneness by allowing for a second eternal entity
(i.e., the Qur’ān).
(ii) The principle of rational divine justice (‘adl) maintained that God was
just in a manner that accorded with human reason. In other words,
God adhered to a moral standard that was known by humans to be
just or good on the basis of reason. As discussed in Chapter , one of
the consequences of this principle was the affirmation of free will.
(iii) The principle of “the promise and the threat” (al-wa‘d wa-l-wa‘ı̄d)
upheld the eternal reward of believers and the punishment of sinners
based on God’s statements in the Qur’ān.
(iv) The principle of the “intermediate position” (al-manzila bayn al-
manzilatayn) classified the grave sinner as neither a believer nor a
nonbeliever but rather a fāsiq (a morally corrupt individual), who
maintained his legal standing in the Muslim community even as he
was condemned to eternal damnation in hell.
(v) The principle of “enjoining good and forbidding wrong” (amr bi-
l-ma‘rūf wa-nahy ‘an al-munkar) required Muslims to intervene in
the affairs of the community. The actualization of this principle had
 It is important to bear in mind that the relationship between the Mu‘tazila and the Shı̄‘a was quite
dynamic. Although I frame the association as one of Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars appropriating Mu‘tazilı̄ ideas, it
also included many Mu‘tazilı̄ theologians embracing Shı̄‘ism.
 The link between the createdness or uncreatedness of the Qur’ān and its potential eternity appears
to have first materialized in the ninth century. Madelung disentangles the two issues and discusses
their respective historical contexts in “The Origins of the Controversy Concerning the Creation of
the Koran.”
Theology 
broad political ramifications because it could (and was) used at various
junctures to justify religious persecution. It is worth mentioning that
this principle was adopted to varying degrees by other (non-Mu‘tazilı̄)
Muslim groups.
In addition, many Mu‘tazilı̄s did not restrict the legitimate leadership of
the community (the Imāmate) to a specific tribal or genetic lineage. The
office was considered elective, with some Mu‘tazilı̄s arguing that an Imām
was not required at all times.
Mu‘tazilism met with considerable opposition in the broader Muslim
intellectual landscape. Traditionists refused the very project of theology,
adopting a literalist understanding of revelation. A middle position was
adopted by the Ash‘arı̄ theological school, which was reportedly founded
by Abū H . asan al-Ash‘arı̄ (d. ) after he left the Mu‘tazila around .
Al-Ash‘arı̄ embraced the traditionist emphasis on the normative centrality
of the revealed texts, but instead of abandoning rationalism outright, he
defended his views through rational theological discourse. The Ash‘arı̄s
held that revelation provided the sole means for evaluating the actions of
God, thereby rejecting the Mu‘tazilı̄ belief in the ability of human reason
to understand God’s actions. It is important to bear in mind that the
Ash‘arı̄s were as “rational” as the Mu‘tazila in that they utilized similar tools
of dialectical theology to support their central principles. The differences
between the two schools centered on the relationship between revelation
and reason in ascertaining the divine will. Bearing this in mind, it is highly
problematic to think of the Mu‘tazila as “rationalists” and of the Ash‘arı̄s
as “textualists.”
m u ‘ t a z i l i s m a n d s h ı̄ ‘ i s m
Zaydı̄s ultimately accepted the broader edifice of Mu‘tazilism, placing
a particular emphasis on the second (rational divine justice) and fifth
(enjoining good and forbidding wrong) principles. They broke with the
Mu‘tazila by restricting the Imāmate to descendants of ‘Alı̄ and by minimiz-
ing the community’s role in the election of the Imām. Zaydı̄ interpretations
of Mu‘tazilism were shaped by the contingencies of political power, and
Mu‘tazilı̄ ideals were often muted or altered to account for the complexities
of actual governance.
The Twelvers eventually affirmed the first, second, and fifth principles
but rejected the third and fourth principles. This selectivity resulted from
the Twelver conception of the Imāmate and, in particular, the Imām’s role
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
in the salvation of the community. Like the Zaydı̄s, the Twelvers disagreed
with the Mu‘tazila regarding the genetic qualifications and election of the
Imām. They went further, however, in asserting the Imām’s ability to
intercede on behalf of his followers on the Day of Judgment. This position
was not acceptable to Mu‘tazilı̄ scholars, who saw it as a clear violation
of their third principle (the promise and the threat). Specifically, the
Mu‘tazila argued that if God did not punish a sinner for sins, He would
be revealed as a liar given His threats in the Qur’ān. The Twelvers also
rejected the fourth principle (the intermediate state) as a convenient device
for absolving those Companions who had committed a grave sin (or even
apostatized) by taking up arms against ‘Alı̄.
The case of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s is more complicated due to the presence of
a living Imām who functions as the ultimate source of knowledge and
authority. Because the community’s beliefs depend entirely on the ruling
Imām, they are subject to change from generation to generation. For this
reason, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s lack established positions on many of the theological
principles discussed here.
The chapters in this section highlight the process through which many
Mu‘tazilı̄ ideas were incorporated into a broad Shı̄‘ı̄ theological framework
beginning in the tenth century. Chapter  discusses the different ways in
which rational divine justice influences Shı̄‘ı̄ thinking on a range of topics
from free will and law to political activism. Chapter  turns to (arguably)
the most distinctive element of Shı̄‘ism, the institution of the Imāmate.
As will become clear later, differences among the Zaydı̄s, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, and
the Twelvers regarding the Imāmate were a consequence of their distinctive
theological positions.
It is important to remember that Section  of this book speaks more
to the beliefs of contemporary Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims than to those of the earliest
community. Although theology came to occupy a foundational place in
 For the Mu‘tazila, this Twelver position also contradicted the second principle (rational divine justice)
in that God would be acting unjustly in absolving sins on the basis of intercession. As becomes clear
in Chapters  and , the Twelver embrace of rational divine justice is qualified by the school’s doctrine
of the Imāmate.
 Such a critique is particular to the Twelver Shı̄‘a. According to the Mu‘tazila and the Zaydı̄s, this
principle was primarily concerned with the legal status of those who commit major sins and the
Imām’s duty to uphold a just social order. It was not concerned with the probity of the Companions.
 Although the narrative of these chapters implies a linear causality through which Mu‘tazilism is
appropriated by Shı̄‘ı̄ groups, this process was quite a bit more complicated. Those readers interested
in these complications are directed to the works listed at the end of each chapter.
 Although theology underlies many of the core beliefs of modern Shı̄‘ism, it is not a central concern
in contemporary Shı̄‘ı̄ scholarship. Readers should be aware that the arguments in this section date
from an earlier period.
Theology 
Shı̄‘ı̄ thought, this was a gradual process that covered many centuries and
culminated no earlier than the late tenth century. Once accepted, however,
Shı̄‘ı̄ theological views affected the community’s historical memory and
helped shape the core historical narratives discussed in Section .
1
‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice)
All Muslims believe that God is just. They differ, however, about the mean-
ing and implications of this simple, succinct statement. The dominant
Sunnı̄ position (adopted from Ash‘arı̄ theology) defines justice through
God’s actions and commands. These actions and commands are not bound
by any human understanding of justice and can be understood only through
revelation. Although it is possible to forward a rationale for a given divine
command, such an endeavor is speculative, and its results are entirely con-
jectural. If a command seems reasonable, this is the product of mere coinci-
dence. In the end, God is just by definition, and His actions and commands
need not accord with human reason.
By contrast, most of the Shı̄‘a (relying on Mu‘tazilı̄ theology) contend
that God is just in a manner that can be rationally understood by human
beings. It is possible to ascertain the reasons for God’s actions because they
must align with human notions of justice. Divine commands must likewise
accord with the basic postulates of reason. Cases in which explanations are
not evident result from a failure to apply reason in an adequate manner.
God is just, and this justice is rationally intelligible.
This chapter explores the implications of the Shı̄‘ı̄ embrace of the
Mu‘tazilı̄ notion of rational divine justice. The first part examines free
will and evil, the second part turns to issues of law and jurisprudence,
and the third part delves into the connection between justice and the
Imāmate. The discussion that follows is highly theoretical but provides
 The discussion of theology in this section is purposefully reductionist. Mu‘tazilism and Ash‘arism
encompassed a wide range of thinkers who sometimes differed on fundamental principles. Chapters
 and  simplify this complexity and diversity to emphasize particularly important fault lines between
Shı̄‘ism and Sunnism. Those readers interested in a more nuanced explanation of these theological
schools are encouraged to consult the works listed at the end of the chapter.
 The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘a complicate the theological portrait presented in this chapter. As discussed in
subsequent chapters (especially Chapters  and ), Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ doctrine increasingly emphasized the
Imām’s role as the sole authority in all religious matters. In theory, he could adopt theological
positions that contradicted those of his predecessors.

‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 
a basic overview of this important belief that unites most modern Shı̄‘ı̄
groups.
i. free will and evil

One of the central implications of the belief in a God whose actions accord
with a human understanding of justice is the affirmation of free will. The
Shı̄‘a align with the Mu‘tazila in arguing that (some degree of ) free will
must exist because without it, God would be a tyrant. Specifically, they
argue that people must have free will to be held responsible for their actions
on the Day of Judgment. It would be the ultimate act of tyranny for God
to punish His creatures for the very actions that He compelled them to
perform. Because God is just and has promised a reckoning in the Qur’ān,
it follows that humans possess the volition to obey or disregard divine
commands.
In constructing their arguments, Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars make use of a number
of Qur’ānic verses that support free will. A few representative examples
include the following:
Lo! We have shown him the way, whether he be grateful or disbelieving. (Q:)
They who are idolaters will say, “Had God willed, we would not have ascribed
[unto Him] partners, neither would our fathers, nor would we have forbidden
aught.” Thus did those who were before them give the lie [to God’s messengers]
till they tasted of the fear of Us. Say, “Have you any knowledge that you can
adduce for Us? Lo! you follow naught but an opinion; Lo! you only guess.”
(Q:)
The first of these verses suggests that humans have a choice in belief,
whereas the second specifically denies God’s culpability in the decision to
worship idols.
Other Qur’ānic passages highlight human responsibility for actions and
the justice with which God promises to grant reward and mete out pun-
ishment.
Whoever does right it is for his soul, and whoever does wrong it is against it.
And your Lord is not at all a tyrant to His servants. (Q:)
On the Day when every soul will find itself confronted with all that it has done
of good and all that it has done of evil, [every soul] will long that there might
be a mighty space of distance between it and that [evil]. (Q:)
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
And whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it then, and whoever does
an atom’s weight of wrong will see it then. (Q:–)
And We set a just balance for the Day of Resurrection so that no soul is dealt
with unjustly. Though it be of the weight of a grain of mustard seed, We will
bring it forth. And We suffice for reckoners. (Q:)
These verses promise a just reckoning of human actions with an emphasis

on personal responsibility. Good acts will be rewarded, and evil acts will
be punished.
In addition to textual arguments, some Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars provide experiential
proofs for free will. In doing so, they make use of real-world examples.
When a man falls off a roof, he experiences a complete loss of control as he
tumbles to the ground. By contrast, walking down a fire escape is clearly a
choice and is not accompanied by a feeling of coercion or helplessness. The
argument here is that a life in which individuals were compelled by God
to act in a particular manner would feel quite different. Humans would
not have the perception of free will and choice that is characteristic of our
actual existence.
Alongside evidence in favor of free will, the Qur’ān contains some verses
that appear to support compulsion and others that ascribe all actions to
God.
Had God willed, He could have made you [all] one nation, but He leads astray
whom He wills and guides whom He wills; and you will indeed be asked of
what you did. (Q:)
For those of you who will to walk straight, you will not, unless [it be] that God
wills, the Lord of Creation. (Q:–)
Say: “Nothing befalls us save that which God has decreed for us. He is our
Protecting Friend. In God, let believers put their trust!” (Q:)
What ails you that you become two parties regarding the hypocrites, when
God cast them back [to disbelief] because of what they earned? Seek you to
guide him whom God has sent astray? He whom God sends astray, for him
you cannot find a road. (Q:)
According to these verses, God plays a direct role in guiding some of His
creatures and leading others astray. They also suggest that God determines
the entirety of human action, a view that seems incompatible with the Shı̄‘ı̄
position.
To explain passages that appear to contradict free will, Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars
rely on a distinctive interpretation of two important Arabic terms found in
‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 
these verses: qadar (measure) and qad.ā’ (divine decree). These words have a
wide range of possible connotations and are utilized for completely different
ends in Sunnı̄ theological works. For Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars, they legitimize a limited
form of predestination. The modern Twelver scholar Ja‘far Sobhani explains
that qadar relates to an “existential limit and extent” that is determined
by God. He notes that “before creating a thing, God already knows it
in its unmanifest state of latency of potentiality, this being referred to as
‘determination and apportioning in knowledge.’” In other words, qadar
signifies the potential or capacity of an individual, which is determined
before creation and known only to the Creator. It is up to each individual
to develop this potential or make use of this capability.
Sobhani defines qad.ā’ as the “bestowal of definitive existence upon an
entity . . . [that] rests upon the operation of the law of cause and effect.”
This term is often found in reference to God’s direct creation of actions,
but here it is utilized to suggest causality. Once an individual decides on a
course of action, God enables that action to occur through divine decree.
Stated slightly differently, “the divine decree is that whenever man decides
upon an action and possesses necessary means to perform it, a divine
power brings into effect the accomplishment of the action in question.”
This rhetorical move allows for the affirmation of Qur’ānic verses that state
that God decrees all actions while also preserving the integrity of human
free will.
The Shı̄‘ı̄ position on free will can thus be summarized as follows:
Because God is just in a manner that aligns with human reason, He would
not punish His creatures for compelled actions. This would be an act
of tyranny. It follows that humans must have the ability to make their
own decisions. Qur’ānic verses that intimate predestination refer to the
determination of human potential or capacity (qadar) and the affirmation
of causality (qad.ā’ ).
Free will also serves as a useful explanation for the existence of evil in
the world. It is human action that directly leads to evils such as pain and
suffering. God is thereby absolved of any responsibility for evil, the creation
of which would constitute an unjust act. Bear in mind that, according
to the Shı̄‘ı̄ view, evil can be ascertained and understood through the
use of reason just like justice can. There then remains a need to explain
 Sobhani, Doctrines, . I use Sobhani’s text throughout this book as a source for contemporary Twelver
beliefs.
 Sobhani, Doctrines, .
 Sobhani, Doctrines, .
 Sobhani, Doctrines, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
the occurrence of natural disasters and other apparent evils that seem
beyond the scope of human action. The tsunami triggered by the Sumatra-
Andaman earthquake of December , for example, caused the deaths
of nearly a quarter million people. Was this an act of evil? If it was evil, we
are left with two equally undesirable possibilities: Either (i) it was caused
by human actions, which seems empirically incorrect or (ii) it was caused
by God, which contradicts the Shı̄‘ı̄ (Mu‘tazilı̄) refusal to ascribe evil acts
to God. If it was not evil, then an explanation is still needed to justify the
massive death toll that included many innocents (e.g., children).
Shı̄‘ı̄ theologians address this complication in a number of ways. One
explanation views evil as a necessary result of the state of nature of the
world. The tsunami is neither an act of humans nor an act of God. It is,
rather, a necessary consequence of the elements that comprise the world.
God had the choice of either creating this world (which must have this
potential) or not creating it. He determined that it was better on balance to
create it. Another explanation turns on the idea that evil is nonexistent and
simply consists of the absence of God. Evil is thus similar to shadow, which
lacks a material existence and is defined primarily by a lack of sunlight.
The issues of free will and evil connect to a larger problem in the Shı̄‘ı̄
position – namely, the “limiting of God.” Specifically, the disassociating
of God from direct human action and (apparent) evil serves to limit the
scope of His power. This dilemma is similar to the classical theological
question of whether God can create a rock that is too heavy for Him
to pick up. Every answer to this question restricts the omnipotence of
God: He is either incapable of creating the rock or unable to lift it. In a
similar vein, it might be asked whether God can create a being whose
actions He is unable to control or whose behavior He cannot predict with
absolute certainty. If God is not responsible for evil, does this mean that
actions occur in the world that are outside His control? This paradox of
omnipotence is difficult to address with reason alone. Shı̄‘ı̄ theologians
respond by arguing that although God’s ability is absolute, some concepts
are necessarily impossible. For example, it is not possible for the number
two to be odd or for the number three to be even. These are self-evident
truths grounded in nature.
The Sunnı̄ (Ash‘arı̄) position is not subject to such difficulties. Because
God is just by definition and His actions need not accord with a human
 Another potential explanation (rarely used by Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars) emphasizes the sins of the victims of
natural disasters. A similar logic sometimes informs discussions of tragedy in the United States
among Evangelical Christians.
‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 
understanding of justice, questions of free will and evil acquire a different
focus grounded firmly in revelation. Predestination is upheld (in theory)
by most Sunnı̄ scholars, albeit alongside an acknowledgment of Qur’ānic
evidence favoring free will. There is no need to resolve this contradiction
because the explanation might fall outside the realm of human reason. God
may compel an act and then punish for it without being unjust because
justice is established only on the basis of His actions. To account for
Qur’ānic evidence that appears to favor the opposing view, Sunnı̄ scholars
developed the concept of kasb (acquisition), which attempted to preserve
a form of human volition while upholding God’s omnipotence. A detailed
examination of kasb falls outside the scope of this study. It suffices to say
that the distinctions between the Shı̄‘ı̄ and Sunnı̄ positions on free will turn
on subtle theological arguments that resist the simple dichotomy between
absolute free will and absolute predestination.
A similar dynamic informs Sunnı̄ (Ash‘arı̄) discussions of the origins of
evil. Because God has control over every aspect of creation, humans lack
the capacity to characterize His acts as just or evil. This does not mean that
Sunnı̄ theologians avoid theodicy altogether. On the contrary, a number
of prominent Sunnı̄ scholars directly tackle the problem of evil through a
framework grounded in revelation. This task does not, however, hold the
same urgency for Sunnı̄ theologians as it does for Shı̄‘ı̄ theologians, who
must provide a rationale for every evil act. From the perspective of the
Shı̄‘a, the Sunnı̄ position avoids the issue of evil altogether at the cost of a
final judgment in which humanity possesses no volition at all.
ii. law and jurisprudence

The relationship between rational divine justice and law rests on the ques-
tion of whether it is possible to determine right and wrong, good and
evil, on the basis of reason alone. Imagine a situation in which a boy is
raised on an island by apes with no contact with human beings. Will this
child be able to arrive at a basic morality on his own? Will he be able
to ascertain religious laws in a vacuum? Put differently, are morality and
law exclusively tied to revelation, or are they discernible through human
reason?
 The Sunnı̄s would, of course, contest this appraisal of their position.

 The philosophers were the first to use this example to consider whether it was possible to arrive at
an understanding of God through reason alone. See, for example, Ibn T.ufayl’s (d. ) epistle H
. ayy
ibn Yaqz.ān.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims hold that there are certain general reli-
gious truths so deeply engrained within human beings that they exist
independently of revelation. The clearest example is a belief in monothe-
ism as exemplified by Q:, which recounts a primordial encounter
between God and humanity in which all future generations acknowledge
the exclusive sovereignty of God. This episode, known as the Covenant of
Alast, testifies to an intrinsic human proclivity (fitra) for monotheism. The
verse also establishes the parameters of the relationship between God and
humanity. Specifically, human beings must obey God’s commands. This
prompts the question of how to ascertain divine commands and discover
the specifics of Islamic law.
Shı̄‘ı̄ (and Sunnı̄) jurisprudence rests on a hierarchy of sources that
includes both revelation and reason. The first two sources are the Qur’ān
and the Sunna. The Qur’ān is the literal word of God as revealed to
Muh.ammad, whereas the Sunna is the normative example of the Prophet
as preserved by the practice of the broader Muslim community or in reports
of his statements or actions (h.adı̄th). The Qur’ān and the Sunna together
constitute divine revelation. The third source of law, the consensus (ijmā‘)
of the community, is based on a statement ascribed to Muh.ammad that
the Muslim community would never agree on an error. The means for
determining consensus remain contested in legal circles.
Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ jurists disagree regarding the fourth source of Islamic
law. According to Sunnı̄ jurists, the fourth source is qiyās, which refers to
the application of analogical reasoning to the Qur’ān and the Sunna. In
this process, revelation sets limits for the use of reason. When confronting a
new issue, jurists first search for a relevant textual clue (e.g., a Qur’ānic verse
or a h.adı̄th) and then apply reasoning to broaden its scope. For example,
a jurist faced with a drug such as cocaine may justify prohibition through
either the Qur’ānic injunction against wine or a h.adı̄th that condemns
intoxication.
For Shı̄‘ı̄ jurists, the fourth source of law is ‘aql, which is defined as
reason, both pure and practical. This position, dominant in contemporary
Zaydı̄ and Twelver Shı̄‘ism, was quite controversial in earlier periods. In
the eighth and ninth centuries, many Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars argued that the Imāms
provided a definitive source of legal knowledge, which was far superior to
 This discussion of Islamic jurisprudence does not follow the standard framework of Muslim works
on legal theory. It is rather a structural reformulation designed for nonspecialists, which nevertheless
maintains the basic terminology used by Muslim jurists.
 The Shı̄‘a have additional proof texts that affirm consensus but do not directly cite the Prophet.
‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 
the inherent uncertainty of human reasoning. These debates are examined
in greater detail in the third section of the book.
In the context of modern Shı̄‘ism, a belief in rational divine justice
implies the existence of an ethical system in this world that human beings
are capable of grasping through reason. They are then free to follow or not
follow the implications of that system in their daily lives. Such an approach
suggests the possibility (not always actualized) that human reason can ascer-
tain the purpose of laws derived from revealed texts. These instances are
not mere coincidence but speak to human access to objective truths about
proper, upright conduct. Although Shı̄‘ı̄ jurists rarely utilize reason alone
in their legal rulings, they uphold the theoretical possibility.
i i i . t h e i m ā m a t e
This section examines the connection between the Shı̄‘ı̄ notion of ratio-
nal divine justice and the institution of the Imāmate. The existence of a
rational, just God was often used to establish the necessity of an Imām to
lead the community. It was also central to differing Shı̄‘ı̄ conceptions of
the duties and qualifications of the office.
A. Grace or Kindness (Lut.f )

The first line of reasoning that binds the Shı̄‘ı̄ doctrine of divine justice to
the Imāmate involves a parallel with prophethood. Because God is just, He
desires what is best for humanity and provides many graces to aid and guide
His creation. This divine help is formalized in a principle known as lut.f,
according to which God always acts in the best interests of human beings.
As in the case of free will, this position might be criticized for restricting the
scope of God’s power to benevolent action. Proponents, however, argue
that they are not placing a constraint on God but merely providing an
empirical description of His actions. Given that (i) a lack of benevolence
or kindness constitutes a deficiency and (ii) God is not deficient in any
way, it naturally follows that His actions benefit humanity.
Prophecy is one of the central consequences of God’s lut.f. Sobhani
explains the connection in the following terms:
Whenever man is guided to the point where he becomes aware of this purpose
[aspiring to God], and pledges himself to undertake the first steps leading to its
realization, God Himself sees to it that they are indeed accomplished. Without
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
this divine help, the creation of man would be lacking any means of realizing
the purpose of creation.
Prophets, then, are products of God’s kindness, sent to human communities

to provide guidance, explanations, and regulations for proper conduct.
They are symbols of divine benevolence, conveying information that is
difficult (at times even impossible) to determine outside of revelation, such
as the structure of the daily prayer or the specifications of proper burial.
The Qur’ān conceives of human history in an essentially prophetic
framework, depicting a cyclical pattern of revelation and corruption. The
messages brought by prophets are invariably distorted over time, as evident
(according to the Qur’ān) in the corrupted extant forms of the Hebrew
Bible and the Gospels. In the past, God rectified such distortions by sending
new prophets to renew His message. Muh.ammad marked the culmination
of this cyclical vision of history, providing the final revelation for humanity.
This finality is established by Q:, in which Muh.ammad is described as
“the Seal of the Prophets,” a term interpreted by most Muslims as marking
the definitive end of prophecy.
There is a general consensus among the Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver
Shı̄‘a that the institution of prophethood is predicated on the principle
of lut.f. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, however, go one step further by
asserting the need for a proper interpretation of the final revelation. If
such an interpretation does not exist, then there is no point to revelation
at all. In the latter scenario, the Qur’ān risks falling into the same cycle
of distortion and corruption that marked previous revelations but now
without the possibility of a new prophet to renew the divine message.
This establishes the need for an Imām, whose central function is not to
bring new revelation but rather to provide its proper interpretation. For
the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, the argument in support of the Imāmate is
identical to that in support of prophethood. Both institutions are products
of the kindness (lut.f ) of God; the prophet brings revelation, while the
Imām ensures its preservation.
As will become clear in the next chapter, such a knowledge-centered con-
ception of the Imām’s role necessitates a number of distinctive theological
 Sobhani, Doctrines, .

 Later Twelver commentators delegated the responsibility for preserving proper interpretation to the
larger Muslim community.
 Note that the arguments presented here exclude cosmology. There is an entire corpus of literature
(especially in the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver traditions) that emphasizes the cosmological role of the
prophets and the Imāms as far exceeding mere textual interpretation. This view is quite common
in secondary literature and referenced in greater detail in Chapters  and .
‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 
beliefs with far-ranging implications. These include – most prominently –
the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver belief in the infallibility of the Imām (‘is.ma). The
Zaydı̄s, by contrast, hold to a notion of the Imāmate rooted primarily in
the political implications of rational divine justice (discussed subsequently).
They argue (in line with Mu‘tazilı̄ theologians) that human reason is a suf-
ficient guarantor of proper interpretation and do not require a divinely
sanctioned and infallible Imām. Properly trained individuals can derive
laws through a combination of revelation and human reason.
B. Enjoining Good and Forbidding Wrong

A second line of reasoning that links divine justice to the Imāmate involves
the principle of enjoining good and forbidding wrong. Once again, the
argument begins with the premise that God is just in a manner that humans
can understand and desires the establishment of a just social and political
order. Because human beings have the intrinsic ability to differentiate
between justice and tyranny, they must work to establish just rule in any
given context. This imperative is strengthened by two concepts discussed
earlier – namely, free will and the origins of evil. Specifically, Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars
reject the idea of a divine mandate for the existing political order. If the
government is oppressive, then it is evil and clearly opposed to the will
of a God who desires only justice. As free agents, individuals must work
to overthrow an illegitimate political order and to replace it with one that
better aligns with the divine will.
The human responsibility to oppose tyranny and to support justice is
embodied in the principle of enjoining good and forbidding wrong. This
idea is endorsed by a broad range of Muslim groups, but its conceptualiza-
tion (and implementation) vary significantly. Some frame it as a call to
speak up when witnessing injustice or sin; others reduce it to an opposi-
tional feeling in the heart. Political order plays a decisive role in the actu-
alization of enjoining/forbidding, with many Sunnı̄ and some Shı̄‘ı̄ groups
excusing individuals faced with political coercion or the threat of bodily
harm. An activist interpretation of this principle, however, rejects political
contingencies and advocates armed rebellion against a ruling tyrant. Such
a movement requires a leader who possesses the requisite credentials and
political skills for organizing the opposition and constructing a new order.
This leader is the Imām.
 These differences are examined in detail by Michael Cook in his Commanding Right and Forbidding
Wrong in Islamic Thought.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
In this line of reasoning, the Imām’s legitimacy is based primarily on
his practical (scholarly and political) qualifications. This was, in fact, the
view of many Mu‘tazilı̄ theologians. The Shı̄‘a, however, add a lineal
dimension, restricting the office to descendants of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima (the
Prophet’s daughter). The Zaydı̄s hold the most expansive genetic view of
the Imāmate, whereas the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers identify a singular line
of legitimate Imāms. Although it is certainly the responsibility of all Shı̄‘ı̄
Muslims to enjoin good and forbid wrong in their personal lives, it is the
Imām (from the genetic line of the Prophet) who leads this movement on
a grand scale.
C. Final Notes about Rational Divine Justice and the Imāmate

Rational divine justice thus leads to two potential arguments for the
Imāmate, the first based on knowledge and the second concerned with
political management. The first connects God’s kindness or grace (lut.f) to
the sending of prophets, who bring revelation, and Imāms, who interpret
that revelation. The second establishes the necessity of enjoining good and
forbidding wrong under the leadership of an Imām. The Shı̄‘ı̄ groups under
consideration differed in the degree to which they emphasized each of these
arguments. The Zaydı̄s adopted a highly political view of the Imāmate that
minimized (without dismissing) qualifications based on knowledge. The
Twelvers deemphasized the political dimensions of the office in the ninth
century while highlighting the Imām’s role as the sole source of religious
knowledge. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s initially championed the Imām’s political and
knowledge functions alike before ultimately (after many centuries) fram-
ing his authority primarily in terms of knowledge.
iv. conclusion
The central distinguishing theological feature of Shı̄‘ism is the belief in
rational divine justice. Contrary to the dominant Sunnı̄ position that God’s
actions and commands define the nature of justice, the Shı̄‘a contend that
God is just in a manner that humans can rationally understand. This has
a number of practical consequences. First and foremost, it necessitates
(i) free will, because God cannot justly punish humans for actions that He
compels them to perform, and (ii) an explanation for evil that does not
 There were a few early groups that extended this qualification to include other genetic lines from
the Prophet’s clan of Banū Hāshim, but these lie outside the scope of the current study.
‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice) 
implicate God. Second, it permits the inclusion of reason (unconnected to
revealed texts) among the sources of Islamic law. This is an outcome of the
belief that humans are capable of distinguishing justice from tyranny and
right from wrong without recourse to revelation. Third, rational divine
justice has two implications for the Imāmate: (i) God acts with a necessary
kindness and grace (lut.f ) toward human beings because He is invested in
their living successful and upright lives. This being the case, He provides
continual guidance in the form of prophets and Imāms. (ii) God prefers
justice on Earth, which allows for (or even requires) an activist agenda
that legitimizes the overthrow of a tyrannical ruler under the leadership
of a qualified Imām. These three consequences of rational divine justice
contrast sharply with Sunnı̄ beliefs and clearly demarcate the boundary
between the two communities. The next chapter turns to perhaps the
institution most closely associated with Shı̄‘ism, the Imāmate.
suggested readings for further study

For a wide-ranging discussion of enjoining good and forbidding wrong, see
Michael Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ). For the Mu‘tazila and Shı̄‘ı̄
groups, see chapters –.
For a general discussion of political authority and the institution of the Imāmate,
see Patricia Crone, God’s Rule (New York: Columbia University Press, ),
chapters , , , and .
The following works provide an overview of the history and doctrines of the
Mu‘tazila:
Najam Haider, “Mu‘tazilah,” in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Islamic World, ed.
John Esposito (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ).
Wilferd Madelung, “The Origins of the Controversy Concerning the Creation of
the Koran,” in Religious Schools and Sects in Medieval Islam (London: Variorum,
), chapter .
A more detailed discussion is found in the Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v.
“Mu‘tazila” (Gimaret).
For a very basic introductory discussion on Muslim theology, see Josef van Ess,
The Flowering of Muslim Theology, translated by Jane Marie Todd (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, ).
For the epistle of Ibn T.ufayl, see Ibn T . ayy ibn Yaqz.ān, translated by Lenn
. ufayl’s H
Evan Goodman (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, ).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The following works provide more detailed (and sometimes different) analyses of
the concepts discussed in this chapter:
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “‘Ilm al-Kalām” (Gardet).
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Zaydiyya” (Madelung).
Wilferd Madelung, “Imāmism and Mu‘tazilite Theology,” in Religious Schools and
Sects in Medieval Islam (London: Variorum, ), chapter .
Wilferd Madelung, “The Shiite and Khārijite Contribution to Pre-Ash‘arite
Kalām,” in Religious Schools and Sects in Medieval Islam (London: Variorum,
), chapter .
Martin McDermott, The Theology of al-Shaikh al-Mufı̄d (d. 413/1022) (Beirut: Dar
el-Machreq, ).
Ibn al-Mut.ahhar H . illı̄ (d. ), Al-Bāb al-h.ādı̄ ‘ashar:
. asan b. Yūsuf al-‘Allāma al-H
A Treatise on the Principles of Shı̄‘ite Theology (London: Royal Asiatic Society,
), with commentary by Miqdād Fāḍil al-Ḥillı̄ (d. late fourteenth/early
fifteenth century) and translated by William McElwee Miller.
Sabine Schmidtke, The Theology of al-‘Allama al-H . illı̄ (Berlin: Klaus Schwarz,
).
Ja‘far Sobhani, Doctrines of Shi‘i Islam, translated by Reza Shah-Kazemi (New
York: I. B. Tauris, ), –.
2
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership)
And (remember) when his Lord tried Ibrāhı̄m [Abraham] with [His] commands, and
he fulfilled them, He said: “Lo! I have appointed you a leader (imām) for mankind.”
[Ibrāhı̄m] said: “And of my offspring?” He said: “My covenant does not include
wrongdoers.” (Q:)
And We bestowed upon him Ish.āq (Isaac) and Ya‘qūb (Jacob) as a grandson. Each
of them We made righteous. And We made them leaders (imāms) who guide by
Our command, and We inspired in them the doing of good deeds and the right
establishment of worship and the giving of alms, and they were worshippers of Us.
(Q:–)
Every Shı̄‘ı̄ group holds that ‘Alı̄ was the legitimate successor to the Prophet
based on either a formal or an informal designation. According to the
Shı̄‘a, ‘Alı̄ was not merely the rightful political head of the community but
also wielded spiritual authority. He was an Imām as conceived of in the
Qur’ānic verses that open this chapter, guaranteeing that the community
would not be led astray and providing divinely inspired leadership. As
mentioned in Chapter , rational divine justice supplies both a knowledge-
centered and a politically centered justification for the necessity of the
Imāmate. In the postprophetic era (Muh.ammad being the last prophet),
Imāms are designated by God to guide the Muslim community as both
interpreters/preservers of revelation and political leaders. Although the
Imām is the singular representative of legitimate authority, the nature of
this authority (political versus religious) is contested among the different
Shı̄‘ı̄ communities.
This chapter focuses on various aspects of the institution of the
Imāmate, arguably the most distinctive element of Shı̄‘ism. The organiza-
tion of the chapter is thematic. The first section focuses on the spiritual
 It is worth reiterating that for the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, the Imām also plays a seminal cosmo-
logical role. The importance of cosmology for the Twelvers during the occultation of the Twelfth
Imām is discussed in Chapters  and .

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
dimensions of the Imāmate that are common to nearly every major Shı̄‘ı̄
group. Specifically, it explores the concept of walāya, a notoriously diffi-
cult word to translate but one that broadly connotes the charismatic bond
between the Shı̄‘a and the ahl al-bayt (lit. people of the house, but often
simply referred to as the family of the Prophet). The second section exam-
ines the political dimensions of the Imāmate, such as the qualifications of
an Imām and the scope of his authority. These issues are a primary means
of differentiating between Shı̄‘ı̄ groups.
i. the spiritual dimensions

The historical basis for the Shı̄‘ı̄ institution of the Imāmate stems from a
belief in the special qualities and role of ‘Alı̄. A number of Muslims claimed
a distinctive charismatic bond (walāya) with ‘Alı̄ during his lifetime that
transcended simple loyalty or political support. In time, this veneration
grew to include ‘Alı̄’s larger household and (eventually) a select number
of his lineal descendants. As the heirs of the charismatic mantle of both
‘Alı̄ and the Prophet, these descendants became focal points for both Shı̄‘ı̄
political aspirations and popular piety.
A. Walāya (Charismatic Loyalty)

During the mid and late seventh century, the Muslim empire rapidly
expanded from a small section of the Arabian Peninsula to an area that
stretched from Central Asia in the east to North Africa in the west. This
expansion was accompanied by extreme social unrest. The order established
by the Prophet (d. ) and strengthened by the second caliph ‘Umar
(r. –) favored those Muslims who had converted early in the history
of Islam. These “early-comers” were said to possess sabiqa (precedence) and
were awarded important posts (e.g., governorships) and a higher percentage
of the spoils of conquest. In many instances, this system disempowered
established tribal elites whose authority drew primarily on their lineage.
The twelve year reign of the third caliph ‘Uthmān (r. –) saw the
 This is a rather loose translation that reflects the general meaning of the term for most of the Shı̄‘a.
The literal meaning of walāya is “support,” but such a translation fails to convey its functional
implications for the relationship between the Shı̄‘a and the family of the Prophet. The related term
wilāya is often used to denote the exercise of political and religious authority. There is a tendency
to utilize the two words interchangeably, but this is misleading. The first (walāya) speaks more to
the bond the Shı̄‘a feel with their Imāms, whereas the second (wilāya) refers primarily to the actual
exercise of authority by the Imāms. Both terms are closely related to the word “walı̄” (discussed
later), which can denote both the object of support and the bearer of authority.
 There were, of course, tribal elites who had converted early (e.g., the third caliph ‘Uthmān) and
possessed both sabiqa and a noble lineage.
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
restoring of these elites to positions of power at the cost of the early-
comers. This period also witnessed a growth in the number of non-Arab
Muslims, many of whom felt marginalized and were subject to various
discriminatory policies. The resulting tensions culminated in the killing of
‘Uthmān at the hands of a group of Egyptian (and Kufan) early-comers
and the election of ‘Alı̄ (r. –) as the fourth caliph.
The years of ‘Alı̄’s rule were marked by unrest and civil strife as competing
interest groups jockeyed for power. Early converts to Islam from the tribe
of the Prophet (i.e., Quraysh) contested ‘Alı̄’s election at the Battle of the
Camel in . ‘Alı̄’s opponents in the battle included T.alh.a b. ‘Ubayd
Allāh and al-Zubayr b. al-‘Awwām (two important Companions) along
with ‘Ā’isha bt. Abı̄ Bakr (one of the Prophet’s widows and daughter of
the first caliph). This was followed by a protracted conflict with Mu‘āwiya
b. Abı̄ Sufyān (d. ), the long-standing Muslim governor in Syria, who
favored the reestablishment of a social order led by the tribal elites. ‘Alı̄’s
inability to depose Mu‘āwiya fragmented his own support and produced
a faction (i.e., the Kharijites) of early-comers that declared both ‘Alı̄ and
Mu‘āwiya apostates. In , a Kharijite assassinated ‘Alı̄ in the city of Kufa
in southern Iraq. Over the next two decades, Mu‘āwiya consolidated power
and laid the foundation for a dynasty (the Umayyad dynasty) that remained
in power until  with the backing of the Arab tribal elite.
This historical sketch highlights the major social divisions in the Muslim
world during the early Islamic period. Terms such as “early-comer” and
“tribal elite” roughly approximate interest groups that vied for political
power. The early-comers were interested in the restoration of their rights
and championed a social order based on Islamic credentials (e.g., early
conversion). They felt that ‘Alı̄ represented the best hope for this project,
and they thus provided the core of his political and military support. They
were joined by non-Arab converts who gathered in Kufa and put forward
a universalist vision of Islam that accorded them full rights as part of a
larger Muslim community. It is no surprise that ‘Alı̄’s capital during his
brief caliphal reign was not Mecca or Medina in Arabia (strongholds of
tribal elites and Quraysh) but rather Kufa (a garrison city in Mesopotamia
with a significant early-comer and non-Arab Muslim population). This is
not to say that ‘Alı̄ completely lacked supporters from other backgrounds,
but the bulk of his support came from these two social groups.
 For this historical narrative of the early period, see Hodgson, Venture, vol.  –, and Hinds,
Studies, –.
 Note that the Kharijite withdrawal from ‘Alı̄’s supporters resulted partly from his failure to remove
Mu‘āwiya from power. The Kharijites were unwilling to entertain the possibility of a compromise
that left the tribal elites in power.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The roots of the Shı̄‘a trace back to these early groups that brought ‘Alı̄
to power and then fought for him during his short caliphal reign. Recent
scholarship has emphasized the particular charisma ‘Alı̄ seemed to exercise
with certain elements of his followers. Given the lack of primary sources
from the time, it is difficult to discern the basis of this charisma. Perhaps
it derived from his actions as caliph (a restoration of early-comer rights)
or his idealistic unwillingness to negotiate with his enemies. Regardless of
the origins of his charisma, ‘Alı̄ won supporters whose loyalty acquired a
deeper significance that included a spiritual belief in his exclusive legit-
imate religious and political authority (walāya). It was this belief that
distinguished those who backed ‘Alı̄ for political reasons from those who
eventually became the Shı̄‘a. In other words, the Shı̄‘a were those who felt
“an all-encompassing bond of spiritual loyalty” toward ‘Alı̄ that transcended
politics and self-interest. These bonds were critically reinforced near the
end of ‘Alı̄’s life when a large contingent of his followers took an oath
(bay‘a) in which they agreed to obey his commands without question.
‘Alı̄’s status as the object of the charismatic loyalty (walāya) of the Shı̄‘a
was legitimized through an episode that occurred near the end of the
Prophet’s life. During his final pilgrimage in , Muh.ammad made a
speech at a location between Mecca and Medina known as Ghadı̄r Khumm,
where he declared, “Of whomever I am the master (mawlā), ‘Alı̄ is his
master (mawlā).” The Shı̄‘a interpreted this statement as both (i) a formal
appointment of ‘Alı̄ as the Prophet’s political successor and (ii) a symbolic
transfer of spiritual authority from the Prophet to ‘Alı̄. The latter function
was particularly important because it legitimized the notion of walāya
(derived from the same linguistic root as mawlā) through Muh.ammad,
the sole conduit for divine revelation. In subsequent centuries, the Shı̄‘a
would refer to ‘Alı̄ as walı̄ Allāh, thereby linking his spiritual authority
directly to God. Building on an early understanding of the term, the Shı̄‘a
also emphasized that walāya was not restricted to one historical personality
 The discussion of walāya that follows draws heavily on Dakake, Charismatic, –.
 An individual who exercises political authority on behalf of a superior power (e.g., God) is called a
walı̄, whereas an individual who holds spiritual authority is often referred to as a walı̄ of God (walı̄
Allāh). See also note .
 Dakake, Charismatic, .
 This oath – the second of its kind – is often considered the actual starting point of Shı̄‘ism. For
more, see Dakake, Charismatic, –.
 For this episode and its connection to walāya, see Dakake, Charismatic, –. For a Shı̄‘ı̄ (Twelver)
interpretation of Ghadı̄r Khumm, see Sobhani, Doctrines, –.
 The term mawlā (derived from the same root as walāya and wilāya) has a number of potentially
contradictory meanings from patron/client to master/servant. The Shı̄‘a associate the word with
walı̄. See notes  and .
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
(i.e., ‘Alı̄) but was transferable from one generation to the next. This view of
walāya became an integral part of the Shı̄‘ı̄ creed and arguably the primary
lens through which the community viewed its relationship with the Imāms.
The events at Ghadı̄r Khumm are discussed in greater detail in Chapter .
B. The Family of the Prophet (Ahl al-Bayt)

There was no reason to believe that the early Shı̄‘a would transfer their
allegiance to a new leader after Alı̄’s death. Even those Shı̄‘a who supported
the political claims of H
. asan (‘Alı̄’s eldest son) appeared primarily motivated
by their devotion to ‘Alı̄. Over time, however, the distinctive charismatic
bond between the Shı̄‘a and ‘Alı̄ developed into a more general veneration of
the family of the Prophet. This is reflected in Qur’ānic verses and Prophetic
traditions that the Shı̄‘a interpret as evidence for their special status.
The most important of these Qur’ānic passages is Q:, which reads:
And stay in your houses and do not display your finery like the displaying of the
Time of Ignorance. Be regular in prayer, and pay the poor-due, and obey God
and His messenger. God’s wish is but to remove uncleanness far from you, O
People of the House (ahl al-bayt), and cleanse you with a thorough cleansing.
(Q:)
The outward meaning of the verse is clear: it emphasizes the elevated
standing of the “People of the House” and states that God has bestowed
a spiritual purity on them. But who are the “People of the House?” Many
Sunnı̄ scholars note that the previous verse addresses the Prophet’s wives
and suggest a broad definition of the term that includes his extended family.
Shı̄‘ı̄ commentators counter by citing Sunnı̄ traditions in which the Prophet
interprets the term narrowly as referring to the family of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima
(including the Prophet). They also offer grammatical arguments that use
pronoun changes (from the feminine plural [kunna] to the masculine plural
[kum]) to establish that the passage refers not to the Prophet’s wives but to
his specific household.
Another verse often mentioned by Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars is Q:, which recounts
an incident known as the Mubāhala (mutual cursing). According to Muslim
commentators, the verse was revealed before a confrontation in which the
Prophet challenged the Christians of the Arabian town of Najrān to pray
and invoke God’s punishment on whichever side was mistaken regarding
the role and status of Jesus. The verse states:
And whoever disputes with you concerning Him, after the knowledge which
has come unto you, say, “Come! We will summon our sons and your sons, and
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
our women and your women, and ourselves and yourselves, then we will pray
humbly and invoke the curse of God upon those who lie.” (Q:)
The majority view in the Muslim exegetical tradition is that the Prophet
brought ‘Alı̄, Fāt.ima, H
. asan, and H . usayn as representations of his “self,”
his “sons,” and his “women.” When the Christians saw this, they backed
out of the mutual cursing and agreed to peace terms. The Shı̄‘a interpret
this incident as evidence that Muh.ammad’s conception of his family was
limited to the household of ‘Alı̄. This is not, however, clear from the text
of the verse itself. The same ambiguity is found in other Qur’ānic verses
that speak of “purified” or “guided” individuals, whom the Shı̄‘a invariably
equate with the family of the Prophet.
The strongest evidence in favor of the distinguished status of the family
of the Prophet is drawn from Prophetic traditions recorded in both Shı̄‘ı̄
and Sunnı̄ sources. Perhaps the most prominent of these is known as the
tradition of al-thaqalayn (lit. the tradition of the two safeguards) and dated
(like the tradition of Ghadı̄r Khumm) to the Prophet’s final pilgrimage.
The text reads (in many variants):
I am leaving you with two safeguards (lit. weighty things), the Book of God
and the members of my household (ahl al-bayt). As long as you cling to these
two, you will not go astray.
For the Shı̄‘a, this tradition clearly establishes a parallel between the
Prophet’s family and the Qur’ān itself. Many Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars (especially
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and Twelvers) go even further by considering the family of the
Prophet the living embodiment of the Qur’ān and the key to its inter-
pretation. It should be noted that there are variants of this tradition in
the Sunnı̄ sources that challenge Shı̄‘ı̄ claims by replacing the phrase “my
family” with “my practice (sunna).”
A direct affirmation of the importance (and identity) of the family is also
found in the tradition of al-kisā’ (lit. the tradition of the cloak). The text
of the tradition is too long to quote in detail, but it involves an incident
in which the Prophet gathered ‘Alı̄, Fāt.ima, H . asan, and H. usayn under his
cloak. He identified them as the members of his household (ahl al-bayt) and
then prayed to God for their well-being and support. The account proceeds
to describe the angel Jibrā’ı̄l (Gabriel) asking the Prophet’s permission to
join them under the cloak and a conversation in which the Prophet praises
 For a standard Shı̄‘ı̄ (Twelver) interpretation of the traditions that follow, see Sobhani, Doctrines,
–.
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
the (future) Shı̄‘a. This tradition highlights the family’s importance but
also narrows its scope to these five figures who are often referred to as “the
people of the cloak” (ahl al-kisā’).
Other traditions focus on the spiritual dimensions of the Prophet’s family
in more general terms. In one instance, the family is compared to Nūh.’s
(Noah’s) Ark with the claim that “whoever takes refuge therein is saved
and whoever opposes it is drowned.” A similar ethos permeates traditions
in which the family is described in celestial terms. A tradition notes that
“as the stars in the sky are the source of guidance to the travelers, the
ahl al-bayt are the source of guidance for the people.” A variant of this
report states that “just as the stars are a means of securing the people of
the earth against drowning, my ahl al-bayt are a means of securing my
community from division.” Salvation and proper guidance are thus linked
directly to the family of the Prophet as opposed to other potential sources of
authority.
The veneration of the family has a special place in the devotional practices
of the Twelver Shı̄‘a. The family’s charisma is extended through a fixed line
of ‘Alı̄’s descendants and persists even after their deaths (see Table .). Their
graves are focal points of piety, with every Twelver enjoined to visit them
as a demonstration of love and fidelity. Such pilgrimages were important
components of Twelver identity as early as the eighth century and continue
to this day. Destinations of choice include the shrines of ‘Alı̄ in Najaf (Iraq),
H. usayn in Karbala (Iraq), and ‘Alı̄ al-Rid.ā, the eighth Twelver Imām, in
Mashhad (Iran). A number of other important historical figures are also
accorded the honor of pilgrimage, most prominently Zaynab, the sister of
H. usayn, whose tomb is located in Syria. The Zaydı̄s, by contrast, extend
the spiritual charisma of the ahl al-bayt to all descendants of H . asan and
H. usayn, whereas most Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s restrict it to the reigning Imām.
This shift from a general veneration of the Prophet’s family to a belief
in their exclusive political and religious authority is particular to the Shı̄‘a.
Sunnı̄ scholars acknowledge the importance of the ahl al-bayt and trans-
mit most of the traditions described thus far in this chapter. Many even
share Shı̄‘ı̄ interpretations of ambiguous Qur’ānic verses. Popular Sunnı̄
devotional practices also accord the Prophet’s family (and descendants)
a particular reverence. Sunnı̄ scholars do not, however, ascribe to them
 Interestingly, the Sunnı̄ sources contain a version of this tradition that includes the revelation of
Q:. In that account, the Prophet explains to Jibrā‘ı̄l (the bearer of revelation) that the term ahl
al-bayt specifically refers to the “people of the cloak.”
 There are parallel Sunnı̄ versions of this tradition in which the Companions replace the ahl al-bayt
in the role of guiding stars.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
a singular, divinely inspired right to the leadership of the entire Muslim
community. In other words, Sunnı̄ scholars honor the family of the Prophet
but place them on a par with other figures from early Islam, namely the
entire generation of the Prophet’s Companions. The Shı̄‘a, by contrast,
revere specific Companions but view the family as the exclusive heirs to
the Prophet’s authority.
ii. the political and knowledge dimensions

The Shı̄‘ı̄ belief in the authority of the family of the Prophet is institu-
tionalized in the office of the Imāmate. The previous section examined
the spiritual aspects of the Imām. He is the sole conduit for proper reli-
gious guidance and fosters a bond of charismatic loyalty (walāya) with his
Shı̄‘a. This section turns to the political facets of the Imāmate, address-
ing a number of difficult questions. Which members of the family of the
Prophet are eligible to be Imāms? What is the nature and scope of the
Imām’s authority? The answers to these and related questions determine
the primary boundaries between Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver Shı̄‘ism.
A. Requirements and Scope

The first area of disagreement among the Shı̄‘a concerns the lineal require-
ments for the Imāmate. In the seventh century, many Shı̄‘a opened the
office to all of ‘Alı̄’s descendants or favored a broad interpretation that
included the Prophet’s uncles. The most important of these expansive
groups was the Kaysānı̄ Shı̄‘a, who traced the Imāmate through the line
of Muh.ammad b. al-H . anafiyya (d. ), ‘Alı̄’s third-eldest son and the
product of a union with a woman from the tribe of the Banū H . anı̄fa.
It is difficult to discern the numerical significance of the Kaysānı̄s in the
early period, but their influence is unquestionable. The leadership of the
group purportedly passed to the ‘Abbāsids (descendants of the Prophet’s
uncle ‘Abbās) after Muh.ammad b. al-H . anafiyya’s son Abū Hāshim died
childless. The Kaysānı̄s then provided the organizational structure that
helped the ‘Abbāsids overthrow the Umayyad dynasty in . By the late
eighth century, the group began to fade as the ‘Abbāsids turned away
 Note that many Sunnı̄s place H . asan and H . usayn in a list with ten other Companions whom the
Prophet reportedly promised paradise.
 A segment of the Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘a that survived into the tenth century extended the Imāmate to include
the descendants of ‘Alı̄’s father (Abū T.ālib). This was a minority position that does not survive in
the modern period.
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
from their Shı̄‘ı̄ roots and many Kaysānı̄s were incorporated into other
streams of Shı̄‘ism. Most Shı̄‘ı̄ groups (including the three at the heart of
the present study) held to far more restrictive lineal requirements for the
Imāmate.
The second area of disagreement among the Shı̄‘a centers on the nature
and scope of the Imām’s authority. As noted in Chapter , the Zaydı̄s
differ from the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and Twelvers in their central justification for the
office of the Imām. Specifically, they affirm the politically centered argu-
ment that highlights the Imām’s duty to enjoin good and forbid wrong.
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers are more (although not exclusively) partial
to the knowledge-centered argument that emphasizes the Imām’s func-
tion of interpreting revelation in a postprophetic world. These contrasting
positions produce dramatically divergent views of the Imāmate, influencing
both the procedure for identifying the Imām and the scope of his authority.
B. The Imāmate of the Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘a

The Zaydı̄s restrict the Imāmate to the lineal descendants of H . asan and
H. usayn (the sons of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt
. ima). The first three Imāms (‘Alı̄, H
. asan,
and H . usayn) are accorded a special status because of their designation to
the office. The Zaydı̄s argue that after the death of H . usayn in , the
Imāmate became the collective trust of the descendants of the H . asanid and
H. usaynid lines. These lineages provided a pool of potential candidates,
but to become an Imām, a contender had to meet a number of additional
conditions.
The Zaydı̄ view of the Imāmate is one that focuses on the activist
implications of the principle of enjoining good and forbidding wrong. As
mentioned in the previous chapter, this idea draws from the theological
belief in rational divine justice to argue that the Imām must fight tyranny
and establish a just political order. Such an understanding of the Imāmate,
however, does not preclude all scholarly or moral criteria. On the contrary,
Zaydı̄ sources emphasize that an Imām must possess the ability to deduce
legal rulings through the process of ijtihād (reasoning applied to the revealed
texts). This scholarly endeavor is necessary to demonstrate that an Imām
has the intellectual qualifications for erecting a just state governed by the
 There are two Zaydı̄ views as to the means of this designation. The first holds that the Prophet
identified ‘Alı̄, H
. asan, and H
. usayn as the first three Imāms. The second asserts that each was
appointed by his predecessor: ‘Alı̄ by the Prophet, H. asan by ‘Alı̄, and H
. usayn by H
. asan. This issue
is discussed further in Chapter .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
principles of Islamic law. The Imām must also be an upright member of
society, demonstrate moral integrity, and exhibit a pious fear of God.
Although Zaydı̄ scholars enumerate a number of qualities that high-
light the moral dimensions of the Imāmate, their focus remains primarily
political. First and foremost, a qualified candidate must receive the oath of
allegiance from his supporters and lead them in an uprising (khurūj) against
a tyrant. It is through this act of open revolt against injustice that a con-
tender’s genetic and scholarly potential is transformed into the charismatic
authority of an Imām. His success in mobilizing support is evidence of his
political acumen, whereas his defeat of an illegitimate government demon-
strates his military skills and competence. Once established in office, a
Zaydı̄ Imām is charged with administrative responsibilities, which include
such practical tasks as caring for orphans, leading the congregational Fri-
day prayers, and managing religious endowments. It should be emphasized
that the Imām (according to the Zaydı̄s) must hold real power as the active
head of state, for his very purpose is to administer and lead the Muslim
community.
The Zaydı̄ emphasis on the political dimensions of the Imāmate is also
embodied in (i) the restrictions placed on the legal authority of the Imām
and (ii) the allowance made for an Imām lacking scholarly qualifications.
In the first instance, it is important to note that the Imām’s legal opinions
are not considered intrinsically superior to those of other Zaydı̄ scholars.
As products of ijtihād, they represent a scholar’s “best guess” as to the will
of God on a given issue. This leaves open the possibility that they might
be wrong. The correctness of a legal ruling is established only through the

consensus of all the descendants of H . asan and H. usayn. In other words,
the Zaydı̄s locate ultimate legal authority in the broader social category
of ‘Alids (descendants of ‘Alı̄) as opposed to the person of the Imām. A
Zaydı̄ Imām retains the power to enforce his legal rulings throughout the
state based on political considerations (i.e., the need for a single, cohesive
legal code). These rulings, however, are not inherently superior to those
of other jurists. After the death of a sitting Zaydı̄ Imām, his successor
may theoretically formulate his own legal code with no regard for his
predecessor’s positions.
 Bear in mind that there is no basis for revolting against a government that is just. As discussed in
Chapters  and , there were other avenues for selecting an Imām during the long period of Zaydı̄
rule in Yemen.
 This statement masks a heated controversy among Zaydı̄ scholars regarding the characterization of
Zaydism as a formal school of law (madhhab). For a detailed analysis of this issue, see Haykel and
Zysow, “Madhhab.”
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
Evidence of the political underpinnings of the Zaydı̄ Imāmate is also
found is the school’s later acceptance of “restricted” (muh.tasib) Imāms.
According to this idea, a candidate who does not possess the requisite
scholarly (or sometimes moral) qualities for the office can still become
Imām if he is powerful enough to defend the state, protect the weak, enjoin
good, and forbid wrong. These restricted Imāms were often figures who
simply won authority on the battlefield. They were expected to consult
religious scholars on legal issues to ensure the proper administration of
justice. The doctrine of the restricted Imām legitimized Zaydı̄ Imāms in
Yemen who fell short of the community’s expectations while preserving
the theoretical importance of knowledge to the institution of the Imāmate.
At the same time, it reflected the degree to which the Zaydı̄ Imāmate was
predicated on the exercise of political authority.
To summarize, the Zaydı̄s believe that the Imāmate rests with (i) any
descendant of H . asan or H
. usayn possessing (ii) the requisite scholarly and
moral qualifications who (iii) successfully leads a rebellion against a tyran-
nical state. The Imām must establish a just order dedicated to enjoining
good and forbidding wrong. The politically centered implications of ratio-
nal divine justice underlie the Zaydı̄ embrace of an activist Imāmate.
C. The Imāmate of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver Shı̄‘a

The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers trace the Imāmate through a single genetic
line. The first Imām is ‘Alı̄, who was explicitly appointed by the Prophet
at Ghadı̄r Khumm, followed by his sons, H . asan and then H. usayn. For the
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, H
. asan is considered a “trustee” (mustawda‘) Imām while
H. usayn is considered a “permanently established” (mustaqarr) Imām. Both
groups agree that only H . usayn has the authority to transmit the Imāmate
to his descendants. For the Twelvers, the transfer of the Imāmate from
H. asan to H . usayn (from brother to brother) is considered an exceptional
circumstance resulting from their inclusion among the “people of the cloak”
(discussed earlier). The Imāmate is then limited to H . usayn’s descendants.
It is passed from father to son through an explicit process of designation
(nas..s). As discussed later in the chapter, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers favor
different lines of succession, although they broadly agree on the scope and
powers of the Imām.
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers place a far greater emphasis on the
knowledge-based duties of the Imām than do the Zaydı̄s. In the process,
 Virani, The Ismailis, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
they draw on the knowledge-centered argument for the Imāmate detailed
in Chapter . Recall that rational divine justice necessitates that God send
an Imām out of His kindness (lut.f) to provide the correct interpretation of
revelation. Because the Imām is entrusted with ensuring that the commu-
nity adheres to a proper understanding of Islam, he must possess inerrancy
in his interpretive endeavors. This quality of inerrancy or (more accurately)
protection from error is called ‘is.ma. As becomes clear in subsequent chap-
ters, the scope of ‘is.ma was fiercely debated in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver circles.
Some scholars extend it to cover all of the actions and thoughts of an
Imām, elevating him to an almost superhuman plane where he is protected
not just from sin but from errors of any kind. Other scholars advocate a
more limited version of ‘is.ma in which only the Imām’s legal rulings and
interpretations are protected from error.
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver belief in (at the very minimum) the interpretive
inerrancy of the Imām complicates the process of identifying him from a
range of potential candidates. Given that humans are themselves imperfect,
how can they recognize an Imām whose claim to authority is predicated
on his perfect knowledge? The answer is provided by the doctrine of nas..s
(designation), which states that each Imām (or Prophet) explicitly names
his successor. In such a manner, a continuous line of divinely protected
and inerrant leadership is traced back to the Prophet Muh.ammad, who
explicitly appointed ‘Alı̄. The larger community has no voice in determining
the identity of the Imām because the appointment is the exclusive purview
of God.
Designation opens the door to a number of potential complications. For
example, an Imām may not possess a male heir, or the heir may not have
reached the age of maturity at the time of his accession. The designation
may also be compromised by the political situation. In many instances,
the current Imām might delay the announcement until he is near death to
protect the life of his heir from the ruling monarch. The designation may be
entrusted to a handful of supporters in a private setting, inevitably leading
to disputes and rival claims. The controversial succession that precipitated
the split between the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers in  involved the apparent
designation of a successor (Ismā‘ı̄l) who predeceased his father. This episode
is considered in greater detail in Chapter .
Overall, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers are in agreement on founda-
tional aspects of the Imāmate. Both favor a knowledge-centered line of
 This matter is less problematic for the Zaydı̄s because the Zaydı̄ Imām (who does not possess ‘is.ma)
establishes his legitimacy through battlefield success and just administration of the state.
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
reasoning that legitimizes the Imām on the basis of rational divine justice.
They argue that God sends Prophets (with revelation) and Imāms (with
inerrant interpretation or ‘is.ma) to humanity as an act of kindness (lut.f ).
An Imām’s identity is verified solely through a formal designation (nas..s)
by his predecessor. He then serves as the proof (h.ujja) of God on earth,
providing humanity with proper guidance.
The primary difference between the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers con-
cerns the balance between the Imām’s knowledge-based and political
responsibilities. From the ninth through the thirteenth century, most
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities adhered to a maximalist conception of the knowl-
edge and the political powers of the Imām. Their views, however, varied
significantly depending on the community’s political fortunes. In terms of
knowledge, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām was the key to salvation and the sole gate-
way to a proper understanding of the exoteric (z.āhir) and esoteric (bāt.in)
meanings of revelation. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s integrated the Imāmate into a com-
plex gnostic system with a distinctive cosmology and a cyclical view of
history. Human history was divided into seven periods, with each period
heralded by a Prophet who brought revelation. Such a prophet was known
as a nāt.iq (enunciator). The nāt.iq was followed by (i) an asās, who revealed
the esoteric inner meaning of revelation, and (ii) a line of seven Imāms,
the last of whom would abrogate the previous revelation and articulate a
new one. This system changed as the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s transitioned from a hidden
Imām (in the eighth century) to a ruling Imām (after the ninth century).
In addition to his role as the singular gateway to religious knowledge,
the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām was the only legitimate source of political authority and
tasked with the establishment of a just state. When in power, the Imām
was expected to carry out the same practical tasks articulated by the Zaydı̄s
(e.g., just administration, enjoining good and forbidding wrong). But in
contrast to the Zaydı̄s, who required a military uprising to establish an
Imām’s credentials, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s believed the Imām’s legitimacy derived
exclusively from designation. In other words, regardless of whether he
chose to rebel or to remain hidden underground, the Imām retained all the
requisite powers of the office. His decisions could not be questioned because
his authority was rooted in his inerrant, divinely inspired knowledge.
For the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, the pinnacle of this political interpretation of the
Imāmate occurred in the early tenth century with the establishment of
 This contrasts with the Zaydı̄s, who reject the notion of the Imām’s inerrancy and equate his
knowledge with that of any other qualified jurist.
 I use the term “gnostic” as it relates to the ancient Greek notion that the material world was created
by the demiurge (an agent of God) but has a deeper spiritual reality.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
the Fāt.imid state in North Africa and (later) Egypt. During the Fāt.imid
period, Ismā‘ı̄lism experienced a series of splits over succession. The result-
ing groups held a number of unique beliefs but remained largely in agree-
ment on the doctrine of the Imāmate as described earlier. The two most
important Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities (and the ones that survive into the mod-
ern period) are known as the Musta‘lı̄s and the Nizārı̄s. The latter were
particularly successful in establishing control over parts of Iran and Syria
beginning in the eleventh century. Chapter  examines the impact of shift-
ing political fortunes on the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ conception of the Imāmate, and
Chapter  explores the modern Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ abandonment of political
aspirations in favor of a more global humanitarian perspective.
The Twelver view of the Imāmate is almost entirely weighted to the
side of knowledge. The Imām’s primary function is to provide a definitive
interpretation of revelation. This role is exemplified by traditions in which
various companions test the Imām on matters of Islamic law, seeking either
inconsistencies or mistakes. In the Twelver sources, the Imām answers each
question with skill, erudition, and consistency. Cases in which a ruling
appears to disagree with past rulings are resolved by invoking dissimulation
(taqiyya), the belief that one may conceal one’s true views in times of danger
or political necessity. Oppositional traditions (often of Zaydı̄ origin)
highlight these disparities and inconsistencies as evidence of the falseness
of the Twelver doctrine.
The central controversy among the early Twelvers concerned the origins
and scope of the Imām’s knowledge. Was it restricted to law and scriptural
interpretation, or did it extend to all spheres of knowledge from animal
languages to future events? Was the knowledge acquired through the spe-
cial teachings and/or books of previous Imāms, or was it conferred directly
by God? These issues polarized the early community between “supernatu-
ralists” and “rationalists.” The tension between these competing visions
persisted through the formative period of Twelver Shı̄‘ism and is one of the
core subjects of Chapter .
While emphasizing the Imām’s knowledge, the Twelvers also acknowl-
edged his theoretical political authority. Through the ninth century, they
 Contemporary Twelver scholarship offers a typology of situations in which Imāms practiced taqiyya.
These include instances in which they tried to protect their followers from persecution or distance
themselves from extremist groups.
 The use of the terms “supernaturalist” and “rationalist” requires some justification and explanation.
The former term refers to those who believed that the Imām’s knowledge was directly conferred by
God. The latter group emphasized the Imām’s acquisition of knowledge through “natural” means,
such as studying with or reading the writings of his predecessors.
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
held that the Imām was not required to seek political power until such a
time when conditions were propitious. In the meantime, he functioned
as a shadow leader exposing the deficiencies of the governing power. The
ruling “caliph” was a political usurper, whereas the Imām was the de jure
head of the community despite not holding the reins of power. This stance
was justified on the basis of precautionary dissimulation (taqiyya), which
permitted the Imām to delay his push for temporal power. After the dis-
appearance (ghayba) of the twelfth Imām in , the Twelvers adopted a
quietist position in anticipation of his return.
Between the ninth and the fifteenth century, the Twelvers held that all
political authority during the concealment of the Imām was inherently
illegitimate. This position was partially mitigated by the rise of the Būyid
dynasty, which ruled Iraq and much of Iran in the tenth and eleventh
centuries. The religious loyalties of the Būyids seem to have inclined toward
Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism. Although they retained the ‘Abbāsid caliph as a figurehead,
they patronized Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars, helped institutionalize distinctively Shı̄‘ı̄
holidays, and appointed prominent Shı̄‘ı̄ figures to important bureaucratic
posts. Such policies sparked discussions over whether it was permissible
for Twelvers to hold governmental office. The Būyid period also provided
the intellectual space for the Twelver community to elaborate its core
theological principles and develop a formal legal framework. The rise of
the Safavid Empire in  heralded a new period in which Twelver scholars
appropriated some of the hidden Imām’s authority. This process accelerated
significantly in the twentieth century. These developments are discussed in
detail in Chapters  and .
iii. summary
Table . summarizes the Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver views of the quali-
fications and scope of the Imāmate. All three groups claim a charismatic
rapport (walāya) with the family of the Prophet (i.e., Muh.ammad, ‘Alı̄,
Fāt.ima, H. asan, and H. usayn) and their lineal descendants. This unifying
bond serves as the spiritual nexus of Shı̄‘ı̄ devotional practices. Differ-
ences emerge with respect to the Imām’s qualifications and the nature and
scope of his authority. The Zaydı̄s open the Imāmate to any descendant
of H . asan and H . usayn with the requisite scholarly and moral credentials.
Most crucially, the Zaydı̄ Imām must lead a successful uprising against a
 Incidentally, this was the same period in which the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s were mobilizing to create a Shı̄‘ı̄ state
in North Africa.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Imāmate
Zaydı̄s Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s Twelvers
Walāya Charismatic bond Charismatic bond Charismatic bond

(see also Chapter ) of loyalty/love for of loyalty/love for of loyalty/love for
‘Alı̄ and the family ‘Alı̄ and the family ‘Alı̄ and the family
of the Prophet. of the Prophet. of the Prophet.
Note that the term Note that the term
has additional has additional
meanings, meanings,
including wilāya including wilāya
(political authority) (political authority)
and walı̄ (the and walı̄ (the
holder of spiritual holder of spiritual
authority). authority).
Lineal Any descendant of A single genetic line A single genetic line
Qualifications ‘Alı̄ through H. asan that begins with ‘Alı̄ that begins with ‘Alı̄
and H . usayn and (for some) and H . asan and is
(his two sons with H. asan and is subsequently
Fāt.ima). subsequently restricted to
restricted to H. usayn and his
H. usayn and his descendants.
descendants.
Other A range of scholarly Demonstrable Demonstrable
Requirements and moral qualities knowledge and a knowledge and a
together with male heir. male heir.
political acumen
and military
competence.
Selection A qualified Formal designation Formal designation
candidate becomes by previous Imām by previous Imām
Imām by virtue of (nas..s). (nas..s).
leading a successful
military uprising
(khurūj) against a
tyrant.
‘Is.ma No. Interpretive Yes. Imām must Yes. Imām must
authority resides provide correct provide correct
collectively in all of interpretation of interpretation of
the descendants of revelation. revelation.
H. asan and H . usayn.
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
Zaydı̄s Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s Twelvers
Political vs. The Imāmate is Changes over time: Changes over time:
Knowledge heavily weighted Gradual decrease of Scholars
Functions toward political the political increasingly
functions. functions of the appropriate the
Imām after the political functions
thirteenth century. of the Imām.
Knowledge Knowledge
consistently consistently
important. important.
Need for Imām at No. Yes. An Imām is Yes. An Imām is
all times theologically theologically
required at all times required at all times
to interpret to interpret
revelation. revelation.
Other Important Da‘wa Da‘wa Nas..s
Terms (spreading the call (spreading the call (formal
(see also Chapter ) for support) for support) designation)
Khurūj Nas..s Badā’
(uprising) (formal (early on, a change
designation) in the divine
Z.āhir vs. Bāt.in decision resulting
(exoteric vs. esoteric from free will; later,
meaning) a change in the
divine decision
Nāt.iq vs. Asās
reulting from
(enunciator vs.
historical
interpreter)
circumstance)
The Qā’im
Ghayba
(one who rises up)
(occultation)
The Mahdı̄
The Qā’im
(one who is rightly
(one who rises up)
guided)
The Mahdı̄
(one who is rightly
guided)
tyrant and establish a just state that enjoins good and forbids wrong. By
contrast, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers restrict the Imāmate to specific lines
of descent. They also emphasize the knowledge requirements of an Imām,
particularly his role as an inerrant interpreter of revelation. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s
elaborate this role into a detailed cosmology while the Twelvers remain
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
divided regarding its nature and scope. In terms of politics, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ efforts
culminated in the establishment of an Imāmate in the Fāt.imid period that
gave way to a depoliticization of the office in recent times. The Twelvers
underwent a series of changes that gradually transferred political authority
from a quietist hidden Imām to various other representatives (e.g., the
Shahs or the scholars).

The following works provide a history of the early Shı̄‘a and the first four caliphates:
Martin Hinds, Studies in Early Islamic History, ed. Jere Bacharach, Lawrence
Conrad, and Patricia Crone (Princeton, NJ: Darwin, ).
Marshall Hodgson, The Venture of Islam (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
), vol. , particularly – (“The Early Muslim State”) and – (“The
Islamic Opposition”).
Wilferd Madelung, The Succession to Muhammad (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, ).
The following works provide a general discussion of walāya:
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Wilāya” (Dien and Walker).
Maria Dakake, The Charismatic Community (Albany: State University of New York
Press, ).
For the Imāmate, see Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Imāma” (Madelung).
The following works focus specifically on the Zaydı̄s (Z), the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (I), and the
Twelvers (T):
Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide in Early Shi‘ism, translated by
David Streight (Albany: State University of New York Press, ). (I)
Michael Cooperson, Classical Arabic Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press, ), chapter . (T)
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Zaydiyya” (Madelung). (Z)
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Ismā‘ı̄liyya” (Madelung). (I)
Farhad Daftary, “The Earliest Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s,” Arabica  (): –. (I)
Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ),
chapter . (I)
Najam Haider, “Zaydism: A Theological and Political Survey,” Religion Compass
 (): –. (Z)
Bernard Haykel, Revival and Reform in Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, ), –. (Z)
Bernard Haykel and Aron Zysow, “What Makes a Madhhab a Madhhab,” Arabica
 (): –. (Z)
Etan Kohlberg, Belief and Law in Imāmı̄ Shı̄‘ism (Brookfield, VT: Gower, ),
particularly chapters , , and . (T)
Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership) 
Wilferd Madelung, “Aspects of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Theology: The Prophetic Chain and the
God beyond Being,” in Religious Schools and Sects in Medieval Islam (London:
Variorum, ), chapter . (I)
Wilferd Madelung, “Ismā‘ı̄lism: The Old and the New Da‘wa,” in Religious Trends
in Early Islamic Iran (Albany, NY: Persian Heritage Foundation, ), chapter
. (I)
Hossein Modarressi, Crisis and Consolidation in the Formative Period of Shi‘ite
Islam (Princeton, NJ: Darwin, ), –. (T)
York: I. B. Tauris, ), –. (T)
Muhammad Husayn Tabataba‘i, Shi‘a, translated by Sayyid Husayn Nasr (Qum:
Ansariyan Publications, ), –. (T)
Shafique Virani, The Ismailis in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
). (I)
section 2
Origins
Memories matter. They reflect a community’s understanding of its origins,

legitimizing the present through a connection with the past. Important
narratives acquire a cosmic significance, often authorizing the emergence
of new communal identities. The tellings and retellings of these narratives
embody the changing situation of a community. The same story used to
advocate patience in one period might become a call to arms in another.
This section focuses on two types of historical narratives, the first central
to the construction of a broad Shı̄‘ı̄ identity and the second pivotal in its
fragmentation.
As noted in Section , later Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars provided a theological justifica-
tion for the Imāmate through arguments rooted in the Mu‘tazilı̄ doctrine
of rational divine justice. These arguments emphasized both the political
(in the case of Zaydı̄s) and the knowledge (in the case of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and
Twelvers) dimensions of the Imāmate. In the early history of the Shı̄‘a, by
contrast, there is scant evidence of Mu‘tazilı̄ influence, and discussions of
the Imāmate are largely embedded in historical narratives. Because little
historical material survives from the seventh through ninth centuries, most
extant Shı̄‘ı̄ accounts are informed by later theological developments. His-
torical events thus provide a canvas for the articulation of Shı̄‘ı̄ identity.
Stories of the past function as proof texts meant to uphold the veracity of
Shı̄‘ı̄ doctrinal beliefs.
Section  explores Shı̄‘ı̄ historical narratives that (i) held the community
together and (ii) contributed to its eventual fragmentation. Chapter  exam-
ines those events that helped crystallize a general Shı̄‘ı̄ identity, specifically
the Prophet’s purported designation of ‘Alı̄ as his successor (on repeated
occasions) and the death of H . usayn in Karbala in . The remembrance
 This phenomenon is certainly not specific to the Shı̄‘a. Similar claims may be made about a range
of Islamic (e.g., Sunnı̄, Kharijite) and non-Islamic (e.g., Christian, Jewish) religious groups. It may
also be extended to secular projects of nation-building.

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
of these episodes has been institutionalized in elaborate ritual practices
across the Shı̄‘ı̄ world. Chapter  focuses on incidents that split the Shı̄‘a,
specifically disputes over the identity of the Imām rooted in rival political
and religious claims. These include the revolt of Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ in , the
contested succession to Ja‘far al-S.ādiq in , and the disappearance of the
twelfth Imām in .
3
Community
Two historical narratives are shared by all Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. The first focuses on
the succession to the Prophet and, specifically, the community’s elevation
of Abū Bakr to the caliphate over the superior claims of ‘Alı̄. The second
centers on the death of H . usayn (the Prophet’s grandson) and a small
contingent of his family and followers at the hands of an Umayyad army in
. The discussion that follows explores the importance of each of these
narratives in the construction of a distinct Shı̄‘ı̄ identity.
i . t h e s u c c e s s i o n t o m u h. a m m a d
According to the Shı̄‘a, the Muslim community’s rejection of ‘Alı̄ marked
a fundamental departure from Muh.ammad’s desires and represented a loss
of legitimate political and religious leadership. As mentioned previously,
this event is often cited as the starting point for the Sunnı̄-Shı̄‘a division. In
reality, however, its significance emerged gradually through its incorpora-
tion into a growing corpus of polemical arguments. The most important of
these arguments combined (i) events and statements from the Prophet’s life
with (ii) general expectations for succession embedded in the Qur’ān. The
Twelvers and Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s were particularly interested in historical episodes that
suggested that the Prophet had explicitly appointed ‘Alı̄ as his successor.
This was a product of their requirement that an Imām be formally desig-
nated (nas..s) by his predecessor (see Chapter ). The Zaydı̄s were bound
by no such requirement and offered a more subtle case for ‘Alı̄’s claims
grounded primarily in Qur’ānic expectations. Each of these arguments is
discussed in this section.
 Bear in mind that Shı̄‘ı̄ groups often offer a single cohesive justification for ‘Alı̄’s succession that
combines elements from both the historical and the Qur’ānic arguments.

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Before proceeding, it should be mentioned that the field of early Islamic
history has experienced a fundamental transformation in the last fifty years.
New methodological developments have called into question basic assump-
tions about the Muslim historical sources. As many revisionist studies have
shown, the reliability of these sources is suspect and must be tested on a
case-by-case basis. The historical narrative presented here, however, is not
the product of a close source-critical reading of the earliest layer of sur-
viving historical evidence. Rather, it represents the Muslim community’s
collective memory of its formative years.
A. The Prophet-Historical Case for Succession

Muh.ammad was born around  in the town of Mecca near the western
coast of the Arabian Peninsula. Mecca was a center for trade in the region
and home to the Ka‘ba, a particularly venerated local shrine that consisted of
a square structure with a black meteorite embedded in one corner. Muslim
sources claimed that the Ka‘ba was originally built by the Prophet Ibrāhı̄m
(Abraham) and his son Ismā‘ı̄l (Ishmael). By the sixth century, however,
it anchored a shrine complex that held a collection of idols representing
local deities. Mecca was dominated by Quraysh, a tribe that had begun to
expand its regional power through a nexus of military alliances, economic
dominance, and religious influence. Muh.ammad was a member of the Banū
Hāshim, a highly respected and well-positioned clan of the Quraysh, but
one that had been weakened by the premature deaths of some of its leading
male figures. Muh.ammad was orphaned at an early age and eventually
raised in the household of his paternal uncle, Abū T.ālib. He began his
career as a merchant, working for Khadı̄ja, a rich widow many years older
than he. She was impressed with his business acumen and honesty, and the
two eventually married.
Muh.ammad spent a great deal of time meditating in the mountains
outside of Mecca. On one such occasion, nearing the age of forty (around
), he had a religious experience during which an angel spoke to him
on behalf of God. This was the first of many similar experiences over the
 Those readers interested in revisionist understandings of the earliest period should consult the reading
list at the end of the chapter.
 Here and in all subsequent references, I utilize the Muslim version of names for Biblical figures. In
the interests of clarity, I include the Biblical names in parentheses.
 This origin account was coupled with claims that the Arabs were the descendants of Ibrāhı̄m through
Ismā‘ı̄l.
Community 
next twenty-two years of his life. The resulting revelations were ultimately
compiled into a single book known today as the Qur’ān. Muh.ammad did
not initially publicize his encounters with God. He divulged the revelations
only to Khadı̄ja (who supported and encouraged him) and a limited circle of
friends and family. In , Muh.ammad was instructed to spread his message
to the larger Meccan community. From  through , he gathered a small
but significant following that increasingly provoked the ire of the leadership
of the Quraysh. It is possible that they saw the new movement as a direct
challenge to their political power. According to the norms of Arab tribal
society, however, they could not attack Muh.ammad without the consent
of his uncle, Abū T.ālib. When such consent was not forthcoming, the
Meccan leadership targeted those Muslims who lacked clan protection,
such as slaves and social outcasts.
With the deaths of Abū T.ālib and Khadı̄ja in , Muh.ammad lost both
his protection and his two biggest supporters. He was now in a vulnerable
position subject to physical assault and even death at the hands of his
enemies. The next three years were spent finding a new home for the
nascent Muslim community. The ideal opportunity arose in Yathrib (now
called Medina), which was plagued by tribal violence and factionalism.
The exact reasons for the town’s receptivity to Muh.ammad are unclear,
but it appears that he accepted the role of a mediator in exchange for (i)
recognition of the Muslim community (umma) as a legitimate social actor
and (ii) a guarantee of military support in case of hostilities with outside
forces. In , Muh.ammad and a large number of his followers migrated
to Yathrib, an event that marks the start of the Muslim calendar.
Over the next ten years, the Muslim community carved out an inde-
pendent identity through the elaboration of distinctive laws and rituals.
The times, structure, and direction of the daily prayer were established.
The basic parameters of criminal and family law were articulated. Over-
all, a tribal identity rooted in polytheism was gradually challenged by a
religious identity grounded in the belief in a single God. The same period
witnessed an escalation in hostilities between the Muslims in Yathrib (Med-
ina) and the Quraysh in Mecca. A series of important battles in  (the
Battle of Badr),  (the Battle of Uh.ud), and  (the Battle of Khan-
daq) resulted in a decisive shift of power in favor of the Muslims. By ,
Mecca was no longer a threat, and the city fell to the Muslims almost
without a fight. Most of the remaining Quraysh converted to Islam and
were smoothly integrated into the Muslim community. The Prophet died
two years later in  in Yathrib (Medina) at the approximate age of
sixty-two.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The biographical narrative presented here is accepted by all Muslims.
However, Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ historical works extend and elaborate this
template to produce larger polemical narratives. These narratives were
subsequently incorporated into the earliest layers of the Muslim historical
tradition. The discussion that follows focuses on the Shı̄‘ı̄ version of his-
tory. Specifically, it documents the historical proofs that the Shı̄‘a use to
establish ‘Alı̄’s political and religious claims.
The Shı̄‘ı̄ narrative begins with ‘Alı̄’s birth. Shı̄‘ı̄ and (many) Sunnı̄
sources agree that ‘Alı̄ was born around  inside the Ka‘ba (the House
of God in Mecca toward which Muslims pray) when his mother (Fāt.ima
bt. Asad) went into labor during a trip to the shrine. The Shı̄‘ı̄ account
includes a number of additional details, such as a report that the structure
split open to provide her refuge. She emerged from the Ka‘ba three days
later with a baby in her hands. The baby’s eyes remained closed until the
Prophet arrived and performed a traditional ceremony in which he placed
a partially chewed date in its mouth. Upon opening his eyes, the first face
that the baby saw was that of Muh.ammad, who then named him ‘Alı̄. In
addition to the obvious miraculous connotations of the narrative, the Shı̄‘a
interpret the date ritual as a symbolic transfer of knowledge and authority
from the Prophet to ‘Alı̄.
A second mark of distinction for ‘Alı̄ involves his upbringing in the
household of the Prophet. Ibn Ish.āq ascribes this to a famine that struck
Mecca during ‘Alı̄’s childhood. Muh.ammad and his paternal uncle, ‘Abbās,
offered to alleviate the financial burden on Abū T.ālib (‘Alı̄’s father) by each
providing for one of his sons. The Prophet took ‘Alı̄ and raised him in
accordance with the teachings of Islam. Ibn Ish.āq notes that “‘Alı̄ was the
first male to believe in the apostle of God, to pray with him and then believe
in his divine message, when he was a boy of ten.” ‘Alı̄’s status as the first
male adherent to Islam (after the Prophet), however, was not uncontested
as competing accounts accorded the honor to Abū Bakr. The polemical
dimensions of this disagreement are obvious. The Shı̄‘a eventually argued
 I exclude charismatic elements including miraculous accounts of angels washing Muh.ammad’s heart
as a child or of Syrian monks identifying him as a new prophet. For these, see Guillaume’s translation
of Ibn Ish.āq’s (d. ) biography of the Prophet, one of the first extant sources in the Arabic historical
tradition, which was redacted and preserved by Ibn Hishām (d. ).
 Both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ views of the succession are detectable in Ibn Ish.āq’s biography.
 There are admittedly some (Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver) accounts of the lives of ‘Alı̄ and his descendants
that begin before creation. The current discussion, however, is primarily interested in a broader
consensus Shı̄‘ı̄ narrative.
 Guillaume, Life, .
 Some Sunnı̄ sources offer a compromise position by making ‘Alı̄ the first child and Abū Bakr the
first man to accept Islam.
Community 
that ‘Alı̄ was not only the first convert but that he had never practiced any
form of idolatry, having been raised by the Prophet from a young age. This
clearly placed him above Abū Bakr, who was a middle-aged man at the
time of his conversion.
The first example of an unambiguous designation of ‘Alı̄ as Muh.ammad’s
successor dates to , during the early stages of the Prophet’s public
preaching. The account (known as Yawm al-Dār or “the day of the home”)
begins with the revelation of Q:–, which reads, “And warn your
tribe of near kindred, And lower your wing to those believers who follow
you.” In response to this divine command, Muh.ammad ordered a feast for
members of his extended clan. After overcoming the intransient hostility
of one of his uncles, he addressed the gathering in the following passage
(recounted by ‘Alı̄) that is worth quoting in its entirety:
The prophet said, “O Sons of ‘Abd al-Mut.t.alib [his extended clan], I know of
no Arab who has come to his people with a nobler message than mine. I have
brought you the best of this world and the next. God has ordered me to call
you to him. So which of you will cooperate with me in this matter [and be] my
brother, my executor (was.ı̄ ), and my successor (khalı̄fa)?” The men remained
silent and I [‘Alı̄], though the youngest, most rheumy-eyed, fattest in body, and
thinnest in legs, said, “O Prophet of God, I will be your helper in this matter.”
He laid his hand on the back of my neck and said, “This is my brother, my
executor, and my successor among you. Hearken to him and obey him.” The
men got up laughing and said to Abū T.ālib, “He has ordered you to listen to
your son and obey him!”
This explicit identification of ‘Alı̄ as successor is recorded by Ibn Ish.āq
and serves as one of the cornerstones of the Shı̄‘ı̄ argument for formal
designation. The episode occurred at the start of Muh.ammad’s mission,
further reinforcing ‘Alı̄’s leadership credentials from an early age. It is
important to note that the passage does not mention Abū Bakr or any
other prominent Companion.
The next twenty years saw a series of incidents that the Shı̄‘a consider
indicative of ‘Alı̄’s special standing. On the night of the Prophet’s flight to
Yathrib (Medina) in , ‘Alı̄ slept in his bed to fool a team of assassins
sent by the Meccan leadership to kill Muh.ammad. As the Prophet worked
toward building a cohesive community in Medina, he decided to pair each
of his Meccan followers with a Medinan local as brothers. According to
the Shı̄‘ı̄ tradition, the only exception to this rule was ‘Alı̄, whom the
Prophet chose for himself. In , ‘Alı̄ asked the Prophet for permission to
marry his daughter Fāt.ima. Shı̄‘ı̄ and (some) Sunnı̄ accounts note that the
 Guillaume, Life, – (with some changes).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Prophet had previously refused similar requests by Abū Bakr and ‘Umar.
The Prophet immediately agreed and put the matter to his daughter, who
expressed her acceptance. The Shı̄‘ı̄ narrative emphasizes that the marriage
was contracted through the will of God, who chose ‘Alı̄ to be the forebear
of all the Prophet’s descendants.
‘Alı̄’s credentials were also established on the battlefield. ‘Alı̄ was the
standard-bearer for the Muslim army in every major military engagement,
an honor bestowed on him by the Prophet and a clear marker (according to
the Shı̄‘a) of his special status. He played a prominent role in the Battle of
Badr (), where he was one of three Muslims to engage in single combat
with the enemy before full-scale hostilities. He similarly distinguished
himself in the Battles of Uh.ud (), Khandaq (), and H . unayn ().
The most famous of ‘Alı̄’s military exploits, however, occurred during the
Battle of Khaybar (), which pitted the Muslims against the rich Jews of
the oasis town of that name. According to the Shı̄‘ı̄ and Sunnı̄ accounts,
‘Alı̄ was not initially expected to participate because of an illness in his
eyes that hampered his vision. In the first few days of the battle, Abū
Bakr and ‘Umar held the standard of the army but proved incapable of
overcoming the enemy. Muh.ammad then declared that the next morning,
he would bestow the standard on one who “does not run away from the
battlefield and will not return until God grants him victory.” The next day,
the Prophet called for ‘Alı̄ and cured his blindness by applying some of his
saliva directly on ‘Alı̄’s eyes. In the Shı̄‘ı̄ narrative, ‘Alı̄ subsequently led the
Muslim army to victory through a series of almost superhuman feats.
The historical tradition also contains numerous statements of ‘Alı̄’s merit
ascribed to the Prophet but not situated in any specific moment. With the
exception of the first, these general affirmations are often severed from
historical context. Some were mentioned in Chapter  and cover not just
‘Alı̄ but the family of the Prophet as a whole. The most important such
traditions include the following:
(i) The tradition of al-thaqalayn:
“I am leaving you with two safeguards (thaqalayn), the Book of God and
the members of my household (ahl al-bayt). As long as you cling to these
two, you will not go astray.”
(ii) The tradition of al-kisā’:
This detailed account refers to the gathering of Muh.ammad, ‘Alı̄, Fāt.ima,
H. asan, and H. usayn under the cloak (kisā’) of the Prophet and their
subsequent blessing by God.
 Note that Fāt.ima was the only offspring of the Prophet with children that survived to adulthood.
Community 
(iii) The tradition of al-safı̄na:
“The likeness of my family is Nūh.’s [Noah’s] Ark (safı̄na); whoever takes
refuge therein is saved and whoever opposes it is drowned.”
(iv) The tradition of amān al-umma:
“Just as the stars are a means of securing (amān) the people (umma) of the
earth against drowning, my family is a means of securing my people from
division.”
(v) The tradition of al-manzila:
“‘Alı̄, your rank (manzila) in relation to me is that of Hārūn [Aaron] in
relation to Mūsā [Moses].”
(vi) The tradition of the Bāb:
“I am the city of knowledge and ‘Alı̄ is its gate (bāb).”
The first four traditions provide proof of ‘Alı̄’s successorship by empha-

sizing the elevated status of the Prophet’s family (ahl al-bayt). ‘Alı̄ is placed
at the head of a household that provides exclusive refuge from divine pun-
ishment and the sole means of salvation. As mentioned in Chapter , Shı̄‘ı̄
scholars drew on these traditions to extend the concept of walāya (a charis-
matic loyalty initially associated with ‘Alı̄) to his family and descendants.
The fifth tradition implicitly suggests ‘Alı̄’s role as successor by drawing
parallels to Hārūn (Aaron). Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars note that Hārūn was designated
a prophet in the Qur’ān and helped Mūsā in administration, playing a part
similar to that of a minister. Although the office of prophethood is closed
(i.e., Muh.ammad is the final prophet), this does not curtail ‘Alı̄’s rights to
Hārūn’s remaining powers, which, they argue, include those of temporal
and spiritual succession. The sixth tradition is more ambiguous because
there is no mention of successorship. It does, however, legitimize ‘Alı̄’s
knowledge credentials through a direct association with the Prophet. This
tradition is particularly prevalent in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver sources, which
place great emphasis on the knowledge duties of the Imām.
The historical events and traditions detailed here are rarely forwarded as
definitive proof that ‘Alı̄ was the rightful successor to the Prophet. Rather,
they are used by Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars to build anticipation for an impending
formal announcement. Each incident adds to ‘Alı̄’s credentials in a logical
fashion. He is the first male to respond to the Prophet’s message. He is raised
by the Prophet. He supports the Prophet publicly as a child. He marries
the Prophet’s daughter. He represents the Prophet in battle and leads the
Muslims to victory. He is the subject of the Prophet’s love and adulation.
Becoming the Prophet’s successor, however, requires a public declaration.
For the Shı̄‘a, this declaration occurred during the Prophet’s final pilgrimage
in  at a location outside Mecca known as Ghadı̄r Khumm.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The most elaborate early Shı̄‘ı̄ account of the events of Ghadı̄r Khumm
is found in the Kitāb al-Irshād (The Book of Guidance) of the seminal
tenth-century Twelver scholar al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d (d. ). The narrative
begins with the Prophet dispatching ‘Alı̄ at the head of a delegation to collect
tribute from Yemen. When ‘Alı̄ returns, he joins Muh.ammad, who is in the
process of performing the pilgrimage to Mecca. The Prophet takes ‘Alı̄ as his
partner and they complete the rites together. Interspersed in the narrative
are incidents that highlight ‘Alı̄’s superiority over other Companions. In
one instance, the men in the delegation to Yemen approach the Prophet
to complain of ‘Alı̄’s overly strict adherence to God’s law. In another, the
Prophet rebukes ‘Umar for his refusal to follow a command related to ritual
purity. By contrast, Muh.ammad repeatedly praises ‘Alı̄ for his exemplary
and faultless behavior.
Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d’s narrative culminates with the Prophet ordering the
large convoy of pilgrims to stop at Ghadı̄r Khumm, a marshy area located
between Mecca and Medina. The Shı̄‘ı̄ sources emphasize the direness of
the location to lend the occasion a sense of urgency. It is as if the Prophet is
intent on performing a task (or making an announcement) that cannot wait
for the caravan to reach a more pleasant stopping point. Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars offer
a number of additional reasons for this decision. Perhaps the notoriously
hot and uncomfortable conditions were meant to brand the moment in
the memory of the pilgrims? Perhaps the pilgrims would soon part ways
and the Prophet wanted many witnesses?
Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d ascribes the decision to the revelation of Q:,
which reads:
O Messenger, deliver that which has been sent down to you from your Lord;
for if you do not, you will not have delivered His Message. God will protect
you from men. God guides not the unbelievers.
The Prophet interpreted the verse as a divine command to proclaim ‘Alı̄
as his successor. He immediately stopped the caravan, erected a platform,
and arranged for his words to be broadcast by word of mouth through the
large gathering. The account of the subsequent speech is worth quoting at
length:
He [the Prophet] then began to address the people. He praised and glorified
God, and preached most eloquently. He gave the community news of his own
death, saying, “I have been summoned, and it is nearly the moment for me
to answer. The time has come for me to depart from you. I leave behind me
among you two things; if you cleave to them, you will never go astray – that
Community 
is, the Book of God and my offspring from my family (ahl al-bayt). They will

. awd.).”
never scatter until they lead you to me at the waters (H
Then he called out at the top of his voice: “Am I not more appropriate [to rule]
you than yourselves?”
“By God, yes!” they answered.
He went on speaking continuously without any interruption and, taking both
arms of the Commander of the Faithful [‘Alı̄] and raising them so that the white
of his armpits could be seen, said, “Of whomever I am the master (mawlā),
this man, ‘Alı̄, is his master (mawlā). O God, befriend whoever befriends him,
be hostile to whoever opposes him, support whoever supports him, and desert
whoever deserts him.”
Then [the Prophet] came down. . . . He led them in the midday prayer. Then he
sat in his tent and ordered ‘Alı̄ to sit opposite him. He [the Prophet] ordered the
Muslims to go in group after group to congratulate him [‘Alı̄] on his position
and to acknowledge his command over the faithful. They did that.
The first part of the Prophet’s speech incorporates the tradition of al-
thaqalayn that was mentioned earlier in this chapter and in Chapter .
Although it honors the family of the Prophet, it does so without defini-
tively affirming ‘Alı̄’s claim to succession. The second part (also mentioned
in Chapter ) equates ‘Alı̄’s authority over the community to that of the
Prophet. This reading turns on the meaning of the term mawlā, which
the Shı̄‘a understand here as “master” (with political and religious con-
notations) and the Sunnı̄s simply as “friend” (with no connotations of
distinction or authority). The Shı̄‘a imbue the word with an almost cosmic
significance by linking it to the theological doctrine of walāya, which (as
shown in Chapter ) denotes a charismatic bond of loyalty between the
Shı̄‘a and the entirety of the Prophet’s family, including ‘Alı̄.
Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d works to dispel any lingering doubts or ambiguities
about the meaning of the Prophet’s words. He relates that after ‘Alı̄ had
received congratulations, H . assān b. Thābit (a famous poet and Compan-
ion) stood on elevated ground before the Prophet and recounted the day’s
events. His rendition included the following line not found in the original
account: “He [the Prophet] said to him [‘Alı̄], ‘Arise, ‘Alı̄, I am content
that you should be Imām and guide after me.’” Rather than object to
 According to the Muslim tradition, the term H. awd. refers to a basin of water at which Muh.ammad
will meet his community on the day of resurrection. See Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “H
. awd.”
(Wensinck).
 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
this addition, the Prophet praised H . assān and, in doing so, embraced this
interpretation of his words. The implication of the event was thus made
clear: the declaration of Ghadı̄r Khumm explicitly appointed ‘Alı̄ as both
the Prophet’s successor and the first Imām.
The historical narrative presented here was influenced by Shı̄‘ı̄ theolog-
ical concerns, particularly the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver belief in an inerrant Imām.
Recall the argument (in Chapter ) that the community required access to
a correct interpretation of the religious source texts to avoid the deviations
and mistakes of previous monotheistic communities (i.e., the Jews and the
Christians). It was impossible, however, for an imperfect Muslim com-
munity to recognize the perfect Imām. In fact, the Imām’s identity could
be determined only through a formal designation (nas..s) by the Prophet,
acting on the orders of God. It was unthinkable that God or His Prophet
would conceal this critical information. Consequently, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver
historical sources constructed the life of the Prophet in a manner that con-
tinually emphasized ‘Alı̄’s superiority. Every honor was framed as proof of
‘Alı̄’s excellence and indicative of his right to the succession. Still, a for-
mal declaration was necessary to dispel any lingering doubts and to quell
potential controversy.
It is the events at Ghadı̄r Khumm that firmly and unambiguously estab-
lish ‘Alı̄’s claim to political and religious authority for the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and
the Twelvers. Remembrance of the Ghadı̄r Khumm pronouncement serves
as one of the distinctive celebrations that demarcate the Shı̄‘a from the
Sunnı̄s. The events are collectively known as the ‘Īd (festival) of al-Ghadı̄r,
and they are commemorated on the eighteenth day of the final month
of the Muslim calendar (Dhū al-H . ijja). Historically, rulers who claimed a
Shı̄‘ı̄ pedigree utilized ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r to further their political legitimacy. In
, the Būyid Mu‘izz al-Dawla instituted the first public celebration of
‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r in Baghdad despite protests from large segments of the urban
population. In , the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Fāt.imid ruler al-Mu‘izz institutionalized
the commemoration of ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r in Cairo, where it remained one of the
most important religious festivals into the thirteenth century. Over time,
the festival became a flashpoint for Sunnı̄-Shı̄‘ı̄ tensions, occasionally lead-
ing to street violence. Some non-Shı̄‘ı̄ groups in Baghdad even developed
competing festivals to extol Abū Bakr’s close relationship with the Prophet.
Although these non-Shı̄‘ı̄ celebrations have not survived into the modern
period, ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r retains a seminal importance for the contemporary
 The Būyids, mentioned in Chapter , were a Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ı̄ dynasty, originating in the Daylam region
of the southern Caspian Sea, who ruled Baghdad from  to .
Community 
Shı̄‘ı̄ community. Individual elements of the festivities often vary by region,
but they generally share a Shı̄‘ı̄ tone.
B. The Qur’ānic Expectation Case for Succession

The foregoing historical argument uses the Prophet’s biography to create a
narrative culminating in ‘Alı̄’s designation as successor at Ghadı̄r Khumm.
For the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and Twelvers, such a designation is a necessary consequence
of their belief in the Imām as an indispensable and inerrant interpreter
of revelation and a source of religious guidance. Given their emphasis
on the political duties of the Imām, the Zaydı̄s are not as invested in
establishing ‘Alı̄’s formal appointment. In fact, a significant portion of
early Zaydı̄s argued that the proofs for ‘Alı̄’s political and religious authority
were implicit. A careful consideration of the facts after Muh.ammad’s death
pointed to ‘Alı̄’s succession, but this conclusion was far from self-evident.
Thus, the decision of most Companions to support Abū Bakr over ‘Alı̄ was
a mistake in judgment and reasoning. It did not, however, reach the level
of apostasy. Although Zaydı̄ scholars certainly cited some of the historical
proofs mentioned previously, they felt that the strongest evidence for ‘Alı̄’s
succession was embedded in the text of the Qur’ān itself.
The Qur’ānic case for ‘Alı̄’s succession incorporates many of the verses
mentioned here and in Chapter  but weaves them together in an innovative
manner. It begins with an affirmation of the general importance of familial
relations in the Qur’ān. Specifically, the Qur’ān entitles family members to
a share of the religious poor-tax (zakāt) of their kin (Q:, Q:) and
recommends their inclusion in the settlement of inheritance (Q:–).
It also stipulates the kind treatment of blood relatives in its rendering
of God’s covenant with the Israelites (Q:). This familial preference is
contingent on faith: the refusal of Ibrāhı̄m’s (Abraham’s) father (Q:)
and Nūh.’s (Noah’s) son (Q:–) to believe in God’s message effectively
severed their bonds of kinship. Overall, the Qur’ān elevates family ties
above those of friendship or alliance (Q:, Q:), emphasizing their
persistence through personal grudges or petty arguments (Q:).
The importance of family also features in Qur’ānic narratives of the
lives of past prophets. The familial unit is, in fact, the central conduit for
 Notably, later Zaydı̄s moved away from this view and argued (in line with the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the
Twelvers) that ‘Alı̄’s designation was clear and unambiguous.
 The Qur’ānic argument that follows is indebted to Madelung, Succession, –. For translations of
relevant Qur’ānic passages, see the Appendix.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
the perpetuation of prophecy. The Qur’ān traces prophethood through
a single familial chain that begins with Ādam (Adam), passes through
Nūh. (Noah), and then resides primarily with the descendants of Ibrāhı̄m
(Abraham) (Q:–, Q:–). On a more general level, the famil-
ial unit plays a key role in sacred history, with individual prophets
explicitly asking God to affirm their kin as spiritual and material heirs.
The most prominent example is that of Ibrāhı̄m, who is granted two
heirs in the form of Ish.āq (Isaac) and Ya‘qūb (Jacob), the patriarchs of
the Israelites (Q:–, Q:). The story of Mūsā (Moses) provides
another example of the importance of kin in the Qur’ānic understand-
ing of prophethood. Specifically, Mūsā implores God to grant him the
support of his brother Hārūn (Aaron) (Q:–). God responds by ele-
vating Hārūn to the position of assistant (Q:) and allowing him a role
in the reception of revelation (Q:). A similar dynamic informs the
Qur’ānic accounts of Dāwūd (David) (Q:) and Zakariyyā (Zachariah)
(Q:–).
These examples suggests a general Qur’ānic bias in favor of familial
succession. In fact, the entire Qur’ān forwards a historical sensibility rooted
in prophets and their families. According to the Shı̄‘a, the position of the
Prophet’s family (ahl al-bayt) must be understood in the context of this
Qur’ānic framework. Thus, they interpret a number of verses (e.g., Q:,
Q:, and Q:) as clear proof for the elevated status of the Prophet’s
household. The resulting argument for ‘Alı̄’s succession combines (i) the
general centrality of familial units in the Qur’ānic text with (ii) the special
status of Muh.ammad’s family in Shı̄‘ı̄ exegesis. Madelung summarizes this
position as follows:
Insofar as the Qur’ān expresses the thoughts of Muh.ammad, it is evident that he

could not have considered Abū Bakr his natural successor or have been pleased
by his succession. The Qur’ān certainly does not fully reflect Muh.ammad’s
views about the men and women surrounding him and his attitude towards
them. Yet he could not have seen his succession essentially other than in the light
of narrations of the Qur’ān about the succession of the earlier prophets, just as
he saw his own mission as a prophet, the resistance of his people with which he
met, and his ultimate success by divine grace in the light of the experience of
the former prophets as related in the Qur’ān. These earlier prophets considered
it a supreme divine favour to be succeeded by their offspring or close kin for
this they implored their Lord.
 Such an interpretation is not specific to the Shı̄‘a alone. Sunnı̄ exegetical works offer similar glosses.
 Madelung, Succession, –.
Community 
In other words, the Qur’ān established a basic expectation for ‘Alı̄’s succes-
sion based on his kinship with the Prophet. Even if the Prophet did not
formally designate ‘Alı̄, the proof for his right to succession is embedded
in Qur’ānic narratives about past prophets and their clear parallels with
Muh.ammad and his family.
C. Summary
The arguments for ‘Alı̄’s succession presented in this section are found in
the polemical works of all Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. For every Shı̄‘ı̄ claim, however,
there is a Sunnı̄ counterclaim based on a radically different interpretation
of the same historical episode. The Shı̄‘ı̄ view of the declaration at Ghadı̄r
Khumm is countered by a Sunnı̄ claim that the event was intended to
improve ‘Alı̄’s standing at a time when he was particularly unpopular. The
Shı̄‘ı̄ argument of Qur’ānic expectations is met by a Sunnı̄ argument that
Muh.ammad was the final prophet and thus had no lineal heirs. Most Shı̄‘ı̄
scholars creatively supplement historical proofs with Qur’ānic verses to
produce polemical narratives that utilize aspects of both arguments. The
choice to highlight one line of reasoning and dismiss another reflects the
distinctive theological positions of individual Shı̄‘ı̄ groups.
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and the Twelver Shı̄‘a are partial to the argument drawn
from the Prophet’s biography. This is because of their emphasis on the
Imām’s role as the exclusive source of proper religious guidance. As noted
earlier (and in Chapter ), the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver Shı̄‘a hold to an under-
standing of God’s justice that requires the presence of an Imām to provide
inerrant interpretations of the final revelation. Formal designation is the
only way for a flawed community to be certain of the identity of the
Imām. Consequently, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers highlight biographi-
cal accounts of ‘Alı̄’s interactions with the Prophet, expecially the episode
at Ghadı̄r Khumm. The importance of this declaration is such that it is
annually celebrated in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver communities.
By contrast, the argument drawn from Qur’ānic expectations is par-
ticularly resonant with the Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘a. Recall that the Zaydı̄s reject the
Imām’s inerrancy (‘is.ma), which means that the Imām is identified not on
the basis of his perfect knowledge but on his scholarly credentials, military
skills, and establishment of justice. Because the Zaydı̄s do not, in general,
require formal designation, they are not as heavily invested in the events of
 This is not to say that the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers completely neglect Qur’ānic evidence. They
certainly cite Qur’ānic passages, but their arguments often center on events from the Prophet’s life.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Ghadı̄r Khumm. Instead, Zaydı̄ scholars tend to rely on Qur’ānic evidence
to establish ‘Alı̄’s right to succession. This argument has the benefit of a
Qur’ānic foundation, but it also allows for the possibility of human error in
the selection process. It is not surprising, then, to find many Zaydı̄ scholars
who accept the uprightness of early Companions despite their support for
Abū Bakr over ‘Alı̄. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, by contrast, are more
willing to declare figures such as Abū Bakr apostates for their dismissal of
the Prophet’s clear and unambiguous designation of ‘Alı̄ as successor.
ii. the tragedy at karbala

In , H . usayn b. ‘Alı̄ (the Prophet’s grandson) and a small contingent of
his family and followers were killed by an Umayyad army at a site occupied
by the present-day town of Karbala in southern Iraq. Shı̄‘ı̄ reports of the
massacre are graphic and highlight Umayyad oppression and greed. These
accounts vary in form and content, reflecting the differing theological
concerns of individual Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers frame
H. usayn’s death in almost apocalyptic terms, while the Zaydı̄s consider it
the first in a series of failed ‘Alid rebellions. The Twelvers, in particular,
forward a Karbala narrative that is epic in scope and infused with myriad
supernatural features. For all three Shı̄‘ı̄ groups, the commemoration of
Karbala is an important focal point for piety and a central component of
communal identity.
A. The Base Narrative

The first period of civil strife in the Muslim community began with the
murder of ‘Uthmān in  and the election of ‘Alı̄ as the new caliph.
‘Alı̄’s authority was immediately contested by a group of prominent early
Companions led by T.alh.a b. ‘Ubayd Allāh (d. ), al-Zubayr b. al-‘Awwām
(d. ), and ‘Ā’isha (one of the Prophet’s widows and the daughter of Abū
Bakr). The two sides met in  at the Battle of the Camel outside Basra
(Iraq), with ‘Alı̄ winning a decisive victory. After consolidating control
over Mecca and Medina, ‘Alı̄ settled in Kufa (in southern Iraq), moving
 Although not explicitly mentioned in this section, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver accounts routinely portray
Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, and the Companions who followed them as motivated by material ambitions
that outweighed their commitment to Islam.
 Bear in mind that the Shı̄‘a consider ‘Alı̄ the sole legitimate political and religious authority
immediately following the Prophet’s death and believe that his rights were usurped by Abū Bakr,
‘Umar, and ‘Uthmān.
Community 
the capital of the nascent Muslim state out of the Arabian peninsula. ‘Alı̄
continued to face opposition from Syria in the figure of Mu‘āwiya b. Abı̄
Sufyān, the long-standing governor of the region and a cousin of ‘Uthmān,
who refused to pledge allegiance until ‘Uthmān’s murderers were brought
to justice. The two sides were locked in a stalemate until  when ‘Alı̄ was
assasinated, clearing the way for Mu‘āwiya to seize sole possession of the
caliphate.
Mu‘āwiya’s reign marked a clear transition from an elective model of
leadership based on religious standing to one of hereditary rule. He was
the first caliph of the Umayyad dynasty and ruled for nineteen years (–
) from Damascus with little organized opposition. Mu‘āwiya was unable,
however, to secure the oath of allegiance for his son Yazı̄d, who was viewed
by many Companions as unworthy of the office and morally deficient.
When Mu‘āwiya died in , the Muslim world was plunged into a second
prolonged period of civil strife. The fiercest opposition to Yazı̄d’s succession
came from prominent figures in Medina who had their own claims to
the caliphate. The most significant of these was ‘Abd Allāh b. al-Zubayr
(d. ), who declared himself caliph in  and won the support of
many (if not most) parts of the Muslim world. Over the next ten years,
Marwān b. al-H . akam (d. ) and his sons managed to rally the Umayyads
and slowly reasserted military control over Egypt, Iran, Iraq, and (finally)
Arabia. Ibn al-Zubayr was killed after an extended Umayyad siege of Mecca
in .
For the Shı̄‘a, the most significant episode in the second civil war involved
the  killing of H . usayn b. ‘Alı̄ by an Umayyad army near Karbala
(see Table .). The consensus narrative (preserved in both Sunnı̄ and
Shı̄‘ı̄ sources) attributes the tragedy to Mu‘āwiya’s attempts at securing
Yazı̄d’s succession. H . usayn had inherited the leadership of the family of
the Prophet after the death of his brother H . asan in  and adopted a
quietist political stand during most of Mu‘āwiya’s reign. He was adamant,
however, in his refusal to take the oath of allegiance to Yazı̄d. According
to many sources, this was due to concerns about Yazı̄d’s moral character,
as he was said to indulge in wine and music. After Mu‘āwiya’s death,
H. usayn began receiving letters from Kufa asking him to lead a rebellion
against the Umayyads. Recall that Kufa was the seat of ‘Alı̄’s caliphate and
home to his most enthusiastic supporters. H . usayn sent his cousin Muslim
b. ‘Aqı̄l to investigate the political situation. Muslim initially deemed the
conditions in Kufa encouraging for a potential revolt and reported as
much to H . usayn. The situation took a turn for the worse, however, when
Yazı̄d heard of Muslim’s intrigues and appointed ‘Ubayd Allāh b. Ziyād
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Main Characters of the Karbala Narrative
Personalities (in alphabetical order) Brief Description/Background
‘Abbās b. ‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib (d. ) H. usayn’s half-brother and standard-bearer. Killed
in battle.
‘Abd Allāh b. H
. usayn (d. ) An infant son of H
. usayn. Died from an arrow
(known as ‘Alı̄ al-As.ghar) wound on the day of the battle.
‘Alı̄ b. H
. usayn (d.  or ) The eldest son of H . usayn. He was ill and did not
(known as Zayn al-‘Ābidı̄n) take part in fighting. He survived and came to be
considered the fourth Imām by the
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver Shı̄‘a.
‘Alı̄ b. H
. usayn (d. ) The second of H
. usayn’s sons. Killed in battle at
(known as ‘Alı̄ al-Akbar) age .
H
. usayn b. ‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib (d. ) The son of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima.
The primary protagonist in the narrative.
Revered as an Imām by every Shı̄‘ı̄ group.
Muslim b. ‘Aqı̄l (d. ) H. usayn’s cousin who was sent to Kufa to
investigate the situation and to ascertain the level
of support for an uprising. He was killed by Ibn
Ziyād.
Shamir b. Dhı̄ al-Jawshan (d. ) One of the commanders of the Umayyad army
(known as Shimr) and a confidant of Ibn Ziyād. Invariably depicted
as the most vicious of H
. usayn’s adversaries.
‘Ubayd Allāh b. Ziyād (d. ) Yazı̄d’s governor over Basra and Kufa.
(known as Ibn Ziyād) The primary antagonist in the narrative.
‘Umar b. Sa‘d (d. ) In charge of the Umayyad army that fought
(known as Ibn Sa‘d) H. usayn at Karbala. His forces consisted mostly of
Kufans.
Yazı̄d b. Mu‘āwiya (d. ) Umayyad caliph in Damascus.
Seen as ultimately responsible for H
. usayn’s death.
Zaynab b. ‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib (d. ?) H. usayn’s sister and the daughter of ‘Alı̄ and
Fāt.ima. Assumed de facto leadership of the
survivors after ‘Āshūrā’.
(known as Ibn Ziyād) (d. ) governor of the region. Ibn Ziyād quelled
Kufan opposition through a combination of threats and bribes, ultimately
arresting and executing Muslim.
H. usayn was unaware of these developments and set off for Kufa, accom-
panied by most of his family and a small group of supporters. The entire
Community 
party numbered in the low hundreds. The narrative of H . usayn’s jour-
ney is replete with foreboding about the unreliability of the Kufans and
rumors that the Umayyads had solidified their control of the region. Even
after H . usayn received confirmation of Muslim b. ‘Aqı̄l’s death, he decided
against returning to Medina and continued on the road to Iraq. H . usayn’s
caravan was eventually intercepted by a squadron of cavalry and forced to
make camp at Karbala, fifty miles to the northeast of Kufa. This occurred
on the second day of Muh.arram, the first month of the Islamic calendar.
The next few days witnessed a steady buildup of Umayyad forces under
the command of ‘Umar b. Sa‘d (known as Ibn Sa‘d) (d. ) and a growing
stalemate between the two sides. Ibn Ziyād demanded that H . usayn and
his men take the oath of allegiance to Yazı̄d; H . usayn categorically refused
to do so. Some Sunnı̄ sources report that H . usayn proposed a number of
alternatives but to no avail.
On the seventh day of Muh.arram, Ibn Ziyād ordered Ibn Sa‘d to deny
H. usayn and his followers access to water. This accelerated the crisis and
caused significant suffering in H . usayn’s camp, especially among the numer-
ous young children. According to some accounts, negotiations broke down
on the ninth of Muh.arram due to the intrigues of some Kufans (notably
Shamir b. Dhı̄ al-Jawshan) who were intent on provoking hostilities.
H. usayn asked for and was granted a final night of respite and prayer,
which features prominently in many Shı̄‘ı̄ accounts of Karbala. The tents
were brought together in anticipation of the next day’s fighting, and per-
mission was granted to anyone who chose to depart before battle. Zaynab,
H. usayn’s sister, is a major figure in the (later) Shı̄‘ı̄ accounts as she antici-
pates the events of the next day and prepares for her brother’s impending
death.
There are conflicting reports about the sequence of events on the tenth
of Muh.arram (known as ‘Āshūrā’). There appear to have been a series
of individual one-on-one encounters between the two sides throughout
the morning. The real fighting began after the noontime prayer, as the
Umayyad army slowly encircled the camp. The first skirmishes involved
supporters not affiliated with the household of the Prophet, but, as the
afternoon progressed, H . usayn’s relatives engaged the enemy. It is difficult
to parse legend from fact in these accounts. Some of the (non-Shı̄‘ı̄) sources
suggest that the entirety of the battle lasted only an hour, whereas other
(Shı̄‘ı̄) sources depict a drawn-out affair consisting primarily of single
combat. The deaths of important ‘Alids are mentioned in striking and
vivid detail, notably those of H . usayn’s two sons ‘Alı̄ al-Akbar and ‘Alı̄
al-As.ghar and his half-brother al-‘Abbās b. ‘Alı̄. H . usayn was the last to
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
fall. His body and the bodies of his supporters were then decapitated,
and the camp was pillaged by Umayyad forces. The final death toll on
the side of H . usayn was reported as seventy-two. The only surviving adult
male from H . usayn’s household was his son ‘Alı̄ (Zayn al-‘Ābidı̄n), who was
reportedly bedridden with an illness and therefore unable to take part in the
battle.
The narrative of Karbala does not end with H . usayn’s death. Most
accounts chronicle the fate of his family members (mostly women and
children), who were taken to Kufa and then sent with the heads of the
dead to Yazı̄d in Damascus. There are significant contradictions in the
sources regarding the initial encounter between the caliph and the pris-
oners. The Shı̄‘ı̄ sources depict a defiant Zaynab and an eloquent Zayn
al-‘Ābidı̄n confronting Yazı̄d at his court, followed by a prolonged impris-
onment. The Sunnı̄ sources, by contrast, note Yazı̄d’s remorse, his financial
compensation for the property plundered by Umayyad forces, and his
designation of an escort to accompany the family back to Medina.
B. The Shı̄‘ı̄ Narrative(s)

The base narrative described in the previous section includes many of
the details common to Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ historical sources. There is little
dispute over the basic chronology that begins with Mu‘āwiya’s death and
ends with Zaynab’s encounter with Yazı̄d in Damascus. Sunnı̄ accounts
treat the death of H . usayn as part of a larger civil war in which multiple
prominent Companions vied for political power. The fact that the struggle
claimed the life of the Prophet’s grandson is certainly tragic, but it carries no
larger significance. In political terms, a number of Sunnı̄ scholars include
H. usayn in lists of legitimate successors to the Prophet and identify his
death as inaugurating dynastic rule in the Muslim world.
By contrast, the tragedy at Karbala united the nascent Shı̄‘ı̄ community
and became a rallying cry for most (if not all) of the Shı̄‘ı̄ rebellions that
erupted over the next century, including, most famously, the ‘Abbāsid
Revolution in . Many Shı̄‘a lamented their failure to support H . usayn,
who became a symbol of martyrdom and highlighted the illegitimacy of the
Umayyad state. Shı̄‘ı̄ remembrances of Karbala featured distinctive poetic
forms and imagery, including extensive citations of conversations between
key figures and elaborate vignettes intended to demonstrate a theological
point or to elicit sympathy. Shı̄‘ı̄ groups differed in their use of these
structural and literary devices depending on their particular conceptions
of the Imāmate.
Community 
The Zaydı̄ Narrative

The Zaydı̄ narrative of Karbala has remained fairly consistent over the
centuries. The earliest surviving Zaydı̄ accounts are those of Abū al-Faraj
al-Is.bahānı̄ (d. ) and al-Nāt.iq bi-l-H. aqq Yah.yā b. H
. usayn (d. ).
Both authors adhere to the chronology of the base narrative, from H . usayn’s
decision to leave for Kufa to the eventual collapse of his support, before
placing his rebellion in the broader continuum of Shı̄‘ı̄ rebellions.
According to al-Is.bahānı̄, the brunt of the responsibility for the tragedy
falls on the shoulders of two men: Ibn Ziyād (the governor of Kufa) and
Shamir b. Dhı̄ al-Jawshan (an important deputy in the army). The former
intimidates and kills H . usayn’s supporters in Kufa and then staunchly rejects
any compromise that might defuse the crisis. The latter incites Ibn Ziyād
against H . usayn and rallies the army at times when soldiers hesitate to
take up arms against the Prophet’s family. Ibn Sa‘d, the commander of the
army, garners some sympathy as he tries to broker an agreement between
the two sides. Yazı̄d is implicated in H . usayn’s death, but his culpability
is diminished by his distance from the battlefield. He does not directly
order H . usayn’s execution and later expresses regret at the turn of events.
At the same time, his attitude toward the survivors in Damascus is hardly
sympathetic. They are ultimately released but only after a series of pointed
exchanges between Yazı̄d on one side, and Zaynab and Zayn al-‘Ābidı̄n on
the other.
The Zaydı̄ tenor of al-Is.bahānı̄’s account is most evident in its focus
on H . usayn’s extended household. Specifically, al-Is.bahānı̄ interrupts the
chronology of his account to list the twenty members of H . usayn’s family
who perished in the events leading up to and including the battle. Detailed
genealogies are provided along with brief vignettes of their deaths. More
elaborate descriptions are later presented for particularly important figures
such as H . usayn’s sons and nephews. This familial focus reflects the central
Zaydı̄ theological belief that ultimate religious and political authority rests
with the Prophet’s family and descendants. Consequently, the death of
any figure from this select group carries special significance. Al-Is.bahānı̄’s
account thus conveys a deeply tragic yet heroic ethos. Although he intimates
that the outcome was predictable, there are no indications that H . usayn’s
death was necessary or inevitable. The account lacks elaborate descriptive
language and does not frame the tragedy as part of a cosmic or eschatological
struggle between good and evil.
The narrative preserved by al-Nāt.iq is even more bereft of supernatu-
ral imagery than that of al-Is.bahānı̄, but it shares an interest in lineage.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
It begins with a short discussion of H. usayn’s parents followed by a physi-
cal description that likens him to the Prophet. The next two sections are
devoted to verifying that H . usayn had received the oath of allegiance from
his followers and had actively launched an uprising against Yazı̄d. Al-Nāt.iq
highlights this point in a passage that reads as follows:
When the oath of allegiance of the people of Kufa reached him, he left from
Mecca on the eighth day of Dhū al-H . ijja. . . . He – prayers of God upon him –
was killed on Friday the tenth of Muh.arram of the year . The duration of
his uprising (z.uhūr) and the establishment of his rule was one month and two
days.
The affirmation of an actual uprising and H . usayn’s efforts at constructing a

rival political order are necessary proof of his status as an Imām. Al-Nāt.iq’s
account of the battle and H . usayn’s death is brief and dismissive, noting only
that Ibn Ziyād ordered Ibn Sa‘d to kill H . usayn. A number of figures are
ascribed the death blow (including the aforementioned Shamir), and the
narrative ends with a short description of the wounds on the Imām’s body
and its burial. H . usayn is thus placed in a continuum of Zaydı̄ Imāms who
died in the pursuit of justice with the odds stacked severely against them.
In line with al-Is.bahānı̄’s emphasis on genealogy, nearly half of al-Nāt.iq’s
entry on H . usayn is devoted to his children. This section contains some
emotional and graphic episodes (most notably an account of the killing
of H . usayn’s infant son ‘Alı̄ al-As.ghar), but the general purpose here is to
identify lines of descent. The Zaydı̄s, after all, believe that these descendants
are the primary conduits for religious authority and the sole repository for
future Imāms.
As opposed to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver conception of an inerrant religious
authority appointed by God, the Zaydı̄ Imām is a pious scholar standing
up to tyranny. He is not imbued with supernatural powers but rather
functions as a symbol of justice in the face of an oppressive state. The
Zaydı̄ portrait of H . usayn aligns with this conception of the Imām. Both
al-Is.bahānı̄ and al-Nāt.iq highlight the importance of lineage, focusing on
those members of the Prophet’s family who died at Karbala. These deaths
are sometimes presented in lurid detail, but they do not carry a deeper,
cosmological significance. H . usayn is a common man of uncommon virtues
whose rebellion, although tragic, is the first in a series of similar ‘Alid
uprisings. Some of these rebellions succeed, but the vast majority fail.
The Zaydı̄s certainly honor and remember H . usayn each year, but these
 Al-Nāt.iq, Ifāda, .
Community 
commemorations are simple affairs and differ sharply from the elaborate
mourning rituals of the Twelver Shı̄‘a.
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Narrative
There is no single definitive Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ narrative of the events of Karbala.
Recall that contemporary Ismā‘ı̄lism is divided between two main branches,
the Musta‘lı̄s (today mainly consisting of the T.ayyibı̄s) and the Nizārı̄s (who
follow the Aga Khan as their Imām). Both groups share the Twelver belief
that the Imām possesses a special authority delegated directly by God. This
suggests that the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ narrative of H
. usayn should align more closely with
that of the Twelvers (see below) than that of the Zaydı̄s (see above). The
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ treatment of Karbala, however, is closely intertwined with the issue
of ritual commemoration. The Bohras (a branch of the T.ayyibı̄s) take part
in Twelver ceremonies that reenact and mourn the deaths of H . usayn and
his companions. Consequently, they affirm the more elaborate renditions
of Karbala and often attend annual Twelver ‘Āshūrā’ services (discussed
subsequently).
By contrast, the Nizārı̄s (a majority of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s) hold to less emotive
forms of remembrance. They gather in mosques to mourn or recount the
tragedy in speeches, but these gestures are far less intricate than those of
the Twelvers. Most significantly, the Nizārı̄s do not partake in emotional
commemorations of Karbala featuring poetry or dramatic reenactments;
rather, they are partial to the base narrative stripped of any greater theo-
logical significance. Such a preference stems perhaps from the presence of
a ruling Nizārı̄ Imām who bears the spiritual mantle of H . usayn. Although
the death of the grandson of the Prophet was tragic, the Imāmate per-
severed and passed (in the form of a divine light) to his descendants. It
is the current ruling Imām who commands the immediate and complete
emotional allegiance of the Nizārı̄ community.
The Twelver Narrative

The narrative of the tragedy of Karbala achieves its most detailed and refined
form with the Twelvers. In fact, it could be argued that the narrative of
H. usayn’s death lies at the very heart of Twelver identity and worship. The
following section traces the evolution of the Karbala narrative from its
initial manifestations in the lifetimes of the Twelver Imāms to its use in
complex annual rituals in the modern period.
 The best study of the evolution of ‘Āshūrā’ commemorations among the Twelvers is Kamran
Aghaie’s The Martyrs of Karbala. Much of this section is indebted to Aghaie’s work.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The earliest remembrances of Karbala are ascribed to the survivors of
the ordeal, particularly H . usayn’s eldest son Zayn al-‘Ābidı̄n (the fourth
Twelver Imām) and daughter Sukayna, who reportedly organized annual
lamentations that featured the recitation of elegies for the fallen. Shı̄‘ı̄
poets competed in composing these elaborate poems, which served as the
primary means for commemorating Karbala through the Umayyad and
early ‘Abbāsid periods. Such poetic gatherings were not limited to the
Twelver Shı̄‘a alone; rather, they included a range of Shı̄‘ı̄ groups with
quite disparate theological views. Karbala became a standard rallying cry
for Shı̄‘ı̄ uprisings of this period (including that of the ‘Abbāsids), with
rebels promising to exact revenge for the blood of H . usayn and his family.
Within a few generations, the tombs of H . usayn and his companions
became focal points of pilgrimage for the Shı̄‘ı̄ community. This devel-
opment, which predates the split between the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers,
is mentioned in a number of traditions ascribed to Muh.ammad al-Bāqir
(the fifth Imām, d. ) and Ja‘far al-S.ādiq (the sixth Imām, d. ) in the
Twelver sources. In one representative example, al-S.ādiq states:
If one of you performs the h.ajj [the greater pilgrimage] in the course of your
lifetime and does not visit H
. usayn b. ‘Alı̄, then you have departed from one of
the claims of God and the Messenger of God, because the claim of H . usayn is
a mandatory duty from God, Exalted and Mighty, and obligatory upon every
Muslim.
A multitude of similar traditions quote the Imāms ordering the Shı̄‘a to

visit Karbala to foster their love for the family of the Prophet. There is
also evidence of organized annual processions to Karbala that served as
important public affirmations of a communal Shı̄‘ı̄ identity. Pilgrimage to
the grave of H . usayn (and those of the other Imāms) remains one of the
distinctive ritual features of Twelver Shı̄‘ism.
Given the financial difficulties posed by a lengthy trip to Karbala, many
Twelver Shı̄‘a communities held Muh.arram processions on ‘Āshūrā’ within
their own cities and towns. The most prominent of these took place in
Baghdad beginning in the tenth century when the region was controlled
by the Būyids, a military family from Daylam with Shı̄‘ı̄ inclinations.
The procession was initiated by the same Būyid ruler, Mu‘izz al-Dawla
(mentioned earlier), who instituted the celebration of Ghadı̄r Khumm.
Historical accounts of these processions document a number of distinctive
practices, including (i) the closing of markets, (ii) the wearing of coarse
 Haider, Origins, .
Community 
woolen clothing, (iii) the beating of one’s face, and (iv) wailing accompa-
nied by the recitation of elegies such as the following:
The blood of the friends of the Prophet Muh.ammad is flowing; our tears rain
plentifully. Let there be infinite curses and blame upon his enemies in the past
and the future. Distress yourself about what befell the children. Now listen to
the story of the martyrdom and how they deprived H . usayn of water; and when
he was fighting on the plain of Karbala, how they behaved meanly and unjustly.
They cut off the head of a descendant of the Prophet.
These annual processions combined the poetic sensibilities of the earliest
period with the physicality of a formal pilgrimage to Karbala. The Twelver
Shı̄‘a were now free to commemorate ‘Āshūrā’ in their hometowns as a
public expression of their love for the family of the Prophet.
The base Karbala narrative described earlier, drawn from the earliest lay-
ers of the Muslim historical works, is sympathetic to H. usayn and informed
by a general tragic ethos stemming from the death of so many members of
the Prophet’s family. Beginning in the tenth century, Twelver scholars began
appropriating and recasting this narrative in a manner that legitimized their
doctrine of the Imāmate. The earliest example of such a transformation
is attributed to al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d (mentioned above), whose narrative
begins with an unambiguous affirmation of H . usayn’s designation (nas..s) as
Imām:
The Messenger of God, may God bless him and his family, had made clear
his [H
. usayn’s] Imāmate and the Imāmate of his brother [H. asan] before him
through designation (nas..s) when he said, “These two sons of mine are Imāms
who will experience difficulties.”
This statement is followed by other proofs of H . usayn’s credentials, such as
the testamentary bequest (was.iyya) of the office from his brother H . asan.
The account then explains the reasons for which neither H . asan nor H. usayn
rose up in rebellion against Mu‘āwiya. In the case of H
. asan, a lack of support
meant that an uprising would not be successful, so the only prudent course
of action was to practice precautionary dissimulation (taqiyya) and to
conclude a truce with Mu‘āwiya. When H . usayn became Imām, he faced
the same basic situation. Al-Mufı̄d writes:
The Imāmate of H . usayn, peace be upon him, was confirmed after the death
of his brother H
. asan, peace be upon him. The obedience of all creatures to
him was binding, although he did not summon them because of precautionary
 Aghaie, Martyrs, .

 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
dissimulation and because of his need to fulfill the truce that existed between

him [H. asan] and Mu‘āwiya b. Abı̄ Sufyān.
This passage both affirms H . usayn’s right to the Imāmate and explains
his political quietism prior to Karbala within the framework of Twelver
theology.
Al-Mufı̄d’s account includes all of the chronological elements found in
the base narrative, from the initial letters of the Kufans to the seige of
H. usayn’s camp in Karbala and the denial of water. His narration, however,
also quotes a significant amount of elaborate dialogue. Although these
conversations are found in the base narrative (and in a number of Sunnı̄
sources), al-Mufı̄d uses them to reiterate important theological points. Take
H. usayn’s speech to his companions the night before the battle:
I glorify God with the most perfect glorification and I praise Him in happiness
and misfortune. O God, I praise You for blessing us with prophethood, teaching
us the Qur’ān, and making us understand religion. You have given us hearing,
sight, and hearts and have made us among those who give thanks. I know of no
followers more loyal and more virtuous than my followers, nor of any House
more pious and more close-knit than my House. May God reward you well on
my behalf. Indeed, I do not think that there will be [any further] days [left]
to us by these men. I permit you to leave me. All [of you], go away with the
absolution of your oath, for there will be no obligation on you from me. This
is a night that will give cover to you. Use it as a camel [i.e., ride away in it].
Some Sunnı̄ accounts include this speech, but its centrality to the Twelver
narrative is unique. There is a clear emphasis on the loyalty bonds (walāya –
see Chapter ) between H . usayn and his followers, which provide a model
for the subsequent Twelver community. H . usayn’s supporters respond by
passionately reiterating their commitment to H . usayn and refusing to aban-
don him on the battlefield.
In addition, the status of the family of the Prophet (ahl al-bayt) is elevated
through both its connection to the Prophet and its possession of a special
religious knowledge. This aligns with the Twelver belief in the Imāmate
as a continuation of the office of prophethood in the postrevelation world
and the Imām as an inerrant interpreter of religious sources. H . usayn even
expands the scope of the Imām’s theoretical knowledge beyond mere inter-
pretation. When confronted by a tribesman on the road to Kufa who warns
of impending danger, he states:
 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .

 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .
Community 
Servant of God . . . wise decisions are not hidden from me. Yet the commands
of God, the Exalted, cannot be resisted. By God, [my enemies] will not leave
me till they have torn the very heart from the depths of my gut. If they do that,
God will cause them to be dominated and humiliated until they become the
most humiliated of factions among nations.
In other words, H . usayn is aware of the broader context of the situa-

tion through divine knowledge but remains determined to carry out his
mission. Moreover, he even predicts the ultimate downfall of his oppo-
nents, alluding to the overthrow (and near-extermination) of the Umayyad
dynasty seventy years later.
On a purely literary level, al-Mufı̄d’s narrative is full of melodramatic
exchanges. In one passage, H . usayn approaches his dying son ‘Alı̄ al-Akbar:
H. usayn, peace be upon him, went out until he stood over him [‘Alı̄ al-Akbar]
and said, “May God kill [the] people who killed you, my son. How foolhardy
they are against the Merciful and in violating the family of the Messenger, may
God bless him and his family.” His [H . usayn’s] eyes filled with tears, and he
said, “There will be [only] dust on the world after you.” Zaynab, the sister
of H. usayn, peace be upon him, came hurrying out, crying, “My brother, my
nephew!” She came up and threw herself on [her dead nephew]. H . usayn raised
her head and then led her back to the tent. He told his young [sons]: “Carry
your brother back.”
This level of detail is designed to elicit a powerful emotional response.

The production of such a narrative that emphasizes the position of the
Imām and his family as well as the loyalty of his true followers was a new
development. It was perhaps a counterpart to the growth of processions and
poetic remembrances among the Twelver Shı̄‘a in the tenth and eleventh
centuries.
The next important development in the narrative of H . usayn occurred
in the sixteenth century with the rise of the Safavid dynasty in Iran. As
discussed in Chapter , the Safavids were responsible for the wholesale
conversion of Iran to Twelver Shı̄‘ism and (sometimes) predicated their
legitimacy on their role as representatives of the hidden Imām. As patrons
of Twelver Shı̄‘ism, the Safavids provided state sponsorship for ‘Āshūrā’
commemorations. Specifically, they encouraged (and financed) the rawżat
khānı̄ (subsequently abbreviated as rawżeh) which was a “ritual sermon
 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .

 The sources allow for a second possibility – namely, that the Imām was informed of these events
directly by the Prophet.
 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
recounting and mourning the tragedy of Karbala.” These sermons were
highly literary compositions imbued with overtly theatrical and supernat-
ural elements (see, for example, excerpt ).
Passages from the Post-Safavid Karbala Narrative

Excerpt 
When he read this [a letter from Kufa], Husayn wept again, but there was no
more doubt in his heart; he could now go and take power from the tyrant
without fear of accusations that he acted for his own glory. He set out from
Mecca with only seventy-seven[sic] followers, across the desert in the direction
of Kufa. On the way they were suddenly confronted by a large army of animals
of prey, with sharp claws and mighty jaws, under the command of a huge lion,
king of the beasts. The lion bowed his big head down to the ground before the
feet of Daldal, Husayn’s horse, begging to be allowed to help him in his battle
against the oppressor of the faithful, and to restore the rule of God’s laws among
the sons of Adam. Husayn thanked him, but sent him away, saying: “Nothing
happens on earth that He does not will. If it is His will that I shall win, God
will strike down His enemies before my face.” They rode on, until suddenly
the sky became dark. Many hundred of birds of prey hovered over the modest
army, headed by a large eagle who likewise offered to tear Husayn’s enemies
to shreds for him, but again Husayn, knowing that God was only testing him,
declined, saying: “Thank you, my winged friends, go back to your mountains,
God has already decided who will live and who will die, nor can we alter His
decision.” The final vision of temptation in the desert was an army of jinn,
whose king, a monstrously big ogre with long teeth like sabers, threw himself
at Husayn’s feet, saying: “Not since king Solomon has any man subdued us,
but you Prince Husayn, may command, and we will obey. Please order us to
destroy your enemies and none will survive.” Even though Husayn knew that
he might not live to see the day after the battle, he sent the jinn away, thanking
them courteously for their offer to help him. They disappeared at once.
Excerpt 
Then Husayn saw how his youngest son, Ali Asghar, suffered from thirst,
because his mother’s milk had dried up in her bosom. The women sat there in
their hastily erected tent, praying and praising God.
When Husayn saw the patience of the women, [start of poetic stanzas] He
took the child which had not yet been weaned, / And carried it to where the
river flowed, / Calling the enemies who lay in ambush / “Do not shoot now!
This child is sick with thirst! / Have pity on this babe who cannot speak / And
soon will be an orphan, when I die . . . ” / Before he finished speaking, all the
Arabs / Had shot their arrows at the little child. / One arrow pierced his ear.
 Aghaie, Martyrs, .

 Rippen and Knappert, Textual Sources, .
 Rippen and Knappert, Textual Sources, .
Community 
He screamed with pain /until the shadows sank over his eyes. / The women
wept and all the men wept with them. / Husayn interred the little child near-by,
/ Praying the prayers that suit a proper service.
Excerpt 
When Husayn rode out, the army of the Syrians ran away, but he pursued
them, for he knew this was his last day. He mowed down his enemies like a fire
raging through the tall grass of the savannah. The earth grew bloodied and the
sky grew dark as if the Day of Judgement had begun. Dark clouds veiled the
sun even in Mecca so that its people wondered what caused this gloom which
covered Arabia, Syria, and Egypt, reaching as far as Iran and Khurasan.
The angels prayed to God with the women that He might rescue Husayn.
[Start of poetic stanzas] But God’s intentions are unknown to man / Not even
angels understand his plan. / . . . / He [Husayn] turned his horse and hurried
back to camp. / There in the shrubs the enemy were waiting. /They shot at him
without their faces showing / Hundreds of arrows flew into his face / Seventy
arrows hit his tender body / and pierced his skin and spilled his precious blood.
/ He knew that he did not have long to live, / Just enough time to say: There is
no god / but God and Muhammad is His prophet. / His soul flew up into the
cloudless sky / Where it was met by those who loved him most: / His parents
and his brother and his sons. / His body meanwhile fell from the strong horse.
/ . . . / Here ends the sad account of Prince Husayn / Who lived and died a
witness for the faith / A ransom for his people, for Mankind.
In addition to the inclusion of fantastical elements, the rawżeh promoted
a fatalism that made the impending disaster a sacrificial act ordained by
God. It presented a highly polarized vision of the conflict, with figures
clearly designated as good or evil. The reasons for these changes are explored
in Chapter . At this point, it suffices to note that the Safavids were
invested in creating a strong and insular Twelver identity to distinguish
themselves from their main rivals, the Sunnı̄ Ottomans. The rise of the
Qajar dynasty in the eighteenth century saw a continuation of this trend as
commemorations became even more elaborate. The state began sponsoring
full-scale reenactments of Karbala based on a script taken from the rawżeh.
These passion plays, referred to as shabih khānı̄ or (more popularly) ta‘ziyat
khānı̄ (subsequently abbreviated as ta‘ziyeh), persist into the modern period
in parts of southern Iraq and Iran.
The emergence of rawżeh narratives and ta‘ziyeh reenactments involved
a radical restructuring of the historical account of Karbala. The chronology
of the base narrative remained consistent, but it was now primarily geared to
elicit an emotional response. This shift is evident in any modern rendition
of the events at Karbala (see excerpts  and ). Poetry is inserted at key
 Rippen and Knappert, Textual Sources, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
moments, transforming the narrative into a performative devotional piece
that evokes sadness and weeping. The crowd participates in a collective act
of ritual mourning that reinforces its loyalty to the Imām and, by extension,
the state.
The retelling of the Karbala narrative remains a universal element in
contemporary Twelver commemorations of ‘Āshūrā’. Speakers will often
break into a poetic rhythm to signal a particularly tragic moment or to
emphasize a dramatic point. They also divide the story into discrete narra-
tive units and relate a different incident or death on each of the first nine
days of the month, culminating on the tenth with the killing of H . usayn.
The narrative is usually followed (or preceded) by the beating of chests
(in Arabic lat.m, in Persian or Urdu mātam). In many places, this beating
is a symbolic gesture performed with the hand or a minor implement to
represent intense mourning. Although this bloodless practice is encour-
aged by most Twelver scholars, the use of knives or blades for the purposes
of ritual self-mutilation is common in parts of Iraq, Pakistan, and India.
Chest beating is also often accompanied by either attestations of loyalty to
the Imām or mournful laments (in Urdu noha) recited to the rhythm of
hands striking bodies.
The structure of ‘Āshūrā’ mourning rituals varies from region to region
under the influence of local cultural expectations. In Iraq, for example,
millions of pilgrims walk to Karbala (sometimes over weeks or months)
every Muh.arram as a sign of their devotion to and grief for H . usayn.
In recent years, Iraq has witnessed the revival of the ta‘ziyeh reenactments
and an upsurge in more extreme forms of self-flagellation. Mourning in the
other Gulf states centers primarily on the retelling of the narrative, followed
by symbolic chest beating to the accompaniment of laments. Iran is home to
multiple forms of remembrance, with the ta‘ziyeh still prominent in many
locations. In India and Pakistan, gatherings for Muh.arram are known as
majālis (sing. majlis) and begin with an elegy (in Arabic marthiyya, in Urdu
marsiyya) followed by a sermon that includes a rendition of some part of
the Karbala narrative. The majlis concludes with a ritual beating of chests
to the recitation of laments. South Asian, Southeast Asian, and Turkish
Shı̄‘ı̄ communities also often integrate local rituals (of non-Islamic origins)
into their ‘Āshūrā’ commemorations.
C. Summary
The narrative of Karbala serves as one of the building blocks of Shı̄‘ı̄ identity.
The deaths of H . usayn and his companions symbolize the abandonment
and betrayal of the Prophet’s family by the larger Muslim community.
Community 
They also represent an inspirational example of defiance in the face of
oppression or injustice. The structure and form of the narrative, however,
vary significantly among different Shı̄‘ı̄ groups as a consequence of their
distinctive theological doctrines.
For the Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘a, the events at Karbala are archetypical. H . usayn is
qualified to be Imām based on his lineage and his scholarly credentials.
He then rises up in rebellion against the oppressive Umayyads. His defeat
and death are tragedies, but they also represent the culmination of the
proper course of action for any candidate aspiring to the Imāmate. The
Zaydı̄s include H . usayn in a line of Imāms who represent this ideal. His
rebellion is part of a continuum of similar rebellions, distinguished only
by his direct association with the Prophet (his grandfather) and ‘Alı̄ (his
father).
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘a are divided on their interpretation and use of the
Karbala narrative. The episode is accorded importance by the two most
important branches of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s – namely, the Musta‘lı̄s and the Nizārı̄s.
The Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (primarily the T.ayyibı̄s) take part in the ritual com-
memorations of the Twelver Shı̄‘a as full participants. They have also
developed a large corpus of elegies that link H . usayn to the leadership of
the community and emphasize the cosmological implications of his death.
The Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, by contrast, eschew the more public mourning rituals,
given the presence of a living and visible Imām who wields the religious
authority of H . usayn.
The Twelver Shı̄‘a present a particularly elaborate and emotional version
of the Karbala narrative. Their commemorations are tied to public rituals
that originated in the eighth century. The story of H . usayn is not just a
historical narrative but rather a reenactment of the struggle between good
and evil that dominates the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ ritual calendar. The modern form
of Twelver mourning is indebted to the Safavid transformation of Karbala
into an elaborate public spectacle that combines early poetic laments with
local cultural practices.

The following works provide an overview of political developments during the
seventh and eighth centuries:
Martin Hinds, Studies in Early Islamic History, ed. Jere Bacharach, Lawrence
Conrad, and Patricia Crone (Princeton, NJ: Darwin, ).
), vol. , particularly – (“The Early Muslim State”) and – (“The
Islamic Opposition”).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The following works discuss revisionist interpretations of early Islamic history:
Fred Donner, “Modern Approaches to Early Islamic History,” in The New Cam-
bridge History of Islam, ed. Michael Cook et al. (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, ), :–.
Chase Robinson, Islamic Historiography (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
).
The earliest extant biography of the Prophet is Alfred Guillaume’s translation of
the Sı̄ra of Ibn Ish.āq (d. ) entitled The Life of Muhammad (London: Oxford
University Press, ).
The following works examine the succession crisis after Muh.ammad’s death:
Maria Dakake, The Charismatic Community (Albany: State University of New York
Press, ), –.
Encyclopaedia of Islam, rd ed., s.v. “‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib” (Gleave).
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Mubāhala” (Schmucker).
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Sakı̄fa” (Lecomte).
Wilferd Madelung, The Succession to Muhammad (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, ).
Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Kitāb al-Irshād, translated by I. K. A. Howard (New York:
Tahrike Tarsile Qur’an, ), –.
York: I. B. Tauris, ), –.
The following works recount the events at Karbala:
Kamran Aghaie, The Martyrs of Karbala (Seattle: University of Washington Press,
). This book focuses on Twelver Shı̄‘ism.
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “(al-)H . usayn b. Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib” (Veccia
Vaglieri). This article presents a clear Sunnı̄ perspective.
Abū Mikhnaf, Kitāb Maqtal H . usayn, translated by Hamid Mavani (London: Shia
Ithnasheri Community of Middlesex, ).
Tahrike Tarsile Qur’an, ), –. This is a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ work.
The Zaydı̄ sources on Karbala are available only in Arabic:
Abū al-Faraj al-Is.bahānı̄, Maqātil al-T
. ālibiyyı̄n, ed. Sayyid Ah.mad S.aqr (Beirut:
Mu’assasat al-‘Ālamı̄, ), –.
. aqq, al-Ifāda, ed. Muh.ammad Yah.yā S.ālih. Izzān (Sana‘a: Dār
Al-Nāt.iq bi-l-H
al-H. ikma al-Yamāniyya, ), –.
The following works provide examples of passion plays and poetic expressions
surrounding Karbala:
Mir Baba Ali Anis, “The End of the Battle of Karbala,” in Anthology of Urdu Verse
in English, translated by David Matthews (New York: Oxford University Press,
), –.
Community 
Syed Akbar Hyder and Carla Petievich, “Shi‘i Mourning in Muhurram: Nauha
Laments for Children Killed at Karbala,” in Islam in South Asia in Practice, ed.
Barbara Metcalf (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, ), –.
Andrew Rippen and Jan Knappert, Textual Sources for the Study of Islam (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, ), –.
Muh.ammad Taqı̄ Bah.r al-‘Ulūm, Tale of the Martyrdom of Imam Hussain (London:
AB Cultural Institute for Arabic and Islamic Research, ).
Syed Akbar Hyder, Reliving Karbala (New York: Oxford University Press, ).
For the role of pilgrimage in Shı̄‘ı̄ identity formation, see Najam Haider, The
Origins of the Shı̄‘a (New York: Cambridge University Press, ), –.
4
Fragmentation
In Chapter , we examined two narratives that hold a special place in the

historical memory of the larger Shı̄‘ı̄ community, the rejection of ‘Alı̄’s
authority after the Prophet’s death in  and the killing of H . usayn at Kar-
bala in . Both events generated ritual commemorations in Shı̄‘ı̄ com-
munities, most notably the celebration of ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r and the mourning
of ‘Āshūrā’. However, Shı̄‘ı̄ groups differ regarding the implications of these
events. The Zaydı̄s participate in the festivities surrounding ‘Alı̄’s reported
appointment at Ghadı̄r Khumm despite not requiring the explicit desig-
nation of an Imām. They also lament H . usayn’s death without ascribing
to it any broad cosmic significance. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers affirm
‘Alı̄’s formal designation as the Prophet’s rightful successor through their
celebrations of ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r. As for ‘Āshūrā’, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (Nizārı̄s) grieve
for H . usayn, but their mourning is mitigated by the presence of a rul-
ing Imām. This differs from the Twelvers, for whom the remembrance
of ‘Āshūrā’ is a central pillar of ritual practice and an embodiment of
piety.
In contrast to historical episodes that unite the Shı̄‘a community, a
number of events provide the basis for its fragmentation. In terms of
chronology, the first involves the failed revolt of Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ b. H . usayn
b. ‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib against the Umayyads in . This uprising is rou-
tinely interpreted as marking the split between the Zaydı̄s (on one side)
and the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s/Twelvers (on the other side). The second centers on
the controversial succession to Ja‘far al-S.ādiq (the sixth Imām and great-
grandson of H . usayn) in . Although this dispute precipitated a break
between the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, variant accounts of the episode
suggest a common Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver conception of the scope and powers
of the Imām. Finally, the disappearance of Muh.ammad al-Mahdı̄ (the
twelfth Imām) in  compelled the Twelvers to reimagine the Imāmate
as they struggled to explain the apparent succession of a newborn who
was inaccessible to the larger community. In the process, Twelver scholars

Fragmentation 
fashioned a communal identity grounded in a distinctive set of theological
beliefs.
i . t h e r e v o l t o f z a y d b . ‘ a l ı̄
A. Background Narrative
The social tensions that contributed to the first (involving ‘Alı̄ and
Mu‘āwiya) and second (including H . usayn’s killing) civil wars remained
potent in the mid-eighth century. The Umayyad dynasty was seen as a
restoration of the power of tribal elites at the cost of early converts. The
policies of the Umayyad caliphs fueled this perception, as tribal leaders were
favored with money and appointed to positions of authority. Conversion
was also discouraged: it cut into state revenues because of discrepancies
in the tax rate between Muslims and non-Muslims. It was simply more
profitable to rule over a large non-Muslim population than over one com-
posed primarily of Muslims. These factors cultivated a “pious opposition”
devoted to the universalist implications of Islam. Marshall Hodgson refers
to this late seventh- and early eighth-century tendency as “the movement
of the piety-minded” and argues for its decisive importance in the creation
of a cosmopolitan Muslim religious identity.
The agenda of the piety-minded involved the construction of an egal-
itarian social order predicated on Islamic values. The movement was also
united in its opposition to the Umayyad dynasty. Beyond this, however,
there were clear divisions. The pious opposition initially fragmented during
the first civil war when a contingent criticized ‘Alı̄’s actions during and after
the Battle of S.iffı̄n (). The dissenters became known as the Kharijites
(“those who rebelled”), a sect whose successors survive today in areas of
North Africa and Oman. The remainder of the movement continued to
support ‘Alı̄ and his descendants as the primary alternatives to Umayyad
rule. It is important to note that not all of the piety-minded who favored
‘Alid political claims were Shı̄‘a. As mentioned in Chapters  and , the
Shı̄‘a were distinguished by their affirmation of a bond of personal charis-
matic loyalty to ‘Alı̄ (walāya) that was eventually transferred to his family
(narrowly defined as the descendants of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima). By contrast,
many of the piety-minded backed the political claims of ‘Alids without
according them any special religious authority.
 The following narrative that centers on “the pious opposition” is indebted to Hodgson, Venture,
vol.  –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The massacre of H . usayn and his family had significant fallout in the
broader Muslim community. In , five years after the events at Karbala, a
revolt broke out in Kufa led by al-Mukhtār b. Abı̄ ‘Ubayd Allāh al-Thaqafı̄
(d. ), who affirmed the Imāmate of Muh.ammad b. al-H . anafiyya (a son
of ‘Alı̄ but not from his marriage to Fāt.ima) and demanded revenge for
H. usayn’s killing. His supporters, who included a significant number of
the piety-minded (particularly those of Iranian origin) and a contingent
of the Shı̄‘a, came to be known as the Kaysānı̄s. The uprising was crushed
within a year, but it heralded more than a century of similar rebellions that
(predominantly) championed ‘Alid political causes through a broad coali-
tion of Shı̄‘ı̄ and non-Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. In such an environment, the authorities
came to view all ‘Alids as potential rivals.
In late  or early , Zayd b. ‘Alı̄, a grandson of H . usayn, was sum-
moned to the court of the Umayyad caliph Hishām b. ‘Abd al-Malik
(r. –) in Damascus to answer charges of sedition. He testified to his
own innocence and was ultimately sent to Kufa to confront his accuser.
After his release from custody, Zayd lingered in the area for a few months.
This worried Hishām, who saw the potential danger of Zayd’s presence in
a city that remained a hotbed of opposition to Umayyad rule. The caliph
urged his governor in Iraq, Yūsuf b. ‘Umar al-Thaqafı̄ (d. ), to pressure
Zayd to return to Medina. When Zayd finally left for the H . ijāz, he was
bombarded by letters and a number of Kufan envoys urged him to return
and lead an uprising. The letters included explicit pledges of armed sup-
port and confessions of guilt and remorse for the city’s past failure to aid
H. asan and H . usayn. Zayd was convinced to return (over the skepticism of
his closest advisors) and spent the next year organizing his Kufan followers
and soliciting the oath of allegiance from other cities and regions. Much
of his backing came from the nascent Shı̄‘a community, but he was also
supported by piety-minded scholars, including many later associated with
Sunnı̄ Islam (e.g., the famous jurist Abū H . anı̄fa). The actual substance of
Zayd’s beliefs is discussed in greater detail later in the chapter.
According to most reports, Umayyad pressure forced Zayd to rebel
in  before he was able to muster his full strength. On the brink of
the uprising, Yūsuf b. ‘Umar al-Thaqafı̄ gathered Zayd’s supporters in
the central mosque of Kufa and threatened to kill anyone who left the
premises. These intimidation tactics provided a justification for many to
abandon their oaths and undercut much of Zayd’s strength. He was also
hurt by the withdrawal of Shı̄‘ı̄ followers who either (i) criticized his refusal
to condemn Abū Bakr and ‘Umar or (ii) preferred the Shı̄‘ı̄ credentials of
Fragmentation 
Ja‘far al-S.ādiq. Zayd was left with between two hundred and three hundred
supporters, who fought a daylong battle against a superior Umayyad army.
After his death, Zayd’s body was exposed to the public, and his head was
sent to the caliph in Damascus.
B. Implications
Zayd’s rebellion marks the historical starting point of a distinct Zaydı̄
Shı̄‘ism. The episode is notably absent from Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver historical
sources. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver belief in formal designation (nas..s) as the
primary criterion for identifying the Imām significantly reduces Zayd’s
stature as a religious figure. For the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, the Imāmate
passed from ‘Alı̄ to H . asan and then H . usayn (his sons with Fāt.ima). These
two sons held a special rank based on their relationship to the Prophet
and their status as “people of the cloak” (see Chapter ). After H . usayn,
the Imāmate was restricted to his descendants in a singular chain from
father to son. In Zayd’s lifetime, the Shı̄‘a who would eventually be known
as the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers favored the claims of his half-brother
Muh.ammad al-Bāqir, followed by Zayd’s nephew (and al-Bāqir’s son) Ja‘far
al-S.ādiq. They viewed Zayd’s uprising as little more than a tragic attempt
by an ‘Alid upstart to seize political power.
The Zaydı̄ narrative of Zayd’s rebellion is informed by a number of key
theological beliefs. The most important of these involve his credentials as a
legitimate Imām. In contrast to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers, the Zaydı̄s
hold that the Imām achieves his position only by virtue of organizing an
armed rebellion against an oppressive state. Biographies of Zayd often
begin with a discussion of lineage to verify his descent from ‘Alı̄ and
Fāt.ima. This is followed by a physical description that affirms his physical
integrity (a necessary condition of leadership). At this point, we sometimes
find anecdotes about the Imām’s childhood and upbringing. More often,
however, the discussion shifts to his solicitation of the oath of allegiance
because the ability to win supporters provides evidence of political skills.
In fact, the Zaydı̄s hold that a contender may not lead an uprising until
he has garnered a minimum threshold of support. The narrative then
recounts Zayd’s public declaration of rebellion (khurūj), which serves as
 The discussion that follows draws primarily on al-Nāt.iq’s Ifāda and, to a lesser extent, on al-Is.bahānı̄’s
Maqātil.
 There are disagreements as to the minimum number of supporters necessary for an Imām to declare
a rebellion.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
his formal claim to the Imāmate. When describing unsuccessful rebellions,
Zaydı̄ biographical works also analyze the reasons for their failure. In the
case of Zayd, he was betrayed by the cowardly indecisiveness of supporters
who refused to honor their oaths. On the whole, Zaydı̄ biographers fit
the lives of their Imāms into a narrative structure that provides a virtual
checklist of lineal and political qualifications.
The political qualifications of the Imām are minimized in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and
Twelver depictions of their Imāms. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s stress both the political
and the religious authority of the Imām but express a clear preference for the
latter. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām is the gateway to the inner meaning of religious
texts and rituals. He certainly plays a political role, but the actual seizure
of power is often delegated to agents who act on his behalf. The Imām is
not required to directly organize an uprising or participate in battle. For
the Twelvers, the Imām is even further removed from the political realm.
He primarily serves as a channel for proper religious interpretation, and
his political role is a function of circumstance. When the conditions for
seizing power are not ideal, he practices dissimulation. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and
the Twelvers locate legitimate political authority in their Imāms, but unlike
the Zaydı̄s, they consider it an innate quality independent of the actual
exercise of power.
In addition to offering a prototype for an Imām, biographies of Zayd
provide insight into other facets of Zaydı̄ theology. Many accounts discuss
his education at the hands of the early Mu‘tazilı̄ scholar Wās.il b. ‘At.ā’ (d.
). This reflects the Zaydı̄ belief that an Imām’s knowledge is acquired
through study as opposed to being directly endowed by God (the view of
the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and some Twelvers). The Imām is permitted to seek knowledge
from non-Shı̄‘ı̄ and non-‘Alid sources, including those who might reject
his political claims. Wās.il b. ‘At.ā’, for example, allowed for the possibility
that ‘Alı̄ had made a mistake when he took up arms against his opponents
in the first civil war. This very point became incendiary in Zayd’s relations
with al-Bāqir (his half-brother), who accused him of studying with a figure
overly critical of ‘Alı̄’s conduct.
Although Zayd’s connection with Wās.il b. ‘At.ā’ is almost certainly fic-
titious, it is often cited to explain the almost wholesale integration of
Mu‘tazilı̄ ideas into Zaydı̄ theological discourse. Heresiographical works
 Madelung, “Zaydiyya.”
 These works are primarily interested in the theological beliefs of different sects within Islam. They
are suspect as historical sources. Although heresiographers often made use of earlier sources, they
shaped this material to fit their own theological agendas.
Fragmentation 
ascribe two of Zayd’s important theological positions to Wās.il’s influence.
The first involves the acceptance of the Imāmate of the less worthy, accord-
ing to which it was possible for a lesser candidate to be Imām despite the
presence of a superior candidate. After the death of the Prophet, ‘Alı̄ was
clearly the best candidate for leadership, but the community chose Abū
Bakr. This may have been a mistake, but it did not invalidate Abū Bakr’s
caliphate. The second position concerns the status of those who rejected or
ignored ‘Alı̄’s claims. Zayd did not consider this opposition an act of apos-
tasy but rather a misreading of the strong (but implicit) evidence favoring
‘Alı̄. In some heresiographical works, Zayd summarizes his views as follows:
‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib – God be pleased with him – was the best of the Companions
but the caliphate was delegated to Abū Bakr for the soundness of his judgment
and the religious basis of his stewardship in quelling the fire of civil strife and
easing the hearts of the general masses. The era of wars which raged in the
days of prophethood was recent. The blood of the Qurashı̄ polytheists and
others on the sword of the Commander of the Faithful ‘Alı̄ had not yet dried,
and the rancor in their chests for revenge remained. Hearts would not incline
towards him and necks would not submit to him. It was in the public interest
(mas.lah.a) that the leader in this situation should be someone known for being
gentle, malleable, old, an early convert, and close to the Messenger of God,
prayers of God and peace upon him. Consider the fact that when he [Abū
Bakr] was stricken with the sickness from which he would die and appointed
‘Umar b. al-Khat.t.āb, the people cried, “You have appointed a coarse harshness
over us!” They were not pleased with the Commander of the Faithful ‘Umar b.
al-Khat.t.āb for his strictness, his rigidity, his religious harshness, and his coarse
stubbornness against enemies until Abū Bakr silenced them by saying, “If my
Lord asks me, I will say, ‘I appointed over them one better than me.’” Therefore
it is permitted for the less worthy (mafd.ūl) to be Imām and have recourse to
the more worthy (afd.al) in the implementation of legal judgments (ah.kām).
Zayd’s refusal to condemn the first two caliphs reflected the early Zaydı̄
stance on the succession to the Prophet. At the same time, it alienated
those of his Shı̄‘ı̄ supporters who were partial to Ismā‘ı̄lı̄/Twelver views.
The Zaydı̄s consistently emphasized the political duties of the Imām
(engrained in narratives about Zayd’s life) throughout their history. To
the extent that there were disagreements, these generally concerned the
definition of an uprising or the degree of success necessary to earn an ‘Alid
the title of Imām. Zaydı̄ theological beliefs, on the other hand, shifted
dramatically in the course of the eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries. Reli-
gious knowledge was increasingly restricted to ‘Alids, the Imāmate of the
 Translation taken from Haider, Origins, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
less worthy was abandoned, and there was a greater willingness to declare
‘Alı̄’s opponents (including Abū Bakr and ‘Umar) apostates. The early
views (ascribed to Zayd) became associated with “Batrı̄” Zaydism, whereas
the later views (dominant in subsequent centuries) were identified with
“Jārūdı̄” Zaydism. The shift from a Batrı̄ to a Jārūdı̄ orientation is explored
in greater detail in Chapter .
i i . t h e d i s p u t e d s u c c e s s i o n t o j a ‘ f a r a l - s. ā d i q
The ‘Abbāsids toppled the Umayyad dynasty in  on the strength of
military support from northeast Iran and a propaganda apparatus infused
with Shı̄‘ı̄ slogans and symbols. Most modern studies of the revolution
emphasize the ‘Abbāsids’ reliance on a Kaysānı̄ Shı̄‘ı̄ network that was orig-
inally loyal to the descendants of Muh.ammad b. al-H . anafiyya (discussed
earlier). The early ‘Abbāsids (descendants of the Prophet’s uncle ‘Abbās)
claimed that the Imāmate had passed to them from Abū Hāshim (the son
of Muh.ammad b. al-H . anafiyya), who had died with no male heirs. The
primary slogan of the revolution was an ambiguous call to empower the
best-suited member of the family of the Prophet (al-rid.ā min ahl al-bayt),
which many interpreted as referring to an ‘Alid rather than an ‘Abbāsid. The
disappointment that followed the ‘Abbāsid victory left the pious opposition
with two options. First, they could compromise and accept the political
authority of the ‘Abbāsids while restricting the scope of their religious
authority. This was the strategy employed by many of the piety-minded
who came to be associated with Sunnı̄ Islam. Alternatively, they could con-
tinue to struggle for an ‘Alid Imāmate. This was the stance of those who
came to be known as the Shı̄‘a. Over the next few centuries, the ‘Abbāsids
steadily moved from a Shı̄‘ı̄ to a Sunnı̄ position.
In the aftermath of the revolution, the ‘Alids became symbols of oppo-
sition to ‘Abbāsid rule and were understandably viewed as threats by the
ruling dynasty. The rebellion of Muh.ammad al-Nafs al-Zakiyya (d. )
and his brother Ibrāhı̄m (d. ), backed by a significant number of Zaydı̄s,
confirmed ‘Abbāsid suspicions and led to the close surveillance of promi-
nent ‘Alids. The resulting political environment proved constrictive for
Ja‘far al-S.ādiq, the preferred candidate and Imām of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s/Twelvers.
 The following narrative of the ‘Abbāsid Revolution and its impact on the “pious opposition” is
indebted to Hodgson, Venture, vol.  –.
Fragmentation 
The ‘Abbāsids curtailed al-S.ādiq’s ability to speak in public and contributed
perhaps to his quietist political inclinations. In such an atmosphere, he
refrained from an unambiguous public designation of a successor, which
many feared would unduly antagonize the ‘Abbāsids.
Al-S.ādiq was held in high regard by both Shı̄‘ı̄ and non-Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars,
many of whom traveled to Medina to study under his tutelage. Along
with his father (al-Bāqir), al-S.ādiq is credited with laying the foundation
for a distinct Shı̄‘ı̄ system of law and establishing the basic parameters of
Shı̄‘ı̄ belief. This period also saw the proliferation of extremist theological
doctrines, with some Shı̄‘ı̄ groups going as far as to proclaim the divinity of
the Imāms. There emerged a belief in the Qā’im (“the one who rises up”),
a figure from the family of the Prophet who was expected to overthrow the
tyrannical government and to establish just rule. This idea was tied to the
doctrine of occultation, which allowed the Qā’im to go into hiding (when
he might appear to have died) until a time when conditions were more
favorable for his appearance. Although al-S.ādiq downplayed these notions
from his home in Medina, they enjoyed wide circulation in Kufan Shı̄‘ı̄
circles.
Al-S.ādiq’s death in  triggered a general crisis over the identity of his
successor. His followers split into a number of groups, two of which – the
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the antecedents of the Twelvers – are of particular interest to
this study. According to later Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, al-S.ādiq formally designated
his eldest son (Ismā‘ı̄l) as his successor. Ismā‘ı̄l (born around ) was
broadly considered his father’s favorite, possessed a sterling lineage (his
mother was a granddaughter of H . asan), and was known for his political
activism. The expectations of many Shı̄‘a were disappointed, however,
when he predeceased his father by one or two years. Ismā‘ı̄l’s funeral was
widely attended, with al-S.ādiq making a point of revealing his son’s face to
eyewitnesses to dispel rumors that he was still alive.
The term “Ismā‘ı̄lı̄” encompasses two groups that shared a belief that
al-S.ādiq’s designation of Ismā‘ı̄l remained valid. The first group, which
did not have a lasting impact, held that Ismā‘ı̄l was not dead and had
gone into occultation to protect himself from the ‘Abbāsids. The second
group, which represented a majority of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, acknowledged Ismā‘ı̄l’s
death but argued that the Imāmate had passed to his son Muh.ammad
through a formal designation. Soon after al-S.ādiq’s death, Muh.ammad
b. Ismā‘ı̄l left Medina and settled in Khūzistān in southwestern Iran,
where he died around . His followers again split into two groups.
The first argued that Muh.ammad was alive and awaited his return
as the Qā’im; the second traced the Imāmate through Muh.ammad’s
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
descendants. These two groups, the primary progenitors of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Shı̄‘ism, were of marginal importance until their reemergence as a political
force in the late ninth century (see Chapter ).
A majority of al-S.ādiq’s followers accepted the Imāmate of Ismā‘ı̄l’s
full brother ‘Abd Allāh al-Aft.ah.. There were, however, problems with this
choice because ‘Abd Allāh lacked the requisite scholarly qualifications and
was rumored to have non-Shı̄‘ı̄ inclinations. He also did not have a male
heir when he died just seventy days after his father. Many of those who
had initially accepted ‘Abd Allāh then turned to al-S.ādiq’s third son (from
a different marriage), Mūsā. They joined a small group of Shı̄‘a who had
accepted Mūsā as Imām immediately following al-S.ādiq’s death. In time,
most of these Shı̄‘a excised ‘Abd Allāh altogether and instead traced the
Imāmate directly from Ja‘far al-S.ādiq (the sixth Imām) to Mūsā al-Kāz.im
(the seventh Imām).
B. Implications
The disputed succession to al-S.ādiq decisively influenced the development
of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ beliefs in subsequent centuries. First and foremost, the centrality
of formal designation (nas..s) was affirmed with claims that al-S.ādiq had
explicitly identified Ismā‘ı̄l or Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l as his successor. This
designation was not based on the personal prerogative of an Imām but
rather was determined directly by God. It could not be reversed because
such a reversal would imply a mistake on the part of a perfect God.
Once al-S.ādiq designated Ismā‘ı̄l, the issue was decided once and for all.
When Ismā‘ı̄l died, the natural choice for Imām was Muh.ammad, his only
male heir. To dispel any doubt on this matter, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s further argued
that a transfer of the Imāmate from brother to brother was no longer
possible. It had applied to H . asan and H
. usayn only because of the elevated
standing of their mother, Fāt.ima, and their status as “people of the cloak.”
The principles of designation and father-to-son transfer were thereafter
embedded in the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ doctrine of the Imāmate.
Within a few years of the succession crisis, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism had tran-
sitioned from a public to a clandestine movement. Those Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s who
believed that Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l would return as the Qā’im remained
in a state of waiting, and those who followed his heirs lacked a direct chan-
nel of communication with their Imām. There is a clear gap in the historical
 There is a distinct lack of documentary evidence for the existence of this second group between
 and . Its views, however, were eventually adopted by those later Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities that
are responsible for much of the extant source material for early Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ history.
Fragmentation 
record beginning in the late eighth century, with even Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources not-
ing the extreme secrecy surrounding the identity of the Imām during this
era of concealment (dawr al-satr). This period witnessed the proliferation
of certain esoteric theological ideas that highlighted the Imām’s cosmic
role in creation and his exclusive interpretive authority. He was hailed as
the sole conduit for discovering the hidden meaning of revelation. The
idea of a cyclical revelatory history also appeared with the identification
of Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l as the seventh Imām and Qā’im for the era her-
alded by the Prophet and ‘Alı̄ (see Chapter ). Although there were slight
changes in this theory of “speaking” prophets and “interpreting” Imāms in
subsequent centuries, it remained a central pillar of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ belief.
Most of the antecedents to the Twelver Shı̄‘a held a position identical
to that of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s on the issue of formal designation (nas..s) and the
transfer of the Imāmate from father to son. They differed, however, in their
narratives of the events surrounding the disputed succession. The central
problem for the Twelvers involved the general expectation of Ismā‘ı̄l’s
succession among al-S.ādiq’s followers. There were also indications in the
Shı̄‘ı̄ sources that al-S.ādiq had in fact publicly designated Ismā‘ı̄l as the next
Imām. How could this expectation (or formal designation) be reconciled
with the affirmation of Mūsā al-Kāz.im as the seventh Imām? To answer
this question, some early Shı̄‘a invoked the concept of badā’, borrowed
from Kaysānı̄ Shı̄‘ism. In its earliest formulation, badā’ was understood as
“a change in the divine decision” resulting from free will. It represented
the idea that God had created a series of pathways among which human
beings could choose. For example, if an individual recited a prayer for a
longer life, God might grant that longer life. The result (i.e., a longer life)
was contingent on an individual’s free choice to recite the prayer. If he/she
chose not to recite the prayer, his/her life would follow a different (and
presumably shorter) path.
In the succession crisis to al-S.ādiq, some Shı̄‘a reinterpreted this con-
cept as an “a change in the divine decision” resulting from historical
circumstance. Specifically, they argued that the death of Ismā‘ı̄l and the
selection of Mūsā as Imām resulted from a change in God’s decree. A simi-
lar logic, based on this new understanding of badā’, informed explanations
of the “unexpected” death of the eldest son (and presumed heir) of the
tenth Imām, ‘Alı̄ al-Hādı̄ (d. ). The later Twelver historical tradition
(notably al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d) expressly rejected the possibility of Ismā‘ı̄l’s
 Modarressi, Crisis, .

 For an explanation of this change, see Modarressi, Crisis, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ Imāms
. ‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib (d. )

. H. asan b. ‘Alı̄ (d. )
. H. usayn b. ‘Alı̄ (d. )
. [Zayn al-‘Ābidı̄n] ‘Alı̄ b. H . usayn (d.  or )
. [al-Bāqir] Muh.ammad b. ‘Alı̄ (d. )
. [al-S.ādiq] Ja‘far b. Muh.ammad (d. )
. [al-Kāz.im] Mūsā b. Ja‘far (d. )
. [al-Rid.ā] ‘Alı̄ b. Mūsā (d. )
. [al-Jawād] Muh.ammad b. ‘Alı̄ (d. )
. [al-Hādı̄] ‘Alı̄ b. Muh.ammad (d. )
. [al-Askarı̄] H . asan b. ‘Alı̄ (d. )
. [al-Mahdı̄] Muh.ammad b. H . asan
appointment, offering instead myriad proofs for Mūsā al-Kāz.im’s Imāmate,

including anecdotes about his vast knowledge and his access to divine favor.
i i i . t h e o c c u l t a t i o n o f m u h. a m m a d a l - m a h d ı̄
The identity of the Imām was a recurring problem for the Twelvers in the
century following al-S.ādiq’s succession. A figure such as Mūsā al-Kāz.im
was perceived by the ‘Abbāsids as a direct threat at a time when ‘Alid
revolts (with Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘a backing) were occurring at regular intervals. It is
not surprising, then, that Twelver Imāms were reluctant to make public
statements out of fear of ‘Abbāsid persecution. Formal designations of
succession, which generally took place when an Imām was approaching
death and in the presence of a handful of companions, were difficult to
verify. More problems arose when the eighth Imām, ‘Alı̄ al-Rid.ā (d. ),
and the ninth Imām, Muh.ammad al-Jawād (d. ), left single male heirs
who were only seven years old. The impact of these changes on Twelver
Shı̄‘ı̄ theology is discussed in Chapter . For now, it is important to note
that each of these disputed successions spawned groups that claimed that a
particular Imām was not dead but in occultation (ghayba), waiting for the
proper time to return and establish his rule as the Qa’ı̄m.
Although the Twelver Imāms generally adhered to a political qui-
etism (sometimes to the consternation of their own supporters), the
‘Abbāsid caliphs remained suspicious of their motivations and wary of their
Fragmentation 
revolutionary potential. Through the late eighth and ninth centuries,
the Twelver Imāms built a broad financial network that collected money
(i.e., gifts, alms, charitable donations, and endowments) from their follow-
ers through authorized agents. These agents served as the primary conduits
for correspondence between the Imāms and their Shı̄‘a. This period also
witnessed the elaboration of a common body of legal literature and distinc-
tive ritual practices including formal pilgrimages to the shrines in Najaf
(‘Alı̄’s grave) and Karbala (H . usayn’s grave).
In , the ‘Abbāsid caliph al-Mutawakkil (r. –) ordered the tenth
Imām, ‘Alı̄ al-Hādı̄, to Samarra (his capital), where he was placed under
close observation and strict confinement. The Imām was now accessible to
only a handful of agents, and his direct link to the community was severed
in an unprecedented manner. The Twelvers feared that the Imām’s isolation
threatened the very institution of the Imāmate. Recall that the presence of
the Imām was a theological necessity given his role as an inerrant source of
religious knowledge. Furthermore, should an Imām die without an heir,
this would provide definitive proof of the invalidity of his claims. This
feeling of unease reached an apex in the mid and late ninth century, when
al-Mutawakkil dramatically increased the persecution of the Shı̄‘a and even
destroyed H . usayn’s shrine in Karbala.
The Imāmate of the eleventh Imām, H . asan al-Askarı̄ (d. ), was
particularly troublesome. He remained isolated from his followers and was
criticized for actions that broke sharply with the precedent of previous
Imāms. These included his financial policies, his active participation at the
‘Abbāsid court (like his father, he resided in Samarra), and his apparent
reliance on the legal works of other scholars. The later Twelver tradition
interpreted these actions as part of a larger agenda meant to prepare the
community for the impending loss of direct contact with the Imām. He
was also hampered by the competing claims of his brother Ja‘far, which
became especially divisive after al-Askarı̄’s sudden death in  with no
apparent heir. Soon after al-Askarı̄’s burial, however, his primary financial
agent ‘Uthmān b. Sa‘ı̄d al-‘Amrı̄ announced the existence of a son named
Muh.ammad who had gone into hiding out of fear of the government.
The announcement of the occultation (ghayba) of the twelfth Imām
plunged the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community into full-blown crisis. The new
Imām was an inaccessible infant whose existence could be verified by only
a handful of people. Most of al-Askarı̄’s financial agents accepted the idea
of an infant son in occultation and continued to collect funds on his behalf.
The same cannot be said for the larger Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community, which was
left puzzled and confused by the new situation. As discussed subsequently,
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
many abandoned Twelver Shı̄‘ism for Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism; others (perhaps a
majority of the Kufan community) affirmed the Imāmate of Ja‘far (al-
Askarı̄’s brother). Those who remained within the Twelver fold adjusted
to occultation through a fundamental reimagining of the doctrine of the
Imāmate.
B. Implications
The immediate aftermath of the occultation saw a rise in Twelver claims
that the twelfth Imām was both the Qā’im and the Mahdı̄. The former term
was discussed earlier in reference to a figure who rises up and overthrows an
unjust state. The latter term (lit. the rightly guided one) was not specifically
Shı̄‘ı̄ in origin and was often tied to an apocalyptic figure, descended from
the Prophet, who would “fill the earth with justice to the extent that it was
filled with oppression.” This conflation was not unprecedented; previous
Shı̄‘ı̄ splinter groups had claimed that a given Imām had not died but
would return as both the Qā’im and the Mahdı̄. By the early tenth century,
Twelver scholars were referring to the hidden Imām using both titles, and
he was formally identified as Muh.ammad al-Mahdı̄.
During the early occultation, the leadership of the Twelver community
was exercised by the previously mentioned ‘Uthmān b. Sa‘ı̄d al-‘Amrı̄, who
claimed that he corresponded directly with the hidden Imām. According
to Twelver sources, this was accepted, albeit with a degree of skepticism. At
his death (c. ), ‘Uthmān was succeeded by his son Muh.ammad, another
well-known companion of al-Askarı̄. Although the situation remained rel-
atively stable throughout Muh.ammad’s tenure, there were increasing chal-
lenges to his authority from within the community. He was followed in
 by H . usayn b. Rūh. al-Nawbakhtı̄, who held the office until his death
in . The fourth and final caretaker was ‘Alı̄ b. Muh.ammad al-Samarrı̄,
who did not name a successor. His death in  marked the end of the
office of caretaker (safı̄r) of the Imām.
The four caretakers of the Imām managed the affairs of the community
in a capacity similar to that of the Imām. They collected and managed
finances and responded to inquiries. These responses were assumed to
come from the Imām himself. As the period of occultation lengthened, the
deputies increasingly instructed followers to address their legal questions to
jurists. There was also a growing restlessness within the community as many
expected the Imām to return by his fortieth birthday, which corresponded
to the turn of the century in the Islamic calendar (approximately ).
The Imām’s failure to appear exacerbated doubts, for he was now more
Fragmentation 
than forty years old and the sources described the Qā’im/Mahdı̄ as a
youthful, energetic man who would actively lead a revolution. Twelver
scholars countered by explaining that God would make the Imām appear
as a young man regardless of his actual age. The death of the final caretaker
did nothing to ease concerns: it marked a decisive loss of any connection
with the Imām. In theological terms, the community shifted from a period
of minor occultation (where the Imām communicated through caretakers)
to one of major occultation (where all conventional contact with the Imām
was severed).
The early and middle decades of the tenth century witnessed the recast-
ing of the Twelver notion of the Imāmate on the basis of the community’s
historical experiences. The idea of a bipartite (minor and major) occulta-
tion was justified through preoccultation traditions and examples from the
lives of past prophets. Another important element in this transformation
involved the fixing of the total number of Imāms at twelve. Beginning in
the tenth century, Twelver scholars began gathering reports (mostly from
Sunnı̄ collections predating the occultation) in which the Prophet pre-
dicted the coming of twelve leaders from his tribe followed by a period of
anarchy. These accounts became the centerpiece of Twelver arguments for
the validity of twelve – and only twelve – Imāms. Later, distinctly Twelver
variations of these traditions went even further by depicting the Prophet
as identifying each of the Imāms by name. In fact, they argued that every
Imām had known the identity of all the Imāms but had practiced pre-
cautionary dissimulation (taqiyya) to prevent this information from falling
into the wrong hands. By the middle of the tenth century, the idea of a
preordained limit of twelve Imāms had become a central tenet of Twelver
doctrine. The combination of (i) a limit to the number of Imāms and (ii)
the necessity for an Imām at all times was then used to explain a prolonged
occultation. The twelfth Imām would return as a messianic Qā’im/Mahdı̄
figure near the end of time to fill the earth with justice. This remains a
seminal component of contemporary Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ belief.
An important consequence of the crisis in the Twelver community over
the disappeared Imām was the reinvigoration of other Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. Zaydı̄
Shı̄‘ı̄ rebellions had continued throughout the eighth and ninth centuries
 In fact, it was this change that established the community as “Twelvers” by setting the number
of Imāms at twelve. Up to this point, we have been referring to the community as Twelvers
anachronistically in anticipation of this development.
 Kohlberg discusses this point in “From Imāmiyya to Ithnā-‘Ashariyya,” –.
 The first claim was established by Twelver scholars of traditions; the second claim was developed
by theologians. The two came together in the course of the tenth and eleventh centuries.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
achieving some successes, notably in Yemen and in the regions surrounding
the southern Caspian Sea. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s appear to have been particularly
bolstered by discontented Twelvers. After nearly a hundred years of seclu-
sion, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ movement reemerged as a religious and political force
in the mid and late ninth century with agents in the Arabian Peninsula,
Iran, and North Africa. It won numerous converts with promises of a vis-
ible Imām ready to seize the reins of leadership. The complicated history
of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in this period is discussed at greater length in Chapter .
At this point, it suffices to note that the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ movement experienced
an unprecedented era of success through the late ninth and early tenth
centuries. By , there was a ruling Imām at the head of a state (the
Fāt.imid caliphate) in North Africa. By , the Fāt.imid Imām’s armies
had conquered Egypt, begun the construction of a new capital (Cairo),
and seemed poised to conquer Iraq and depose the ‘Abbāsids once and for
all. This contrasted sharply with the situation of the Twelver Shı̄‘a, whose
Imām remained in occultation.
iv. summary
The three episodes discussed in this chapter provided the impetus for the
formation of distinctive Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver streams of Shı̄‘ism.
The Zaydı̄s drew on the revolt of Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ to model the qualities
of an ideal Imām. They emphasized the Imām’s political responsibilities,
rooting legitimacy in a candidate’s ability to win supporters (da‘wa) and
to lead an armed rebellion (khurūj). Accounts of Zayd’s revolt also betray
tensions within Zaydism over the nature and origins of an Imām’s religious
knowledge and the status of early Companions who had opposed ‘Alı̄.
These tensions, which played out in subsequent centuries, are discussed in
Chapter .
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers remained united on their basic theological
understanding of the Imām. The succession to Ja‘far al-S.ādiq, however,
triggered a dispute over the most critical of issues – namely, the identity
of the Imām. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources predominantly identified Muh.ammad
b. Ismā‘ı̄l b. Ja‘far as the legitimate Imām based on formal designation
(nas..s). They then maintained that the Imām had taken the community
into a period of concealment (dawr al-satr). Such an absence encouraged a
proliferation of esoteric tendencies that highlighted the Imām’s role as an
interpreter of the inner meaning of revelation. For the Twelvers, disputes
over al-S.ādiq’s successor resulted in a fundamental transformation of the
doctrine of badā’ (discussed earlier).
Fragmentation 
The purported disappearance of the infant son of H . asan al-Askarı̄ pro-
duced several of the most distinctive theological beliefs of the Twelvers. The
community held that the disappeared Imām was both the Qā’im and the
Mahdı̄, casting him in a millenarian light with expectations that he would
lead a revolution to establish just rule and to restore the proper practice of
Islam. When he did not return in the course of an average human lifetime,
Twelver scholars drew on non-Shı̄‘ı̄ sources to cap the number of Imāms
at twelve. Since the world required the presence of an Imām at all times
(as the proof of God on earth and the source of proper guidance), they
argued that the twelfth and final Imām would return from his occultation
(ghayba) only near the end of time.

The following works provide additional details of and context for Zayd’s revolt:
Biographical Dictionary of Islamic Civilization, s.v. “Zayd b. ‘Alı̄” (Haider) [forth-

coming].
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Mukhtār b. Abı̄ ‘Ubayd” (Hawting).
Najam Haider, The Origins of the Shı̄‘a (New York: Cambridge University Press,
), – and –.
. aqq, al-Ifāda, ed. Muh.ammad Yah.yā S.ālih. Izzān (Sana‘a: Dār al-
Al-Nāt.iq bi’l-H
H. ikma al-Yamāniyya, ), –. [Arabic]
), vol. , particularly – (“The Islamic Opposition”).
Abū al-Faraj al-Is.bahānı̄, Maqātil al-T
. ālibiyyı̄n, ed. Sayyid Ah.mad S.aqr (Beirut:
Mu’assasat al-‘Ālamı̄, ), –. [Arabic]
Wilferd Madelung, Der Imam al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhı̄m und die Glaubenslehrer der
Zaiditen (Berlin: De Gruyter, ), particularly –. [German]
The following works provide additional discussion of the succession crisis after
the death of al-S.ādiq:
Encyclopedia Iranica, s.v. “Badā’” (Madelung).

Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s: Their History and Doctrines (New York: Cambridge
University Press, ), –.
Islam (Princeton, NJ: Darwin, ), –.
Tahrike Tarsile Qur’an, ), –.
The following works provide additional context regarding the occultation of the
twelfth Imām:
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Baqir al-Sadr and Murtaza Mutahhari, The Awaited Savior (New York: Islamic
Seminary, ). [A modern Twelver perspective]
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “al-Mahdı̄” (Madelung).
Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s: Their History and Doctrines (New York: Cambridge
University Press, ), –.
Jassim Hussain, The Occultation of the Twelfth Imam (London: Muhammadi Trust,
).
Etan Kohlberg, “From Imāmiyya to Ithnā-‘Ashariyya,” Bulletin of the School of
Oriental and African Studies  (): –.
Islam (Princeton, NJ: Darwin, ), –.
Tahrike Tarsile Qur’an, ), –.
section 3
Constructing Shı̄‘ism
Religious traditions evolve to fit the changing needs and circumstances of

their adherents. If a community shifts from a position of political power
to one of subordination, this change may be reflected in a reformulation
of religious beliefs. These new beliefs are not presented as innovations
but rather are framed as the natural extensions of established beliefs. In
this manner, religious traditions are perpetually in flux, with particularly
traumatic moments generating fundamental doctrinal reorientations.
Sections  and  of this book articulated the basic theological principles
that underlie Shı̄‘ism as a whole and identified those historical episodes
that united and divided Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. Section  discussed the Shı̄‘ı̄ belief
in rationally comprehensible divine justice (‘adl ) and its connection to
legitimate leadership (imāma). Although all Shı̄‘ı̄ groups agreed on the
broad parameters of ‘adl, they disagreed regarding the scope of the Imām’s
authority. Section  examined the ways in which theology affected a com-
munity’s remembrance of its past. Key concepts such as designation (nas..s)
or infallibility (‘is.ma) were written into historical narratives to tie later
theological developments to perceptions of a group’s origins.
This section of the volume turns to the historical development of Shı̄‘ism,
examining the processes through which the three largest modern Shı̄‘ı̄
groups (i.e., the Zaydı̄s, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, and the Twelvers) developed their
“classical” forms. Crucial in this process was the historical experience of each
community and its interactions with broader Muslim society. Chapter 
traces the evolution of Zaydism by focusing on two important transitions.
The first (which took place in the eighth and ninth centuries) witnessed a
gradual shift from a proto-Sunnı̄ to an activist Shı̄‘ı̄ orientation; the second
(which began in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries) was characterized
by a gradual “Sunnification.” Chapter  turns to Ismā‘ı̄lism, documenting
the tensions between a ruling Imām and the expectations of his followers.
The hidden Imāms of eighth-century Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism gave way to rul-
ing Imāms in the ninth through the thirteenth centuries whose policies

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
reflected both the breadth and the limitations of their authority. Finally,
the nineteenth century saw the reemergence of Ismā‘ı̄lism in India under
the guidance of the Aga Khan. Chapter  examines the three major trans-
formations in Twelver Shı̄‘ism prior to the twentieth century. It begins by
discussing the impact of the twelfth Imām’s disappearance in the ninth
century, documents the importance of the Safavid dynasty in Iran in the
sixteenth century, and concludes with an analysis of the rift between ratio-
nalist (us.ūlı̄ ) and traditionist (akhbārı̄ ) scholars in the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries.
A notable lacuna in the chapters that follow concerns the role of law
and ritual in identity formation. Such differences emerged as early as
the eighth century, clearly demarcating Shı̄‘ı̄ communities from the larger
Muslim population. For the Zaydı̄s, each Imām was theoretically free to
elaborate a new legal code and specify preferred ritual practice. These
powers gave Zaydı̄ Imāms significant flexibility in their interactions with
non-Zaydı̄ communities. For the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, the Imām remained the final
arbiter of religious law and could alter the law or transform ritual practice
by simple decree. Contemporary Ismā‘ı̄lism includes a number of unique
characteristics established at the discretion of the Imām.
For the Twelvers, the authority of the Imāms was increasingly appropri-
ated by the jurists. The Twelver legal tradition functioned in a manner sim-
ilar to the Sunnı̄ law schools, featuring a legal corpus that carried the weight
of precedent. Ritual positions that may have been products of historical
experience became institutionalized and functioned as distinctive markers
of a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ identity. A number of these are quite well known. For
heirs beyond the categories listed in the Qur’an, the Twelver Shı̄‘a incline
toward matrilineal inheritance, whereas the Sunnı̄s tend toward patrilineal
inheritance. This is a legacy of the Shı̄‘ı̄ belief that Fāt.ima was denied
her rightful inheritance by Abū Bakr after the death of the Prophet. The
Twelver Shı̄‘a also permit fixed-term marriages (mut‘a) and reject the Sunnı̄
practice of triple divorce. Other unique Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ positions involve the
rules for the giving of religious alms (khums), the ritual ablution, and the
call to prayer (adhān). Although these issues are not discussed in the fol-
lowing chapters, they were critical to the development of a distinct Twelver
Shı̄‘ı̄ identity.
 In Islamic law, a man and a woman may divorce and remarry two times. Upon a third divorce,
however, they are forbidden to remarry until the woman has consummated marriage with a different
man.
 For more on the role of ritual in Shı̄‘ı̄ identity formation, see Najam Haider, The Origins of the Shı̄‘a
(New York: Cambridge University Press, ).
5
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a
Zaydism is often depicted as the variant of Shı̄‘ism most similar to

Sunnı̄ Islam. Popular and academic works emphasize the apparent overlap
between Zaydı̄ and Sunnı̄ (Shāfi‘ı̄) legal methodology. There is also a gen-
eral assumption that the Zaydı̄s accept the legitimacy of the caliphal reigns
of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar in contrast to the more intransigent and hostile
attitude of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and the Twelvers. In fact, the Zaydı̄s are often
identified as Shı̄‘ı̄ exclusively on the basis of their belief in ‘Alı̄’s right to
the succession after the Prophet’s death. Such characterizations obfuscate
one of the central dynamics in Zaydı̄ history – namely, the Zaydı̄ commu-
nity’s oscillation between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ positions in matters of theology
and law. A proper understanding of Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism in its “classical” form
(referred to below as “Hādawı̄”) requires the examination of two important
transformations: (i) an initial shift from a predominantly (proto-)Sunnı̄ to
a Shı̄‘ı̄ orientation in the ninth century and (ii) a subsequent “Sunnifica-
tion” fueled by political and religious pressures beginning as early as the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.
i. the initial oscillation: the emergence

o f h ā d a w ı̄ z a y d i s m
As mentioned in Chapter , Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ was quite moderate in his views
on the Prophet’s succession, refusing to condemn the first two caliphs as
usurpers and extending the scope of legitimate religious authority to non-
‘Alid scholars (e.g., his teacher Wās.il b. ‘At.ā’). This stance was opposed by
many Shı̄‘ı̄ groups, who denounced the early caliphs and restricted religious
authority to the family of the Prophet. According to the heresiographers,
Zaydism resulted from the merging of two varieties of Shı̄‘a known as
 By comparison, most Shı̄‘ı̄ groups condemn the caliphate of ‘Uthmān (r. –) as corrupt and
nepotistic.

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
the Batrı̄s and the Jārūdı̄s. The Batrı̄s held positions similar to those of
Zayd, whereas the Jārūdı̄s embraced the more activist agenda of other Shı̄‘ı̄
groups. By the end of the ninth century, the Batrı̄s disintegrated and were
absorbed into an emerging Sunnism, and the Jārūdı̄s came to dominate
Zaydism.
The central narrative here is one of internal conflict, with two com-
peting factions fighting for control of the movement. Although such a
depiction seems clear and reasonable, it is complicated by its ground-
ing in the premodern heresiographical tradition. Heresiographies explain
divisions within the Muslim world through a framework established by a
famous tradition ascribed to Muh.ammad:
The Jews were split up into seventy-one or seventy-two sects; and the Christians
were split up into seventy-one or seventy-two sects; and my community will be
split up into seventy-three sects. All of them will be in the hellfire except one.
Variants of this statement differ on the number of Muslim divisions, with

figures ranging from seventy-one to seventy-three. Although only one Mus-
lim sect is saved in most formulations of the tradition, there are also versions
in which only one sect is doomed and the rest are saved. As a whole, the tra-
ditions predict a systematic (and inevitable) fragmentation of the Muslim
community.
This framework exercised a decisive influence on heresiographers, who
sought to document the proliferation of a predetermined number of sects
and positioned their own group as the sole representative of the Prophet’s
original message. Such a view did not allow for the doctrinal evolution
of any single group. A sect was a cohesive and unchanging unit that held
a discrete set of doctrines and beliefs. This assumption fundamentally
distorts the dynamic nature of individual Muslim communities. It also
complicates the use of heresiographies as historical sources, prompting
Josef van Ess’s cautionary observation that “we must never forget that
[sects] owe their names mainly to the need for systematizing felt by the
heresiographers and that these names are not necessarily a reflection of
social or historical reality.”
Recent scholarship suggests the need to reevaluate the heresiographical
narrative of early Zaydism. It appears that terms such as “Batrı̄” or “Jārūdı̄”
refer to theological orientations as opposed to specific, discernible groups.
 This is a slight simplification; the heresiographies list additional groups that fall along a spectrum
between the Batrı̄s and the Jārūdı̄s.
 Van Ess, “The Kamiliyya,” .
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
The heresiographers may have used these terms to explain Zaydism’s shift
from a perspective that aligned closely with (proto-)Sunnism to one more
attuned to early Shı̄‘ism. In such a scenario, Batrı̄ and Jārūdı̄ Zaydism
represent the starting and end points of a transformation that spanned
two centuries. The Zaydism of the early eighth century was predominantly
Batrı̄, whereas that of the late ninth century was overwhelmingly Jārūdı̄.
In this section, I first outline the central beliefs and doctrines of Batrı̄
and Jārūdı̄ Zaydism. Then I discuss some of the factors that contributed
to changes in Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism, particularly the impact of a series of failed
rebellions in the eighth and ninth centuries. I conclude by examining the
final step in the crystallization of classical (or Hādawı̄) Zaydism – namely,
the group’s appropriation of a Mu‘tazilı̄ theological framework.
A. From Batrism to Jārūdism

Historical works on early Zaydism are dominated by discussions of Batrı̄s
and Jārūdı̄s. As we have noted, these terms signify two moments in the
group’s evolution: Batrism represents the views of most Zaydı̄s in the early
eighth century, and Jārūdism represents the beliefs that predominated
among Zaydı̄s by the end of the ninth century. I retain the use of the words
“Batrı̄” and “Jārūdı̄” in the interest of clarity (they are present in much
of the secondary literature) but remind readers that these terms do not
necessarily reflect discrete groups.
Batrism
The Batrı̄ Zaydı̄ position on succession held that the Prophet’s appointment
of ‘Alı̄ was implicit rather than explicit. In practical terms, this meant that
‘Alı̄’s rights were apparent to those who investigated the matter properly, but
it left open the possibility that well-intentioned Companions might arrive
at incorrect conclusions. Those early Muslims who elected Abū Bakr made
an error in judgment by choosing a less qualified candidate as caliph. Such
a mistake, however, did not constitute an act of disbelief (kufr), and they
remained upright Muslims. A similar logic applied to those Companions
who took up arms against ‘Alı̄ during the first civil war. These figures
were condemned, but they remained within the bounds of Islam and were
sometimes portrayed as later regretting their actions. By contrast, many
early Shı̄‘ı̄ groups went as far as to declare those who opposed ‘Alı̄’s claims
apostates.
Although ‘Alı̄ was the rightful successor to the Prophet, the Batrı̄s upheld
the legitimacy of the first two caliphs (i.e., Abū Bakr and ‘Umar). They
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
argued that the lack of a formal objection from ‘Alı̄ constituted a tacit
approval of their rule. If ‘Alı̄ was satisfied with these men, then there were
no grounds for any Muslims to denounce or curse them. As a whole, the
Batrı̄s held that a less worthy candidate could hold power in the presence
of a superior candidate as long as he ruled in a just and upright manner.
The case for ‘Uthmān was more complex, with Batrı̄s affirming the first six
years of his reign and condemning the last six because of his turn toward
nepotism. Even in the case of ‘Uthmān, however, the Batrı̄ position did
not go so far as to declare him an apostate, and a small minority withheld
judgment altogether. The broader Shı̄‘ı̄ community rejected Batrı̄ reasoning
and restricted legitimate leadership to the most worthy candidate, who, in
this instance, was clearly ‘Alı̄.
With respect to the law and legal authority, the Batrı̄s believed that
proper religious knowledge was vested in the Muslim community at large.
They allowed ‘Alids to study with a range of non-‘Alid scholars, including
those who emphasized the exclusive legal authority of traditions transmitted
by the Companions of the Prophet. The fact that the Batrı̄s affirmed the
moral standing of all the Companions further cemented their investment
in traditions as sources for religious knowledge. Because all such knowledge
was learned rather than divinely inspired, candidates for the Imāmate had
to demonstrate a mastery of the law and its foundational sources. This
doctrine of knowledge fit firmly within the bounds of the proto-Sunnism
of the early eighth century.
The Batrı̄s were particularly hostile to many of the central theological
beliefs associated with the larger Kufan Shı̄‘ı̄ community. A number of
these beliefs were discussed in Chapters  and , but they merit further
analysis at this point. The Batrı̄s were most vocally opposed to the idea
of raj‘a (return), which held that some figures would return from the
dead before the Resurrection. This doctrine was apparently endorsed by
a number of early groups but rose to prominence only beginning in the
mid-eighth century when some Shı̄‘a began to claim that various deceased
Imāms would return from the dead at an indeterminate point in the future.
The Batrı̄s also rejected the notion of taqiyya (precautionary dissim-
ulation), whereby adherents were permitted to hide their true beliefs in
threatening situations. This often resulted in hostile encounters that fea-
ture prominently in Batrı̄ historical reports. In a typical anecdote preserved
in the heresiographical literature, a Kufan named ‘Umar b. Riyāh. (d. c.
eighth century) visits al-Bāqir in Medina and asks a question pertaining
to ritual law that he had originally posed a year earlier. On this occasion,
however, al-Bāqir purportedly issues a ruling that contradicts his previous
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
one. When ‘Umar presses him to justify the apparent contradiction, the
Imām cites taqiyya. ‘Umar is not satisfied and notes the lack of any external
threat that would permit dissimulation. He reports the incident to some
of his colleagues in Kufa, who then convert to Batrı̄ Zaydism.
Finally, the Batrı̄s were critical of the concept of badā’ (a change in the
divine decision resulting from historical circumstance). Recall that some
Shı̄‘a invoked this idea during the contested succession of Ja‘far al-S.ādiq (see
Chapter ) when he was predeceased by his expected successor (his eldest
son, Ismā‘ı̄l). The heresiographers note that many of al-S.ādiq’s followers
rejected this explanation and became Batrı̄s.
It is instructive to take a step back and examine the portrait of Batrı̄
Zaydism presented here. Batrı̄ positions on the status of the Companions,
the diffusion of legal knowledge, the authority of traditions, and theological
doctrines (e.g., raj‘a, taqiyya, badā’) align closely with those of most proto-
Sunnı̄ groups. The only Batrı̄ positions that suggest a Shı̄‘ı̄ identity are (i)
the belief that ‘Alı̄ was the Prophet’s rightful successor and (ii) the restriction
of legitimate political authority to his descendants. This is quite a loose
definition of Shı̄‘ism and explains perhaps the persistent tensions in the
historical sources between the early Zaydı̄s and other Kufan Shı̄‘ı̄ groups.
Overall, Batrism embodies the dominant doctrinal views of a majority of
Zaydı̄s in the early and mid-eighth century.
Jārūdism
The Jārūdı̄s (ostensibly named after Abū al-Jārūd Ziyād b. al-Mundhir, d.
mid-eighth century) held that the Prophet had explicitly and unambigu-
ously designated ‘Alı̄ as his successor. In addition, they argued that the
Prophet had also designated H . asan and H. usayn to succeed their father
as Imāms. As evidence, they cited a number of Qur’ānic arguments and,
in particular, the events at Ghadı̄r Khumm during the Prophet’s final pil-
grimage (see Chapter ). Given the clarity of the evidence, the Jārūdı̄s
asserted that those Companions who actively opposed ‘Alı̄ or usurped his
rights had committed an act of disbelief (kufr) and apostatized. This group
included the first three caliphs (Abū Bakr, ‘Umar, and ‘Uthmān) along
with ‘Alı̄’s opponents in the first civil war (e.g., ‘Ā’isha, T.alh.a, al-Zubayr,
and Mu‘āwiya). The Jārūdı̄ rejection of the first three caliphs was also a
consequence of their limiting of legitimate leadership to the most worthy
candidate.
The Jārūdı̄s restricted legal authority to the descendants of ‘Alı̄ and
Fāt.ima. This position led them to deny the authority of non-‘Alid
figures and reduce the importance of traditions transmitted by early
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Companions and jurists. Some Jārūdı̄s went so far as to discount age
or seniority, equating the opinion of an old ‘Alid scholar with that of an
‘Alid infant in a cradle. In cases in which an Imām appeared to lack the
proper credentials, they argued that God would inspire knowledge in his
heart as a seed sprouts in the rain. Such a view meant that a candidate for
leadership need not rely on formal legal methodology in the derivation of
law.
The Jārūdı̄s affirmed a number of those theological beliefs that were
rejected by the Batrı̄s. They upheld the doctrine of raj‘a, with some groups
going so far as to assert that the ‘Alid rebel al-Nafs al-Zakiyya (d. )
would return from the dead. The Batrı̄s equated this idea with disbelief
and often used it to justify their claims that the Jārūdı̄s were apostates. The
Jārūdı̄s also accepted both taqiyya and badā’. Although these doctrines are
rarely ascribed to individual Jārūdı̄s, they can be deduced from polemics
between Batrı̄s and other Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. Those figures who reject al-Bāqir (for
taqiyya) or al-S.ādiq (for badā’), for example, invariably convert to Batrism
as opposed to Jārūdism. This suggests a convergence between Jārūdı̄s and
other early Shı̄‘ı̄ groups on these theological issues.
This description of Jārūdı̄ beliefs places them firmly within the bounds
of early Shı̄‘ism. The Jārūdı̄s affirm ‘Alı̄’s explicit right to succession and
condemn (and even declare apostates) those Companions who opposed
him. They elevate the descendants of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima above the rest
of the early Muslim community by investing them with an exclusive
political and religious authority. Finally, they uphold a number of dis-
tinctively Shı̄‘ı̄ theological positions that were denounced by both the
Batrı̄s and most proto-Sunnı̄ scholars. The primary differences between
the early Imāmı̄s (the forebears of both the Twelvers and the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s)
and the Jārūdı̄s center on the identity of the Imām and the process of his
selection.
An Explanation of Terminology
Table . lists the primary characteristics associated with Batrı̄ and Jārūdı̄
Zaydism. Recall that these terms are often used by heresiographers to
identify two separate groups of Zaydı̄s that came together during Zayd’s
revolt in Kufa and then struggled for control of the movement into the
ninth century. As discussed earlier, this portrait is problematic because of its
 Zaydı̄s permit taqiyya only as long as an Imām’s level of support remains below a certain minimum.
After he has won enough followers, he is required to rebel against an unjust government. Zaydı̄
scholars disagree as to how many supporters are necessary before revolution becomes incumbent.
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
Table . Batrı̄ and Jārūdı̄ Zaydism
Batrı̄ Zaydism Jārūdı̄ Zaydism

[The dominant form of Zaydism c. ] [The dominant form of Zaydism after ]
‘Alı̄’s designation was implicit. ‘Alı̄’s designation was explicit.

Opponents of ‘Alı̄ made a mistake in Opponents of ‘Alı̄ are apostates. Those
reasoning. Those who took up arms who took up arms are also apostates.
repented.
Judgment: No cursing them or declaring Judgment: Cursing them and declaring
them apostates. them apostates is allowed.
Allows for the Imāmate of the less worthy Restricts the Imāmate to the most worthy
candidate. candidate.
Legal authority diffused in the larger Legal authority restricted to the
Muslim community. descendants of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima.
Rejects the theological doctrines of raj‘a, Accepts the theological doctrines of raj‘a,
taqiyya, and badā’. taqiyya, and badā’.
provenance in heresiographical literature. There is considerable evidence

that the terms Batrı̄ and Jārūdı̄ do not represent different groups but rather
different moments in history. Zaydı̄s in the middle of the eighth century
were predominantly Batrı̄ and therefore aligned closely with the segment
of Kufan society that eventually became Sunnı̄. Zaydı̄s in the ninth century
were increasingly Jārūdı̄, sharing many of the characteristic beliefs of other
Shı̄‘ı̄ groups. These two views provide a road map for the evolution of
Zaydism over the course of a century. In the next section, we examine
some of the reasons for this change.
B. Revolution and Charisma

The shift in Zaydism from a proto-Sunnı̄ (Batrı̄) to a Shı̄‘ı̄ (Jārūdı̄) ori-
entation is observable in the changing demographics of ‘Alid rebellions.
Support for Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ in  included numerous scholars later consid-
ered leading Sunnı̄ authorities, most prominently Abū H . anı̄fa (d. ), the
eponym of one of the four surviving Sunnı̄ schools of law. These figures
were part of the piety-minded movement discussed in Chapter , which
was committed to the establishment of an Islamic social order under the
leadership of an ‘Alid. A similar profile of supporters appeared during the
revolt of al-Nafs al-Zakiyya and his brother Ibrāhı̄m in . This rebellion
witnessed the first appearance in the historical sources of a group that self-
identified as Zaydı̄s. A mere twenty years later, however, the uprising of
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
S.āh.ib Fakhkh H . usayn b. ‘Alı̄ (d. ) won little backing from scholars of
a proto-Sunnı̄ inclination. In fact, the most telling feature of this rebellion
was the lack of any discernible Batrı̄ elements. This change suggests that
Zaydism was increasingly less appealing to the proto-Sunnı̄ population and
more closely aligned with early Shı̄‘ı̄ beliefs.
It is worthwhile to pause and consider the impact of revolutionary
failures on the Zaydı̄ community at large. The first point to emphasize is
that the rebellions of early ‘Alids were not exclusively Zaydı̄ in any sense of
the word. The sources often depict significant tensions between the Zaydı̄s
and their chosen Imām. Ibrāhı̄m b. ‘Abd Allāh, for example, was routinely
questioned by his Zaydı̄ followers about the structure of his ritual prayer
and his allocation of funds. After his death, the Zaydı̄s went underground
and united around the figure of ‘Īsā b. Zayd (d. ) in Kufa. ‘Īsā, who never
organized a rebellion, was ascribed a number of Batrı̄ views, particularly
with respect to ‘Alı̄’s succession and the permissibility of religious knowledge
from non-‘Alid sources. During the twenty years of his leadership, the
Zaydı̄s were relentlessly pursued by the ‘Abbāsids. The burden became so
great that they decided to inform the ‘Abbāsid caliph of ‘Īsā’s death to
relieve the pressure on the larger community. Kufa remained the center for
a Zaydism that was primarily Batrı̄ in perspective but ‘Abbāsid persecution
had significantly weakened the movement, prompting it to adopt a general
political quiescence over the next few decades. This provided an opening
for a fundamental theological transformation that first coalesced in the
H. ijāz region of Arabia.
The rebellion of S.āh.ib Fakhkh H . usayn b. ‘Alı̄ in Medina in  was a
key turning point for Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism. The unrest was initially caused by
the policies of the new ‘Abbāsid caliph al-Hādı̄ (r. –). Shortly after
his ascension, al-Hādı̄ ordered a number of prominent ‘Alids to relocate
from Kufa to Medina, where they could be more easily monitored. The
governor of Medina and Mecca then instituted a series of measures designed
to keep track of the ‘Alids, including a mandatory daily roll call. After some
‘Alids refused to comply with the new regulations, the governor threatened
H. usayn b. ‘Alı̄, the senior member of the H . asanid branch of the ‘Alids. The
‘Alids quickly united under his leadership and rose up in rebellion. They
were defeated by a makeshift Umayyad army at Fakhkh (six miles outside
Mecca).
The most vocal proponent of the rebellion was Yah.yā b. ‘Abd Allāh b.
H. asan b. H . asan b. ‘Alı̄ b. Abı̄ T.ālib (d. –), who, along with his brother
Idrı̄s (d. ), was placed in charge of military affairs. The sources depict
him as an advocate of distinctively Shı̄‘ı̄ practices such as the inclusion
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
of the phrase “Hurry to the best of works” in the call to prayer. After the
rebellion failed, Yah.yā inherited the leadership of the Zaydı̄s, but he dif-
fered in important ways from his predecessors. Most significantly, his father
(also the father of the rebels al-Nafs al-Zakiyya and Ibrāhı̄m) had died when
he was quite young, leaving him and Idrı̄s to be raised in the household of
Ja‘far al-S.ādiq (the sixth Imām of the Twelvers). This upbringing shaped
his ritual practice and theological views along Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ lines. In other
words, Yah.yā held beliefs best characterized as Jārūdı̄, as opposed to the
Batrı̄ inclinations of previous Zaydı̄ Imāms. This difference became par-
ticularly apparent in Yah.yā’s dealings with the (largely Batrı̄) Kufan Zaydı̄
community. For example, Yah.yā reportedly refused to lead the Kufans in
prayer because they would not abandon Batrı̄ ritual practices (e.g., the
drinking of date wine, the wiping of leather socks during ablution). The
resulting tensions reflected the gap between an older (Batrı̄) and newer
(Jārūdı̄) Zaydism.
Yah.yā and Idrı̄s escaped the battle of Fakhkh by mixing with throngs of
pilgrims, traveling first to Abyssinia and then to a series of locations from
Yemen to Armenia. Yah.yā eventually made his way to Khurāsān and Day-
lam (both in modern Iran) while dispatching his brother to North Africa.
Idrı̄s was killed before he could organize a rebellion, allegedly (according to
the Zaydı̄ sources) at the hands of a Zaydı̄ theologian whose views resem-
bled those of the Batrı̄s. Yah.yā found supporters in Daylam and led an
uprising in –. When the rebellion failed, Yah.yā secured a favorable
amnesty agreement from the ‘Abbāsid caliph al-Rashı̄d (r. –). The
agreement contained the following provisions: (i) unconditional pardons
for Yah.yā and seventy of his followers, (ii) freedom of movement through-
out the empire, (iii) a guarantee of no government surveillance, and (iv)
a large sum of money. The penalties on al-Rashı̄d for violating the terms
were high and included an automatic triple divorce from his wife and the
freeing of all his slaves and concubines.
The importance of this agreement cannot be overstated. From 
through , Yah.yā was able to travel relatively freely with access to incred-
ible financial recourses. He compensated ‘Alid families for the loss of rel-
atives at Fakhkh. He rebuilt Zaydı̄ networks and expanded their scope to
regions outside of the Arabian Peninsula and Iraq, such as North Africa
and northern Iran. He also benefitted from the fact that the amnesty
agreement did not specify the names of his followers. Whenever al-Rashı̄d
arrested a Zaydı̄ for seditious activity, Yah.yā would claim that he was one
of his (unspecified) seventy followers and therefore immune from prosecu-
tion. These terms infuriated al-Rashı̄d, who pressured prominent scholars
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
to invalidate the amnesty document. Yah.yā was eventually arrested in 
on a (false) charge and kept prisoner in Baghdad, where he was executed in
. By this point, however, he had precipitated a fundamental change in
Zaydism both in terms of its legal and theological principles (a strong tran-
sition toward Jārūdism) and its political strategy (a new focus on outlying
areas).
C. Embracing Mu‘tazilism
Operating far from ‘Abbāsid central authority, the Zaydı̄s established inde-
pendent states in the Caspian region in  and the Yemen in . These
states affirmed Jārūdı̄ principles, but they differed on issues of law and
theology. The legal differences were not overly problematic given the the-
oretical ability of each Zaydı̄ Imām to craft his own school of law (see
Chapter ). Although Imāms were increasingly pressured to adhere to the
established precedent of previous rulings, they retained the right to issue
their own legal opinions. Theological differences were more problematic,
as Zaydı̄ scholars defined Zaydı̄ communal identity primarily on the basis
of theology.
The first part of this book discussed the theology of various Shı̄‘ı̄ groups,
noting the eventual Zaydı̄ appropriation of Mu‘tazilism. This development
is reflected, for example, in Zaydı̄ narratives that emphasize the pupil-
teacher relationship between Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ and the Mu‘tazilı̄ scholar Wās.il b.
‘At.ā’ (see Chapter ). In reality, however, it took a number of centuries for
the Zaydı̄s to adopt Mu‘tazilı̄ theology. The Zaydı̄s in the southern Caspian
regions were divided between two theological positions: the Nās.iriyya and
the Qāsimiyya. The Nās.iriyya (named for al-Nās.ir H . asan b. ‘Alı̄ al-Ut.rūsh
[d. ]) were adamantly opposed to the Mu‘tazilı̄s. The Qāsimiyya (named
for Qāsim b. Ibrāhı̄m al-Rassı̄ [d. ]) also differed from the Mu‘tazilı̄s but
agreed on issues such as free will and anti-anthropomorphism. More impor-
tant, they were not as openly hostile to the Mu‘tazilı̄s as the Nās.irı̄s were.
Madelung has argued that this moderation made later Qāsimı̄s receptive to
Mu‘tazilı̄ theological positions. A similar moderate tendency characterized
the views of al-Hādı̄ Yah.yā b. H . usayn (d. ), the founder of the Zaydı̄
state in Yemen.
The Zaydı̄ appropriation of Mu‘tazilı̄ theology was aided by the decline
of the Caspian Zaydı̄ community in the late twelfth century (although
even it had adopted Mu‘tazilı̄ positions in the eleventh century) and the
concurrent rise in Yemen of Zaydı̄ Imāms who were staunch advocates
of Mu‘tazilism. This victory was not absolute, and opposition to some
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
Mu‘tazilı̄ views persisted among Zaydı̄ scholars. Overall, however,
Mu‘tazilism exerted a strong influence on Zaydı̄ identity and helped shape
the school’s foundational theological beliefs as outlined in Chapters  and
. It also affected the way in which Zaydı̄ scholars wrote and remembered
their past, as documented in Chapters  and .
By the twelfth century, Zaydism had acquired its classical (Hādawı̄) form,
which consisted of a Jārūdı̄ foundation paired with a Mu‘tazilı̄ theological
edifice. This new Jārūdı̄-Mu‘tazilı̄ nexus was a dramatic change from the
Batrı̄ and anti-Mu‘tazilı̄ views of the Zaydı̄ community at its founding in
the early eighth century. The Zaydı̄s essentially moved from a position
that resembled that of proto-Sunnı̄s to one that resonated with Shı̄‘ı̄ groups
such as the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s/Twelvers. The next section traces a second major
transition in Zaydism, a shift back toward Sunnı̄ Islam that began in the
fifteenth century.
ii. the impact of politics and power:

s u n n i fi c a t i o n 6
The dominance of Hādawı̄ Zaydism in the Yemeni highlands was con-
tested in the fifteenth century by Sunnı̄ traditionist scholars, who believed
that the Qur’ān and Prophetic traditions were the exclusive means for
discerning God’s will. They asserted the superiority of Sunnı̄ methods for
detecting forged accounts and considered the Sunnı̄ canonical collections
the primary repositories for authentic traditions. The traditionists were also
critical of the established Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ schools of law (madhhabs) and
asserted the right to issue independent legal rulings unbound by juristic
 One area in which this new configuration produced a change in standard Jārūdı̄ beliefs involved the
status of the Companions who had opposed ‘Alı̄. Whereas the Jārūdı̄s cursed these Companions and
declared them apostates, the Mu‘tazilı̄s inclined toward a more equivocal approach. Yemeni Zaydı̄s
ultimately adopted a wide range of views on the probity of the Companions and the permissibility
of cursing them. See Haykel, Revival, –.
 The discussion of the Qāsimı̄ dynasty and al-Shawkānı̄ in this section is largely derived from Bernard
Haykel’s Revival and Reform in Islam.
 As mentioned previously, this term refers to a form of Zaydism that combines Jārūdı̄ and Mu‘tazilı̄
beliefs with legal positions ascribed to al-Hādı̄.
 There is considerable ambiguity in the term “traditionist.” In the context of this study, the word
is meant to convey a position that privileges the use of Prophetic traditions in the articulation of
law. Although traditionists sometimes deny the normative authority of the Sunnı̄ law schools, they
continue to rely on Sunnı̄ legal theory. For this reason, I often use the terms “Sunnı̄” and “tradi-
tionist” interchangeably. Readers should note that “traditionism” is not the same as “Wahhābism”
or “Salafism.” The latter rejects the entirety of the Sunnı̄ legal tradition and calls for a reformulation
of Islamic law on the basis of the revealed texts alone.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Qāsimı̄ Imāms of Yemen
Duration of
Imām Reign
(H) al-Mans.ūr al-Qāsim b. Muh.ammad –

(H) al-Mu’ayyad Muh.ammad –
(H) al-Mutawakkil Ismā‘ı̄l –
(H) al-Mahdı̄ Ah.mad –
(H) al-Mu’ayyad Muh.ammad (II) –
(T) al-Mahdı̄ Muh.ammad (S.āh.ib al-Mawāhib) –
(T) al-Mutawakkil al-Qāsim –
(T) al-Mans.ūr H. usayn –
(T) al-Mahdı̄ al-‘Abbās –
(T) al-Mans.ūr ‘Alı̄ –
(T) al-Mutawakkil Ah.mad –
(T) al-Mahdı̄ ‘Abd Allāh –
From  to , there were nine Qāsimı̄ Imāms, whose reigns
lasted from less than a year to four years. The final Qāsimı̄
Imām was al-Hādı̄ Ghālib (–).
Note: (H) signifies an Imām inclined toward Hādawı̄ Zaydism, whereas

(T) signifies an Imām inclined toward traditionism.
precedent. According to the traditionists, the Zaydı̄s were too bound to

past interpretations grounded in arbitrary human judgment. They blindly
imitated (taqlı̄d ) their predecessors in matters of belief and utilized per-
sonal opinion (ra’y) in matters of law. Even worse, the Zaydı̄s were heavily
invested in dogmatic theology (kalām) through their affirmation of core
Mu‘tazilı̄ principles.
The first representative of the traditionist school in Yemen was Ibn al-
Wazı̄r (d. ). He was followed by a line of similar scholars that included
most prominently Bahrān al-S.a‘dı̄ (d. ), Muh.ammad b. H . asan b. al-
Qāsim (d. ), S.ālih. b. Mahdı̄ al-Maqbalı̄ (d. ), and Ibn al-Amı̄r
(d. ). The most important and influential traditionist was Muh.ammad
al-Shawkānı̄ (d. ), who was born into a Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ family in a
town outside Sana‘a in . This was a particularly opportune moment in
Yemeni history. The ruling Zaydı̄ dynasty (the Qāsimı̄s) had lost significant
support among Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars and was seeking an alternate source
of political legitimacy. The Zaydı̄ state, which was traditionally restricted to
northern Yemen, had also established close ties with Sunnı̄ (Shāfi‘ı̄) schol-
arly circles in southern Yemen. These developments produced a unique
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
political and intellectual climate that allowed al-Shawkānı̄ to challenge
Zaydism in an unprecedented way.
A. The Early Qāsimı̄ Zaydı̄ Imāms of Yemen: The Classical Paradigm

The Zaydı̄ dynasties that ruled parts of northern Yemen beginning in
 adhered to a classical Zaydı̄ archetype of leadership. Recall from
Chapter  that an Imām was expected to possess a number of qualities.
He had to be a descendant of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima with the physical capacity
to rule. He had to establish his scholarly credentials by authoring origi-
nal works and achieving the rank of independent jurist (mujtahid ). The
Imām was also held to elevated ethical and moral standards that included
manifesting piety in the performance of religious rituals, abstaining from
forbidden practices, and exhibiting justice in his management of taxes and
other state funds. In practical terms, a Zaydı̄ Imām had to demonstrate
excellence on the battlefield and skill in administration and governance.
This real-world competence was often associated with his success at sum-
moning people (da‘wa) to rise up (khurūj) against an oppressive ruler.
In other words, a qualified candidate earned followers through his schol-
arly and personal qualities and seized power through his military prowess.
The ideal Zaydı̄ Imām was both a “man of the pen” and a “man of the
sword.”
The Zaydı̄ theory of the Imāmate destabilizes the institutional assump-
tions of a state (dawla) in a number of ways. First, it does not allow for a
lineal succession in leadership. The Imām acquires political (and religious)
legitimacy through a broad scholarly consensus in favor of his claims.
Zaydı̄ successions required the son of an Imām to issue a formal summons
to Zaydı̄ scholars upon his father’s death. If there was more than one can-
didate, the scholars would evaluate each, with the less qualified deferring
to the better candidate. Such procedures had a destabilizing effect, with
rival candidates often establishing small Imāmates in isolated localities.
Second, the Imām’s authority is contingent on his possession of a set of
ideal characteristics. A moral failing or the mishandling of government
finances undermines the very foundations of his power, potentially open-
ing the door to rival claims. Third, the entire state edifice is built around
the person of the Imām, who guarantees the religious probity of the state.
The Imām has the exclusive right to interpret law, enforce punishments
 See Chapter  for a discussion of the Zaydı̄ Imāmate. Many of these qualities are also detailed in
Haykel, Revival, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
and ensure justice. Because he does not delegate these responsibilities to
subordinates, early Zaydı̄ Imāmates did not include offices such as “chief
judge” found in other Muslim states. They were also devoid of the formal
trappings of state power such as processions, guards, gatekeepers, and a
bureaucracy. Finally, the Imām depends on the voluntary military support
of his followers. In the Yemeni context, this meant that the Imām had to
secure the allegiance of tribes. The inability to do so invariably resulted in
a fall from power.
Bernard Haykel emphasizes the unstable and ephemeral nature of the
Zaydı̄ Imāmate. Discussing the Yemeni Zaydı̄ state before the eighteenth
century, he notes:
The image one gets from the Zaydı̄ sources of an imam . . . is perhaps in part
idealised, but central to their [the Zaydı̄s’] description of a “summons” is
the personality of the imam whose attributes count for both its legitimacy and
effectiveness. The political structures they established are not to be understood
in terms of a state (dawla); rather, theirs was a da‘wa [summons] whose fortunes
followed those of the imam. As a result, these da‘was had an evanescent and
terminal quality.
In other words, authority in a Zaydı̄ Imāmate was vested in an individual

and did not necessarily carry through to his descendants. This differs from
standard Sunnı̄ political theory that allows for lineal succession and locates
authority in the institutions of state bureaucracy. Each Zaydı̄ Imām,
by contrast, could articulate his own legal code and develop personalized
institutions for governance.
Initially, the Zaydı̄ Imāms of the Qāsimı̄ dynasty in Yemen fit the Zaydı̄
model of the Imāmate. The dynasty was founded by al-Mans.ūr al-Qāsim
b. Muh.ammad (r. –), a widely respected scholar who reportedly
authored forty-one works on subjects ranging from poetry and theology
to jurisprudence. Al-Mans.ūr al-Qāsim spent his life in open rebellion
against the Ottoman Turks, who ruled much of Yemen at the end of the
sixteenth century. By his death in , al-Mans.ūr al-Qāsim controlled
significant areas in northern Yemen. He was succeeded by his sons, al-
Mu’ayyad Muh.ammad (r. –) and al-Mutawakkil Ismā‘ı̄l (–),
who expelled the Ottomans in  and established for the first time a Zaydı̄
state spanning most of Yemen from the northern highlands to the southern
 Here Haykel translates the Arabic word da‘wa as summons. The term represents a Zaydı̄ Imām’s
summoning of followers to aid his establishment of a state.
 Haykel, Revival, .
 For the standard Sunnı̄ approach to government, see al-Māwardı̄’s The Ordinances of Government.
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
coastal ports of Hadramawt. Both sons met Zaydı̄ expectations, authoring
numerous scholarly works and leading successful military campaigns. Al-
Mutawakkil Ismā‘ı̄l was succeeded in turn by his nephew al-Mahdı̄ Ah.mad
(r. –) and his son al-Mu’ayyad Muh.ammad (–).
The policies of these early Qāsimı̄ Imāms clearly reflected their Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄ inclinations. Al-Mutawakkil Ismā‘ı̄l, who ruled the Qāsimı̄ state at its
territorial apogee, for example, dispatched Hādawı̄ scholars to non-Zaydı̄
regions to convert local populations, supported ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r celebrations
(see Chapter ), and prohibited Sufi rituals involving musical instruments
in southeastern Yemen. The early Qāsimı̄ Imāms also exhibited Hādawı̄
proclivities in their correspondences with foreign leaders by rhetorically
claiming the mantle of Prophetic leadership. These Imāms were chosen in
the classical fashion with rival claimants issuing a summons, the scholars
and other interest groups evaluating each claim, and the less qualified
deferring to the more qualified. Although lineal descent was significant, it
was not sufficient to command the support of the scholars and the tribes.
A candidate needed to demonstrate that he possessed all the necessary
qualities of leadership. The importance of individual merit was embodied
in coinage that featured the family of the Prophet rather than the dynastic
claims of the ruling Imām.
B. The Later Qāsimı̄ Zaydı̄ Imāms of Yemen: Embracing Traditionism

The nature of the Qāsimı̄ Imāmate changed with the succession of al-Mahdı̄
Muh.ammad, known by the title S.āh.ib al-Mawāhib (r. –), whose
authority was predicated exclusively on military force. The subsequent
history of the Qāsimı̄ dynasty saw a steady abandonment of Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄
principles. From  until  (a period encompassing six Imāmates),
Imāms were appointed by their predecessors with no regard for scholarly (or
any other) qualifications. Many of these rulers were considered “restricted”
Imāms (see Chapter ). This meant that they did not have access to the
full powers or authority of the Imāmate and lacked the legitimacy of “full”
Imāms. Given their vulnerability, later Qāsimı̄ Imāms sought the support
of traditionist scholars, such as al-Shawkānı̄, who upheld the validity of
a dynastic succession through formal appointment (citing the example
of Abū Bakr and ‘Umar) and prohibited uprisings against a sitting ruler
 It is reported that al-Mu’ayyad Muh.ammad produced thirteen works, whereas al-Mutawakkil Ismā‘ı̄l
produced twenty-three. Haykel, Revival, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
regardless of his scholarly credentials as long as he fulfilled his basic religious
obligations.
The later Qāsimı̄ state included offices previously unknown in the
Yemeni Zaydı̄ context, such as chamberlains (who controlled access to the
sovereign) and personal servants/guards (who secluded the ruler from
the public). It rested on a formal court bureaucracy (dı̄wān) that man-
aged the state in lieu of the direct administration of previous Zaydı̄ Imāms.
The bureaucratic structure included a centralized education system and
a judiciary led by a chief judge (qād.ı̄ al-qud.āt). There was also a move
away from a tribal military to one composed primarily of slaves, freeing
the succession process from the need to summon and win the support of
tribes. Finally, state coinage adopted an Ottoman style, replacing men-
tion of the family of the Prophet with assertions of dynastic succession.
All of these changes aligned the Qāsimı̄ state with Sunnı̄ dynasties mod-
eled on the ‘Abbāsid Empire in Baghdad and the Ottoman Empire in
Istanbul.
Haykel offers three explanations for the transformation of the Qāsimı̄
state, each of which is related to its early success. The first explanation
is economic and stems from the dynasty’s control of major ports and
the growth of agricultural (i.e., coffee) exports. The resulting revenue
surplus enabled the Qāsimı̄ state to maintain its hold over an increasingly
unmanageable realm that stretched from the northern highlands to the
desert valleys of the southeast. Although the Imāmate lost control of the
ports in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, it remained
dependent on the tax revenue of predominantly Sunnı̄ agricultural areas.
The economic importance of these regions likely influenced the religious
policies of the Qāsimı̄ Imāms, who patronized traditionist scholars to
maintain the support of local Sunnı̄ populations.
Haykel’s second explanation focuses on the influence of Sunnı̄ centers
of learning in the southern regions of Yemen. As early as al-Mutawakkil
Ismā‘ı̄l, a number of Hādawı̄ scholars wrote works that reframed Zaydism
in a manner that would secure Sunnı̄ approval, sometimes at the cost
of core Zaydı̄ beliefs. The direct causes of this phenomenon are diffi-
cult to identify with certainty. The Qāsimı̄ state extended far beyond
the traditional northern highland borders of previous Zaydı̄ Imāmates,
allowing for a more globalized scholarly perspective. Perhaps Zaydı̄ schol-
ars felt pigeonholed in one corner of the Arabian Peninsula and wanted
to find a place in a global Muslim community. They may have also
been motivated by a genuine desire to foster unity among different legal
and theological schools in the wider Muslim world. Regardless of their
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
motivations, these Zaydı̄ scholars began directly engaging Sunnı̄ sources.
Although they remained marginal and isolated in their homeland, they
found official support and patronage in the policies of the later Qāsimı̄
Imāms.
Haykel’s third explanation draws on the previously mentioned legitimacy
crises of the Qāsimı̄ Imāms that followed S.āh.ib al-Mawāhib. These Imāms
did not fit the archetype of a classical Zaydı̄ Imām; they lacked scholarly
credentials and based their rule on a combination of dynastic appointment
and military might. This left the door open for potential rivals to issue
summons to revolution and to challenge their authority. If such a movement
secured tribal military and scholarly support, it could threaten the very
existence of the Qāsimı̄ state. This was, in fact, the established historical
pattern for the emergence of new Zaydı̄ Imāmates.
The later Qāsimı̄ Imāms responded to the crisis by adopting Sunnı̄
notions of political legitimacy that (i) allowed for dynastic succession, (ii)
were not predicated on a ruler’s intellectual abilities, and (iii) expressly
forbade revolution. In practical terms, the ruler delegated his religious
duties to a qualified scholar and his administrative duties to a formal
bureaucracy. This new governmental configuration was firmly Sunnı̄ in its
orientation. For the first time in Yemeni history, a Zaydı̄ Imāmate lavished
patronage on Sunnı̄ traditionist scholars at the expense of the Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄ establishment. In exchange for powerful and lucrative government
posts, these scholars provided the Imāms with much needed political and
religious support. The central figure in this relationship was Muh.ammad
al-Shawkānı̄.
C. Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄ and the Legacy of Sunnification

Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄ was born in  to a notable family of Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄ scholars. His father served as a judge under the Qāsimı̄ Imām
al-Mahdı̄ al-‘Abbās for forty years. Al-Shawkānı̄ received a fairly typical
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ education, but he was apparently unsatisfied with the rea-
soning his teachers offered for choosing one legal opinion over another.
This prompted him to study with Sayyid ‘Abd al-Qādir b. Ah.mad al-
Kawkabānı̄ (d. ), a renowned traditionist scholar in Sana‘a. The expe-
rience initiated a gradual but steady turn from Hādawı̄ Zaydism to Sunnı̄
traditionism. Over the next few years, al-Shawkānı̄ acquired his own circle
of students and began issuing legal rulings that were spread throughout
Yemen. According to Haykel, scholars such as al-Shawkānı̄ were “juridi-
cally and religiously knitting together the Shāfi‘ı̄ regions of Yemen with
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
the Zaydı̄ highlands, and more specifically with the seat of government in
Sanaa.”
At the age of thirty, al-Shawkānı̄ claimed the title of mujtahid mut.laq (an
unrestricted religious authority). This constituted a rejection of the Muslim
law schools (Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄), which he deemed too dependent on the
judgment of previous human authorities and too dismissive of the revealed
sources. The primary targets of al-Shawkānı̄’s criticism, however, were
the Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s, whom he accused of abandoning independent legal
reasoning (ijtihād ) in favor of blindly following (taqlı̄d) the opinions of past
jurists. Recall (from Chapters  and ) that the Zaydı̄s permitted the use
of ijtihād and empowered each Imām to formulate his own legal code. Al-
Shawkānı̄ was essentially arguing that his views were more representative of
classical Zaydı̄ legal theory than were those of his Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ opponents.
The legal method espoused by al-Shawkānı̄ required scholars to return to
the early sources and to issue rulings backed by clear textual evidence. For
al-Shawkānı̄, the most reliable Prophetic traditions were found in Sunnı̄
collections. On the basis of these traditions, he arrived at conclusions
that contradicted central Zaydı̄ beliefs. In line with Sunnı̄ legal theory, he
rejected the special status of the family of the Prophet and dispersed legal
authority within the Muslim community at large. He also rejected the most
distinctive Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ requirements for the Imāmate, including (i) the
lineal condition that an Imām must be a descendant of ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima, (ii)
the activist condition that an Imām must issue a summons (da‘wa) and rise
up in rebellion (khurūj ), and (iii) the scholarly condition that the Imām
must demonstrate legal expertise.
In , al-Mans.ūr ‘Alı̄ (r. –) appointed al-Shawkānı̄ to the post
of chief judge. He would hold this position for the next thirty-nine years,
serving three Qāsimı̄ Imāms and, in the process, fundamentally altering
the religious landscape of Yemen. A close study of al-Shawkānı̄’s writings
and political career is beyond the scope of the current study. It suffices to
say that he steadily increased his power by providing the Qāsimı̄ Imāms
with a basis for legitimacy independent of the Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholarly
establishment. Al-Shawkānı̄’s impact, however, went far beyond the polit-
ical realm. First, he had access to significant financial resources, which he
used to mentor large numbers of students who spread Sunnı̄ tradition-
ist ideas in the Zaydı̄ highlands. Second, he used his power over judicial
appointments to place his students and scholars of similar views in positions
of authority. His long career meant that Sunnı̄ traditionist scholars were
 Haykel, Revival, .
Zaydism in the Balance between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a 
able to consolidate their hold over these offices at the expense of Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄s, who had previously dominated the state judiciary. Finally, he uti-
lized the full resources of the Qāsimı̄ state to wage an increasingly aggressive
battle against his Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ rivals. In  and , he convinced the
Qāsimı̄ Imāms to side with the Sunnı̄ traditionists against the Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄s when the two sides clashed in the streets of Sana‘a. In , he
(likely) encouraged Imām al-Mahdı̄ ‘Abd Allāh to execute the Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄ scholar Ibn H . arı̄wa for his criticism of state policies and his attacks
on al-Shawkānı̄’s traditionist writings.
When al-Shawkānı̄ died in , the Qāsimı̄ Imāms had fully embraced
Sunnı̄ traditionism. There was a brief Hādawı̄ restoration under Imām
al-Nās.ir ‘Abd Allāh (r. –) but with little lasting impact. The backing
of governmental resources allowed traditionist ideas to penetrate the Zaydı̄
heartlands in unprecedented ways. Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars began studying
the Sunnı̄ canonical collections, with increasing numbers embracing
traditionism. The result was a split among Zaydı̄ scholars in the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries between those with a classical understanding
of Zaydism (the Hādawı̄ position) and those with a commitment to a
traditionism that resembled Sunnism (the al-Shawkānı̄ position). This
important division persists into the twenty-first century and serves as the
backdrop to Chapter ’s discussion of modern trends in Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism.

The following works discuss the nature and structure of heresiographical works:
Josef van Ess, “The Kamiliyya: On the Genesis of a Heresiographical Tradition,”
in Shı̄‘ism, ed. Etan Kohlberg (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, ), –.
Adam Gaiser, “Satan’s Seven Specious Arguments: Al-Shahrastānı̄’s Kitāb al-Milal
wa-l-nih.al in an Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Context,” Journal of Islamic Studies  (): –.
Keith Lewinstein, “The Azāriqa in Islamic Heresiography,” Bulletin of the School
of Oriental and African Studies  (): –.
Keith Lewinstein, “Making and Unmaking a Sect: The Heresiographers and the
S.ufriyya,” Studia Islamica  (): –.
Keith Lewinstein, “Notes on Eastern H . anafite Heresiography,” Journal of the
American Oriental Society  (): –.
The following works examine the Batrı̄-Jārūdı̄ dichotomy within Zaydism:
Encyclopaedia of Islam, nd ed., s.v. “Batriyya” (Madelung).
Najam Haider, “A Community Divided: An Examination of the Murder of Idrı̄s
b. ‘Abd Allāh (d. /),” Journal of the American Oriental Society  ():
–.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Najam Haider, The Origins of the Shı̄‘a (New York: Cambridge University Press,
), particularly – and –.
Najam Haider, “Yah.yā b. ‘Abd Allāh,” in Biographical Dictionary of Islamic Civi-
lization, ed. Mustafa Shah (New York: I. B. Tauris, forthcoming).
Maher Jarrar, “Ibn Abı̄ Yah.yā,” in Transmission and Dynamics of the Textual Sources
of Islam, ed. Kees Versteegh et al. (Leiden: Brill, ), –.
Maher Jarrar, “Some Aspects of Imāmı̄ Influence on Early Zaydite Theology,”
in Islamstudien ohne Ende, ed. Rainer Brunner et al. (Würzburg: Deutsche
Morgenländische Gesellschaft, ), –.
For a general history of the early Zaydı̄ state in Yemen, see Cornelius van Aren-
donk, Les débuts de l’imāmat zaidite au Yémen, translated by Jacques Ryckmans
(Leiden: Brill, ). [French]
The following works discuss the theological views of the early Zaydı̄s and their
embrace of Mu‘tazilism:
Wilferd Madelung, Der Imam al-Qāsim ibn Ibrāhı̄m und die Glaubenslehrer der
Zaiditen (Berlin: De Gruyter, ). [German]
Wilferd Madelung, “Imām al-Qāsim b. al-Ibrāhı̄m,” in On Both Sides of al-
Mandab: Ethiopian, South-Arabic and Islamic Studies Presented to Oscar Löfgren
on His Nineteenth Birthday, 13 May 1988, by Colleagues and Friends, ed. Ulla
Ehrensvärd et al. (Stockholm: Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, ).
Jan Thiele, “Propagating Mu‘tazilism in the VIth/XIIth Century Zaydiyya: The
. asan al-Ras.s.ās.,” Arabica  (): –.
Role of H
The following works discuss the rise of Sunnı̄ traditionism in Yemen:
Michael Cook, Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought (New
York: Cambridge University Press, ), particularly –.
Bernard Haykel, Revival and Reform in Islam (New York: Cambridge University
Press, ). This is the definitive study of the Qāsimı̄ Imāmate and of the life
of Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄. Much of the discussion of the Qāsimı̄ Imāms in
this chapter is drawn from Haykel’s work.
For a Sunnı̄ model of governance, see al-Māwardı̄, The Ordinances of Government,
translated by Wafaa Wahba (Reading, UK: Garnet, ).
6
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations
The historical development of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism is closely tied to the prac-

tical problems that faced Imāms ascribed lofty and possibly unattainable
expectations. These Imāms were often hidden from their followers, only
to emerge at opportune moments to herald the creation of new states.
The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ doctrine of the Imāmate accorded them absolute political
and religious authority and affirmed their privileged connection with God,
their access to hidden knowledge, and their spiritual perfection. In con-
trast to the Twelver Shı̄‘a, who transitioned to a scholar-centered model
of leadership after the disappearance of their last Imām, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘a
were consistently led by Imāms bearing the expectations of a final vic-
tory over all opponents. The weight of these expectations had an impact
on their policy decisions and their articulation of important theological
doctrines.
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism seems to have first materialized in an identifiable form in
the late ninth century, when a number of branches appeared simultaneously
across the Muslim world working in unison for the establishment of an
‘Alid-led Imāmate. The movement split into competing factions as a result
of disagreements regarding the identity of the Imām and disputes over basic
theology. This chapter is organized around three seminal periods in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
history. It focuses particularly on the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, who today constitute a
numerical majority of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community. The first section discusses
the group’s origins and early development stretching from the death of
Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l to the public emergence of the Fāt.imid Imāms in
. The second section covers the Fāt.imid dynasty in Egypt and the Nizārı̄
state in Iran, between the late ninth and the mid-thirteenth centuries. The
third section examines the obscure period from the fall of Alamut in  to
the migration of the Aga Khan to India in .
 Smaller groups, such as the Bohras from India who adhere to Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism, are mentioned
briefly but not discussed at length due to the space constraints of an introductory work.

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
i . e a r l y i s m ā ‘ ı̄ l i s m
The beginnings of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism date to the disputed succession of Ja‘far
al-S.ādiq in . As discussed in Chapter , a group of al-S.ādiq’s followers
believed that he had appointed his eldest son, Ismā‘ı̄l, as his successor.
There is some controversy over whether Ismā‘ı̄l predeceased his father, but
most of the sources agree that he was not present at his father’s death. The
crisis produced a number of splinter groups, including two that became
the progenitors of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism. The Mubārakı̄s, the most important
of these groups in the context of the present study, affirmed the death of
Ismā‘ı̄l before that of his father and traced the Imāmate through Ismā‘ı̄l’s
son Muh.ammad. According to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l
migrated from Medina to Khūzistān in southwestern Iran, where he died
around . This precipitated a second schism. The overwhelming majority
of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s denied Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l’s death and awaited his return as
the Mahdı̄. A small minority accepted his death and located the Imāmate
among his descendants.
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ history between  and  is shrouded in uncertainty. There
are few historical sources for the period, and later Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ scholars readily
acknowledge the lack of information. It seems that most Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s antici-
pated the return of the Mahdı̄ (i.e., Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l), whom they
viewed as the culmination of seven cycles of prophetic history. Much of this
theological framework was detailed in Chapter . Recall that Muh.ammad
b. Ismā‘ı̄l was considered the seal of the seventh and final era that had
begun with the Prophet Muh.ammad. Each historical cycle was initiated
by a prophet (referred to as a nāt.iq, “enunciator”), who brought a revealed
law, and an executor (referred to as a wās.ı̄) who explained the inner mean-
ing of that law. The executor was followed by seven Imāms, the last of
which abrogated the law, rose to the rank of prophet, and presented a new
religious law. As the final Imām of the last revelatory cycle, Muh.ammad b.
Ismā‘ı̄l held a special place as the Mahdı̄ and the Qā’im (see Chapter ).
Instead of presenting a new law, he would reveal the greater truth
(h.aqā’iq) embedded in all past revelation. Such a theological framework
did not permit an extension of the Imāmate to Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l’s
descendants.
 This section draws primarily on Farhad Daftary’s A Short History of the Ismailis, –, and Ismailis
in Medieval Muslim Societies, –.
 As mentioned in Chapter , this is the position of all surviving Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ groups, but it finds little
support in the earliest sources.
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
This cyclical description of God and revelation was connected to a gnos-
tic cosmology that evolved significantly over the centuries. In its earliest
form, the creation of the world was tied to physical manifestations of God’s
intention and will. It was these beings (i.e., God’s intent and God’s will)
who performed the actual act of creation. The structure of the universe
was quite complex, predicated on a system of letters and divine names
that connected to physical figures. Later versions of this cosmology, espe-
cially those articulated by Iranian agents such as Abū Ya‘qūb al-Sijistānı̄
(d. after ) and H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n al-Kirmānı̄ (d. after ) in the Fāt.imid
period (discussed subsequently), reflected the growing influence of Neopla-
tonic and Aristotelian ideas. Although different Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ thinkers advanced
competing theories about the higher cosmos and creation, they remained
united on the necessity and importance of the Imāms, who were seen as
the exclusive conduits for accessing the true inner meaning of revelation. It
was this greater truth or knowledge that held the key to human salvation.
Farhad Daftary describes the relationship between cosmology and sal-
vation in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism in the following manner:
This soteriological vision can be explained in terms of descending and ascend-

ing scales or paths with their related hierarchies. The descending scale traces
creation from God’s command through an emanational hierarchy, to the world
of material reality and the genesis of man. As a counterpart, the ascending scale
maps the rise of man’s soul to the higher, spiritual world in quest of salvation.
The doctrine of salvation, thus, forms the necessary counterpart to the cosmo-
logical doctrine in the metaphysical system of al-Sijistānı̄, as in the case of the
other Ismaili theologian-philosophers of the “Iranian school.”
While Daftary’s comments draw on the cosmological writings of al-

Sijistānı̄, they also convey the broad tenor of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ writings on creation
and the importance of the Imāms for human salvation. In spite of differ-
ences regarding the mechanisms of creation, most Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s agreed that true
knowledge of God was accessible only through the Imāms.
The reemergence of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism in the late ninth century coincided
with the occultation crisis in Twelver Shı̄‘ism. As discussed in Chapters 
and , the Twelver Shı̄‘a experienced the disappearance of their twelfth
Imām in . The resulting confusion and skepticism fueled the conversion
of many Twelvers to either Zaydı̄ or Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism. It was in this period
that Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ missionary efforts finally bore fruit in Iraq, Iran, and the
Arabian Peninsula. Perhaps the most important converts were H . amdān
 Daftary, A Short History, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Qarmat. and his brother in law ‘Abdān, who became the chief Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ agents
in Iraq in  or . Converts were also won in southern Iran, Bahrain,
and Yemen. According to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, the community at this time
was led by a line of figures given the title of h.ujja who claimed to represent
the hidden Imām. These leaders had originated in Khūzistān before settling
(after a period of wandering) in the Syrian town of Salamiyya.
Over the latter part of the ninth century, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ agents spread through-
out the Muslim world. They catered their messages to local conditions.
In Iraq, Syria, and the Arabian Peninsula, they attempted to convert the
rural and urban populations by emphasizing the illegitimacy and oppres-
sive nature of the government. By contrast, the Iranian Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s targeted
elites by highlighting the gnostic cosmology embedded in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ theol-
ogy (as noted earlier). In , the leadership of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s at Salamiyya
passed to ‘Ubayd Allāh al-Mahdı̄. Soon after, written instructions issued to
agents began to change, provoking considerable unease. H . amdān Qarmat.
sent ‘Abdān to Syria to investigate the situation. ‘Abdān found that ‘Ubayd
Allāh now claimed the Imāmate for himself. This change met significant
opposition throughout the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community. In the ensuing conflict,
‘Abdān was murdered by an agent who remained loyal to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ lead-
ership at Salamiyya, and H . amdān disappeared after ordering his followers
to suspend their activities.
Beginning in , the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community was divided between (i)
Fāt.imid Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (described in greater detail later in the chapter), who
followed ‘Ubayd Allāh al-Mahdı̄ and his progeny as Imāms, and (b)
Qarmat.ı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, who still awaited the return of Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l.
The Qarmat.ı̄ position was dominant in the Arabian Peninsula and parts
of Iraq. It grew particularly powerful in the tenth century, after which it
fell into a steady decline. Beyond impeding the eastward progress of the
Fāt.imids, the Qarmat.ı̄s do not figure prominently in the remainder of this
chapter.
‘Ubayd Allāh al-Mahdı̄ reinterpreted the historical experience of the
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community in the ninth century. He argued that the leaders of the
movement had always been Imāms but had kept their identities hidden out
of fear. In time, this dissimulation (taqiyya) was so successful that a majority
of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s had come to believe that the Imāms were only deputies of the
hidden Imām. ‘Ubayd Allāh claimed that the name Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l
did not refer to the actual grandson of al-S.ādiq. It was a code name adopted
 Some scholars have argued that the failure of the Fāt.imid state to displace the ‘Abbāsid caliphs
stemmed from staunch Qarmat.ı̄ opposition.
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
by each of the Imāms and represented an office as opposed to a person.
‘Ubayd Allāh was abandoning this pretense because conditions were now
ripe for the Imām to reemerge and establish a state. This reformulation
signaled a fundamental shift in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ theology, as the doctrine of seven
historical cycles culminating in Muh.ammad b. Ismā‘ı̄l was widened to
allow for additional Imāms.
i i . t h e f ā t. i m i d a n d n i z ā r ı̄ s t a t e s
A. The Fāt.imid Empire

Many Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ agents remained loyal to ‘Ubayd Allāh al-Mahdı̄ and con-
tinued to operate throughout the Muslim world. In Syria, Zikrawayh b.
Mihrawayh, successfully converted Syrian Bedouin tribes and launched a
rebellion in . According to later Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, the uprising was not
authorized by the Imām and alerted the ‘Abbāsids to the dangers posed by a
newly resurgent Ismā‘ı̄lism. These events prompted ‘Ubayd Allāh al-Mahdı̄
to flee his residence in Salamiyya and head west to Egypt and North Africa.
He eventually settled in (or was perhaps confined to) the town of Sijilmāsa
in southeastern Morocco in .
The leading Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ agent in North Africa was Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Shı̄‘ı̄,
who concentrated his efforts on the Kutāma Berbers of eastern Algeria. He
gradually converted the large tribal confederation and organized a rebellion
against the Aghlabid dynasty in Tunisia. The fall of the Aghlabid capital of
Raqqāda in  left Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Shı̄‘ı̄ in effective control of Ifrı̄qiya
(an area covering present-day Tunisia and eastern Algeria). Over the next
year, he consolidated power and instituted a number of distinctive Shı̄‘ı̄
practices, such as naming the family of the Prophet in the Friday sermon.
He also altered the official coinage to include an allusion to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Imām. Eight months after the fall of Raqqāda, the Kutāma Berbers captured
Sijilmāsa, and ‘Ubayd Allāh al-Mahdı̄ was formally acknowledged as the
first Imām of the Fāt.imid dynasty.
The first four Fāt.imid Imāms (see Table .) were preoccupied with
maintaining their position in North Africa, a region fractured by competing
political and religious forces. The Fāt.imid Imām who first secured the
dynasty’s standing in the region was al-Mu‘izz (r. –). He assumed
many of the duties most closely associated with the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāmate,
 This section draws on Farhad Daftary’s A Short History of the Ismailis, –, and Ismailis in Medieval
Muslim Societies, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Fāt.imid Dynasty (909–1171)
In North Africa:
. al-Mahdı̄ (r. –)
. al-Qā’im (r. –)
. al-Mans.ūr (r. –)
. al-Mu‘izz (r. –) [He moved to Cairo in .]
In Egypt:
. al-‘Azı̄z (r. –)
. al-H. ākim (r. –)
. ākim’s death/disappearance.
The Druze split from the Fāt.imids following al-H
. al-Z.āhir (r. –)
. al-Mustans.ir (r. –)
The Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s split from the Fāt.imids after al-Mustans.ir’s death. The Musta‘lı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s remained loyal to the Fāt.imid Imāms.
. al-Musta‘lı̄ (r. –)
. al-Āmir (r. –)
The T . ayyibı̄ Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s split from the Fāt.imids after al-Āmir’s death. They
affirmed the Imāmate of al-T . ayyib Abū al-Qāsim who had gone into occultation. The
H. āfiz.ı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s remained loyal to the Fāt.imid Imāms.
. al-H . āfiz. (r. – [regent] and – [Imām])
. al-Z.āfir (r. –)
. al-Fā’iz (r. –)
. al-‘Ād.id (r. –)
including the direct supervision of missionary activities and the articulation

of a formal legal code. He was aided by the scholar al-Qād.ı̄ al-Nu‘mān,
whose writings provide a rare glimpse into Fāt.imid Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ law, which came
to resemble Twelver jurisprudence largely through its reliance on Twelver
traditions. Al-Mu‘izz also reached out to Qarmat.ı̄ communities, offering
some doctrinal concessions in an effort to win back their allegiance. These
efforts were modestly successful in Iran but failed to have much impact in
the Arabian Peninsula and Iraq.
The primary challenge facing the Fāt.imid Imāms involved the lofty
expectations of their followers. The Imāms were expected to sweep away
the ‘Abbāsids in Baghdad and finally establish the rule of the family of the
Prophet throughout the Muslim world. This required an eastward expan-
sion beginning with Egypt, a region ruled by the weak Ikhshı̄did dynasty.
The conquest of Egypt was delegated to Jawhar, a military commander of
Slavic origins, who captured Fust.āt. (the Ikhshı̄did capital) in  with the
help of a local population eager for a restoration of public order. Over the
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
next four years, Jawhar consolidated Fāt.imid control and supervised the
construction of a new capital north of Fust.āt. that he called Cairo (Qāhira).
The city included a royal palace and a central mosque that was named al-
Azhar. Jawhar’s attempts at capturing territory in Syria were less successful,
as the Fāt.imid army was defeated by a coalition of enemies that included
the Qarmat.ı̄s. In , al-Mu‘izz left a deputy in charge of Ifrı̄qiya and set
off for Cairo accompanied by his family and the coffins of his predecessors.
The subsequent history of the Fāt.imid dynasty centers on Egypt, as North
Africa quickly fell outside the orbit of its control.
The Fāt.imids eventually expanded into Syria and seized control of the
pilgrimage routes to Mecca and Medina, but they remained primarily an
Egyptian dynasty. Further Fāt.imid ambitions were stymied by the stubborn
opposition of a number of eastern powers, including the Qarmat.ı̄s. After al-
H. ākim, the dynasty began a gradual decline, culminating in the assumption
of power by military men such as Badr al-Jamālı̄ (d. ) and his son al-
Afd.al (d. ).
There were two important schisms in the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community during
this period. The first involved the succession to al-Mustans.ir, in which
the designated successor, Nizār, was bypassed in favor of al-Musta‘lı̄, the
preferred candidate of the ruling general, al-Afd.al. Nizār was killed after
a brief rebellion in Alexandria in , but many Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s continued to
trace the Imāmate through his bloodline (known as Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s). The
majority of the Fāt.imid establishment in Egypt accepted al-Musta‘lı̄ and
were subsequently known as Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s. They experienced a sec-
ond schism after the death of al-Āmir, with one group affirming the
Imāmate of his son al-T.ayyib (known as T.ayyibı̄ Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s) and
another accepting his cousin al-H . āfiz. (known as H
. āfiz.ı̄ Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s).
The latter actually held power in Cairo but disappeared after the fall
of the dynasty in . The most significant of these splinter groups
were the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, who are discussed in greater detail later in the
chapter.
The Fāt.imid state was administered by a centralized bureaucracy headed
by the Imām and his chief minister (wazı̄r). Individual departments or
ministries (dı̄wāns) conducted the land survey, collected taxes, managed
the military, produced official documents, and supervised legal affairs.
The system was characterized by strict hierarchies that were apparent in
public ceremonies; special insignia and physical distance from the Imām
reflected an official’s rank. The Fāt.imid military was composed of multiple
ethnic groups that competed for money and influence. The army’s original
core of Berber tribesmen was supplemented by slave soldiers of Slavic,
Turkish, and Nubian background. The Imāms would often play these
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
contingents against each other to prevent the dominance of any single
group. The bureaucratic and military structures had certain distinctively
Egyptian idiosyncrasies, but they bore a close overall resemblance to those
of the ‘Abbāsids in Baghdad. For a majority of the predominantly Sunnı̄
population, the Fāt.imid Imām played a role virtually identical to that of
the ‘Abbāsid caliph.
The religious policies of the Fāt.imids combined a general acceptance
of the Sunnism of their subjects with an aggressive missionary network in
distant non-Fāt.imid regions. The Fāt.imids never attempted a wide-scale
conversion operation similar to that of the Safavids in Iran (see Chapter ).
They instructed judges to utilize Shı̄‘ı̄ legal principles, but they did not
require the actual adoption of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ı̄ beliefs. The legal works of al-
Qād.ı̄ al-Nu‘mān were publicly recited in order to spread knowledge about
Shı̄‘ı̄ law to Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s and non-Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s alike. The Fāt.imids also held lectures
and provided instruction designed specifically for Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ initiates. In these
“wisdom sessions” (majālis al-h.ikma), which were directed and approved
by the Imām, believers were given knowledge of the inner truths (bāt.in)
necessary for salvation according to Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ theology. The sessions were
highly specialized and catered to individual groups ranging from courtiers
and high-ranking officials to palace staff.
The Fāt.imid Imāms maintained a well-structured and centralized mis-
sionary network (da‘wa) that stretched from Yemen to India. It was led
by the chief agent (dā‘ı̄), who was charged with basic administration and
appointed local agents in both Fāt.imid and non-Fāt.imid territories. Little
else is known about the duties of this office, presumably because agents
exercised considerable local autonomy. The structure of the international
da‘wa network was complex. Regions outside Fāt.imid control were divided
into twelve “islands” (sing. jazı̄ra, pl. jazā’ir) headed by high-ranking offi-
cials given the title of h.ujja (although other variants are also noted). The
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources list a multitude of additional offices without explaining
their responsibilities. The network’s primary function appears to have been
educational, with agents introducing new converts to the tenets of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Shı̄‘ism. It is difficult to know whether this structure was a theoretical
construct or was actualized throughout the Muslim world.
The discrepancy between internal and external Fāt.imid religious policies
merits some additional thought. Why were the Imāms so uninterested in
converting their own population but eager to win followers in areas such
as Yemen and Iran? The answer to this question speaks to the broader
implications of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ (and Twelver) doctrine of the Imāmate. In
addition to inerrancy, the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s emphasize the Imām’s knowledge of
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
hidden religious truths. This belief is potentially volatile, particularly if an
Imām disappoints his followers’ expectations. Consider al-Mahdı̄’s falling
out with Abū ‘Abd Allāh al-Shı̄‘ı̄, who had organized the initial Fāt.imid
state in North Africa before relinquishing power in . According to the
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, al-Shı̄‘ı̄ was unhappy with the restrictions placed on his
authority and organized a coup against al-Mahdı̄. He was executed when
the plot was discovered in . It is tempting to wonder whether al-Shı̄‘ı̄’s
turn against al-Mahdı̄ resulted from a failure of expectations. Perhaps al-
Mahdı̄ did not live up to al-Shı̄‘ı̄’s vision of a divinely appointed and
inerrant figure.
The policies of the later Fāt.imid Imāms reflect an understanding of
this danger. It was better to have a subject population that viewed the
Imām as a political leader charged with maintaining political and social
order as opposed to the idealized perfection suggested by Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ theology.
In such a situation, the conversion of the local population was not very
desirable. The Fāt.imids also developed a hierarchy of offices and ceremony
that surrounded the figure of the Imām. There were multiple layers of
bureaucracy that limited interactions between the Imām and the general
public. This physical sequestering shielded the Imām from the scrutiny
of his Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ followers. In regions such as Iran or Yemen, by contrast,
direct contact with the Imām was impossible. Local agents could portray
him in lofty theological terms without fear of disappointment or failed
expectations. There was little risk and potentially great reward in these
missionary efforts, which continued to reap benefits even as Fāt.imid power
waned in the mid and late eleventh century. It was in these far-off regions
that the Fāt.imid legacy was preserved after .
B. The Nizārı̄ State

Fāt.imid agents had considerable success in Iraq (with the ‘Uqaylid dynasty)
and Yemen (with the Sulayhid dynasty). It was in Iran, however, that they
achieved their most enduring results. The primary force behind the Ismā’ı̄lı̄
successes in the region was H . asan-i S.abbāh. (d. ), who was born into
a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ family in Qum in the s. The family eventually moved
to Rayy, where H . asan was exposed to Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ ideas and initiated into the
movement. He quickly rose in the ranks of the da‘wa. In , H . asan
 This phenomenon is best documented in Paula Sanders’s Ritual, Politics, and the City in Fāt.imid
Cairo.
 This section draws on Farhad Daftary’s A Short History of the Ismailis, –, and Ismailis in Medieval
Muslim Societies, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
was sent to Cairo for further study and training. Upon his arrival in
, he observed that the power of the Fāt.imid Imām (al-Mustans.ir) was
increasingly eclipsed by that of his wazı̄r (Badr al-Jamālı̄). H . asan did not
have an audience with the Imām or continue his studies. Instead, he spent
much of the next three years in Alexandria. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources suggest
that H . asan’s disenchantment with the Fāt.imid establishment in Cairo
stemmed from their complicity in Badr al-Jamālı̄’s attempts to dispossess al-
Mustans.ir’s eldest son and appointed successor, Nizār. As becomes evident
later in the chapter, these attempts foreshadowed the succession crisis of
. H . asan-i S.abbāh. was ultimately expelled from Egypt and returned to
Iran in .
Over the next nine years, H . asan worked tirelessly for the da‘wa, focusing
his efforts on the northern Iranian region of Daylam. This mountainous
area was known for its historical connection to Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ism but was
also home to a small Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community. Daftary suggests that H . asan-i
S.abbāh. decided quite early to embark on a new strategy that involved the
capture of mountain fortresses to serve as the backbone for a network of
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities. At the heart of his plan was Alamut, an inaccessible
castle that sat on a high mountain cliff in the Rūdbār region of Daylam.
According to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, H . asan infiltrated the fortress disguised
as a schoolteacher and quickly converted its garrison. He seized control
of Alamut in , an event that marked the start of the Nizārı̄ state and
fueled Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ revolts throughout northern Iran. The next few years saw
the expansion of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ control to other mountain fortresses and into
Qūhistān (in southern Khurāsān).
By the late s or early s, H . asan was in charge of a large Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community spread across much of northern Iran. He seems to have acted
with considerable autonomy with little direction from the Fāt.imid leader-
ship in Cairo. The success of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ da‘wa in this period is often
attributed to a national Iranian resurgence against the Turkish Seljuq
dynasty that controlled most of Iran and Iraq at the time. This is partic-
ularly evident in Nizārı̄ religious literature, which was written exclusively
in Persian. The unprecedented shift from Arabic to Persian constituted
a clear and dramatic break from the past. In addition, the leaders of the
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ movement (below H . asan) were Iranian locals, who rallied opposi-
tion by highlighting perceived Turkish (Seljuq) exploitation. Finally, it is
noteworthy that many of the areas that came under Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ control in the
twelfth century were isolated agricultural regions. The locals here buckled
 Daftary, Medieval, –.
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
Table . The Nizārı̄ Rulers, Alamut Period (1090–1256)
As H
. ujjas of the Imām:
. H . asan-i S.abbāh. (r. –)
. Kiyā Buzurg-Ummı̄d (r. –)
. Muh.ammad b. Buzurg-Ummı̄d (r. –)
As Imāms:
. H . asan ‘alā dhikrihi’l-salām (r. –) [He proclaimed the qiyāma in .]
. Nūr al-Dı̄n Muh.ammad (r. –)
. Jalāl al-Dı̄n H. asan (r. –) [He initiated a reconciliation with Sunnism.]
. ‘Alā’ al-Dı̄n Muh.ammad (r. –)
. Rukn al-Dı̄n Khurshāh (r. –)
Rukn al-Dı̄n Khurshāh surrendered to the Mongols and was later executed in Mongolia.
under a Seljuq taxation system that ignored their long-term well-being in

favor of immediate profits. Although a resurgence in Iranian nationalist
sentiment does not fully explain the success of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ missionary efforts,
it certainly contributed to their overall effectiveness.
The final break between the Fāt.imid Imāmate and the Iranian Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community occurred in , when al-Mustans.ir died in Cairo. As dis-
cussed earlier, a controversy erupted as to the identity of his legitimate
successor, with al-Afd.al, the primary power broker in Cairo at the time,
deposing Nizār, al-Mustans.ir’s eldest son and designated heir, in favor
of his younger (and more pliable) brother al-Musta‘lı̄. Nizār then led
a failed revolt from Alexandria and was executed in . The Fāt.imid
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ establishment in Egypt accepted al-Musta‘lı̄ as the legitimate Imām.
H. asan-i S.abbāh. and the Iranian Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, however, continued to support
Nizār’s rights and argued that the Imāmate had entered into a new period of
concealment. They also claimed that a previously unknown son of Nizār
(now the legitimate Imām) had been transported to Alamut. While the
Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s awaited the return of a visible Imām, H
. asan and his imme-
diate successors assumed a role similar to that of the h.ujjas in the eighth
and ninth centuries (see Table .).
The primary military strategy of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s involved assassi-
nation. Specifically, they were known for sending agents to infiltrate the
inner circle of their enemies and then assassinate high-profile targets. This
tactic was necessitated by the community’s military weakness compared
with the Seljuqs and other regional powers. In medieval European writ-
ings, the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s were called “the Assassins,” and an elaborate
myth was developed that featured brainwashed initiates and the use of
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
hashish. These stories have largely been discredited by modern scholar-
ship. Although the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s certainly utilized assassination, their
attacks were carefully planned operations designed to produce instability
and incite fear in their enemies. Over time, this led to a situation in which
they were ascribed responsibility for any and all public assassinations. The
actual extent and scope of the practice remains an open question.
The beliefs of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, collectively known as the “new da‘wa”
(as distinct from the “old da‘wa” of the Fāt.imids), emphasized the primary
interpretive authority of the Imām. This idea was certainly present in pre-
vious Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ writings, but the Nizārı̄s imbued it with a renewed impor-
tance. The Nizārı̄ doctrine of ta‘lı̄m (instruction) began with the premise
that human reason was incapable of grasping religious truths (‘ilm). Such
knowledge was accessible only through the guidance of an inerrant and
sinless figure with a special rapport with God. This role was filled by the
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām, who was not required to prove his claim through any kind
of evidence. In Daftary’s words, “the doctrine of ta‘lı̄m, emphasizing the
autonomous teaching authority of each Imām, became the central doctrine
of the early Nizārı̄s.” Each Imām was thus free to offer a completely new
interpretation, even if it contradicted that of his predecessors. The impli-
cations of this doctrine became particularly evident during the Imāmates
of H . asan “‘alā dhikrihi’l-salām” (r. –) and Jalāl al-Dı̄n H . asan
(r. –).
. asan and the Declaration of the Qiyāma

H
Through the early and mid-twelfth century, the leadership of the Nizārı̄
movement remained in the hands of the master of Alamut, who functioned
as the representative (h.ujja) of the concealed Imām. The situation changed
in , when H . asan ‘alā dhikrihi’l-salām, the fourth ruler at Alamut,
claimed the Imāmate for himself. In contradiction to the widespread belief
that he was the son of Muh.ammad b. Buzurg-Ummı̄d, H . asan asserted
direct descent from Nizār. This claim was ultimately accepted by the larger
Nizārı̄ community, signaling the end of seventy years of concealment.
H. asan’s teachings as Imām centered on his proclamation of the qiyāma
(resurrection) in . This term was generally reserved for the end times
when the dead would be raised and judged by God, the outward religious
law would cease to matter, and the inner truth of religion would be revealed
to all of humanity. H. asan interpreted this eschatological event symbolically,
declaring that the community was freed from the burdens of Islamic law
 Daftary, Medieval, .
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
based on their access to inner truths. This mirrored the standard Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
distinction between the outward (z.āhir) and inner (bāt.in) meanings of
religious beliefs and practices. The Nizārı̄ community now functioned on
a higher religious plane, with all non-Nizārı̄s deemed “spiritually non-
existent.”
Given the isolation of the Nizārı̄ community in the mountainous regions
in northern Iran, word of H . asan’s declaration did not reach many non-
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s. Even in far-off Nizārı̄ communities (e.g., Syria), the implications
of the qiyāma were downplayed, with few changes in ritual practice or in
interactions with other Muslim groups. It is difficult to assess the actual
impact of the qiyāma in Alamut and the surrounding region. Later non-
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources contend that it was an antinomian doctrine that encouraged
adherents to disregard central religious precepts such as prayer and dietary
laws. More sympathetic commentators argue that the pronouncement only
encouraged a deeper contemplation of the inner meanings of religious
practices. In the absence of contemporaneous source materials, it is difficult
to come to any definitive conclusion about the qiyāma. It is clear, however,
that H . asan and his immediate successors claimed the elevated status of
Qā’im-Imāms, heralding a new age in which the inner truths (h.aqā’iq) of
the religion were finally available to the Nizārı̄ community at large.
Jalāl al-Dı̄n H
. asan and the Turn toward Sunnism
The political dynamic in Iran and Syria shifted dramatically in the early
thirteenth century. The biggest threat came from the east with the rising
power of the Mongols and the collapse of Seljuq authority. The Nizārı̄
Imāms responded by forging closer ties with Sunnı̄ states while attempt-
ing to consolidate (or even expand) their territorial control. This process
required an abandonment of the community’s isolation and contributed
perhaps to the public repudiation of the qiyāma by Jalāl al-Dı̄n H . asan, the
third in the Nizārı̄ line of Imāms. The community was now instructed to
observe the outward meaning of the religious law in accordance with Sunnı̄
jurisprudence. Jalāl al-Dı̄n H . asan facilitated this process by inviting Sunnı̄
(Shāfi‘ı̄) jurists into Nizārı̄ territories to provide legal instruction.
Jalāl al-Dı̄n H . asan’s adoption of Sunnı̄ law was a dramatic break with the
past. Even in the early Fāt.imid period, before the systematic development
of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ jurisprudence, the Imāms had implemented a legal system that
drew on Shı̄‘ı̄ principles. Jalāl al-Dı̄n H . asan, however, went so far as to seek
(and receive) the endorsement of the ‘Abbāsid caliph in Baghdad. This was
 Daftary, A Short History, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
intended to legitimize the community’s outreach to the Sunnı̄ world and
to facilitate truces between the Nizārı̄s and Sunnı̄ states in Syria and Iran.
As the Mongol threat grew, Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ strongholds provided refuge
for Sunnı̄s fleeing from Khurāsān and other parts of eastern Iran. The
rapprochement with Sunnism alleviated pressure on the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in
the short term, but it could not prevent their collapse in the face of Mongol
military power in the s and s.
It appears that Jalāl al-Dı̄n H. asan’s reorientation of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism
met little internal opposition. This was likely a consequence of the doctrine
of ta‘lı̄m, in which each Imām had absolute autonomous authority to
define belief for the community at large. The Imām’s actions were beyond
reproach and could differ wholly from those of his predecessors. A number
of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ scholars did try to make sense of the change, arguing that
an Imām could shift the community between states of qiyāma (when
the inner truth of revelation was manifest) and satr (when the truth was
concealed and adherents practiced taqiyya). Jalāl al-Dı̄n H . asan’s embrace
of Sunnı̄ jurisprudence was thus seen as an act of dissimulation necessary
for the security of the Nizārı̄ community of the time. A new Imām might
reestablish the qiyāma in the manner of H . asan ‘alā dhikrihi’l-salām. These
transient shifts would culminate with the final qiyāma, the actual physical
resurrection marking the end of the seventh and final era of human history.
This framework resolved apparent contradictions in the policies of Nizārı̄
Imāms while reinforcing their individual interpretive authority.
The Nizārı̄ emphasis on ta‘lı̄m solved many of the problems associated
with expectations about the Imām. The Imām was not required to prove
his claim in any way. His actions and decisions were beyond scrutiny and
constituted the only means for attaining salvation. A similar ethos had
pervaded the Twelver doctrine of the Imāmate, but the Twelver Imāms
were continually questioned by their followers and asked to explain devi-
ations from previous rulings. The assumption was that a single ruling
was correct so that apparent contradictions required justification. Twelver
jurists invoked the concept of taqiyya to avoid the appearance of differ-
ences between the Imāms. The Fāt.imids did not address this issue directly;
rather, they controlled access to the Imām to avoid such situations and
sent their missionaries to distant regions. By contrast, the Nizārı̄ Imām
exercised ultimate authority in his own time. His opinions could not be
evaluated by any other figure. The decisions of consecutive Imāms might
directly contradict each other, but both were considered correct for their
time. The Nizārı̄ Imām had access to a special religious knowledge that lay
outside the understanding of ordinary believers.
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
The Iranian Nizārı̄ state was ultimately destroyed by the onslaught of
Mongol armies in the s. The last Nizārı̄ Imām at Alamut, Rukn al-
Dı̄n Khurshāh, recognized the futility of resistance and unsuccessfully
attempted to negotiate a peace with the Mongols. He was taken prisoner
after the castle fell in  and executed in . The Syrian Nizārı̄ com-
munity, which appears to have enjoyed considerable local autonomy under
Rashı̄d al-Dı̄n Sinān (a representative of the Imām, d. ) and his succes-
sors, was gradually subsumed by the Mamlūk dynasty of Egypt, with their
last stronghold surrendering in . In contrast to the Iranian Nizārı̄s,
who were decimated by the Mongol conquests, the Syrian Nizārı̄s were
permitted to remain in their homes as Mamlūk subjects. Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism
now entered a new period of concealment.
iii. from the fall of alamut to the rise

of the aga khan
The history of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s after  is obscure. The most impor-
tant contemporaneous source, the history of al-Juwaynı̄ (d. ), claims
that the Mongols effectively wiped out the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community in northern
Iran. Recent scholarship, however, has shown that Nizārı̄ communities sur-
vived despite regular periods of persecution. Alamut and its surrounding
areas remained particularly important, as evidenced by multiple efforts to
reclaim the fortress in the name of the Imām. Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s continued to
reside in parts of northern Iran (e.g., Quhistān) and Syria. Earlier mission-
ary efforts had also established Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities in India from
the coastal regions of Gujarat to the Himalayan regions of the north.
Although the survival of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s is clear from the historical
record, a greater degree of ambiguity surrounds the fate of the Imāmate
after the death of Rukn al-Dı̄n Khurshāh. According to modern Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
sources, the lineage of the current Imām (Aga Khan IV) runs back to ‘Alı̄
through a chain of forty-eight predecessors. The most controversial links
in this genealogy cover a period of roughly five hundred years from the
mid-thirteenth to the mid-eighteenth century. The historical narrative that
follows is based primarily on Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ accounts and includes a significant
amount of conjecture. This does not mean that the narrative is fictional, but
it is difficult to verify with any degree of certainty. It should be approached
with a degree of caution.
 This section draws on Farhad Daftary’s The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, –, and Shafique Virani’s The Ismailis in
the Middle Ages.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Nizārı̄ Imāms, Post-Alamut (1256–Present)
The new period of concealment begins with the death of Rukn al-Dı̄n Khurshāh.
. Shams al-Dı̄n Muh.ammad (r. –)
. Qāsim Shāh (r. –?)
The Imāmate of Islām Shāh marks the start of the Anjudān period.
. Islām Shāh (r. ?)
. Muh.ammad b. Islām Shāh (r. ?)
. Mustans.ir bi’llāh II (r. ?–)
. Nūr al-Dı̄n Abū Dharr ‘Alı̄ (r. –?)
. Murād Mı̄rzā (r. ?–)
. Khalı̄l Allāh I (r. –)
. Nūr al-Dı̄n Nūh. al-Dahr ‘Alı̄ (r. –)
. Khalı̄l Allāh II (r. –)
The Anjudān period ends when Imām Shāh Nizār moves from Anjudān to Kahak.
. Shāh Nizār II (r. –)
. Sayyid ‘Alı̄ (r. –?)
. H. asan ‘Alı̄ (r. ?)
. Sayyid Ja‘far Qāsim ‘Alı̄ (r. ?)
. Bāqir Shāh Abū H . asan ‘Alı̄ (r. ?–)
The Imāmate of Khalı̄l Allāh III marks the first verifiable emergence of Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lism from a state of concealment.
. Khalı̄l Allāh III (r. –)
Aga Khan I transferred the seat of the Imāmate to Bombay.
. Aga Khan I H. asan ‘Alı̄ Shāh (r. –)
. Aga Khan II Āqā ‘Alı̄ Shāh (r. –)
. Aga Khan III Sult.ān Muh.ammad Shāh (r. –)
. Aga Khan IV Shāh Karı̄m H . usaynı̄ (r. –present)
In The Ismailis in the Middle Ages, Shafique Virani examines the Nizārı̄
Imāmate from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century (see Table .). Much
of his work involves a painstaking reconstruction of genealogical connec-
tions based on scant evidence. Virani pieces together obscure references and
allusions into a tenable historical narrative that he supplements with a care-
ful discussion of key Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ theological doctrines. More important,
he provides a basis for Nizārı̄ lineal claims, tracing the Imāmate through
Shams al-Dı̄n Muh.ammad (d. ), a son of Rukn al-Dı̄n Khurshāh, who
spent much of his life in Tabriz (in Iranian Azerbaijan) but traveled widely
in an effort to preserve the unity of the broader Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community.
Shams al-Dı̄n Muh.ammad’s death produced a split whose exact dynamics
remain unclear. The group that survived into the modern period affirmed
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
the Imāmate of a son or grandson of Shams al-Dı̄n who was known as
Qāsim Shāh. In this period, the community embraced the notion of con-
cealment, and the Imām was hidden from public view.
Qāsim Shāh was succeeded by his son, Islām Shāh, who initiated the first
in a series of geographic reorientations in the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community. In
an attempt perhaps to escape Sunnı̄ centers of power, Islām Shāh settled to
Anjudān in central Iran, which was home to a large Shı̄‘ı̄ population. The
actual date of this move is difficult to determine with precision, but Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāms were apparently resident there by the late fifteenth century
as attested by the extant tomb of Imām Mustans.ir bi’llāh II (d. ), the
grandson of Islām Shāh. The town remained the seat of the Nizārı̄ Imāms
for the next two centuries through the Imāmate of Khalı̄l Allāh II (d. ),
a period often referred to (by the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources) as the Anjudān Period
or the Post-Alamut Revival.
During their time in Anjudān, the Nizārı̄ Imāms increasingly presented
themselves as heads of a Sufi order with followers in numerous scattered
localities. This mode of organization was quite different from the more
centralized model of the Alamut state, and distant communities accrued
significant autonomy. The modern Nizārı̄ position holds that this seeming
transformation from an Imāmate into a Sufi order was an act of precau-
tionary dissimulation (taqiyya) at a time of relentless persecution. Daftary
ascribes the shift to the close affinity between Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Sufi notions
of the esoteric and inner meanings of religious practices and texts. He
describes this phenomenon as follows:
Nizārism utilized the guise of Sufism, appearing as a Sufi order. . . . For this
purpose, the Nizārı̄s readily adopted the master-disciple (murshid-murı̄d) ter-
minology and relationship of the Sufis. To the outsiders, the Nizārı̄ imams
appeared as Sufi murshids, shaykhs, pı̄rs, or qut.bs. . . . Similarly, the followers of
the imams posed as their murı̄ds, who were guided along the .tarı̄qa or path to
h.aqı̄qa by a highly revered spiritual master.
In other words, the Nizārı̄ Imāms appeared as heads of the Ni‘matallāhı̄ Sufi
order, outwardly adopting its basic terminology and assuming Sufi names
such as Shāh Qalandar and Shāh Gharı̄b in their dealings with outsiders.
The Anjudān period witnessed a reinvigoration of Nizārı̄ missionary
activities, particularly in the Indian subcontinent. The most successful of
these efforts were ascribed to the family of Pir Shams al-Dı̄n (fl. four-
teenth century), whose most famous member, Pir S.adr al-Dı̄n (d. between
 Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, . For a different perspective, see Virani, The Ismailis, –.
 Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
 and ), is credited with converting much of the modern Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community in Gujarat and giving them the name Khoja, “derived from the
Persian honorific used for people of stature or sages of high achievement.”
The leadership of the Khojas remained in the hands of Pirs (a title given
to agents entrusted to spread Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism), with succession disputes
sometimes resulting in schisms. The Nizārı̄ Imāms struggled to control
these agents who excercised significant autonomy and financial indepen-
dence.
According to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, the Imāms attempted to reinforce
their authority by issuing official decrees and circulating correspondence
that was translated into local languages. Beginning in the s, there is also
evidence that Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities in Afghanistan and Iran were
channeling significant funds to the Imāms. This income was conveyed by
official agents and representatives as well as individual adherents who made
the journey to Iran explicitly to visit the Imām. This financial connection
would prove important three hundred years later when the Aga Khan
claimed direct leadership of the Khoja community in India.
The primary literary output of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in India were the
Ginans. These works were a syncretic mix of Hindu and Muslim elements
that offered moral and religious instructions intertwined with poetry and
legendary historical accounts. They were composed in Gujarati and often
sung, as evidenced by some surviving manuscripts that record the appropri-
ate melodies necessary for recitation. The authorship of individual Ginans
was ascribed to the Pirs. The later Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ tradition claims that
these texts were designed by Pirs to mobilize local beliefs in the interests
of conversion. Others have argued that the Ginans embodied a unique
religious orientation that sat on the boundary between Hindu and Muslim
identity, known as “Satpanth” (lit. True Path). Regardless of their origins,
the Ginans reflected the self-image of the Khoja community, which bal-
anced an apparent allegiance to an Imām in Iran with the broader cultural
practices of Gujarat. Offshoots of Nizārı̄ communities in the subcontinent
possess similar texts, suggesting the centrality of this poetic form in the
articulation of local identity.
The death of Imām Khalı̄l Allāh II in  signaled the end of the
Anjudān period. The new Imām, Shāh Nizār II (d. ), moved twenty
 Virani, The Ismailis, .

 As discussed in Chapter , one particular Ginan was the key piece of evidence in the legal decision
that established the authority of Nizārı̄ Imāms in India in the nineteenth century.
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
miles northeast to the small village of Kahak. A short time later, his great-
grandson Imām H . asan ‘Alı̄ (d. mid eighteenth century?) settled in Shahr-i
Bābak in the northern Iranian province of Kirmān. The latter shift was
apparently part of an effort to accommodate delegations from India, whose
financial contributions continued to grow. There is little information about
the activities of the Nizārı̄ Imāms in this period.
With the collapse of the Safavid dynasty in the mid-eighteenth century,
the Nizārı̄ Imāms reemerged on the Iranian political scene. They cultivated
close ties with the Zand dynasty (–), culminating in the appointment
of Imām Bāqir Shāh Abū H . asan ‘Alı̄ (d. , grandson of Imām H
. asan
‘Alı̄) to the governorship of Kirmān. Despite massive political upheaval,
he managed to secure the province by raising a personal army. When the
Qajars conquered the region in , the new Imām, Khalı̄l Allāh III
(d. ), was allowed to return to Kahak, where he remained for nearly
twenty years. The reign of Khalı̄l Allāh III marked the first historically
verifiable reemergence of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāmate since the fall of
Alamut. In , he transferred the Imāmate to Yazd in central Iran, a
move designed (according to Daftary) to further reinforce his ties with the
Nizārı̄s of Afghanistan and India.
Khalı̄l Allāh III was murdered by a mob in  and succeeded by his
thirteen-year-old son H . asan ‘Alı̄ Shāh. Through his mother’s intervention,
he was granted significant land around Qum and married to a daughter
of the Qajar ruler Fath. ‘Alı̄ Shāh (r. –). He was also awarded
the title of Aga Khan (subsequently referred to as Aga Khan I). In ,
the new Qajar ruler Muh.ammad Shāh (r. –) appointed Aga Khan
I governor of Kirmān. He successfully secured the region but was soon
removed from office and summoned to court. Rejecting the order, Aga
Khan I launched an unsuccessful rebellion in . After spending a year
in prison, he was settled in Kahak and ordered to refrain from politics.
Within a few years, he was again suspected of sedition and (on the pretext
of a journey to Mecca) returned to Yazd, where he organized a second
rebellion in . When the Qajar army defeated him in , Aga Khan
I fled to Afghanistan, eventually taking residence in the city of Qandahar
and establishing close ties with the British. Over the next three years, he
utilized his influence in Afghanistan and Sind on behalf of the British in
exchange for a large yearly stipend. This was followed by a move to India
and unsuccessful efforts to negotiate a return to Iran. By , Aga Khan
I had settled in Bombay, which became the new seat of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Imāmate.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
i v . l i v i n g w i t h a n i m ā m
The central defining feature of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism, from its roots in the mid-
eighth-century succession crisis of al-S.ādiq to its reemergence in the nine-
teenth century under Aga Khan I, is the unquestioned authority of the
Imām. Although the Imāmate is important to other Shı̄‘ı̄ groups, they do
not have to contend with an inerrant ruling leader endowed with the power
to define (or redefine) theological and legal doctrine. Recall that the Zaydı̄
Imām is primarily a scholar-leader whose authority, while dependent on
his religious credentials, rests on his ability to seize political power. He
is not considered inerrant. The Twelver Imām theoretically possesses the
same kind of authority as the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām. Since his disappearance in
the late ninth century, however, this authority has remained dormant. It is
only among the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘a that the practical implications of an inerrant
Imām are observable over an extended period.
The autonomy given to each Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām makes it difficult to formu-
late broad judgments about the doctrinal positions of the larger Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community. The Imām’s access to the hidden inner truth of religious
knowledge legitimizes wide variance in Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ beliefs. Thus, there are sig-
nificant differences between the doctrinal positions ascribed to the Fāt.imid
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in North Africa compared with those in Egypt. Even within the
Egyptian period, Imāms proposed seminal changes intended to win back
dissident (Qarmat.ı̄) groups, and agents in Iran and other regions propa-
gated idiosyncratic ideas appropriate to local conditions. A similar concep-
tion of authority explains the divergent views of the Nizārı̄ Imāms. Nizārı̄
scholars managed to harmonize apparent contradictions into a cohesive
system, but this process took considerable time. The Nizārı̄ Imām retained
the absolute freedom to define (or alter) the entire theological and legal
edifice of his community. Chapter  traces the implications of this flexible
notion of authority for the twentieth- and twenty-first-century Imāmates
of the Aga Khans.
The religious policies of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāms were partly shaped by the
lofty expectations associated with an inerrant ruling Imām. In the case of
the Fāt.imid Empire, the Imāms made little effort to convert subjects who
 The T.ayyibı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (a surviving branch of Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s) contend that their final Imām,
al-T.ayyib Abū al-Qāsim (see Table .), went into occultation. In his absence, the community
is led by the “Dā‘ı̄,” who exercises all the powers of the Imām and is appointed through formal
designation by his predecessor. This system allows a leader who lacks the lofty qualifications of an
Imām to exercise the full authority of the Imām.
The Weight of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Expectations 
lived in the areas directly under their control. They also developed layers of
bureaucracy and elaborate court rituals that shielded them from the general
public. By contrast, there was little chance of popular disappointment in
Iran and Afghanistan, where the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām was a distant, idealized fig-
ure. The Fāt.imids directed their missionaries to these regions, authorizing
them to adapt their messages to the proclivities of local populations or the
intellectual tastes of the elite. The Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s dealt with expectations
by emphasizing the Imām’s privileged knowledge and placing him beyond
scrutiny. This enabled the Imām to advance doctrines that might appear
highly unusual (e.g., the proclamation of the qiyāma) with little to no
formal opposition. The office of the Imāmate was thus placed outside the
bounds of human evaluation. This remains the dominant position of the
Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in the contemporary period.
Finally, the theological foundations of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism require a continu-
ous line of Imāms stretching back to ‘Alı̄ and appointed through formal des-
ignation (see Chapter ). This requirement is complicated by three murky
periods during which the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāms lived in a state of concealment.
The first of these occurred between the disappearance of Muh.ammad b.
Ismā‘ı̄l in the late eighth century and the appearance of the Fāt.imid Imāms
in the late ninth century. The second lasted from the death of Nizār in
the late eleventh century to the declaration of a new Imām at Alamut in
the later twelfth century. The third spanned the period between the fall
of Alamut in  and the reemergence of an Imām (Khalı̄l Allāh III) in
Kirmān in the eighteenth century. There are certainly official genealogies
that present a continual line of forty-nine Imāms beginning with ‘Alı̄, but
these cannot be verified by the extant sources.

There is little secondary literature on early Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ history. The standard reference
works are those of Farhad Daftary:
Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ).
This is the most comprehensive study of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism beginning with its
origins in the eighth century and stretching into the modern period.
Farhad Daftary, Ismailis in Medieval Muslim Societies (New York: I. B. Tauris,
). Drawing on previous work, Daftary provides a set of topical studies of
different historical periods and local Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities.
Farhad Daftary, ed., Mediaeval Isma‘ili History and Thought (New York: Cambridge
University Press, ). This work collects essays from leading scholars of Shı̄‘ism
on a range of topics related to Ismā‘ı̄lism.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Farhad Daftary, A Short History of the Ismailis (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, ). Although Daftary offers some new material, this is essentially a
summary and reorganization of his earlier (and much longer) work.
For a discussion of the political implications of Ismā‘ı̄lism, see Patricia Crone,
God’s Rule (New York: Columbia University Press, ), –.
The following works offer detailed analysis of the history of the Fāt.imid dynasty:
Heinz Halm, The Empire of the Mahdi, translated by Michael Bonner (New York:
Brill, ).
Heinz Halm, The Fāt.imids and Their Traditions of Learning (New York: I. B.
Tauris, ).
Yaacov Lev, State and Society in Fatimid Egypt (New York: Brill, ).
Paula Sanders, Ritual, Politics, and the City in Fatimid Cairo (Albany: State Uni-
versity of New York Press, ).
Paul Walker, Caliph of Cairo (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, ).
The following works focus on the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in the aftermath of the  Mon-
gol conquest of Alamut:
Hamid Algar, “The Revolt of the Āghā Khān Mah.allātı̄ and the Transference of
the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imamate to India,” Studia Islamica  (): –.
Nadia Eboo Jamal, Surviving the Mongols (New York: I. B. Tauris, ).
David Morgan, Medieval Persia (New York: Longman, ). Morgan’s discussion
of the Seljuq and Mongol periods provides the broader historical context for
Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism.
Azim Nanji, Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Tradition in the Indo-Pakistan Subcontinent (Delmar:
Caravan Books, ). This work focuses on the missionary activities of Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s in India.
Teena Purohit, The Aga Khan Case (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
), especially –.
Shafique Virani, The Ismailis in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
).
7
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem

of the Hidden Imām
The disappearance of the twelfth Imām in  plunged the Twelvers (then
Imāmı̄s) into a prolonged state of crisis. It took generations for the com-
munity to arrive at a consensus regarding the number of Imāms and the
eschatological implications of occultation. This chapter examines the sub-
sequent development of Twelver Shı̄‘ism, which culminated in the adoption
of a modified Mu‘tazilı̄ theological edifice, the development of a rationalist
legal system, and the growth of the authority of scholars. Specifically, it
documents three seminal transformations in Twelver Shı̄‘ism: (i) the rise
of Mu‘tazilı̄ theology and systematic legal reasoning in the aftermath of
the Imām’s occultation, (ii) the far-reaching impact of Safavid patronage
of Twelver Shı̄‘ism in Iran beginning in the sixteenth century, and (iii)
the victory of rationalist (us.ūlı̄ ) over traditionist (akhbārı̄ ) legal discourse
late in the eighteenth century. Although the chapter is organized chrono-
logically, there are places where thematic concerns require a return to the
preoccultation period.
i. the implications of occultation

Before , the forebears of the Twelver Shı̄‘a had a visible and (mostly)
accessible Imām who provided guidance on uncertain or ambiguous issues.
As detailed in Chapters  and , the Twelvers viewed the Imāmate as a nec-
essary consequence of the end of prophethood. The Imām’s interpretations
were considered authoritative, and they guaranteed that the Muslim com-
munity remained on the proper path. This section examines the devolution
of authority in the postoccultation period from an Imām to a class of reli-
gious scholars who relied primarily on rational discourse.

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
A. Theology
After the Imām’s occultation, the Twelver Shı̄‘a gradually embraced several
key Mu‘tazilı̄ theological positions. They first affirmed the foundational
Mu‘tazilı̄ idea that the fundamentals of religion were grounded in human
reason. They then absorbed a number of central Mu‘tazilı̄ principles. Before
turning to these developments, it may be helpful to restate the five core
beliefs of the Mu‘tazila as outlined in the introduction to Section  of the
book:
(i) The principle of divine oneness (tawh.ı̄d), which holds most of God’s
attributes to be metaphorical
(ii) The principle of rational divine justice
(iii) The principle of the promise and the threat (al-wa‘d wa-l-wa‘ı̄d ),
which affirms the eternal punishment of the sinner
(iv) The principle of the “intermediate position,” through which a grave
sinner is considered morally corrupt ( fāsiq) rather than a believer or a
nonbeliever
(v) The principle of “enjoining good and forbidding wrong,” which re-
quires an activist engagement with the material world
In time, Twelver scholars fully embraced the first two principles,
unequivocally rejected the third and fourth, and conditionally adopted
the fifth.
During the eighth and ninth centuries, the Twelver community’s engage-
ment with theology (kalām) was limited by the presence of a living and
accessible Imām. This does not mean that Twelver scholars completely
shunned theological discourse. In fact, a number of figures associated with
Ja‘far al-S.ādiq participated in theological debates, including, most promi-
nently, Zurāra b. A‘yan (d. between  and ) and Hishām b. al-H . akam
(d.  or ). A majority of Twelver scholars, however, refrained from
theological speculation in favor of a traditionist approach grounded in the
statements of the Imāms. Some even condemned theologically minded
scholars in severe terms for preferring theological musings to the Imām’s
authoritative guidance. There was some basis for this criticism, as Twelver
theologians occasionally took positions that appeared to contradict the
Imāms, particularly on issues such as free will and the nature of God’s
attributes.
The general ambiguity of the Imāms’ views provided Twelver theologians
a degree of interpretive latitude. They also benefited from statements in
which the Imāms encouraged their followers to utilize reason and rationality
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
to defend the community against Mu‘tazilı̄ attacks. For their part, the
Mu‘tazila accused the Twelvers of anthropomorphism and determinism
and were particularly critical of the Twelver doctrines of badā’ (a change in
the divine decision based on historical circumstance) and raj‘a (the return
of the dead). Twelver theologians of this period held a diversity of views,
but they were united in their ultimate deference to the authority of the
Imām. Hossein Modarressi notes that although the Imāms “pointed out
that rational argument is good as a means in dialectics . . . no belief should
be constructed upon it, because religion is the realm of revelation, not
reason.” In other words, rationalism was valuable in polemical arguments,
but it remained subservient to the authority of the Imām, especially in
matters of belief.
In the course of the ninth century, the ‘Abbāsids increasingly restricted
the Imāms’ movements and sequestered them from their followers. These
pressures culminated in the forced transfer of the tenth and eleventh Imāms
to the ‘Abbāsid capital of Samarra and the disappearance of the twelfth
Imām in . At the time of the occultation, a majority of the Twelver Shı̄‘a
were traditionists, relying exclusively on reports that conveyed the words
or actions of the Prophet and the Imāms. This perspective was particularly
strong in the Iranian city of Qum, home to one of the two largest Twelver
communities of the time. Theological discourse was restricted to a handful
of Twelver scholars in Baghdad. By neutralizing the potential for conflict
with the Imām, the occultation opened space for Twelver theologians to
develop their ideas in conversation with the Mu‘tazila.
By the late ninth and early tenth centuries, a few Twelver scholars had
clearly embraced Mu‘tazilı̄ ideas. Abū Sahl Ismā‘ı̄l b. ‘Alı̄ (d. ) and H
. asan
b. Mūsā (d. ) from the prominent Banū Nawbakht family in Baghdad,
for example, affirmed Mu‘tazilı̄ positions regarding God’s attributes, divine
justice, and free will. They continued, however, to reject Mu‘tazilı̄ prin-
ciples that directly contradicted the Twelver doctrine of the Imāmate,
particularly the denial of infallibility and the belief in the unconditional
punishment of the sinner. Ibn Qiba (d. before ), a Mu‘tazilı̄ theologian
who converted to Twelver Shı̄‘ism, signalled an even broader appropriation
of rationalist theology. His conception of the Twelver Imāmate included
 The animosity between the Mu‘tazila and Twelver theologians in the eighth century is well docu-
mented. See Modarressi, Crisis, – and Madelung, “Imamism,” –.
 Modarressi, Crisis, .
 Madelung, “Imamism,” –.
 This latter belief conflicted with the Twelver view that the Imāms would intercede on behalf of their
followers on the Day of Judgment.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
(i) an emphasis on knowledge and piety over lineage, (ii) a stress on the
need for clear designation (nas..s), (iii) a reduction in excessive claims about
the Imām’s knowledge, and (iv) a reluctance to declare the broader Muslim
community apostates over the succession to Muh.ammad. Ibn Qiba’s views
were particularly influential among later Twelver scholars/theologians with
Mu‘tazilı̄ inclinations.
Despite the increasing number of Twelver scholars engaged in theological
speculation, traditionism remained dominant within Twelver Shı̄‘ism in the
tenth century. The community’s position at the time is best exemplified
by Muh.ammad b. ‘Alı̄ b. Bābawayh al-S.adūq (known as Ibn Bābawayh)
(d.  or ), a leading Twelver authority who settled in Rayy. Ibn
Bābawayh was generally ambivalent toward theological discourse, but he
was willing to engage theologians on those issues for which traditions
appeared to provide some measure of guidance and insight. For example,
he took Twelver traditions that seemed to support anthropomorphism
and determinism and demonstrated the viability of alternative readings.
In the process, he minimized differences between the Twelvers and the
Mu‘tazila regarding God’s attributes and divine justice. With respect to
free will, Ibn Bābawayh argued that the acts of human beings were created
by God, but he described this creation as “preestimation” as opposed
to “production.” This meant that God did not compel an action but
rather created the causal means for its performance. At the same time, Ibn
Bābawayh remained committed to several Twelver notions criticized by the
Mu‘tazila, such as intercession, the change in the divine decision based on
historical circumstance (badā’), and the return of the dead (raj‘a).
The broad adoption of Mu‘tazilı̄ ideas by Twelver scholars first occurred
in the generation after Ibn Bābawayh. The key figure in this transition was
al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d Muh.ammad b. Muh.ammad b. Nu‘mān (d.  or
), the head of the Twelver community in Baghdad. Al-Mufı̄d dismissed
traditionist injunctions against theology, citing the example of Imāms who
had authorized their followers to use reason to defend the community’s
central doctrines (described earlier). In some instances, he offered creative
reinterpretations of Twelver traditions that supported his theological posi-
tions, but in most cases, his opinions were grounded solely in his own
independent reasoning.
 Modarressi, Crisis, –.

 For Ibn Bābawayh’s view as presented later in the chapter, see Madelung, “Imamism,” –.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
The theological views ascribed to al-Mufı̄d generally fit the Baghdadi (as
opposed to Basran) school of Mu‘tazilism. The subtle differences between
these two schools are beyond the scope of this book. In substantive terms,
al-Mufı̄d accepted a majority of Mu‘tazilı̄ arguments regarding God’s unity
and attributes (based on Twelver traditions) and divine justice (with most
of its consequences). In the case of free will, he rejected Ibn Bābawayh’s
notion of “preestimation” in favor of the Mu‘tazilı̄ position. Al-Mufı̄d
remained opposed to the Mu‘tazilı̄ belief in the unconditional punishment
of the sinner and the intermediate state of the sinner. His primary disagree-
ment with the Mu‘tazila, however, concerned the Imāmate, as he strongly
affirmed ‘Alı̄’s exclusive right to succession and the special status of the
Imāms (e.g., in terms of intercession and miracles).
Although he established the basic parameters of the relationship between
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and Mu‘tazilism, al-Mufı̄d was primarily interested in
deflecting theological criticism. He believed that the fundamentals of reli-
gion were not based solely on reason but required revelation and transmit-
ted knowledge. By contrast, his student and successor in Baghdad, al-Sharı̄f
al-Murtad.ā (d. ), argued that reason alone could establish the validity
of seminal Twelver beliefs. In terms of doctrine, al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā’s
views aligned with the Basran school of Mu‘tazilism. This placed him in
opposition to al-Mufı̄d on a multitude of minor theological points (mostly
beyond the scope of this book), but the two agreed on most vital issues.
Wilferd Madelung notes that “in such fundamental matters as the ima-
mate, the condemnation of the adversaries of the Imams as infidels, the
rejection of the unconditional punishment of the sinner, and the belief in
the intercession of the Imams al-Murtad.ā followed the doctrine of his first
teacher al-Mufı̄d.” In theological areas where al-Mufı̄d reinterpreted tradi-
tions, al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā offered rational explanations that implicitly (if
not explicitly) affirmed central Mu‘tazilı̄ positions. His primary innova-
tion lay in his inversion of the relationship between reason and revelation.
For al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā, it was reason, not revelation, that established the
basic fundamentals of religion.
 For al-Mufı̄d’s view as presented later, see Madelung, “Imamism,” –.

 In addition to al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā studied with a number of prominent
Mu‘tazilı̄ theologians.
 Madelung, “Imamism” –.
 Madelung cites, for example, al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā’s efforts at interpreting raj‘a as the return of the
Imām as opposed to widespread return of the dead as well as his affirmation of the createdness of
the Qur’ān. See Madelung, “Imamism,” .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā cleared the path for subsequent generations of
Twelver scholars to embrace a wide range of Mu‘tazilı̄ doctrines. Madelung
summarizes the classical post–eleventh-century Twelver theological posi-
tion as follows:
Reason alone is the sole source of the fundamentals of faith according to their
[i.e., thirteenth- and fourteenth-century Twelver scholars’] teaching. Questions
which had been distinctive of early Imamite theology like the badā’, the raj‘a,
and the integrity of the Koran no longer were subject [sic] of discussion. Yet no
concession is made to Mu‘tazilism concerning the imamate, the intercession
and the rejection of the permanent punishment of the believing sinner.
Although this statement perhaps overstates the centrality of reason, it

reflects the general tenor of Twelver theological discourse of the period.
Whereas the Zaydı̄s adopted almost the entirety of Mu‘tazilı̄ theology,
the Twelvers exercised considerable discretion particularly on matters
concerning the Imāmate. By the eleventh century, they had developed
the theological framework described in the first part of this book (see
Chapters  and ).
B. Law
The previous section documented the gradual Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ embrace of
Mu‘tazilı̄ ideas. While permitting a degree of theological speculation,
the Imāms were the final arbiters of doctrine and belief. Their overrid-
ing authority strengthened a traditionist perspective that was skeptical
of the utility of human reason. Specifically, traditionist scholars argued
that human reason could not produce certain religious knowledge and was
therefore susceptible to mistaken judgments. In the presence of a living and
accessible Imām, why was there a need for rationalist speculation in either
theology or law? The Imām’s occultation in  rendered such an argument
irrelevant and allowed Mu‘tazilı̄ theology to pervade Twelver Shı̄‘ism over
the next two centuries. Twelver jurisprudence experienced a similar turn
to rationalism, heralded by many of the same scholars mentioned earlier.
Before , the Twelver Imāms provided their followers with definitive
answers to all legal questions. Traditionist scholars vested legal authority
 Madelung, “Imamism,” .

 The subsequent discussion follows the periodization scheme proposed by Modarressi in his seminal
study of the development of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ law. See Modarressi, Introduction, –.
 For this period, see Modarressi, Introduction, –.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
in the words and actions of the Imāms. Such guidance was, in fact, the
central and most important duty of an Imām. There also existed a rationalist
tendency that was supported and often defended by the Imāms, especially
with regard to theological discourse (described earlier) and jurisprudence.
With respect to the latter, Modarressi describes how Imāms sometimes
offered only general rules and principles, leaving their disciples to formulate
specific judgments. He also suggests that the Imāms publicly modeled
jurisprudential methods for their followers to emulate. On the basis of
this guidance, Twelver jurists developed a rationalist system that consisted
of “logical analysis and reasoning within the framework of Qur’ānic texts
and Tradition.” This system used inference as opposed to the analogical
reasoning (qiyās) characteristic of Sunnı̄ jurisprudence. Thus, Twelver
Shı̄‘ism in the preoccultation period included two competing groups of
legal scholars: a majority that adhered to traditionism and a minority that
relied on some rationalist techniques.
The controversy between traditionists and rationalists continued in the
period stretching from the occultation () to the latter part of the tenth
century. The traditionists placed legal authority exclusively in reports
from the Prophet and the Imāms, whereas the rationalists allowed for
inferences that went beyond these reports. A second area of dispute con-
cerned the utility of traditions preserved by a small number of (sometimes
only one or two) chains of transmitters. As opposed to traditions with mul-
tiple independent chains of transmission, these singular accounts (referred
to as akhbār al-āh.ād) were significantly more prone to fabrication. Whereas
traditionists accepted these as valid legal sources, rationalists rejected them
as too uncertain and unreliable.
 Those Twelver scholars who employed rational speculation in law were also partial to theological
discourse.
 Modarressi, Introduction, .
 An inferential argument takes a Qur’ānic injunction and fleshes out its broader implications. For
example, if the Qur’ān forbids uttering a word of annoyance to your parents (Q:–), then you
certainly cannot beat them, as this would be far worse.
 An analogical argument takes a Qur’ānic rule and analogizes it to a new situation through a causal
factor. For example, the Qur’ān forbids grape wine (Q:–). The reason (causal factor) for this
injunction is intoxication. Because beer also intoxicates, it, too, is forbidden.
 In later centuries, Twelver jurists would refer to their approach as ijtihād. In the early eighth century,
however, this word denoted the use of independent reasoning. For a discussion of the problematic
and evolving legal terminology in the early period, see Modarressi, Introduction, –.
 For this period, see Modarressi, Introduction, –.
 Rationalists also rejected the use of akhbār al-āh.ād as evidentiary sources in theological discourse.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Traditionist scholars enjoyed a clear advantage over rationalists in this
period. Based primarily in Qum, they focused on gathering and preserving
reports from the Imāms. This project consisted in critical examination of
chains of transmission to verify the reliability of a given report. Despite their
vulnerability to fabrication, singular traditions were considered superior
to human attempts at ascertaining God’s will through reason. The most
important traditionist scholars of the time included Muh.ammad b. Ya‘qūb
al-Kulaynı̄ (d. ) and Ibn Bābawayh (mentioned earlier).
The rationalist tendency in this period was represented primarily by Ibn
Abı̄ ‘Aqı̄l (d. early tenth century) and Ibn al-Junayd (d. mid-tenth century).
Ibn Abı̄ ‘Aqı̄l’s use of rational inferences and general principles resembled
the practice of the jurists who had surrounded the Imāms. He relied
on traditions that were universally accepted but dismissed reports if they
contradicted a principle deduced from the Qur’ān. He also rejected singular
traditions as legal sources. A similar form of rational analysis informed the
legal writings of Ibn al-Junayd. In contrast to Ibn Abı̄ ‘Aqı̄l, however, he
accepted the validity of singular reports, using them (alongside the Qur’ān
and widely transmitted traditions) to derive broad legal principles.
Twelver legal thought experienced a marked change beginning in the
late tenth and early eleventh centuries with the writings of al-Shaykh al-
Mufı̄d and al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā (both mentioned previously). Based in
Baghdad, these jurists successfully challenged traditionist dominance in
Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ jurisprudence. Recall that both al-Mufı̄d and al-Sharı̄f al-
Murtad.ā were skilled theologians who facilitated the adoption of some
Mu‘tazilı̄ beliefs into Twelver Shı̄‘ism. In the legal arena, their approach
resembled that of Ibn Abı̄ ‘Aqı̄l, deriving legal inferences from Qur’ānic
principles and widely transmitted traditions while rejecting the use of
singular traditions. They also considered the established practice of the
Twelver community to be a valid source of law.
The influence of al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d and al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā can-
not be overstated. They laid the foundation for the rationalist legal sys-
tem that ultimately prevailed in Twelver Shı̄‘ism. Traditionist ideas were
 Modarressi, Introduction, .

 Al-Kulaynı̄ was the author-compiler of al-Kāfı̄, the most important collection of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄
traditions.
 Modarressi identifies a third tendency in this period that neither centered exclusively on traditionism
nor utilized a formal rational system of law. He labels this position “The Intermediate School”
and describes it as follows: “The school formulated its juridical opinions through the process of
extracting specific precepts from the general principles implied in traditions, or through selection
or reconciliation when traditions were contradictory.” See Modarressi, Introduction, .
 For more on this period, see Modarressi, Introduction, –.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
marginalized and never recovered their previous strength. Their students
consolidated the rationalist position and developed a distinctively Twelver
jurisprudence. Muh.ammad b. H . asan al-T.ūsı̄ (d. ), for example, for-
mulated a new legal method that retained the rationalist features of al-
Shaykh al-Mufı̄d and al-Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā while permitting the use of
singular traditions. He was also responsible for the introduction of some
Sunnı̄ concepts into Twelver legal thought. In a number of works, he even
demonstrated the validity of Twelver legal positions, relying exclusively on
Sunnı̄ sources or methods.
Although some jurists remained suspicious of singular traditions (e.g.,
Ibn Idrı̄s), al-T.ūsı̄’s integrative approach prevailed through the fourteenth
century. The most important developments in this period involved the
systemization of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ law. Al-Muh.aqqiq Ja‘far b. H . asan al-H. illı̄
(d. ) and his student, Ibn al-Mut.ahhar H . asan b. Yūsuf al-‘Allāma al-
H. illı̄ (d. ), argued that detailed knowledge of the law was a product of
ambiguous indicators in the sources. The jurist (mujtahid ) used rational
methods (ijtihād ) to navigate this doubt, producing rulings that invariably
contained a degree of uncertainty. For this reason, they held that the ruling
of every jurist on an issue, even if it contradicted those of other jurists on
the same issue, was equally valid. The ordinary believer was instructed to
follow or imitate a given jurist’s ruling, a process called taqlı̄d. In contrast
to early Twelver demands for legal certainty, this new system acknowledged
that uncertainty was part and parcel of the law. Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ jurisprudence
achieved its classical (or us.ūlı̄ ) form with al-Shahı̄d al-Awwal (d. ), who
replaced elements derived from Sunnı̄ legal principles with exclusively Shı̄‘ı̄
ones. The result was a Twelver jurisprudence that was distinctively Shı̄‘ı̄ in
content, form, and argumentative style.
C. The Devolution of Authority

Twelver Shı̄‘ism steadily embraced rationalism in both the theological and
the legal spheres following the disappearance of the twelfth Imām. Before
occultation, the Imām was the final arbiter on all issues, even if he did
not always exercise this authority. Some Imāms tolerated a diversity of
opinions among their adherents and encouraged debates on theological
and legal matters, but this may have stemmed from political concerns.
As rivals to the Umayyad and ‘Abbāsid dynasties, the Imāms were under
constant surveillance if not outright persecution. In such an environment,
the Imāms may have authorized their followers to practice rationalist dis-
course for practical reasons. Theology provided the community a means
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
to defend Shı̄‘ı̄ doctrinal beliefs, whereas rational jurisprudence offered it
legal guidance at times when access to the Imāms was limited.
As long as the Imāms remained visible, advocates of traditionism held
a clear advantage over proponents of rationalism. Their position was
grounded in the idea that any knowledge derived purely from reason was
inherently uncertain because the human mind was imperfect. The only
source of certain knowledge was God, who communicated this informa-
tion through the Qur’ān and his selected representatives (i.e., the Prophet
and the Imāms). In the immediate aftermath of the occultation of the
twelfth Imām, the traditionists successfully consolidated their advantage.
It was broadly assumed that the twelfth Imām would soon return to usher
in a new, just sociopolitical order (see Chapter ). In the meantime, author-
ity resided in traditions which preserved the community’s memory of the
Imāms’ words and actions.
The dominance of traditionism began to wane in the latter half of the
tenth century, largely through the efforts of al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d and his
students in Baghdad. A number of factors contributed to this change. First,
the political landscape of the Muslim world had changed dramatically with
the rise of Shı̄‘ı̄ dynasties. Iran and Iraq were ruled by the Būyids (–
), a Daylamite family of Shı̄‘ı̄ origins, who encouraged the celebration
of distinctive Shı̄‘ı̄ festivals such as ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r (see Chapter ) and
patronized Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars. Al-Mufı̄d and al-Sharı̄f Murtad.ā used Būyid
political and financial support to spread their ideas, training students who,
over the next few centuries, refined and systematized the use of rationalism
in theology and law.
A second factor in the victory of rationalism over traditionism may have
involved basic pragmatism. The presence of an Imām dispels the need for
a self-sustaining system for the production of religious knowledge. When
an Imām is no longer present, however, the community requires a means
for addressing novel issues. Is coffee permissible? Is abortion murder? How
long should a Muslim fast if she lives north of the Arctic Circle where days
extend for months? For the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘a, the answers to these questions
come directly from a reigning Imām who wields absolute authority (see
Chapters  and ). For the Twelvers, traditions might have sufficed in
the short term. Over time, however, there was an inevitable pull toward
rationalist thinking that built on the textual sources but was malleable
 For the Būyids, see Kennedy, The Prophet, – and Mottahedeh, Loyalty.
 These rationalist scholars were based in Baghdad, which may have contributed to the growth of
their influence as compared with traditionist scholars, whose strength lay in regions that lacked
access to similar sources of patronage.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
enough to address emerging problems. The drift of Twelver Shı̄‘ism toward
rationalism was likely a product of this impulse, as scholars filled the void
of the absent Imām. Although the legal authority of the Imām devolved
onto the scholars, his political authority remained inaccessible even after
the establishment of a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ dynasty in Iran in the sixteenth century.
i i . s h ı̄ ‘ i s m a n d s a f a v i d i r a n
A. The Founding of the Safavid Empire

The rise of the Safavid dynasty (–) in Iran marked an important
transition in the history of Twelver Shı̄‘ism. The Safavids were originally
the leaders of a Sufi order based in Ardabil, a city in northwestern Iran
near the current border with Azerbaijan. The order was founded by S.afı̄ al-
Dı̄n (d. ) in the fourteenth century and gradually built up a following
of eastern Anatolian Turks (the Qizilbash). The teachings of the early
Safavids likely inclined toward Sunnism while maintaining a reverence
for the family of the Prophet (i.e., the ‘Alids). The Safavids themselves
claimed descent from the seventh Twelver Imām, Mūsā al-Kāz.im. The
order gained strength and influence through the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries due to the deterioration of political authority in the region. They
also benefited from a series of long-lived leaders and a stable hereditary
system for succession.
The transformation of the Safavids from a Sufi order to a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄
dynasty occurred during the reign of Shah Ismā‘ı̄l I (d. ). Beginning in
, Ismā‘ı̄l I led a series of successful military campaigns with the backing
of Qizilbash tribesmen. He was crowned Shah in his capital city of Tabriz
in , and, within a decade, his forces had completed the conquest of the
entirety of modern-day Iran and Iraq. Safavid expansion continued until
, when Ismā‘ı̄l was decisively defeated by Ottoman forces at the Battle
of Chaldiran. The dynasty survived for the next two hundred years despite a
succession of wars with the Ottomans to the west and the Uzbeks to the east.
The power of the Safavid state rested on three pillars. The first was
the military strength of the Qizilbash tribesmen, whose relationship to
the Safavids was that of adherents in a Sufi order to their master. This
charismatic bond was tenuous and unstable. It depended on a perception
of divine favor bestowed on the head of the order and could be called into
question after a political or military setback. Ismā‘ı̄l’s defeat at the hands of
the Ottomans in  appears to have unsettled his Qizilbash supporters.
Perhaps it was due to the potentially catastrophic consequences of further
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
military failures that Ismā‘ı̄l never again took to the battlefield at the head
of a Safavid army.
The second pillar was the Iranian administrative apparatus, which was
staffed primarily by Iranian bureaucrats. In their interactions with these
local (and predominantly Sunnı̄) administrative elites, the Safavid rulers
filled the traditional role of Persian kings. Throughout the Safavid period,
the Qizilbash military and the Iranian administrators competed for political
influence and economic favors.
The third pillar (and the one of greatest interest for this study) was
Twelver Shı̄‘ism. Soon after Shah Ismā‘ı̄l I came to power, he decided that
the official religion of his state would be Twelver Shı̄‘ism. This decision
continues to puzzle scholars to this day. Why would Ismā‘ı̄l choose to
impose a form of Shı̄‘ism that was practiced by only a small portion
of the population of his empire? It is possible that Ismā‘ı̄l was a strong
adherent to the faith and chose to perpetuate it regardless of the potential
consequences. Another explanation posits that Ismā‘ı̄l and his successors
wanted to define the Safavid state in opposition to the Sunnı̄ Ottoman
Empire. A third explanation emphasizes the unconventional nature of
the connection between the Safavids and their Qizilbash adherents. This
relationship was viewed with skepticism by the larger Iranian population
and considered by many to verge on deification. The Safavids sought
a foundation for their legitimacy that was more familiar to the Iranian
populace. Twelver Shı̄‘ism provided such a foundation without making
any wholesale concessions to Sunnı̄ urban elites.
All of these factors likely contributed to Ismā‘ı̄l’s decision to introduce
and promote Twelver Shı̄‘ism. It provided a contrast with Ottoman Sun-
nism while appealing to Shı̄‘ı̄ populations in areas of Anatolia, Azerbaijan,
and Armenia. The fact that the twelfth Imām was in occultation was also
advantageous in that the Safavid Shahs would not face political challenges
from ‘Alid insurgencies. Additionally, the primary centers of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄
scholarship in this period were in Iraq and Lebanon outside the confines
of the Safavid state. If those scholars could be persuaded to migrate to the
Safavid empire, they would be foreigners in their new home and wholly
dependent on the Safavid Shahs for their social status and political influ-
ence. This would enable the Shahs to exert considerably control over the
religious establishment.
B. The Impact of Scholarly Migration

The Safavid period witnessed dramatic shifts in bureaucratic institutions
and power structures in addition to the wholesale conversion of Iran from
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
Sunnism to Twelver Shı̄‘ism. A detailed examination of these transfor-
mations lies outside the scope of this study. The discussion that follows
focuses on perhaps the most important change in Twelver Shı̄‘ism during
the Safavid period: the scholars’ appropriation of the Imām’s authority.
Before the Safavid period, there was a general agreement among Twelver
scholars that all political authority was illegitimate during the Imām’s
occultation. When he reappeared, the Imām would overthrow the ruling
tyrant and establish a just state. In the meantime, the Twelver community
held to a quietist stance that contrasted sharply with the activist agenda of
the Zaydı̄s (see Chapters  and ). This position did not entail a complete
rejection of political power. As far back as the eighth century, there were
examples of individual Twelvers holding key government posts with the
blessing of the Imāms. The legality of working for the ‘Abbāsids was pred-
icated on either (i) being forced to do so out of fear of loss of life and/or
livelihood or (ii) being empowered to protect or benefit the Shı̄‘ı̄ commu-
nity at large. The issue remained controversial after the occultation, with
some scholars permitting (or even requiring) the acceptance of important
government posts and others rejecting such appointments outright. Those
who allowed government employment added the condition that the ruler
had to be “just” in enjoining good and forbidding wrong.
The Safavid decision to adopt Twelver Shı̄‘ism created space for a change
in the relationship between Twelver scholars and political power. Shah
Ismā‘ı̄l I and his successor, Shah T.ahmāsp (d. ), were eager to court
Twelver jurists and encouraged them to migrate from Iraq, Bahrain, and
Jabal ‘Āmil (in modern-day Lebanon) to Iran. The ‘Āmilı̄s were particularly
responsive to the summons given their persecution at the hands of local
Ottoman officials. The most important of the ‘Āmilı̄ scholars to settle in
the Safavid empire and the one with perhaps the greatest influence on
the subsequent development of Twelver Shı̄‘ism was al-Muh.aqqiq ‘Alı̄ b.
H. usayn al-Karakı̄ (d. ).
Al-Karakı̄ provided Safavid political claims with significant religious
backing. Drawing on previous legal precedents (see the earlier discussion
of government posts), he argued that jurists could cooperate with and ben-
efit from a just state even if it lacked the absolute legitimacy of the twelfth
Imām. He lauded Ismā‘ı̄l I as a just ruler whose authority stemmed from
his patronage of Twelver Shı̄‘ism. Over the next two centuries, Twelvers
scholars were appointed to judicial and administrative posts ranging from
prayer leaders and judges to managers of religious foundations. Al-Karakı̄
also allowed scholars to accept financial gifts and other honors from the
 For this issue, see Madelung, “Treatise.”
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Safavid Shahs, particularly tax revenues. Twelver jurists had previously con-
sidered this income illegitimate and avoided such financial entanglements.
This change benefitted al-Karakı̄ directly when Ismā‘ı̄l I awarded him the
revenue of a large area surrounding the city of Najaf in Iraq.
Al-Karakı̄ was also instrumental in reopening the question of the obliga-
toriness of the congregational Friday prayer. Twelver scholars had long held
the view that the duty of performing the Friday prayer was in abeyance until
the return of the Imām. This was partly motivated by the prayer’s legitimiz-
ing function for the state, as the ruler usually either led the Friday prayer
or appointed a subordinate for the duty. Furthermore, the ruler’s name
was mentioned in the required sermon that preceded the prayer. Twelver
jurists living under Sunnı̄ rulers prohibited the prayer to emphasize the
government’s lack of legitimacy. The Safavids were eager to reinstitute it
to strengthen their authority among the largely non-Shı̄‘ı̄ population of
early sixteenth-century Iran. Al-Karakı̄ acquiesced to Safavid pressure and
permitted the Friday prayer. More importantly, however, he restricted the
right to lead the prayer to Twelver jurists, who functioned as representa-
tives of the Imām. In the process, he predicated Safavid legitimacy on the
approval of Twelver scholars.
In , Shah T.ahmāsp declared al-Karakı̄ the deputy of the Imām and
awarded him the title “Seal of the Jurisconsults.” Al-Karakı̄ spent the last
decade of his life leading a Safavid push to enforce uniformity in religious
law and practice. In this role, he increasingly articulated an expansive
understanding of the power of the jurist during the occultation of the
Imām. Twelver scholars had long fulfilled the Imām’s functions in law and
ritual, but al-Karakı̄ extended their authority into the political sphere. He
was opposed in these efforts by many Twelver scholars (especially those
from Iraq) who were critical of his close association with the Safavid state.
In particular, they rejected his authorization of the Friday prayer and his
acceptance of political and financial patronage. By his death in , al-
Karakı̄ had transformed Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars (especially those from Jabal
‘Āmil) into a third pillar of Safavid power, with an importance that rivaled
the Qizilbash military and the Iranian bureaucracy.
The decline of Safavid authority in the seventeenth century presented
a significant opportunity for Twelver scholars. The early Safavid state had
effectively manipulated and controlled Twelver jurists by emphasizing their
position as outsiders. By the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, however,
the scholars had largely integrated into Iranian society. In addition to their
political role (discussed earlier through al-Karakı̄), they were increasingly
the beneficiaries of endowments (sing. waqf, pl. awqāf ) that provided
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
financial support in perpetuity. They also acquired significant influence
in trade guilds and among merchant networks. This emerging alliance
between the religious and merchant classes would prove critical in the
twentieth century.
C. Safavid Shı̄‘ism
The Safavid period signaled an important transformation in Twelver
Shı̄‘ism. In previous centuries, the Twelver community had for the most
part lived under the rule of non-Shı̄‘ı̄ dynasties. Although there were cer-
tainly instances of cooperation with the state, the Twelvers considered all
political power in the absence of the Imām essentially illegitimate. The
community was also subject to persecution and generally maintained a low
profile. The rise of the Safavids empowered Twelver jurists in an unprece-
dented manner. They were able to shape the religious policies of an empire
and benefited from the direct patronage of a ruling dynasty that predicated
its authority on Twelver Shı̄‘ism.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism assumed a more political and activist mode under the
Safavid Shahs. In addition to the changes discussed earlier, the Safavid
period witnessed the birth of rawżeh commemorations of the martyrdom
of H. usayn (see Chapter ). These government-sponsored public renditions
of Karbala reinforced the religious legitimacy of the Safavid state through
an association with H . usayn. Other developments in the Safavid period
included the public cursing and anathematizing of the first three caliphs
and the official introduction of a phrase affirming the spiritual and political
authority of ‘Alı̄ (wilāya; see Chapters  and ) into the call to prayer. Such
public rituals contributed to the emergence of a newly assertive Twelver
Shı̄‘ı̄ identity.
i i i . t h e a k h b ā r ı̄ - u s. ū l ı̄ d i v i d e
By the late sixteenth century, Twelver Shı̄‘ism had experienced two sig-
nificant transformations. In the centuries after the Imām’s occultation, it
had embraced a limited Mu‘tazilı̄ theological framework and a rationalist
legal methodology. The rise of the Safavids ushered in a second major
transformation, as Twelver scholars became intimately involved with polit-
ical power and articulated an increasingly activist interpretation of Twelver
Shı̄‘ism.
A third major shift in Twelver Shı̄‘ism involved the resurgence of tra-
ditionism in the shrine cities of Iraq in the seventeenth century. This
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
movement, called Akhbārism, grew largely through the efforts of the Ira-
nian scholar Muh.ammad Amı̄n al-Astarābādı̄ (d. ), who advanced a
systematic refutation of rationalist (us.ūlı̄ ) legal theory. Specifically, he criti-
cized rationalist jurists for their reliance on farfetched and overcomplicated
methods that introduced the possibility of human error into religious law.
According to al-Astarābādı̄, certain religious knowledge was exclusively
grounded in the textual sources – namely, the Qur’ān and traditions from
the Prophet (sing. h.adı̄th/pl. ah.ādı̄th) and the Imāms (sing. khabar/pl.
akhbār). The latter (i.e., the akhbār) were particularly important because
they provided contextual explanations of the former (i.e., the Qur’ān and
the ah.ādı̄th). In other words, al-Astarābādı̄ believed that “a simple con-
sultation of the Imāms’ akhbār would provide, if not indubitable knowl-
edge, then certainly ‘conventional knowledge’ (al-‘ilm al-‘ādı̄ ) of God’s
commands.”
Al-Astarābādı̄’s revival of traditionism (Akhbārism) and critique of ratio-
nalism (Us.ūlism) proved highly controversial. Those scholars who agreed
with his strict reliance on traditions were known as Akhbārı̄s. Others,
however, felt that al-Astarābādı̄ overstated the degree of certainty in his
method. First, they argued that traditions were themselves subject to doubt
because many possessed singular chains of transmission prone to fabrica-
tion. Second, they observed that an Imām may have issued a ruling that
did not reflect his actual position as a result of precautionary dissimula-
tion (taqiyya). Finally, they emphasized the uncertainty of the interpretive
process required to determine the intent of any tradition. These scholars
continued to rely on the rationalist legal theory of previous centuries and
were known as Us.ūlı̄s.
The next century witnessed a rapid ascendance of Akhbārism in the
Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ world. The reasons for its success are difficult to determine
with any degree of exactitude. Akhbārism may have benefited from general
unease with the increasing power and status of Us.ūlı̄ jurists in the Safavid
state. Their control of legal interpretation had triggered broad opposition
as early as the mid-sixteenth century, when “a tendency calling for more
freedom in Shı̄‘ı̄ law began to grow in popularity.” This tendency may
have also fueled a sixteenth-century revival in the compilation of traditions.
Another explanation cites Safavid patronage as the decisive factor in the
growth of Akhbārism. According to this view, the Safavids financed
 Encyclopaedia of Islam, rd ed., s.v. “Akhbāriyya and Us.ūliyya” (Gleave).

 Modarressi, Introduction, .
 Abisaab, Converting Persia, .
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
Akhbārı̄ scholars in the seventeeth century out of the belief that they could
provide a more stable religious foundation for the state’s legitimacy than
the Usūlı̄s. The Shahs may have also been motivated by a desire to stem
the growing power of Us.ūlı̄ scholars in the state structure.
Although the reasons for its rise are unclear, Akhbārism remained par-
ticularly influential through the seventeenth and much of the eighteenth
centuries. Akhbārı̄ scholars controlled the shrine cities in Iraq (Karbala and
Najaf ) and most of the major urban centers in Iran. They also wielded
significant authority in the Twelver communities of Bahrain and India.
Although diminished, Us.ūlism persisted in parts of Iraq and Iran, and its
foundational texts continued to be studied in most Twelver seminaries. It is
also important to note that many Twelver scholars were eclectic, combining
both Akhbārı̄ and Us.ūlı̄ elements in their legal writings.
The decline of Akhbārism is generally dated to the late eighteenth cen-
tury and ascribed to the jurist Muh.ammad Bāqir al-Bihbihānı̄ (d.  or
) and his students. Even before al-Bihbihānı̄, there was a growing belief
among Twelver jurists that Akhbārism had sown dissent in the community
because of its rejection of the possibility of multiple valid opinions on a
given legal issue. Other explanations for Akhbārı̄ decline focus on histor-
ical developments and structural weaknesses. The plague of – was
particularly devastating for Akhbārı̄ scholars and created space for Us.ūlı̄s
in the shrine cities of Iraq. The Akhbārı̄ institutional structure had failed to
integrate within the broader Shı̄‘ı̄ scholarly community to the extent that
it could withstand major disruptions such as the plague. The period also
saw the rise of rival intellectual traditions (e.g., the Shaykhı̄s) that chal-
lenged central Akhbārı̄ positions. Finally, al-Bihbihānı̄ articulated a viable
alternative that proved more attractive to many Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars, especially in
the post-Safavid period.
In line with the Us.ūlı̄ position, al-Bihbihānı̄ emphasized the importance
of rational discourse in the derivation of the law and instructed believers to
follow the rulings of jurists as the best approximations of God’s will. This
acceptance of “approximation” permitted disagreements and preserved the
unity of the larger Twelver community. Al-Bihbihānı̄ relentlessly attacked
the Akhbārı̄ position, particularly the writings of Yūsuf b. Ah.mad al-
Bah.rānı̄ (d. ), the most prominent Akhbārı̄ scholar of the period. After
al-Bah.rānı̄’s death, al-Bihbihānı̄ consolidated his position in the seminaries
of Iraq and trained a generation of scholars who revived and spread Us.ūlı̄
 This blurring of intellectual boundaries has led to confusion about the classification of some scholars
of this period.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
legal theory, most notably Ja‘far b. Khid.r Kāshif al-Ghit.ā’ (d. ) and Abū
al-Qāsim b. H . asan al-Qummı̄ (d. ).
Through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Akhbārı̄ influence
declined precipitously in much of the Shı̄‘ı̄ world, surviving only in Bahrain
and pockets of India. The fate of the Akhbārı̄s was sealed when Us.ūlı̄
scholars secured the patronage of the new Qajar rulers of Iran (–).
The Us.ūlı̄ victory was accompanied by the emergence of the concept of
the marja‘ al-taqlı̄d (source of emulation). According to this idea, each
ordinary believer was required to follow the rulings of the most learned
jurist of the age. As the primary representative of the Imām in the world,
this jurist exercised many of the powers that scholars had acquired during
the Safavid period, such as the right to collect and administer religious taxes.
The identity of the marja‘ al-taqlı̄d was determined by scholars on the basis
of knowledge, seniority, and the ability to cultivate disciples. When there
were disagreements among Twelver jurists over the identity of the marja‘
al-taqlı̄d, the office was split between a number of qualified candidates.
Each candidate then served as an independent “source of emulation” for
those who accepted his authority.
In , Murtażā al-Ans.ārı̄ (d. ) was acknowledged as the first “source
of emulation” for the global Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community. His elevation sig-
naled a shift of the intellectual center of Twelver Shı̄‘ism from Isfahan in
Iran to Najaf in Iraq. In his legal writings, al-Ans.ārı̄ justified the use of pro-
cedural principles to navigate uncertainties in the law. Roy Mottahedeh’s
description of this method is worth quoting at length:
When the jurisconsult faces a question without a sense of the strong likelihood
of one solution, then he must determine if the doubt is “primary” and “general,”
as is the case in the absence of the discovery of any law supposed to be based
on reason or tradition. (No one knows whether the special Friday noon prayer
service should be held in the absence of the Twelfth Imam, who has the
unquestionable right to lead it or to appoint its leaders.) Alternatively, the
jurisconsult may determine that the doubt is “secondary”; that is, we are not in
doubt about general principles and truths but are in doubt about something
related to the specific case (did the water splashed on me come from the dog
I saw on the roof ?). If the doubt is primary, then the jurisconsult can use the
principle of “prudence” if certain conditions are fulfilled; if, for example, it is
possible to perform all the possible obligations. If it is not possible to do so,
 It is important to note that some aspects of Akhbārism were appropriated by Us.ūlı̄ scholars. See
Oxford Encyclopedia of Islam and Law, s.v. “Legal Theory: Modern Shi‘i” (Ali).
 This concept was projected back in time to earlier periods in Twelver history, with particularly
important figures anachronistically identified as “sources of emulation.”
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
then the principle of “option” applies: One obligation can be chosen instead
of another – and so on and so forth, through a host of new clarifications that
Ansari introduced into Shiah jurisprudence.
In other words, al-Ans.ārı̄ created “decision trees” that accounted for uncer-
tainty and doubt through the use of procedural assumptions. This legal
approach remains dominant in Twelver jurisprudence in the contemporary
period.
i v . f r o m i m ā m t o j u r i s t
The two central arcs in the development of Twelver Shı̄‘ism between the
tenth and the twentieth centuries concern (i) the use of reason in the
derivation of theological doctrine and religious law and (ii) the changing
scope of juristic authority. In the time of the Imāms, the Twelver commu-
nity was guided by leaders who provided definitive and certain religious
knowledge. The institution of the Imāmate was predicated on the idea
that the Imām guaranteed the proper guidance of the community and
held political legitimacy even if he did not wield political power. A great
deal of information was preserved in traditions that related the words and
actions of the Prophet and the Imāms. Rationalist discourse was used in this
period to defend the Twelver community against the polemical attacks of its
opponents. The Imāms also encouraged a degree of rational analysis in the
derivation of the law. Ultimately, however, rationalism was subservient to
the authority of the Imām, who could always offer a corrective to rampant
speculation.
The disappearance of the Imām in  initially strengthened the tradi-
tionist sentiment in Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ circles. Previously, Twelvers had criticized
non-Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars for their use of rationalist legal methods, which allowed
imperfect humans a role in interpreting God’s will. Invested in the idea
of certainty, the leading Twelver scholars of the late ninth and most of
the tenth centuries considered traditions the only legitimate sources of
religious knowledge. The writings of al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, however, precip-
itated a fundamental change in Twelver Shı̄‘ism that saw the decline of
traditionism and the rise of rationalism. In subsequent centuries, Twelver
jurists appropriated many principles of Mu‘tazilı̄ theology and developed
a legal system grounded in a rational legal theory that accounted for and
acknowledged uncertainty. This shift may have been motivated by the
 Mottahedeh, Mantle, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
community’s need to adapt to societal changes in the prolonged absence
of the Imām. By the fourteenth century, Twelver Shı̄‘ism had acquired its
classical form, which combined a modified Mu‘tazilism with a distinctive,
reason-based jurisprudence.
Before the sixteenth century, the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community was, for
the most part, politically quietist in its major (urban) population centers.
Some prominent Twelvers held governmental positions under non-Twelver
rulers for the benefit or protection of the larger community. There were
also isolated cases of religious scholars who represented Twelver inter-
ests in negotiations with the state. These were, however, exceptional.
Overall, the community avoided interactions with non-Twelver rulers in
contrast to the activist agenda of other Shı̄‘ı̄ groups – most notably, the
Zaydı̄s.
The rise of the Safavid dynasty in Iran in  marked a major turning
point in Twelver Shı̄‘ism. The Safavids adopted Twelver beliefs and then
spread them in Iran with the help of the Twelver religious establishment.
The sixteenth century saw the rise of Twelver jurists to positions of great
power in exchange for their tacit endorsement of the Safavid state. Specif-
ically, they characterized Safavid rule as a “just” alternative to tyranny in
the absence of the Imām. In addition, many Twelver jurists appropriated
powers previously reserved for the Imām, most notably the right to collect
religious taxes and the right to lead the Friday prayer. Twelver rituals also
evolved in the Safavid period with the establishment of the public cursing
of the first three caliphs and the growth of elaborate commemorations of
the martyrdom of H . usayn.
A final notable development in Twelver Shı̄‘ism involved the revival
of traditionism in the seventeenth century. This new traditionism
(Akhbārism) contested the rationalist legal theory (Us.ūlism) that had held
sway over Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ jurists since the late tenth century. Akhbārı̄ scholars
rejected the uncertainty inherent in Us.ūlı̄ legal discourse and called for a
return to the textual sources. In the mid to late eighteenth century, Akhbārı̄
influence began to wane with the emergence of a new generation of scholars
who expanded many of the central tenets of Us.ūlı̄ jurisprudence.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries embod-
ied many of the changes of the previous millennium. The fundamentals
of Shı̄‘ı̄ belief were predicated on a Mu‘tazilı̄ theological foundation (see
Chapters  and ). Twelver jurisprudence relied on a systematized rational
 This remains true even as the tradition has shifted the argumentative basis for its beliefs away from
a strictly theological understanding.
Twelver Shı̄‘ism and the Problem of the Hidden Imām 
legal theory that incorporated aspects of uncertainty but privileged the best
option in a given case. The community was led by jurists who exercised
many of the powers of the hidden Imām. Believers were required to follow
the rulings of a living jurist (marja‘ al-taqlı̄d ) who also managed financial
resources and played a vocal role in public life. At this point, however, the
jurists did not claim a direct right to rule on behalf of the Imām. This was
to change in the twentieth century.

The following works document the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ embrace of rationalist theology
and legal theory:
Massimo Campanini, “The Mu‘tazila in Islamic History and Thought,” Religion
Compass  (): –.
Wilferd Madelung, “Authority in Twelver Shiism in the Absence of the Imam,”
in La notion d’autorité au Moyen Age: Islam Byzance, Occident (Paris: Presses
universitaires de France, ), –.
Wilferd Madelung, “Imamism and Mu‘tazilite Theology,” in Le Shı̄‘isme Imāmite,
ed. T. Fahd (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, ), –.
Islam (Princeton, NJ: Darwin, ), particularly –.
Hossein Modarressi, An Introduction to Shı̄‘ı̄ Law (London: Ithaca Press, ),
particularly –.
Andrew Newman, The Formative Period of Twelver Shı̄‘ism (Richmond, UK:
Curzon, ).
The following works discuss the history of the Būyid dynasty in Iran and Iraq:
Hugh Kennedy, The Prophet and the Age of the Caliphates (Edinburgh: Pearson,
), –.
Roy Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society (New York:
I. B. Tauris, ).
For historical background on the Safavid and Qajar dynasties, see Gene Garthwaite,
The Persians (Malden, MA: Blackwell, ), – (Safavids) and –
(Qajars).
The following works discuss the role of Twelver jurists in the Safavid Empire:
Rula Jurdi Abisaab, Converting Persia (London: I. B. Tauris, ), particularly
–.
Norman Calder, “Legitimacy and Accommodation in Safavid Iran,” Iran  ():
–.
Nikki Keddie, “The Roots of the Ulama’s Power in Modern Iran,” Studia Islamica
 (): –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Wilferd Madelung, “A Treatise of the Sharı̄f al-Murtad.ā on the Legality of Working
for the Government,” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 
(): –.
Colin Mitchell, The Practice of Politics in Safavid Iran: Power, Religion, and Rhetoric
(London: I. B. Tauris, ), particularly –.
The following works examine the Akhbārı̄-Us.ūlı̄ conflict in Twelver Shı̄‘ism begin-
ning in the seventeenth century:
Rula Jurdi Abisaab, Converting Persia (London: I. B. Tauris, ), particularly
–.
Encyclopaedia of Islam, rd ed., s.v. “Akhbāriyya and Us.ūliyya” (Gleave).
Encyclopaedia of Islam, rd ed., s.v. “al-Bihbahānı̄” (Gleave).
Robert Gleave, Inevitable Doubt (Leiden: Brill, ).
Robert Gleave, Scripturalist Islam (Leiden: Brill, ).
Etan Kohlberg, “Aspects of Akhbārı̄ Thought in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Centuries,” in Eighteenth-Century Renewal and Reform in Islam, ed. Nehemia
Levtzion and John O. Voll (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, ).
Roy Mottahedeh, The Mantle of the Prophet (New York: Simon and Schuster,
), particularly –.
The Oxford Encyclopedia of Islam and Law, s.v. “Legal Theory: Modern Shi‘i” (Aun
Ali).
section 4
Shı̄‘ism in the Modern World
Section  documented the development of three Shı̄‘ı̄ communities from

their origins in early Islam to their assumption of a “classical” form. The
Zaydı̄s oscillated between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ orientations depending on polit-
ical circumstances. The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s were led by an inerrant Imām from a single
genetic line with the unilateral ability to create doctrine and law. After the
disappearance of their twelfth Imām, the Twelvers vested his authority
in rationalist scholars, who were increasingly complicit in the exercise of
political power.
In the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, Zaydı̄, Ismā‘ı̄lı̄, and Twelver
Shı̄‘ism were challenged by the emergence of new technologies, political
ideologies, and religious forces. Similar changes had occurred in previous
centuries, but the pace and scope of modern transformations were unprece-
dented. In addition, each community had to deal with the rising power of
Europe, the influence of which was difficult to avoid even in areas spared
direct colonization, such as northern Yemen and Iran.
The final section of this book examines the experience of Shı̄‘ı̄ com-
munities in the contemporary world. Chapter  focuses on the rise in
Yemen of a secular nationalist government, which has attempted to dis-
credit central Zaydı̄ beliefs, particularly the elevated status of Sayyids and
the doctrine of armed uprising (khurūj). In its place, the state has cham-
pioned the Sunnı̄ traditionism of Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄, provoking
responses from Zaydı̄ scholars that range from accommodation to overt
rebellion. Chapter  centers on the reformulation of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community in India beginning in the late nineteenth century under the
leadership of the Aga Khans. This process, which was explicitly supported
by British colonial power, culminated in the creation of a new, transnational
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ identity supported by an institutional hierarchy of humanitarian

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
organizations. Chapter  traces the politicization of the Twelvers through
Ali Shariati’s transformation of the story of Karbala under the influence
of Third Worldism and Marxism and through Ruhollah Khomeini’s claim
that a jurist may directly exercise the political authority of the hidden
Imām.
8
Zaydism at the Crossroads
The contemporary Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘ı̄ community continues to struggle with the

challenges posed by Sunnı̄ traditionism. These challenges have persisted
through the end of the Qāsimı̄ Imāmate in , the rise of a new Zaydı̄
Imāmate (the H . amı̄d al-Dı̄ns) in , and the establishment of a Yemeni
Republic in . This chapter is organized chronologically and begins with
an examination of the continuities between the later Qāsimı̄ and H . amı̄d
al-Dı̄n Imāmates. It then turns to the Republican period, during which
the state has patronized a version of Zaydism that closely resembled Sunnı̄
traditionism while persecuting Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ communities. The chapter
ends with a survey of the multiple strategies Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars have
used to create a space for themselves in the social and political landscape
of twenty-first-century Yemen.
i . t h e h. a m ı̄ d a l - d ı̄ n i m ā m a t e ( 1 9 1 8 – 6 2 )
After the collapse of the Qāsimı̄ Imāmate in , Yemen endured twenty
years of chaos (–) followed by thirty-five years of Ottoman rule
(–). In , Muh.ammad b. Yah.yā H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n (r. –),
a descendant of the first Qāsimı̄ Zaydı̄ Imām, organized a rebellion in
northern Yemen with the support of a tribal coalition that included a
number of the most important Sayyid clans. He was succeeded by his son
al-Mutawakkil Yah.yā b. Muh.ammad (r. –, subsequently referred to
as Imām Yah.yā), who seized control of the entire country in  after the
Ottoman defeat in World War I. This marked the start of the last Zaydı̄
Imāmate in Yemen.
Any assessment of the H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāms is complicated by their
contentious place in contemporary Yemeni polemics. As part of a broad
 The title “Sayyid” refers to a descendant of the Prophet through ‘Alı̄ and Fāt.ima. Sayyid clans claim
such descent and were particularly influential in establishing the legitimacy of those who sought the
Imāmate.

 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
propaganda effort, the current Republican regime depicts these Imāms as
elitist and oppressive figures and ascribes to them views associated with
Hādawı̄ Zaydism. In reality, however, the H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāms were
oriented toward Sunnı̄ traditionism and continued many of the policies
first instituted by the late Qāsimı̄ Imāms (see Chapter ).
The influence of Sunnı̄ traditionist ideas was particularly evident in
the reign of Imām Yah.yā. Despite publicly asserting allegiance to Hādawı̄
Zaydism, he borrowed heavily from late Qāsimı̄ symbols of authority
(e.g., royal umbrellas) and surrounded himself with retinues of guards
and servants. He also established a standing army and erected an admin-
istrative structure (including the post of chief judge) reminiscent of the
eighteenth-century Qāsimı̄ state. Imām Yah.yā’s legal code cited prominent
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ jurists, but it also included numerous breaks, exemptions,
and emendations in the form of special rulings (known as ikhtiyārāt). It was
in these exceptions that his traditionist inclinations were most apparent.
He rejected, for example, the seminal Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ opinion that social
equality (kafā’a) was a condition for marriage, thereby allowing unions
between Sayyid women and non-Sayyid men. These special rulings were
supported by traditions taken from the Sunnı̄ canonical collections and
the opinions of Sunnı̄ traditionist scholars such as Ibn al-Qayyim (d. )
and Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄ (d. ).
The traditionist policies of the H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāms were partially
aimed at mobilizing support in the larger (Sunnı̄) Muslim world. Another
component of this effort involved the depiction of traditionist scholars
(e.g., al-Shawkānı̄) as representatives of Hādawı̄ Zaydism. The H . amı̄d al-
Dı̄n Imāms wanted to build a bridge between the Zaydı̄s of Yemen and
a growing cohort of modernist Sunnı̄ thinkers. The strategy was initially
quite successful, with important Sunnı̄ intellectuals such as Rashı̄d Rid.ā
(d. ) praising the Zaydı̄ tradition in their public writings. At the same
time, it was fundamentally misleading because it ignored (or willfully
erased) the theological and intellectual foundations of Hādawı̄ Zaydism.
The dubious claim that Zaydism was essentially identical to Sunnism was
routinely circulated throughout the H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n period.
The most important way in which the policies of the H . amı̄d al-
Dı̄n Imāms broke from Hādawı̄ Zaydism involved the explicit endorse-
ment of dynastic rule. The late Qāsimı̄ Imāms, despite their embrace of
 This contradicted one of the seminal assumptions of Hādawı̄ Zaydism – namely, the elevated status
of Sayyid lineage.
 Haykel, Revival, .
Zaydism at the Crossroads 
traditionist forms of political legitimation, had never directly claimed king-
ship. By contrast, the H. amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāms used the title “king” and called
their state “the Mutawakkilite Kingdom of Yemen.” This unprecedented
move was especially striking given the deep hostility of Hādawı̄ Zaydism
to royalist institutions. Although Imām Yah.yā claimed that the title was
primarily semantic (the international community was not familiar with the
word “Imām”) and had little bearing on the nature of his rule, its adoption
suggested a very different conception of political power and legitimacy.
Imām Yah.yā’s monarchical tendencies were further evidenced by his des-
ignation of his son Ah.mad as crown prince (walı̄ al-‘ahd) in . According
to the sources, he was persuaded to do so by a letter he received from a
number of government scholars and public officials. The letter quoted
traditions drawn from the Sunnı̄ canonical collections and employed a
nationalist rhetoric that warned of the potential for foreign machinations
in Yemeni politics. Although dynastic succession was practiced by the late
Qāsimı̄ Imāms, its use in the H. amı̄d al-Dı̄n period was institutionalized in
a manner that resembled prominent Sunnı̄ dynasties (e.g., the ‘Abbāsids).
Imām Yah.yā was assassinated in  by a conspiracy that involved a
number of prominent Sayyid families. After a period of chaos and con-
flicting claims, his son Imām Ah.mad (r. –) seized power and reaf-
firmed most of his father’s policies. The state was now officially called “the
Mutawakkilite Kingdom” and was ruled by a sovereign who was expected
to appoint his son as crown prince. Imām Ah.mad continued the use of
special rulings, often simply confirming those of his father. In the appoint-
ment of public officials, he was primarily motivated by political loyalty as
opposed to ideology or theology. This meant that both Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ and
traditionist scholars received judicial and administrative positions. Overall,
however, the most important and influential posts remained in the hands
of traditionists and, particularly, the students of Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄.
ii. republican yemen (1970–present)

Imām Ahmad’s death in September  sparked an armed uprising led
by a small group of Yemeni military officers who were known as the
Free Yemenis. This plunged the country into a civil war that lasted
eight years and ended with the defeat of royalist forces loyal to Ah.mad’s
 In this model, the crown prince’s right to the succession is symbolized by his assumption of a
particular set of administrative and military functions.
 The Free Yemenı̄s were not a new group. They had been active in the politics of northern Yemen
since the s with intellectual roots that stretched back into the s.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
son Muh.ammad al-Badr. The new state was ideologically dominated by
Free Yemeni intellectuals, such as Muh.ammad Mah.mūd al-Zubayrı̄ and
Muh.ammad al-Akwa‘, who unequivocally rejected Yemen’s Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄
past. In their writings and speeches, they criticized Zaydı̄ scholars for
legitimizing the elitist domination of Sayyid families in Yemen. They also
forwarded traditionism as the ideal means for establishing links with the
broader Sunnı̄ Muslim world. To acquire global influence, Republican
Yemen had to break free of the parochialism and royalist inclinations of
Hādawı̄ Zaydism.
Free Yemeni intellectuals enjoyed the exclusive patronage of the new
Republican government, which took control of North Yemen in  and
the entirety of Yemen after the unification agreement of . Supporters of
the H. amı̄d al-Dı̄n regime were labeled “royalists” and accused of condoning
Sayyid oppression of the Yemeni non-Sayyid population. The Republican
state (led by Ali Abdullah Saleh from  to ) also fundamentally
reinterpreted the history of the late Qāsimı̄ and H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāmates.
Figures such as Imām Ah.mad who had explicitly favored traditionist schol-
ars were now depicted as avid, if not fanatical, Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s intent on
persecuting all other religious groups. The revolution was then presented
as a conflict between a Yemeni population seeking freedom and tyrannical
Sayyids. Such a reinterpretation, however, was contradicted by the long his-
tory of cooperation between the late Qāsimı̄ and H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāms and
Sunnı̄ traditionist scholars. The Free Yemenis explained this discrepancy by
recasting traditionist scholars as advocates for the “oppressed” population.
Al-Shawkānı̄ was thus transformed from a key power broker in the later
Qāsimı̄ Imāmate to an outsider who accepted a government office only in
the interests of spreading his teachings. The Qāsimı̄ Imāms had sought to
conceal their own inadequacies behind his reputation and prestige.
Al-Shawkānı̄’s traditionism provided the Yemeni Republican govern-
ment with the basis for a new global identity. As detailed earlier, the
traditionist project drew on the Sunnı̄ canonical collections to produce
a theological and legal system that undercut the foundations of Hādawı̄
Zaydism. In particular, the doctrine of the scholar-activist Imām from a
Sayyid family was rejected in favor of the conventional Sunnı̄ notion of
political leadership. The Republican government’s preference for Sunnı̄
traditionist voices was further reinforced by the rise of Saudi Arabia, whose
Wahhābı̄ ideology also called for a return to the textual sources. In practical
terms, the Republican state conflated Zaydism and traditionism in a man-
ner that resembled the earlier policies of the H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāms. This
allowed it to forward Yemen as an important voice in the (Sunnı̄) Muslim
Zaydism at the Crossroads 
world. Many Zaydı̄ scholars embraced this perspective. They continued to
identify as Zaydı̄s even as they rejected the Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ notion of the
Imāmate and adopted al-Shawkānı̄’s legal methodology.
The Republican state’s overt hostility toward Hādawı̄ Zaydism was man-
ifested in a number of ways. First, the state subjected many Sayyids to perse-
cution or even execution, creating an atmosphere of paranoia and fear. This
tactic stemmed from the government’s belief that all Sayyids were potential
political threats. Second, the state either funded or allowed the foreign
funding of traditionist missionary activities in Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ regions in
North Yemen. The Saudis played a particularly important role in this
regard by financing “scholarly institutes” (al-ma‘āhid al-‘ilmiyya) explic-
itly designed to spread Sunnı̄ traditionist ideas and to counter Hādawı̄
Zaydism. The most prominent representative of this trend was Muqbil
al-Wādi‘ı̄ (d. ), who was educated in Medina and then returned to
Yemen to lead one of these institutions in the city of S.a‘da, the very center
of Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ learning in the Yemeni highlands. Third, the Republican
state made it effectively illegal to hold Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ theological views
pertaining to the Imāmate. It was deemed outside the bounds of accept-
able discourse and patently anti-Republican to believe in the superiority
of Sayyids or affirm the legitimacy of armed uprising. Fourth, the govern-
ment systematically discriminated against Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s in the allocation
of state resources. There was a marked decrease in the number of Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄ scholars who received administrative, political, or judicial appoint-
ments. Moreover, Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ educational instructions were severely
underfinanced and often shut down for spreading subversive ideas.
Lacking any real political power and viewed as a hostile force by the state,
Hādawı̄ Zaydism declined steadily through the Republican period. In its
place emerged a community of scholars from Zaydı̄ backgrounds (many of
whom continued to identify as Zaydı̄s) who adopted the Sunnı̄ traditionist
positions of Ibn al-Wazı̄r (d. ) and al-Shawkānı̄. Their rise was reflected
in regular claims in the popular press and scholarly writings that Zaydism
closely resembled Sunnism. Such characterizations are patently false and
misrepresent the historical and intellectual legacy of Zaydism in Yemen. A
contemporary scholar describes the situation as follows:
Any visitor to Yemen cannot help but notice the lack of knowledge surrounding
the madhab, even amongst self-identifying Zaydı̄s. As Zaydı̄s became largely
¯ to promote Zaydı̄ thought and history to the Yemeni population,
powerless
countless individuals and communities in the historically Zaydı̄ tribal regions
of Upper Yemen assimilated into a dominant Sunnı̄ religious culture. These
“conversions,” ranging from a conscious repudiation of Zaydı̄ Islam in favor of
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
inimical traditions or ideologies to passive indifference to its basic [tenets], are
the products of opaque identity interactions that transcend labels like “Zaydı̄”
or “Sunnı̄.”
The next section examines the multiple strategies the Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ com-
munity has used to reconstitute itself in contemporary Yemen.
i i i . a z a y d ı̄ r e v i v a l ?
Hādawı̄ Zaydism in modern Yemen is deeply divided as scholars struggle
to adapt and reorganize under the strictures of the Republican state. James
King identifies a number of disparate groups that self-identify as Zaydı̄.
These range from communities that clearly embrace a classical formula-
tion of Hādawı̄ Zaydism to others that reduce the term to a tribal or geo-
graphic affiliation with little doctrinal commitment (essentially Sunnified
traditionist Zaydı̄s). Gabriele vom Bruck offers a similar categorization,
differentiating between those Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s who retain the activist bent
of their tradition and those who consciously choose to compromise for
political ends.
A significant number of Zaydı̄ scholars (primarily centered in Sana‘a) are
wary of the potential consequences of a resurgent Hādawı̄ Zaydism. Many
of them come from Sayyid families who suffered the brunt of government
persecution through the s and s. Muh.ammad b. Ah.mad Sharaf
al-Dı̄n, for example, argues that Sayyid persecution in Republican Yemen
stems from the political claims of activist Zaydı̄ voices. Specifically, he
accuses the Sayyids of manipulating the people’s love of the family of the
Prophet for personal political gain. Sharaf al-Dı̄n then offers four principles
to reduce conflict between the Republican government and Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s:
(i) There shall be no coercion in religion or madhhab. There is no way
after today to spread what is called Zaydı̄ or Shı̄‘ı̄ beliefs.
(ii) The Hashimites [Sayyids] have no special status nor are they superior
to others. People are equal as the teeth of a comb. There is no preference
for an Arab over a non-Arab.
(iii) The term “Imāmate” as it has been used by the Zaydı̄s should be frozen
for five hundred years. If after this period forthcoming generations
want to review this issue, it is left to them and their specific conditions.
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .

 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .
 See, for example, vom Bruck, “Regimes of Piety,” –.
 For the discussion that follows, see vom Bruck, “Regimes of Piety,” –.
Zaydism at the Crossroads 
(iv) Any Hashimite [Sayyid] – whether Shı̄‘ı̄, Wahhābı̄, Salafı̄, or Shāfi‘ı̄ –
should be refused any position above that of deputy minister in any
government for five hundred years.
These conditions constitute a clear rejection of core Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ princi-
ples. They transform Sayyids from a repository of candidates for political
leadership to symbolic objects of public adulation. In effect, this is a doc-
trinal surrender in exchange for political acceptance by the Republican
state.
A. Cultural and Educational Revival

Although Sharaf al-Dı̄n’s views certainly find support in some Yemeni
Zaydı̄ communities (particularly in Sana‘a among a certain class of Sayyids),
they clash with an activist Hādawı̄ Zaydism embodied by a growing net-
work of public institutions. This resurgence is most evident in the cultural
and educational spheres. The s and early s have witnessed the
public celebration of Shı̄‘ı̄ festivals such as ‘Īd al-Ghadı̄r (see Chapter ),
the distribution of cassettes and brochures explaining Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ beliefs,
and the establishment of a club of “Believing Youth” (al-shabāb al-mu’min)
that runs educational programs and study circles.
The most important symbol of this brand of activism is the Imām
Zayd b. ‘Alı̄ Cultural Foundation (IZBACF), which was founded in Sana‘a
in . The foundation’s goals and challenges are described by King as
follows:
With activities ranging from publishing Zaydı̄ books to organizing lectures on
the madhab, Foundation scholars and technicians have also catalogued, edited
¯
and digitized thousands of seminal Zaydı̄ manuscripts. [IZBACF’s] efforts to
preserve these texts demonstrate the challenges Zaydı̄ activists face in a Republic
whose state-building project sought to undermine Zaydı̄ thought, transform (or
even erase) the collective reading of Zaydı̄ history and supplant Zaydı̄ collective
identity. In this context, some Yemenis, including government officials, deem
the preservation and distribution of Zaydı̄ manuscripts a subversive act. While
these texts are an extant product and legacy of Yemeni history, they also represent
the ideology that undergirded the Imāmate and that which the state superseded
and replaced.
By editing and publishing important Zaydı̄ texts, the foundation effectively

counters the traditionist narrative of Zaydism and reiterates the activist
 These conditions are taken from vom Bruck, “Regimes of Piety,” .
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Mu‘tazilı̄ writings of Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars. It also works to alleviate
the community’s underlying fears of the loss of identity and the inability
to transfer knowledge and beliefs to the next generation. As one scholar
in Sana‘a reports, “What interests us is our thought remaining with our
children. I don’t accept my son returning from school with non-Zaydı̄
thought and telling me: ‘Father, they taught me such and such, and you
told me the opposite at home.’ . . . Whoever rules, rules. I must take my
thought with me, my children and family. This problem keeps me awake
at night.”
The IZBACF’s mission is largely directed toward ensuring the preserva-
tion of Hādawı̄ Zaydism in both the Yemeni and the global context. It has
won the support of European and American academic institutions, which
provided the necessary resources for launching the Yemen Manuscript
Digitation Initiative in . Overall, the IZBACF has been successful in
overcoming governmental opposition and weathering the storms of politi-
cal instability. The extent to which it can maintain this success in the future
remains an open question.
B. Political Revival
The political dimensions of the Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ resurgence go back to
the  founding of the H . izb al-H . aqq (the Party of Truth). The new
party was meant to defend Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ interests against the incur-
sions of Saudi Arabia and the Republican Yemeni government through
political participation. The initial results of this strategy were disap-
pointing, with the party winning only two seats in the  national
elections. This was likely a result of the lingering association of Hādawı̄
Zaydism with the oppressive H . amı̄d al-Dı̄n Imāmate in the minds of many
Yemenis.
The party’s early setbacks produced significant disenchantment in
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholarly circles. Specifically, it enabled the rise of activist
voices such as that of H . usayn al-H. ūthı̄, a former H
. izb al-H
. aqq represen-
tative to the Yemeni government, who publicly criticized the government’s
discriminatory policies. There were also accusations (with some credence)
that the H . izb al-H
. aqq had sacrificed key Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ positions in the
interests of political expediency. Tensions were further aggravated by an
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .

 See their website: http://ymdi.uoregon.edu/
 Haykel, “Zaydi Revival,” .
Zaydism at the Crossroads 
increase in US military aid to Yemen in the aftermath of /. The situa-
tion exploded in  with the outbreak of hostilities in the S.a‘da governate
between a group of Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s (known as the Believing Youth, dis-
cussed earlier) and the Yemeni army. H . usayn was killed in September 
and succeeded at the head of the movement by his father Badr al-Dı̄n
(d. ). As of , the conflict had claimed thousands of lives and
reportedly displaced nearly , people in northern Yemen.
The media and popular response to the H . ūthı̄ conflict unequivocally
backed the position of the Republican government. It was alleged that the
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s were interested in the reestablishment of an elitist Sayyid
Imāmate (the H . ūthı̄s are a Sayyid family). President Saleh described the
insurgency not as an expression of Zaydı̄ discontent at discriminatory
government policies but rather as an uprising typical of past Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄
revolutions. This rhetoric was widespread despite repeated disavowals from

both H . usayn and Badr al-Dı̄n al-H . ūthı̄ of any political aspirations. The
press repeatedly characterized Hādawı̄ Zaydism as a radical form of Shı̄‘ism
and (ironically – see Chapter ) connected it to Hezbollah and the Islamic
Republic of Iran. In the process, it was cast as a foreign accretion attempting
to subvert the state as opposed to an indigenous tradition rooted in the
history of Yemen itself.
The popular reaction to the H . ūthı̄ conflict epitomizes the central chal-
lenge faced by Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s in contemporary Yemen. Their religious
tradition has been demonized by a Republican Yemeni state that favors a
Zaydism flavored by Sunnı̄ traditionism. This severely limits the options
available to the indigenous Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ population. If they condemn
the H. ūthı̄s as rebels, they effectively accept their status as second-class citi-
zens. If they sympathize with the H . ūthı̄s for challenging the government’s
persecution of their religious community, they are suspect and subject to
imprisonment or persecution as traitors. The current atmosphere in Yemen
does not permit an individual to be both a Yemeni citizen and a Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄.
C. Interpretive Revival
Reinterpretive efforts offer a potential avenue for allaying popular concerns
about particularly controversial aspects of Hādawı̄ Zaydism such as the
 For a comprehensive history of the conflict, see Salmoni et al., Regime and Periphery.
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .
 It is worth noting that as a Sayyid scholar of the highest rank, Badr al-Dı̄n al-H
. ūthı̄ was certainly
qualified to claim the Imāmate had he been so inclined.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
elevated status of Sayyids, the activist template of summons (da‘wa) and
uprising (khurūj), and the autocratic nature of the Imāmate. A number of
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars from both Sayyid and non-Sayyid backgrounds have
disavowed the notion of Sayyid superiority by expanding the definition of
the family of the Prophet. This is a striking break from classical doctrine,
and it remains unclear whether it will win acceptance in the larger Hādawı̄
Zaydı̄ scholarly community.
Other scholars have offered a modern reinterpretation of the Zaydı̄
concept of uprising (khurūj) traditionally associated with the founding of a
new Imāmate. Recall that a qualified candidate establishes a new Imāmate
by summoning his followers to overthrow an oppressive state. In the new
formulation, democracy allows a candidate to demonstrate his credentials
and topple a repressive regime through a political campaign (da‘wa) rather
than military action. Electoral mechanisms in the contemporary Yemeni
state thus play the role previously ascribed to rebellion.
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars also connect their tradition to representative gov-
ernment through the concept of consultation. As discussed in Chapter ,
when multiple contenders claimed the Imāmate after the death of a sitting
Imām, a council of scholars and tribal leaders would evaluate each candi-
date’s credentials to determine who was most qualified to rule. Democratic
elections serve the function of consultation, with the general population
taking the place of the scholars and tribal leaders.
Finally, many Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s deny the legitimacy of any rebellion against
a leader who comes to power through the electoral process. In an effort to
ease the anxieties of the larger Yemeni populace, they stress that revolution
(i) is not legitimate against a ruler simply because of lineage (citing, e.g.,
the case of the legitimate but non-Sayyid Umayyad caliph ‘Umar b. ‘Abd
al-‘Azı̄z, r. –) and (ii) is permissible only against an overt tyrant. They
further emphasize that Zaydı̄ revolutions were not designed to empower
Sayyids but rather to fight injustice. Some even ascribe the revolution
of  to the Zaydı̄ tradition’s deep commitment to the principle of
justice. Inverting the logic of state propaganda, they describe the H . amı̄d
al-Dı̄n Imāms as oppressive monarchs deservedly toppled by a population
committed to just rule.
These efforts at reinterpretation are meant to highlight the compatibility
of Hādawı̄ Zaydism with the institutions of the modern Yemeni state. At
the same time, they represent an attempt to preserve a connection to
the tradition’s past. In the words of one commentator, “as this scholarly
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .
Zaydism at the Crossroads 
community [Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s] applies classical concepts like [khurūj] for
dramatically-altered discourses and contexts, they always seek precedent
within Zaydı̄ history and the rich body of Zaydı̄ scholarship.”
Parallel to the movement for reinterpretation, there remain those com-
mitted to the classical forms of Hādawı̄ Zaydism. Since the establishment of
a ceasefire in northern Yemen in , a number of scholars in the tradition
of Badr al-Dı̄n al-H. ūthı̄ and the Believing Youth have issued public state-
ments that restate the fundamental theological tenets of Hādawı̄ Zaydism,
including its historical interpretation of the institution of the Imāmate.
The persistence of these views suggests deep enduring fissures within the
larger Yemeni Zaydı̄ community.
iv. final thoughts

The Zaydı̄s emerged in the eighth century from a proto-Sunnı̄ milieu
but increasingly adopted Shı̄‘ı̄ positions in the wake of a series of failed
rebellions. After establishing states in Yemen and the southern Caspian
coast, they confronted the practical realities of political rule. How could
a stable state be predicated on the idea that any ‘Alid might rise up in
rebellion to forward his own claim to the Imāmate? How could Zaydism
account for an Imām who did not meet all the requirements of the office
but enforced his rule purely through military power? Zaydı̄ scholars also
had to contend with Sunnı̄ networks with deep roots in southern Yemen.
The influence of these networks grew over time and eventually won a
significant following in traditional Zaydı̄ communities.
By the twelfth century, Zaydism had achieved its classical form, which
combined Mu‘tazilı̄ theology with a set of beliefs best characterized as
Jārūdı̄. After the collapse of the Caspian Zaydı̄ states, Yemen became the
geographic and intellectual center of Hādawı̄ Zaydism, with the northern
highlands governed by a succession of Sayyid Imāmates. The fifteenth cen-
tury saw the beginnings of a Sunnı̄ traditionist movement that challenged
the power of the Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ establishment. It was aided by the rise
of a new Zaydı̄ dynasty, the Qāsimı̄ Imāms, that undercut the author-
ity of Hādawı̄ Zaydism for a number of reasons. First, the Qāsimı̄ state
was increasingly dependent on revenues generated from Sunnı̄ agricultural
regions. This meant it was highly invested in maintaining the loyalty of
its Sunnı̄ subjects. Second, the later Qāsimı̄ Imāms lacked the scholarly
qualifications required of Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ Imāms and sought a new basis
 King, “Zaydı̄ Revival,” .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
for political legitimacy. Third, Yemen was connected to the larger Sunnı̄
Muslim world, and many Zaydı̄ scholars yearned for acceptance in this
global community.
In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, these forces led to
the appointment of the Sunnı̄ traditionist scholar Muh.ammad al-Shawkānı̄
to the post of chief judge under the Qāsimı̄ Imāms. Over the course of
four decades, al-Shawkānı̄ fundamentally altered the power dynamics in
northern Yemen. He began a marginalization of Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ scholars
that persisted into the twentieth century and accelerated after the revolu-
tion of . Over the past three centuries, Zaydism has increasingly been
characterized as a variation of Sunnism by scholars who have abandoned
key Hādawı̄ theological and legal principles. This process of “Sunnifica-
tion” has had a marked effect on the public perception of Zaydism both in
Yemen and around the world. Since , however, Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄s have
begun reasserting themselves in the cultural and political spheres and rein-
terpreting some of their seminal doctrines. It is unclear which vision for
Zaydism will triumph, but – for the first time in many decades – the larger
Hādawı̄ Zaydı̄ community appears invigorated by the search for a modern
voice.

The following works provide a useful account of the political history of modern
Yemen:
Paul Dresch, Tribes, Government, and History in Yemen (New York: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, ).
Bernard Haykel, Revival and Reform in Islam (New York: Cambridge University
Press, ), particularly –, focusing on the history of Yemen in the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
Brinkley Messick, The Calligraphic State (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University
of California Press, ), which examines authority in the modern period but
assumes a Sunnı̄ traditionist narrative of Zaydism.
The following works examine the Zaydı̄ resurgence in the modern period:
Laurent Bonnefoy, “Varieties of Islamism in Yemen: The Logic of Integration
under Pressure,” Middle East Review of International Affairs  (): –.
Gabriele vom Bruck, Islam, Memory, and Morality in Yemen (New York: Palgrave,
).
Gabriele vom Bruck, “Regimes of Piety Revisited: Zaydı̄ Political Moralities in
Republican Yemen,” Die Welt des Islams  (): –.
Ayman Hamidi, “Inscriptions of Violence in Northern Yemen: Haunting Histo-
ries, Unstable Moral Spaces,” Middle East Studies  (): –.
Zaydism at the Crossroads 
Bernard Haykel, “A Zaydi Revival,” Yemen Update  (): –.
James King, “Zaydı̄ Revival in a Hostile Republic,” Arabica  (): –.
David Pinault, “Sunni, Shia, Zaydi: Religious Identity and Sectarian Proselytizing
in Contemporary Yemen,” Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 
(): –.
Barak Salmoni, Bryce Loidolt, and Madeleine Wells, Regime and Periphery in
Northern Yemen (Santa Monica, CA: Rand Corporation, ). This is the
most comprehensive analysis of the H . ūthı̄ uprisings between  and .
Lisa Wedeen, Peripheral Visions: Publics, Power, and Performance in Yemen
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, ).
Lucas Winter, “Conflict in Yemen: Simple People, Complicated Circumstances,”
Middle East Policy  (): –.
9
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted
This chapter focuses on the mobilization of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities

by the Aga Khans from the nineteenth through the twenty-first centuries.
The first section traces the Aga Khans’ efforts to reinscribe and consolidate
their authority over the Khojas and other historically Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ commu-
nities. These efforts, which benefited from British colonial policies, had
to overcome a Khoja communal identity that was grounded in caste as
opposed to religious considerations. The second section documents the
Aga Khans’ embrace of transnationalism through the creation of a network
of nongovernmental organizations. These served both to extend the scope
of their authority to disparate and isolated Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ populations and to
establish them as powerful nonstate players with broad international influ-
ence. In the contemporary period, the Aga Khans play dual and perhaps
contradictory roles as (i) political heads of a nonterritorial community
advocating European values and (ii) authoritative Imāms of a religious
community whose members are largely non-European.
i. the rise of the aga khans
A. Reinscribing Authority
When the Aga Khan arrived in India in the s, he encountered a Khoja
community firmly entrenched in local religious and political structures.
In terms of religion, the Khojas adhered to the Satpanth (True Path)
tradition that “employed terms and ideas from a variety of Indic religious
and philosophical currents, such as the Bhakti, Sant, Sufi, Vaishnavite, and
yogic traditions to articulate its core concepts.” They straddled the lines
 This section’s discussion of the Aga Khan’s shift to India and the court cases of  and  is
derived from Asani, “From Satpanthi,” –; Shodhan, Community, –; and Steinberg, Modern,
–.
 Asani, “From Satpanthi,” .

(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
among a variety of identities without conforming to the Muslim–Hindu
dichotomy that would come to dominate India under British colonial rule.
The Khojas held to a set of religious practices that combined Shı̄‘ı̄ rituals
with local non-Shı̄‘ı̄ traditions. On the one hand, they participated in the
annual commemorations of the death of H . usayn, favored the transport
of the dead to Karbala for burial, and performed the standard Muslim
prayer on special occasions. On the other, they developed a daily prayer
with a distinctive form that was recited in Gujarati as opposed to Arabic
and conducted three, rather than five, times a day. Khojas also placed an
emphasis on the Ginans (see Chapter ), hymnlike poetic constructions
that were ascribed to Pirs and included a wide range of both Muslim and
non-Muslim Indic symbols. The religious syncretism of the Khojas was
further evident in issues on which the community broke with Islamic law,
such as its rejection of the right of daughters to inherit property and its
injunction against the remarriage of widows.
The Khojas occupied a discrete niche in the social and political fabric
of Indian society as a caste primarily associated with trade. The Bombay
Khoja community (known as a jamā‘at) exercised considerable local auton-
omy and was governed by a council that resolved disputes, administered
finances, and directed religious rituals. In general, the councils relied on
customary practice rather than Islamic law in their rulings. This system
of governance was supported by voluntary financial contributions, which
increased considerably under the British in the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries. The funds were used to purchase properties such as the council
hall (known as the jamā‘at khāna) where the community gathered for large
social and religious occasions. By the early nineteenth century, the Bombay
Khojas had substantial property holdings that included at least one mosque
and a number of shrines.
Khoja identity was a careful negotiation of multiple traditions that
eluded easy classification. One contemporary scholar has described the
Khoja community as follows:
On account of the uniquely constructed multivalent Satpanthi formulation, the

Khojas could effectively participate in several social identities simultaneously
and navigate between them with fluidity: they were members of a mercantile
group who followed Satpanth, “the true path,” a tradition that could be simul-
taneously understood within both Islamic and Indic doctrinal frameworks.
 There is a distinction between the Islamic (sharı̄‘a) prayer and the customary Khoja (t.arı̄qa) invoca-
tion. The Khoja community sometimes substitutes the latter for the former, but this is not the practice
of other (non-Khoja) Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s. The Imāms consider the two types of prayers complementary.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
They owed allegiance to the pir/imam/murshid, a descendant of ‘Ali residing in
Iran. It was to him that they expressed devotion using the symbols and idioms
taken from the love poetry associated with Krishna and the gopis.
The Khojas expressed different identities in different contexts. They were

an insular community with distinctive beliefs and sociopolitical interests.
The friction between Aga Khan I and the Khoja community of Bombay
preceded his arrival in . Much of the tension centered on the funds
Khojas routinely sent to the Imām as a sign of their devotion. Recall from
Chapter  that many Khojas performed pilgrimages to Iran to visit the
Imām and to present these monetary gifts in person. As early as , Aga
Khan I had dispatched agents to Bombay to collect funds that amounted to
. percent of the profits of Khoja merchants. The local council rejected
this rate of taxation, instead offering a much smaller fraction of their
revenue. In the short term, Aga Khan I dropped his demands, but the
episode caused a split among the Khojas. The Imām’s opponents portrayed
him as an outsider (and later as a refugee from Iran) intent on seizing
control of the local community for financial gain. They also criticized him
for resisting Khoja educational reforms, such as the use of English in the
classroom and the adoption of a curriculum based on the European model.
In a series of publications, they described him as a divisive force intent on
perpetuating ignorance among the Khojas.
The animosity between the Aga Khan and members of the Khoja elite
eventually reached the British colonial courts. The first case went to trial in
 and involved inheritance law, with the Aga Khan arguing in favor of
the Qur’ānic position that guaranteed daughters a share. He was opposed
by some members of the Khoja community, who preferred the customary
practice that reserved the entire inheritance for sons. The British court
ruled against the Aga Khan and in favor of Khoja custom. In his decision,
Justice Erskine Perry described the Khojas as a Muslim community that was
ignorant of its own religious tradition and had adopted Hindu customs.
The ruling was confirmed in , when the court issued a document that
denied the Aga Khan any right to interfere in the internal affairs of the
Khoja community.
Soon after his arrival in Bombay in , the Aga Khan managed to
overcome council opposition and win over a majority of the Bombay
Khoja population. Dissident Khojas then created a rival center (jamā‘at
khāna) that divided the community and on at least one occasion led to
 Asani, “From Satpanthi,” –.
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
bloodshed. In addition to financial affairs, Aga Khan I began asserting his
authority in ritual matters by requiring his partisans to desist from non-Shı̄‘ı̄
practices. He argued that such practices were a product of precautionary
dissimulation (taqiyya), which was no longer necessary under the security
of British colonial rule. In the following decades, Aga Khan I and his
successors went even further, systematically replacing vestiges of Hindu
and Gujarati influence with Muslim practices and Arabic prayers.
The struggle for control of the Khoja community culminated in
 with a second trial. In this case, the opponents of Aga Khan I argued
that he was not a member of the Khoja caste and therefore had no role
in the management of Khoja communal property. Rather than focusing
on this narrow issue, Justice Joseph Arnould used the trial to issue a more
general judgment regarding the religious identity of the Khojas and their
relation to the Aga Khan. He was likely influenced by a change in the
political environment of India following the rebellion of . The new
British colonial administration was in the midst of a comprehensive survey
of Indian society that sought a formal categorization of ethnic and religious
groups. This knowledge was considered critical for the effective governance
of India.
As discussed earlier, the Khojas fell on a spectrum between Muslim
and Hindu, complicating British efforts at clearly demarcating commu-
nal boundaries. The  court ruling had acknowledged this ambiguity
and described the Khojas as a Muslim group that had largely adopted
Hindu customs. Such a contradiction was untenable in post- India.
The  Aga Khan case allowed Justice Arnould to determine the religious
identity of the Khoja community once and for all. The plaintiffs in the
 trial claimed that the Khojas were a Sunnı̄ sect with no clear ties
to the Aga Khan. The defense (i.e., the Aga Khan) asserted the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Shı̄‘ı̄ identity of the Khojas, relying primarily on the “Dasavatār,” a work
of the Ginan genre that listed ten avatars of Vishnu. The first nine of
these avatars were Hindu figures, whereas the tenth was ‘Alı̄, the first
Shı̄‘ı̄ Imām. According to the defense, this important Ginan documented
the conversion of the Khojas from Hinduism to Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ism at the
hands of an agent sent by a forebear of the Aga Khan.
 There is a vast literature dealing with this process of colonial “knowledge production,” which
involves the imposition of European (or Orientalist) paradigms onto colonized societies. In the
Indian context, these are important themes in both Purohit’s The Aga Khan Case and Shodhan’s A
Question of Community. The project of knowledge production in a colonial context is also discussed
by Franz Fanon in The Wretched of the Earth, translated by Constance Farrington (New York: Grove
Press, ) and by Edward Said in Orientalism (New York: Pantheon, ).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Justice Arnould ruled in favor of the defense, affirming the Aga Khan’s
narrative of the conversion of the Khoja community. He wrote:
In order to enjoy the full privilege of membership in the Khoja community,
a person must be one of that sect whose ancestors were originally Hindu,
which was converted to, and has throughout abided in the faith of, the Shia
Imami Ismailis, and which has always been and still is bound by ties of spiritual
allegiance to the hereditary Imams of the Ismailis.
The consequences of the judgment were immediate and far-reaching. In

addition to winning control of the property and assets of the Khoja com-
munity, the Aga Khan was acknowledged by the British government as their
sole authority and spokesman. Justice Arnould effectively determined the
parameters of Khoja identity, dismissing customary practices and compet-
ing historical claims. As Jonah Steinberg notes, “Establishing the absolute,
factual truth-value of the community’s origins trumped consultation with
the community over its current views. The community was asked to answer
for its own authenticity against the standard of orientalist scholarship on
the community.” The Khojas were now governed not by a distant sym-
bolic Imām residing in Iran but by a supreme authoritative figure bearing
the full powers of an Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām. The decision prompted many Khojas
to leave the community and to convert to Sunnism or Twelver Shı̄‘ism.
At the same time, it allowed the Aga Khan to recreate a Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community in colonial India.
B. Expansion and Consolidation

In the middle of the nineteenth century, British mercantile practices opened
up trade routes throughout the Indian Ocean rim. Indian settlements
dominated by Khoja emigrants appeared in Oman, Zanzibar, and many
regions of East Africa (i.e., the present nations of Tanzania and Uganda). In
, aided by British improvements in infrastructure and an explosion in
Indian Ocean trade, the population of diasporic Khoja communities was
estimated at nearly fifty thousand. This migration was primarily motivated
by financial incentives and elevated the strategic importance of the Khojas
in the colonial British economy. It also provided the Aga Khans with an
 Shodhan, Community, .

 Steinberg, Modern, .
 This section’s discussion of the expansion of the Aga Khan’s authority relies heavily on Steinberg,
Modern, – and Green, Bombay, –.
 Steinberg, Modern, .
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
opportunity for expanding their authority outside of India while simulta-
neously posing a significant challenge to their maintenance of communal
control.
The complications of Khoja expansion were particularly apparent during
the Imāmates of Aga Khan II (r. –) and Aga Khan III (r. –).
In an effort to maintain a degree of centralized authority, Aga Khan II
regularly visited Khoja communities in East Africa and established council
halls (jamā‘at khānas) that served as centers of social and religious life. Aga
Khan III was even more aggressive in his attempts at imposing doctrinal
uniformity, relying on farmāns (formal legal edicts) that detailed proper
belief and practice. Such edicts played an important role in consolidating
Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ identity. In one instance, Aga Khan III suspended mourning
rituals for H. usayn in favor of a renewed veneration of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāms. This
measure was intended to prevent the assimilation of smaller Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
communities into numerically dominant Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ populations. Aga
Khan III also reorganized local councils, elaborating a clear hierarchy and
personally appointing figures to the most powerful posts. Beginning in
the early s, he formalized the relationship between the local councils
and the Imām in the first of many official “constitutions.” In addition to
promoting doctrinal unity, the constitution granted the Imām the exclusive
right to dismiss officials without cause and control of all financial resources.
Aga Khan III thus managed both to unite diasporic communities and to
reaffirm the authority of the Nizārı̄ Imāmate.
The efforts of Aga Khans II and III were significantly aided by British
colonial policy. The British government was especially interested in rein-
forcing the Aga Khans’ authority among Muslim populations outside of
India. British diplomatic records repeatedly emphasize the utility of the
Aga Khan as an asset capable of securing the loyalty of his followers. In
addition to providing a large stipend to Aga Khan I, the British responded
favorably to requests made by Aga Khan III on behalf of Khojas settled in
East Africa. They also honored the Aga Khans with a number of formal
titles (most prominently “His Highness”), included them in British policy
discussions at the highest levels, and supported their participation in inter-
national institutions. Aga Khan III, in particular, played an important role
in the establishment of Aligarh University, was a founder of the All-India
Muslim League (, representing Muslim interests in the Indian inde-
pendence movement), and served as president of the League of Nations
 For an analysis of the relationship between the Aga Khans and the British government from the
British perspective, see van Grondelle, The Ismailis in the Colonial Era.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
(). Such recognition elevated his global status and positioned him as a
leading voice of Muslim public opinion.
Backing the Aga Khans proved quite beneficial for the British. As
mentioned in Chapter , Aga Khan I made significant contributions to
British strategic interests in Afghanistan, North India, and Iran in the
mid-nineteenth century. Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities served as impor-
tant buffers against Russian influence in Iran and in the mountainous
regions of North India. It was in the early and mid-twentieth century,
however, that the true value of the Aga Khans became apparent to the
British government. The Imām at the time, Aga Khan III (Muh.ammad
Shah al-Husaynı̄), was raised in the United Kingdom, educated at Eton
and Cambridge, and fully integrated into the highest levels of the Euro-
pean aristocracy. During World War I, he publicly backed the Allies and
repudiated Ottoman claims to represent the global Muslim population.
After the war, Aga Khan III became an advocate for Muslim interests in
the Indian independence movement. At the same time, he reiterated his
loyalty to the British crown and extolled the benefits of colonial rule in
India.
C. Empire and Authority

It is difficult to separate the reemergence of a distinctive Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
community led by an Imām from British colonial power. The Aga Khans’
control over the Khoja community in India was authorized by a British
colonial court in  in an effort to demarcate communal identities to
facilitate British rule. This transformed a loose association between the
Khojas and their Imām into a formal hierarchy and provided the Aga
Khans access to significant financial resources. Once this relationship was
legally endorsed by the British courts, the Aga Khans used colonial mer-
chant networks to rein in diasporic Khoja communities under a central
governing structure. The British further reinforced the Aga Khans’ author-
ity by granting them formal titles and honors and by appointing them to
prominent posts on the international stage. For their part, the Aga Khans
loyally backed British foreign policy goals from their initial contacts with
British agents in the s to the independence movements in India in
 Some scholars claim that Aga Khan III strongly supported British plans for partition. For a different
view, it is instructive to consult Aga Khan III’s collected works, which are more ambiguous and
equivocal on the matter. Full bibliographic references are provided at the end of the chapter.
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
the s. The close connection between the British government and the
Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s worked to the mutual benefit of both parties.
ii. the construction of a transnational

community
The previous section detailed the process by which the Aga Khans exploited
British colonial power to reconstitute a Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community. Their
ambitions, however, extended well beyond this modest goal. In the twen-
tieth and twenty-first centuries, Aga Khans III and IV transformed Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lism into a transnational religious community unbound by the con-
straints of the international system. They developed global institutions
that operated on three levels. First, they integrated scattered non-Khoja
populations into the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ fold through humanitarian efforts that
focused on economic development and education. Second, they promoted
a “modernist” agenda that explicitly aligned Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism with Euro-
pean and American values. Third, they reinforced their legitimacy as both
nonstate actors in the international sphere and authoritative heirs of a long
line of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ı̄ Imāms.
A. The Institutional Structure

Any analysis of the contemporary Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community must begin
with an examination of its complex institutional structure. The vast
organization is headed by the Aga Khan who, as the inerrant Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Imām, wields absolute administrative and religious authority. Aga Khan
III transferred the seat of the Imāmate from India to Aiglemont, an estate
outside of Paris in France. This is the current location of the central
secretariat that administers the economic, political, and religious affairs
of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s. Individual departments at Aiglemont are headed
by officials directly appointed by the Imām and assigned tasks that range
from economic management to diplomatic outreach. The highest levels of
administration are dominated by Khojas.
There is a dizzying array of global institutions under the direction of the
Aga Khan. In the field of development, most of them fall under the juris-
diction of the Aga Khan Development Network (AKDN). These include
 The clearest study of this institutional structure is provided by Ruthven, “The Aga Khan,” –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
the Aga Khan Rural Support Programs (AKRSP), the Aga Khan Fund for
Economic Development (AKFED), and the Mountain Societies Devel-
opment and Support Program (MSDSP). A separate network addresses
specific needs such as education (Aga Khan Education Services – AKES)
and health care (Aga Khan Health Services – AKHS). Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ cul-
ture and history are the focus of the Aga Khan Trust for Culture (AKTC),
the activities of which include the restoration of important historical sites,
the preservation of the musical tradition of Central Asia, and the awarding
of an annual architectural prize (the Aga Khan Award for Architecture).
The mandate of all AKDN agencies extends beyond Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism,
with grants routinely awarded to non-Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ projects. The Institute for
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Studies (IIS), centered in London, provides more focused support
for the advanced study of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ culture and history.
The Aga Khan also continues to function as an Imām in the classical
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sense (see Chapter ). Over the past century, Aga Khans III and
IV supervised the drafting of a series of constitutions for the governance
of the global Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community. The most recent iteration of the
constitution () created three levels of administration below the Imām:
local councils (jamā‘at khānas), regional councils, and national councils.
It also established the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Tariqah and Religious Education Boards
(ITREBs) to promote religious uniformity and an International Concili-
ation and Arbitration Board (ICAB) to adjudicate commercial or family
disputes and impose disciplinary measures. Although these structures wield
considerable independent autonomy, they remain subject to the discretion
of the Imām, who may appoint or remove officials or redefine proper belief
through formal legal edicts (farmāns).
The sections that follow focus on broad themes rather than specific
institutions. I am primarily interested in the impact of the Aga Khans’
development initiatives on a global Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ identity. In the interests
of clarity, I use the acronym AKDN to represent the various constituent
subdivisions (the AKRSP, etc.) of the Aga Khan’s development efforts.
B. Integration
Up to now, this chapter’s discussion of modern Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism has
focused on the Khojas and their diaspora in the Indian Ocean rim. Signif-
icant Khoja populations have also settled in major urban areas in North
America (e.g., New York, Toronto) and Europe (e.g., London, Paris). In
addition, numerous non-Khoja Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities are spread through-
out Central Asia. The largest population centers are located in the western
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
Himalayas in Tajikistan, Afghanistan, northern Pakistan, and far-western
China. These regions are home to a diverse mix of ethnic identities includ-
ing, among others, the Pamirs of Tajikistan and the Hazara of Afghanistan.
Other concentrations of historically Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities are found in
Syria and Iran, which were (as mentioned in Chapter ) strongholds of
Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism before the Mongol invasions of the thirteenth century.
Although not Nizārı̄ in their orientation, Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s persist in Yemen
and India.
In the early twentieth century, the Aga Khans began utilizing their
institutional resources to reach out to isolated Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities. This
project served a dual purpose, improving the material conditions of local
populations while simultaneously integrating them into a global Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ network. In the first step of the process, the Aga Khan would
dispatch an agent or a missionary both to inform people of the return of
their Imām and to assess their material needs. In , for example, Aga
Khan III sent Pir Sabzali to the western Himalayas to make contact with
the locals. He traveled from village to village reciting a farmān that affirmed
the Aga Khan’s position as the Imām, articulated his financial claims, and
detailed proper ritual practice. As Steinberg notes, these delegations are
“framed as a renewal of contract and a revival of unity – the alpine villagers
were being informed of their connection to the imam.” Through this
strategy, the Aga Khans seek to incorporate isolated Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ villages into
the structured hierarchy of the global Nizārı̄ community.
Developmental programs play a critical role in establishing the Aga
Khans’ authority in these non-Khoja regions. Many of the villages are
located in isolated areas where national governments are either apathetic or
overtly hostile to the population’s material needs. In other words, villagers
feel politically disempowered with few opportunities for improving their
lives. The arrival of the Aga Khan produces a radical change in their status
with the influx of considerable material resources. Economic development
is encouraged through the financing efforts of the AKDN, which pro-
mote local craft industries and tourism. The agricultural infrastructure is
strengthened through investments in roads, irrigation, sanitation, and sus-
tainability. The Aga Khan also builds primary and secondary schools while
offering opportunities for higher education in international universities.
All of these projects are closely identified with the Aga Khan and facilitate
a local embrace of his role as Imām.
 This geographic breakdown is taken from Steinberg, Modern, –.

 Steinberg, Modern, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
In addition to material benefits, the AKDN offers villages a sense of
belonging in a larger, globalized community. Many of the workers in these
regions are themselves Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s (urged to volunteer by the Aga Khan), cre-
ating a close-knit network of individuals across geographic space. Devel-
opmental projects thus have the secondary benefit of fostering communal
identity. The Aga Khan reinforces this feeling by representing disempow-
ered Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ populations on the international stage, often interceding with
national governments in times of crisis. Acceptance into a global Ismā‘ı̄lism
“provides for adherents a deeply personal system of meaning and a totaliz-
ing space suffusing and circumscribing subjective experience. . . . It is thus
clear that the formation of the transnational complex is a partnership that
serves the goals and objectives of both local subjects and the elite leader-
ship of the community.” Once established, this partnership empowers
the Imām to fashion a singular religious community with a unitary set
of beliefs and practices. In providing support for his followers, the Imām
fulfills their expectations of a divinely inspired, inerrant Imām.
The agencies of the Aga Khan Foundation have largely succeeded in
improving the lives of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ communities and building a global Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ identity. In the process, however, they have also generated some
tension, especially along ethnic and racial lines. Khoja dominance in the
highest levels of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ institutional structure is resented by
local non-Khoja populations. They are especially resistant to attempts at
imposing institutions (e.g., the jamā‘at khāna) developed in the Indian
context to regions historically governed by indigenous structures. In such
cases, the Aga Khan functions as a final arbiter drawing on his theoretically
absolute authority over all political and religious matters.
C. The Promotion of “Modern” Values

There are two primary ways to interpret the Aga Khans’ engagement
with “modernity.” The first attributes this engagement to the influence
(or absorption) of European values, and the second emphasizes its success
at creating a distinctively Muslim sense of the “modern.” The discus-
sion that follows inclines toward the former (influence/absorption) while
 Steinberg, Modern, .

 This section’s discussion of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism and modern values draws on Steinberg, Modern,
– and –, which argues for the Aga Khans’ creation of a Muslim modernity. A similar
perspective is found in Karim, “At the Interstices,” –. The section also utilizes parts of
van Grondelle, The Ismailis, –, whose (often polemical) analysis highlights the Aga Khans’
complicity with colonial power. The discussion on gender is indebted to Kassam, “Gender,” –.
See also Khoja-Moolji, “Redefining Muslim Women,” –.
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
acknowledging the plausibility of the latter (Muslim modernity). Interested
readers are directed to the end of the chapter for references to works that
explore these perspectives in greater detail.
Aga Khan III and Aga Khan IV spent most of their lives in Europe
and North America. They supervised the transfer of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Imāmate from India to France. Indeed, European influence appears to per-
vade the ideological mission of most of the transnational Nizārı̄ institutions
described earlier. The promotion of concepts such as “progress,” “liberal-
ism,” and “secularism” creates a global perception of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s as
“modern” Muslims. This section concentrates on two ideas representative
of the broad Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ embrace of “modernity”: free-market capitalism
and gender. It ends with a discussion of the apparent disjuncture between
the values expounded by Nizārı̄ global institutions and the inherently hier-
archical nature of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāmate.
The fundamental philosophy that underlies the Aga Khan’s develop-
ment program is a wholesale embrace of free-market capitalism. This is,
perhaps, a consequence of the geographic dispersal of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ com-
munities across a number of nation-states, which allows the Aga Khan
to connect villages and regions through trade networks that transcend
national sovereignty. Regardless of the cause, free-market capitalist ideas
inform most of the Aga Khan’s projects. The AKDN offers loans for
the development of the tourism industry. This includes the building and
administration of luxury hotels to draw visitors to Tanzania, Kenya, and
the Himalayas. It also finances the production and marketing of indige-
nous crafts, which provide income to poor populations, empower women,
and attract tourists. In the area of agriculture, the AKDN invests in the
improvement of irrigation infrastructure and promotes ecologically sus-
tainable practices to preserve and restore soil productivity. There are also
extensive projects for reforestation in areas devastated by human exploita-
tion and natural disasters.
The capitalist dimensions of these projects are reflected in their emphasis
on global commerce. As early as the s, Aga Khan III sent a business
envoy to Syrian Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ agricultural villages to organize them and secure
new international markets for their cotton crop. More recent efforts
involve the development of a transportation infrastructure of roads and
airports to connect isolated Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ regions to national and international
hubs. In addition to facilitating tourism, these connections provide local
farmers and herders with access to global markets for their products. They
also foster subsidiary agricultural industries (also financed by the AKDN)
 Van Grondelle, The Ismailis, –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
such as the manufacture of artisanal jams and handwoven clothing. Having
established an international market for these goods, the AKDN encour-
ages an explicit “branding” of local culture. In other words, “they take a
trope of local culture, simplify or polish it for mass production, and thus
create a new form of representation of indigenous societies. In this way,
programs . . . encourage local people to consider what images of themselves
they would like to publicize.” This form of marketing treats culture as
a commodity that competes for financial resources on a global scale. The
material improvement of these once marginal communities legitimizes the
free-market capitalist approach embedded in these initiatives.
The emphasis on gender equity in the policies of Aga Khans III and IV
dates back to the early twentieth century. The public speeches of Aga Khan
III highlighted the benefits of bestowing equal citizenship on women. In
the years before Indian independence, he argued for female enfranchise-
ment, observing that a political assembly to which “women had contributed
would keep nearer to the facts and needs of life, the real and actual in the
country, than one selected by men alone.” India would never be accepted
in the international system “until the broad principle of equality between
the sexes [had] been generally accepted by her people.” On another
occasion, Aga Khan III rejected the practice of h.ijāb (the head covering),
describing it as an innovation introduced after the death of the Prophet.
As the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām, he was also able to promote gender equality
through the reinterpretation of Qur’ānic passages. In one edict (farmān),
he expanded the Qur’ānic concept of mah.ram (Q:), traditionally inter-
preted as restricting a woman’s social interactions to her immediate family,
to include “all men within a woman’s sphere of activity.” This had the
practical effect of abolishing gender segregation in public settings. Finally,
Aga Khan III renounced cultural practices (mostly in Khoja communities)
that disempowered women, such as infant marriages, social prohibitions on
the remarriage of divorcees and widows, and the payment of large dowries.
The gender policies articulated by Aga Khan III are embedded in
the institutional structure surrounding Aga Khan IV. The most obvious
examples are the Women’s Organizations (WOs) established through the
 Steinberg, Modern, . Although I cite Steinberg’s work in the course of my argument, his position
differs from mine in important ways. As mentioned in note , Steinberg interprets the Aga Khans’
development efforts as part of a project to create a distinctive Muslim modernity.
 Kassam, “Gender,” .
 Kassam, “Gender,” .
 Kassam, “Gender,” .
 Kassam, “Gender,” .
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
AKDN, in which “women meet in a decision-making council to plan
projects that are generally meant to assist them.” In addition to these
councils, gender plays a central role in the mission statements of most
AKDN initiatives. This is actualized in social programs that focus on
securing educational resources for girls and providing basic health care
for women in underserved regions. A substantial amount of microfi-
nance funds are also directed toward industries traditionally dominated
by women – most prominently, the production of local crafts. These ser-
vices are intended to provide women with a substantial degree of financial
independence. Their scope, however, is partially circumscribed by local cul-
tural constraints and national laws, so that the kinds of programs acceptable
in Canada often face significant opposition in Iran or Pakistan.
The developmental efforts of the Aga Khans explicitly present the Nizārı̄
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s as “modern” Muslims who have embraced progressive values. Such
a reading, however, overlooks the concentration of authority in the figure of
the Imām, who can, at his personal discretion, order a policy reversal. The
Aga Khans’ promotion of political participation is restricted to the national
context, whereas the current Imām retains an absolute claim on the personal
obedience of his followers. Although the present constitution features a
formal structure for governance that empowers local communities, it also
gives final decision-making authority to the Imām. In this respect, the
classical Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ institution of the Imāmate (as outlined in Chapter )
persists into the modern period, with a lineal descendant of ‘Alı̄ functioning
as an inerrant interpreter of religious law. Overall, the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s
are best described as a hierarchical religious community with a leader
whose current interpretations of religious texts favor progressive values.
The community remains bound to a classical institution (the Imāmate),
even as it is increasingly associated with “modern” values.
D. A Transnational Religious State

The Aga Khan’s development network functions as a de facto nonterritorial
state on the model of some previous Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ political formations. The
Aga Khan was transformed from a regional into a global figure with the
expansion of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community beyond colonial India. As
early as the s, Aga Khan III intervened for his followers in Uganda and
 Steinberg, Modern, .

 The following discussion of the transnational dimensions of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism draws primarily on
Steinberg, Modern, – and –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Oman, with mixed results. These early attempts were constrained by
his dependence on British colonial support. Aga Khan IV had far more
leverage, as reflected in his successful effort to organize the migration of
Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ families out of South Africa in . In subsequent years, he
made similar interventions on behalf of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community of Uganda
(again) and stateless Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ children in East Africa. Regardless of the
outcome, these efforts reflected the Aga Khan’s claims to represent his
followers on the international stage.
The expansion of the Aga Khans’ institutional apparatus in the last
half-century has challenged conventional assumptions about the nature of
international actors. The AKDN is not simply a nongovernmental orga-
nization that fosters development in rural and underserved areas. Rather,
it is a religious organization led by an Imām who commands the loyal-
ties of populations resident in scattered nation-states. The constitution
that governs the community states that individuals must obey national
laws, but such a provision only reinforces the implicit authority of the
Imām. AKDN development projects also challenge national sovereignty
by providing services that are traditionally under the purview of a central
government, such as roads, schools, and health care. In some areas, the
AKDN functions as the de facto government, provoking significant dis-
comfort and resistance from nation-states. The AKDN’s influence often
depends on the strength of national governments. Regions with little cen-
tral control (e.g., Afghanistan) offer more opportunities than do areas with
strong governmental institutions (e.g., China).
The Aga Khan oversees this transnational institutional structure from
Aiglemont in France. He determines policy and sets goals that filter down
to every branch of operations. International coordination is directed by
a diplomatic wing responsible for “the facilitation of extensive treaties,
accords, agreements, and negotiations in which the signatories are usually
the [Aga] Khan and a nation-state.” In other words, the Aga Khan utilizes
a diplomatic office to coordinate the affairs of a community that lacks a
territorial state. There are certainly nonstate actors who negotiate with
governments (e.g., corporations), but the theological basis of his authority
sets the Aga Khan apart.
 Van Grondelle, The Ismailis, – and –.

 Van Grondelle, The Ismailis, –.
 Van Grondelle, The Ismailis, –.
 Steinberg, Modern, .
 In some respects, the closest parallel to the Aga Khan might be the Dalai Lama, who also administers
a nonterritorial religious state.
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
The parallels between the AKDN and a nongovernmental organization
or a corporation would be closer if the Aga Khan did not regularly invoke
his religious authority. This is partially done through the issuing of legal
edicts and the appointment of officers to oversee the national, regional,
and local councils. The previous section documented the ways in which
Aga Khans III and IV reinterpreted religious law to promote gender equity.
The Aga Khans have also worked toward creating uniformity in the rit-
ual practices and religious beliefs of contemporary Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s. They
have encouraged the scholarly study of Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ history through the cre-
ation and funding of the Institute for Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Studies (IIS). Although the
IIS has a broad intellectual mandate that extends to non-Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ topics,
significant resources are devoted toward the study of Ismā‘ı̄lism in the
early and medieval periods. By reiterating the (contested) lineal claims of
the Aga Khans, the IIS provides an important layer of legitimacy to the
contemporary Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāmate. Ultimately, the Aga Khan wields a
dual authority as both the head of a modern transnational polity and the
inerrant Imām of a religious community.
iii. final thoughts

According to contemporary Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ sources, the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imāms
remained in Iran after the fall of Alamut in , often disguising them-
selves as heads of a Sufi order. They emerged from a state of precautionary
dissimulation (taqiyya) in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth cen-
turies to play an important role in the political struggles that gripped
the region following the fall of the Safavid dynasty. In the aftermath
of two failed rebellions, Aga Khan I (who claimed the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄
Imāmate) fled to Afghanistan, where he developed close ties with the
British.
In , the Aga Khan settled in Bombay, which was home to a large
Khoja community. The Khojas were a trading caste whose religious beliefs
appeared to mix Muslim and Hindu elements. They had a history of
honoring the Nizārı̄ Imāms in Iran as spiritual leaders and providing them
with monetary gifts. The presence of the Aga Khan, however, caused
significant tensions within a Khoja leadership that was accustomed to
administering its own affairs. These tensions culminated in  when a
British high court ruled that (i) the Khojas were Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims
and (ii) the Aga Khan was their legitimate Imām. The judgment effectively
legitimized a reconstitution of Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism under the leadership of
the Aga Khan.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Over the next century and a half, the authority of the Aga Khans spread
to diasporic Khoja communities in East Africa and the Indian Ocean rim.
It also acquired a transnational dimension as the Aga Khans intervened on a
global scale on behalf of their followers in times of crisis. The twentieth cen-
tury witnessed a further extension of this authority through a transnational
global network that serviced historically Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ regions in the Himalayas,
Syria, and Iran. The resulting complex of institutions fostered a communal
unity among diverse Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ populations. It also allowed the Aga
Khans to promote a set of “modern” values while homogenizing religious
belief through formal legal decrees. The Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism of the Aga Khans
is best characterized as the modern manifestation of a classical theological
system with an institutional apparatus derived from contemporary forms
of international organization.
It is worth reiterating the Aga Khan’s debt to the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ doctrine of
the Imāmate. Recall that after the fall of the Fāt.imid dynasty and the
rise of the Nizārı̄ Imāms of Alamut, the Imām was elevated to a level of
unquestionable authority through a new emphasis on his interpretative
powers. This enabled him to offer innovative religious interpretations that
broke sharply with the past. Thus one Imām could declare that the qiyāma
(the end of the world so that Islamic law was no longer operative) had taken
place, and another could adopt Sunnı̄ beliefs and practices. When the Aga
Khans emerged in the nineteenth century, they drew on this unbounded
interpretive authority to recast Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lism as a “modern” version
of Islam in line with ideas such as free-market capitalism and gender
equality. Rather than representing a break from classical theology, such a
reformulation is in perfect accord with the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ doctrine of the Imāmate.
The unlimited scope of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām’s authority allows the Aga Khans
both to infuse a new set of values into Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ belief and to reconfigure the
community into a transnational network of believers. The contemporary
world provides a new set of conditions for which the Imām provides
relevant interpretations.
 It is worth noting that there is little formal opposition to the Imām among Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s. There
are certainly tensions between different ethnic groups and some disenchantment with religious
interpretations, but the Aga Khan is the final, definitive authority in all religious and political
matters. It is not possible to remain within the community without acknowledging his status as
the Imām. This differs from the T.ayyibı̄ Musta‘lı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ community, which has been led since the
twelfth century by a “Dā‘ı̄,” who serves as the Imām’s representative. Multiple dissident T.ayyibı̄
movements have challenged the Dā‘ı̄ on financial and religious matters. This kind of opposition is
made possible by the fact that the Dā‘ı̄ lacks the Imām’s infallibity.
(Nizārı̄) Ismā‘ı̄lism Reconstituted 
The following works focus on the Aga Khan’s move from Iran to India and his
interactions with the Khoja community:
Ali Asani, “From Satpanthi to Ismaili Muslim: The Articulation of Ismaili Khoja
Identity in South Asia,” in A Modern History of the Ismailis, ed. Farhad Daftary
(London: I. B. Tauris, ), –.
Ali Asani, “The Khojas of South Asia: Defining a Space of Their Own,” Cultural
Dynamics  (): –.
Farhad Daftary, The Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s: Their History and Doctrines (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, ), –.
Nile Green, Bombay Islam (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, ), espe-
cially –.
The following works examine the court case of  that formally defined Khoja
identity as Ismā‘ı̄lı̄:
Teena Purohit, The Aga Khan Case (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,
).
Amrita Shodhan, A Question of Community (Calcutta: Samya, ).
For an analysis of the diplomatic correspondence between the Aga Khans and the
British government from the colonial perspective, see Marc van Grondelle, The
Ismailis in the Colonial Era (London: Hurst, ).
For the perspective of Aga Khan III on most of the subjects discussed in this chapter,
see Aga Khan III: Selected Speeches and Writings of Sir Sultan Muhammod Shah,
ed. K. K. Aziz (New York: Kegan Paul, ).
The following works discuss the institutional network of the Aga Khan:
Stefano Bianca, “Caring for the Built Environment,” in A Modern History of the
Ismailis, ed. Farhad Daftary (London: I. B. Tauris, ), –.
Zayn Kassam, “The Gender Policies of Aga Khan III and Aga Khan IV,” in A
Modern History of the Ismailis, ed. Farhad Daftary (London: I. B. Tauris, ),
–.
Malise Ruthven, “The Aga Khan Development Network and Institutions,” in A
Modern History of the Ismailis, ed. Farhad Daftary (London: I. B. Tauris, ),
–.
Jonah Steinberg, Isma‘ili Modern (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press,
).
For a broad analysis of the gender policies of Aga Khan III, see Shenila Khoja-
Moolji, “Redefining Muslim Women,” South Asia Graduate Research Journal 
(): –.
The text of the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Constitution of  is accessible at http://ismaili
.net/Source/extra.html.
10
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a
The contemporary Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community is characterized by a politi-

cized outlook that contrasts sharply with its tradition of quietism and
disengagement. There is a risk of delving too deeply into the intricacies
of political history when discussing modern Twelver Shı̄‘ism. An adequate
study of Hezbollah (the Party of God), for example, would require a detailed
investigation of the local power structures, history, and demographics of
Lebanon. Such an analysis lies outside the scope of this book, but resources
are provided at the end of the chapter for readers interested in the Shı̄‘ı̄
communities of Iran, Iraq, and Lebanon. The current chapter examines
two topics that embody the politicization of Twelver Shı̄‘ism. The first
involves changes in the seminal narrative of H . usayn’s martyrdom in Kar-
bala as represented in the speeches and writings of Ali Shariati (d. ).
The second focuses on the political career and written works of Ayatollah
Ruhollah Khomeini (d. ).
i . a l i s h a r i a t i ’ s r e d s h ı̄ ‘ i s m
Chapter  documented the evolution of ‘Āshūrā’ commemorations in
Twelver Shı̄‘ism beginning in the eighth century and extending through
the Safavid and Qajar periods. Both the Safavids and the Qajars pro-
moted a narrative permeated with supernatural elements to evoke emo-
tional responses in an audience. H . usayn Va‘iz. Kāshifı̄ (d. ) recorded
the first and most influential of such narratives in his Rawżat al-shuhadā
(The Garden of the Martyrs), a work written in Persian and interspersed
with Qur’ānic passages and poetry. Kāshifı̄ structured his account in histor-
ical terms beginning with Adam and then proceeding through the Prophets
and the Imāms. Each of these figures had experienced varying degrees of
suffering as a result of oppression and tyranny. The events at Karbala were
the natural culmination of an established historical pattern.

The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
According to Kamran Aghaie, “the main theme of Kashefi’s narrative was
commemoration of the tragedy of Karbala through acts of ritual mourning
and crying.” Rather than inspiring political activism or rebellion, the
narrative encouraged believers to grieve and promised intercession by the
Prophet and the Imāms on the Day of Judgment. The key element here
was loyalty to the Prophet’s family in times of difficulty. The narrative also
emphasized H . usayn’s foreknowledge of the events of ‘Āshūrā’, suggesting
that his death was the preordained will of God. Twelvers were thus advised
to be patient as in the following excerpt taken from a later source but
evoking the basic ethos of Kāshifı̄’s account:
In the camp, meanwhile, Zaynab [Ruqayya’s] aunt and Kulsum [Ruqayya’s]
sister were discussing their sad condition when suddenly they saw a black
apparition in the moonlight. It was the spirit of ‘Alı̄, their father, who was
watching over his daughters. Frightened, Zaynab asked the ghost for his name,
saying firmly: “Unless you tell me what your name is, stay where you are, come
not near to us, the daughters of ‘Alı̄, the hero of Islam. Have respect for us
who are bereaved of our brother.” ‘Alı̄’s ghost then revealed himself and spoke
consoling words to the poor weeping women of his household, admonishing
them to have patience, and to pray during the night, “that all those who belong
to my Shı̄‘a may drink the sweet waters of paradise on the Day of Judgment.
More trials are awaiting you.” Zaynab replied firmly: “If it is for the salvation
of your followers, father, for God’s chosen people, I will endure suffering like
a bird being burned by the fire, even if they make me ride a camel without a
litter!” Little did she know the disgrace that was awaiting her.
The lesson of Karbala was not to rise up and overthrow a tyrant but rather
to mourn the murder of the family of the Prophet as a means of attaining
salvation in the next world.
The Safavids and the Qajars supported Kāshifı̄’s narrative because it
“stressed the inappropriateness of active political mobilization in the face
of political injustice” during the absence of the hidden Imām. When the
Imām returned, he would avenge the fallen in Karbala. Until then, the
Twelver community was instructed to preserve their memory in annual
commemorations. The victims of Karbala were described in almost super-
natural terms well beyond the reach of most believers. It was possible to
weep for H . usayn and to marvel at his strength in the face of certain death,
 Aghaie, Martyrs, .
 Rippen and Knappert, Sources, .
 For more examples or a quick reminder of the tone of this narrative, see Chapter .
 Aghaie, Martyrs, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
but it was not possible to empathize with him given his unfathomable
patience.
Kāshifı̄’s narrative of Karbala was dominant from the sixteenth through
the early twentieth centuries. Governmental patronage supported increas-
ingly elaborate commemorations that evolved from theatrical readings to
full reenactment (see Chapter ), but the image of H . usayn and his followers
as exemplars of suffering remained firmly in place. In the s, some reli-
gious scholars tried to politicize the Karbala narrative, but their attempts
met staunch opposition from within the juristic ranks. S.ālih.ı̄ Najafābādı̄
(d. ), for example, offered a rendition of ‘Āshūrā’ that denied H . usayn’s
foreknowledge of his death. He also claimed that the Imām had intended
to overthrow Yazı̄d and establish a just government. In doing so, H . usayn
hoped to inspire the Twelver Shı̄‘a to rebel against corrupt and unjust rulers.
Najafābādı̄ was criticized for his rejection of a number of seminal Twelver
beliefs, particularly his restriction of the scope of the Imām’s knowledge.
The few scholars who came to his defense constituted only a small minority
of the larger Twelver religious establishment.
The figure most responsible for popularizing a politicized narrative of
Karbala was not a religious scholar but a sociologist. Ali Shariati was
born in  in the Iranian province of Khurāsān. He came from a family
of religious scholars with slightly unorthodox views and was politically
active in the democratic movement in Iran in the s. Breaking with
family tradition, Shariati chose to pursue a secular education. He received
his bachelor’s and master’s degrees from the University of Mashhad and
traveled to France in  for advanced graduate studies. In , he
was awarded a doctorate in sociology and returned to Iran, where he was
immediately arrested and imprisoned for six months for his participation in
revolutionary activities overseas. After his release, Shariati took a teaching
position in Mashhad before moving in  to Tehran, where he accepted a
permanent post at the H . usayniyyih-i Irshād, an antigovernment center for
religious activities. Along with other scholars of a similar inclination (e.g.,
Murtażā Mutahharı̄, Mah.mūd T.āliqānı̄), Shariati used the H . usayniyyih
as a platform to propagate a religious message that was critical of the
government. This led to a second arrest in . Shariati remained in
 An exception to this generalization is found in the nineteenth-century Bābı̄ movement, which was
centered in the Shı̄‘ı̄ shrine cities of Iraq. The Bābı̄s placed themselves in the position of H
. usayn
and his followers in opposition to the tyranny of the Qajar dynasty. In other words, they politicized
the Karbala narrative much earlier than twentieth-century Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars. For more on the
Bābı̄ movement and its use of Karbala and H . usayn, see Denis MacEoin, “The Babi Concept of Holy
War,” Religion  (): –.
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
prison until March  when he was released and allowed to leave for the
United Kingdom. He died of a heart attack three weeks later.
To understand Shariati’s reformulation of the Karbala narrative, it is
first necessary to travel back to France in the late s. One of the central
conflicts of the period was the Algerian Revolution (–), which pitted
the National Liberation Front (FLN) against French colonial forces. The
war was closely associated with Third Worldism, a political movement that
championed liberation struggles in colonial settings throughout the world.
In Paris, Shariati worked with the FLN and was exposed to the writings of
its leading ideologue, Frantz Fanon. Although the two never met, Shariati
translated some of Fanon’s work into Persian and introduced his ideas to
members of the Iranian opposition.
Fanon was born in the French colony of Martinique in . He fought
in the French military during World War II before moving to France, where
he earned a degree in psychiatry in . In , he traveled to Algeria,
where he served as the chief of staff for the Blida-Joinville Hospital. After
the outbreak of the revolution in , Fanon joined the FLN. He resigned
from his hospital post in  to devote his time exclusively to the war
effort. France expelled him from Algeria in , and he fled to Tunisia and
then Ghana, where he continued working for the FLN. He was diagnosed
with leukemia in  and died in the United States, where he had come
for treatment, in .
The most influential of Fanon’s writings was The Wretched of the Earth
(), and it is here that we can begin to discern his influence on Shariati.
Published shortly before his death, Wretched examines the impact of colo-
nization on the psychology of the colonized. Much of the book documents
the ways in which colonial violence distorts and destroys indigenous cul-
tures, marginalizing local art forms and empowering a sycophantic gov-
erning elite. In a chapter titled “On National Culture,” Fanon documents
a process through which colonized intellectuals come to realize their bond
with the people and help in the fight for national liberation. In the last stage
of this development, intellectuals are charged with rallying the population
against the colonial oppressor. They reimagine native artistic forms such as
songs and folklore to make them relevant to the revolutionary struggle. It
is through this process that a society reappropriates its cultural legacy and
creates a new national culture. In Fanon’s words:
At another level, oral literature, tales, epics, and popular songs, previously
classified and frozen in time, begin to change. The storytellers who recited inert
episodes revive them and introduce increasingly fundamental changes. There
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
are attempts to update battles and modernize the types of struggles, the heroes’
names, and the weapons used. The method of allusion is increasingly used.
Instead of “a long time ago,” they substitute the more ambiguous expression
“What I am going to tell you happened somewhere else, but it could happen
here today or perhaps tomorrow.” In this respect the case of Algeria is significant.
From – on, its storytellers, grown stale and dull, radically changed both
their methods of narration and the content of their stories. Once scarce, the
public returned in droves. The epic, with its standardized forms, reemerged. It
has become an authentic form of entertainment that once again has taken on
a cultural value. Colonialism knew full well what it was doing when it began
systematically arresting these storytellers after .
Whereas Fanon spoke of folk songs and national epics, Shariati chose to
focus on a religious narrative – namely, that of H. usayn in Karbala.
In a series of speeches beginning in the late s, Shariati presented a
fundamentally reworked account of Karbala intended to rally the Iranian
population against the Shah. Shariati frames his narrative as a historical
struggle between the forces of good and evil. H . usayn and the family of
the Prophet are the primary guardians of truth and justice, fighting the
encroaching forces of an authoritarian opposition led by the Umayyad
dynasty. Shariati describes the dilemma faced by H . usayn in the following
terms:
Imam Husayn, as a responsible leader, sees that if he remains silent, Islam will
change into a mere civil religion. Islam will be changed into a military-economic
power and nothing more. Islam will become as other regimes and powers.
When their power diminishes, when their army and government are destroyed,
nothing will remain. It will be nothing more than a memory in history, an
accident which occurred in the past and has ended. It is for this reason that Imam
Husayn now stands between two inabilities. He can neither remain silent nor
can he fight. He cannot remain silent because time and opportunity are passing.
Everything is being destroyed, abolished in the minds and deep consciences
of the people – feelings, thoughts, aspirations, meanings, ideals – everything
brought by the message of Muhammad, everything about Islam. . . . All of the
others are obeying the ruling power. They are being deceived. The present
atmosphere is one of complete silence, quivering, and surrender. He cannot
remain silent because he has a duty to fight against oppression.
H. usayn acts to prevent Islam from being co-opted by an oppressive ruling

dynasty. This is not a personal choice but a duty incumbent on him as
Imām.
 Fanon, Wretched, .
 Shariati, “Shahādat,” –.
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
In a later passage, Shariati returns to the difficult situation facing H
. usayn,
noting both his material weakness and his determination to take up arms
against the corrupting influence of the Umayyads:
Husayn must fight, but he cannot. How strange! He must and yet his is unable.
This responsibility is the burden of his conscience. It results from ‘being Husayn’
not from his ‘ability.’ He is still Husayn – alone, unable, unarmed, helpless.
What should he do? ‘Being Husayn’ calls him to fight but he has no arms to
fight with, and yet he still has the duty to fight. All of the supporters of wisdom
and religion, advisors of tradition and common law, those who recommend
goodness and logic, all unanimously say, “No!” But Husayn wants to say “Yes.”
He leaves Medina for this purpose. He comes to Mecca to announce his unique
answer to all Muslims who have gathered there for the H . ajj. He leaves Mecca
[for Kufa] to reply to the question, “What is to be done?” The question exists
in this important moment of history in which the fate of the people and of
Islam is to be determined. At this moment everything has collapsed.
The only answer to the question is jihād, which Shariati defines as a

military movement in favor of justice and against tyranny. Twelver scholars,
however, propose other answers, and it is here that Shariati finds space to
criticize previous iterations of the Karbala narrative. In particular, he attacks
those who advocate political disengagement:
The fatalists say, “Nothing.” Whatever has occurred will continue to occur in
accordance with divine wisdom and divine profundity. God wishes it to be this
way. You must be satisfied with what has been given to you and be grateful for
it, because you are not allowed to freely decide your fate. They say that it is
true that there is crime, oppression, and the usurpation of rights. . . . But what
can be done? A leaf does not fall from a tree unless God so wills. God has so
wished. This is how his wisdom rules. No one can protest, criticize, or even say
why it is so. Everyone is subject to his or her fate. Everything that occurs, good
or bad, is determined by eternal fate and is in accordance with the Qur’ān.
The parallels between the fatalists and those Twelver scholars who frame
H. usayn’s death as the preordained will of God are fairly straightforward.
Shariati emphasizes H . usayn’s volition in Karbala and rejects depictions
that cast him as an actor following a divine script.
Shariati’s version of the events at Karbala also replaces vivid physical
description with broad discussions about principle and motive. Rather
than vessels for personal suffering, figures such as Zaynab (H . usayn’s sis-
ter) or al-‘Abbās (H
. usayn’s half-brother) are associated with virtues such
 Shariati, “Shahādat,” .

 Shariati, “Shahādat,” –.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
as courage and loyalty. Shariati is particularly angered by the “school of
mourning” that encourages believers to “remember it [‘Āshūrā’] and weep
for it . . . without knowing, understanding, or considering it.” In a telling
passage, he describes this perspective as follows:
The popular notion . . . says that the martyrs arose to get killed rather than
to struggle against the government. Husayn rose to sacrifice himself for the
community and for the intercession . . . on behalf of the lovers of the family of
the Prophet (who commit great sins) in order to transform their evil deeds into
good deeds on the judgment day. According to this view, Husayn had made
a covenant in the world of pre-creation to become a martyr. This is the same
as the Christian view, according to which Christ sacrificed himself for human-
ity. . . . This view is a most skillful trick which, while preserving the greatness
and glory of Husayn, makes his martyrdom meaningless, empty and without
content. It makes it nothing; but at the same time it acquits Husayn’s execu-
tioners, because the executioners acted not on their own initiative but according
to the will of God because this fate had been determined before creation. Thus
they were the means of executing the will of God. . . . It misrepresents the goal of
shahadat [martyrdom] which was a struggle against the powers of transgression
and usurpation, as a struggle against no one and nothing.
For Shariati, the quietist interpretation of Karbala neutralizes H . usayn’s

central message of standing up to political oppression even if there is little
hope of victory.
In order to inspire revolution, H
. usayn must be more than an unattain-
able symbol of suffering. He must be a figure with whom people can
empathize and whose behavior can serve as a model for action. Fanon’s
framework requires that he be transformed from a hero of the distant past
to a revolutionary of the contemporary world. Shariati seeks this end by
removing most of the supernatural elements in Kāshefı̄’s account:
Suddenly a spark appears in the darkness and bursts into flame! The radiant
visage of a “martyr who walks alive upon the earth.” From the depths of
darkness, the immense corruptions and obscure nights of despair, the light and
powerful feature of “a hope” is seen. Once more from the silent and sorrowful
house of Fatima, the little house which is greater than the whole of history,
a man emerges – angry, determined, in a state of rebellion against all of the
palaces of cruelty and fronts of power. He is as a mountain which holds a
volcano within it.
 Shariati, “Shahādat,” .

 Shariati, “Shahādat,” .
 Shariati, “Shahādat,” .
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
Here, there are no animated corpses, no armies of beasts offering to help
H. usayn, and no apparitions consoling the survivors. In their place, H . usayn
and his family are described as virtuous idealists unable to sit still in the face
of injustice. Their position is not so different from that of Iranians under
the Shah’s autocratic rule in the s and s. H . usayn is not motivated
by knowledge of the unseen but by the reality of the world around him.
He does not die in a spectacular cosmic catastrophe but in a struggle for a
just cause.
Shariati labeled the fatalist/mourning narrative “Black Shı̄‘ism” and posi-
tioned it against an activist “Red Shı̄‘ism” that better represented historical
reality and religious truth. Black Shı̄‘ism was produced by the complicity
of Twelver religious scholars with the Safavid Shahs. In an effort to quell
political opposition, they fostered a distorted version of H . usayn’s rebel-
lion that obscured its activist elements and counseled a silent endurance
of political oppression. Shariati’s Red Shı̄‘ism was a return to the original
message of Karbala that encouraged an active and direct confrontation
with tyranny. Whereas Black Shı̄‘ism emphasized that the hidden Imām
would avenge the death of H . usayn, Red Shı̄‘ism placed the responsibility
directly on the shoulders of the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community.
In his reformulation of the Karbala narrative, Shariati was following the
directives of Fanon. He was taking a story embedded in the common expe-
riences of the Iranian population and transforming it into a call for action.
The characters were no longer mythical figures from a distant past but
contemporary ones whose experiences were relevant in modern Iran. This
sentiment was summarized in the slogan “Every day is ‘Āshūrā’. Every land
is Karbala.” The purpose was to produce a narrative that inspired revolu-
tion and thereby create a new sense of nationhood. Whereas Fanon felt this
was a secular project, Shariati demonstrated that, in the Iranian context, it
required a foray into religious discourse. By all accounts, Shariati held deep
religious convictions, and his use of Karbala was not entirely grounded in
political expediency. His narrative, however, incorporated overtly Marxist
influences that aroused the suspicion of religious scholars. These scholars
were also concerned with his categorical dismissal of intercession and his
limiting of the scope of the Imām’s knowledge.
Shariati’s speeches and writings gained popular currency in Iran, but they
did not win over the juristic establishment. The Karbala narrative’s poten-
tial, however, caught the attention of a number of religious scholars. The
 The use of the term “red” also suggested Shariati’s Marxist worldview, but that is a topic that extends
far beyond the scope of the current study.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
most important of these was Murtad.ā Mutahharı̄ (d. ). A close asso-
ciate of Ruhollah Khomeini and a leading figure in the Iranian Revolution,
Mutahharı̄ authored a version of the Karbala narrative that accommodated
both mourning and activism. He argued that the traditional interpretation
of Karbala had placed undue emphasis on tragic elements to the neglect of
its larger message of opposition to injustice. H . usayn was both a transcen-
dent religious figure and an inspiration for contemporary political activism.
It was Mutahharı̄’s version of Karbala that ultimately won acceptance in
scholarly circles and helped mobilize the Iranian population against the
Shah.
In the s and s, the activist narrative of Karbala spread through-
out the global Shı̄‘ı̄ community. In Lebanon, the politicization of the
Twelver Shı̄‘a in the s was accompanied by a growth in overtly political
public commemorations of Karbala. H . usayn and his fellow martyrs are still
routinely featured in memorials for local men who die in battle. For con-
temporary Lebanese Twelver women, Zaynab, H . usayn’s sister who guided
the survivors after ‘Āshūrā’, serves as a model for female leadership and
fortitude in the face of hardship. A similar politicization of Karbala is found
in Shı̄‘ı̄ communities from Iraq and Pakistan to the United States. In many
of these places, the Karbala narrative legitimizes political activities such as
voting, grassroots organizing, and lobbying efforts. This activist narrative
exists side by side with the traditional narrative of suffering, mourning,
and redemption. It is not rare to find elements of both in a single sermon.
ii. ruhollah khomeini’s rule of jurist

The Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community, at the start of the twentieth century, was
led by a group of jurists invested in rational legal methods and increasingly
willing to exercise political power. The establishment of the Qajar dynasty
in Iran under Āghā Muh.ammad Khān (r. –) had removed much of
their state competition. The Qajars claimed to be kings and predicated
their legitimacy on the justice of their rule and their role as the guardians
of Shı̄‘ism. In contrast to the Safavids, they did not claim to represent the
hidden Imām. As mentioned in Chapter , Twelver scholars had gradually
developed a religious hierarchy headed by a “source of emulation,” theo-
retically the most learned jurist of the time. The first scholar to effectively
occupy this position was Murtażā al-Ans.ārı̄, who rarely intervened in the
political sphere.
After al-Ans.ārı̄’s death in , a number of scholars vied to succeed
him as the community’s sole “source of emulation.” One of the leading
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
candidates was Muh.ammad H . asan (commonly known as Mı̄rzā) al-Shı̄rāzı̄
(d. ), an Iranian scholar who had studied in Isfahan and then in
Najaf (under al-Ans.ārı̄) before settling in the northern Iraqi shrine city
of Samarra. Although he did not originally garner the same degree of
unanimity as al-Ans.ārı̄, al-Shı̄rāzı̄ had built a considerable following by the
s.
In , al-Shı̄rāzı̄ demonstrated the potential political power of Twelver
jurists (and particularly a hierarchy headed by a single jurist) in a rapidly
changing modern world. The crisis began when Nās.ir al-Dı̄n Shāh (r.
–) granted the Imperial Tobacco Company a “concession” over the
Iranian tobacco market. In exchange for an annual payment of £,, the
company acquired the right to buy all Iranian tobacco at prices determined
through compulsory arbitration. This prompted a wide public outcry in
Iran as it became clear that a foreign company would be buying Iranian
tobacco and then selling it back to Iranian consumers. As protests spread,
the religious scholars emerged as a key segment of the opposition. This
may have been partially motivated by their personal economic interests
and their close ties with the merchant class.
The final and definitive voice against the concession, however, came
from al-Shı̄rāzı̄, who in  issued the following statement from his home
in Samarra: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Beneficent. Today
the use of both varieties of tobacco, in whatever fashion, is tantamount to
war against the Imām of the Age – may God hasten his advent.” This
religious ruling (fatwā) spread through Iran and galvanized opposition.
The Shah revoked the concession in January , after which al-Shı̄rāzı̄
issued a second statement that once again permitted the use of tobacco.
The incident demonstrated the latent power embedded in the office of
the “source of emulation.” Here was a figure with the potential to unify
religious authority and speak as the representative of the hidden Imām.
After al-Shı̄rāzı̄’s death in , some Twelver jurists continued to play
an active role in Iranian politics. They participated in the Iranian Con-
stitutional Revolution of  and joined protests against British colonial
intervention in Iraq. They were also important figures in the political
upheavals that culminated in the fall of the Qajar Dynasty and the rise
of Reza Shah Pahlavi in . The dominant view of most Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄
jurists of this period, however, was one of political disengagement. This
 Mottahedeh, Mantle, –. This is Mottahedeh’s translation, and the larger account is also drawn
from his work.
 With the exception of a brief period of constitutional rule (–), Iran was ruled from 
through  by Reza Pahlavi (r. –) and his son Muhammad Reza Pahlavi (r. –).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
tendency was embodied by H . usayn b. ‘Alı̄ al-Burūjirdı̄ (d. ), the pri-
mary “source of emulation” from  to , who repeatedly refused to
intervene in the political sphere.
Al-Burūjirdı̄’s death left the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community split between a
number of scholars who claimed to be “sources of emulation.” The most
influential of these in the long term was Ruhollah Khomeini (d. ). Born
in the town of Khumayn,  miles southwest of Qum, in , Khomeini
came from a family of religious scholars who claimed descent from the
seventh Twelver Imām Mūsā al-Kāz.im. He received a typical religious
education before moving to Qum in  to pursue higher studies. In
addition to the standard curriculum of a young Twelver scholar, Khomeini
displayed an interest in Sufism and philosophy. He refrained from political
activism through the s, perhaps in deference to his teacher Ayatollah
‘Abd al-Karı̄m al-H . ā’irı̄ (d. ), who kept aloof from contemporary
politics. In the mid-s, Khomeini began expressing his political views
in public. At this point, he did not call for an abolition of the monarchy but
rather the elevation of a “just” monarch. This brief political period ended
when al-Burūjirdı̄ was acknowledged as the singular “source of emulation”
for most of the Twelver community.
Khomeini emerged as a leading critic of Muhammad Reza Shah Pahlavi
after al-Burūjirdı̄’s death in . As a candidate for “source of emulation,”
he no longer needed to defer to the apolitical inclinations of other religious
scholars. Over the next two years, Khomeini’s criticisms of the Shah grew
increasingly more brazen, leading to his arrest in June . He was quickly
released from prison but kept under house arrest for ten months in Tehran
before being allowed to return to Qum. Tensions erupted again in  after
the Shah signed a “status of forces” agreement with the United States that
exempted US military personnel and their dependents from prosecution
in Iran in exchange for a $ million loan. Khomeini was enraged by
this overt surrender of Iranian sovereignty and declared the government
illegitimate. In November , he was arrested for a second time and
immediately deported to Turkey. A year later, he was sent to Iraq, where
he settled in Najaf and remained for the next fourteen years. During this
period, Khomeini taught classes and developed his political views about the
role of jurists in governance. He also attempted to mitigate conflict with
other senior scholars and avoided association with the Iraqi government.
His focus remained on Iran, where his speeches and legal rulings were
circulated in fliers and cassettes smuggled in by his supporters.
The protests that ultimately led to the overthrow of the Shah’s govern-
ment began in early . The history of the buildup to the revolution
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
and the complicated forces that aided its success are beyond the scope of
this book. It suffices to say that the Shah miscalculated the level of disen-
chantment on the streets and resorted to repressive measures that actually
accelerated his downfall. In the course of these protests, Khomeini became
the leading symbol of the opposition. Although there were certainly secu-
lar elements involved in the revolution, Khomeini was its public face as a
heroic figure who had challenged the Shah in the s and had suffered
exile for more than a decade. In , Khomeini was deported from Iraq at
the instigation of the Shah. He was granted asylum by France and settled
in Paris, where he remained until January , when he returned to Iran
in triumph. The Shah had departed the country for good a month earlier.
The events that followed Khomeini’s return are complicated, involving
numerous factions battling for control of a new, postrevolutionary Iran. In
the end, Khomeini emerged as the dominant political force in the country
and the guiding voice in the drafting of a new constitution that was ratified
in December . The constitution was based on the doctrine of the “rule
of the jurist” (vilāyat-i faqı̄h), which Khomeini first developed during his
time in Iraq. According to this idea, a government’s primary role consists
in the regulation of the affairs of society:
If the ordinances of Islam are to remain in effect, then, if encroachment by
oppressive ruling classes on the rights of the weak is to be prevented, if ruling
minorities are not to be permitted to plunder and corrupt the people for the
sake of pleasure and material interest, if the Islamic order is to be preserved
and all individuals are to pursue the just path of Islam without any deviation,
if innovation and the approval of anti-Islamic laws by sham parliaments are to
be prevented, if the influence of foreign powers in the Islamic lands is to be
destroyed – government is necessary.
Once the necessity of a government is established, Khomeini turns

to the form of that government. In discussing the issue, he highlights
knowledge of the law and justice as the key characteristics of a legitimate
leader. The latter is assessed by examining an individual’s actions, but the
former requires a special training in Islamic law. If a potential leader lacks
legal knowledge, then he must turn to a jurist for help. Given such a
dependence, the ideal situation is one in which the jurist is the leader. As
Khomeini observes:
Reason also dictates the necessity for these qualities, because Islamic government
is a government of the law. . . . If the ruler is unacquainted with the contents
 Khomeini, Islam and Revolution, .
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
of the law, he is not fit to rule; for if he follows the legal pronouncements of
others, his power to govern will be impaired, but if, on the other hand, he does
not follow such guidance, he will be unable to rule correctly and implement
the laws of Islam. It is an established principle that “the jurist (faqih) has
authority over the ruler.” If the ruler adheres to Islam, he must necessarily
submit to the jurist, asking him about the laws and ordinances of Islam in
order to implement them. This being the case, the true rulers are the jurists
themselves, and rulership ought officially to be theirs, to apply to them, not to
those who are obliged to follow the guidance of the jurists on account of their
own ignorance of the law.
The innovation here is subtle. Whereas the jurists of the Safavid period
had assumed government positions through which they administered the
law, they did not stake an absolute claim to political leadership. Khomeini,
by contrast, offers a largely legalistic definition of government that by its
very nature elevates legal experts (the jurists) to the station of ruler.
In his larger argument, Khomeini details textual evidence (i.e., Qur’ānic
passages and traditions) that suggests jurists are the heirs to the political and
juridical authority of the Prophet and the Imāms. This authority includes
both the administration of the state (e.g., basic governance, tax collection,
and defense) and the implementation of Islamic law (e.g., the creation
of a just legal system). He stresses that these duties are not suspended
during the occultation of the Imām. Rather, they are necessary to the
proper functioning of society and fully within the scope of the scholars’
responsibilities. To emphasize this point, Khomeini compares the role of
the jurist to that of a guardian appointed by the Imām to manage the affairs
of a minor.
Although a few isolated voices had previously suggested that Twelver
jurists had a right to rule in the name of the Imām, Khomeini’s views
were considered a radical break from the past. Even the most activist of
Twelver scholars in the Safavid period had hesitated to endorse a de jure
(as opposed to de facto) appropriation of political power. Instead, they had
claimed to represent the Imām in a more limited manner, lending support
to a just ruler in exchange for patronage. Khomeini went one step further
by elevating the jurist to the position of head of state. He rejected the
idea that all political power was illegitimate in the absence of the Imām. A
 Khomeini, Islam and Revolution, .

 The strength of this evidence has been challenged by a number of scholars. See, for example,
Mavani, “Analysis,” –.
 In this analogy, the minor represents the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ community, which requires proper guidance
in all political and juridical matters.
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
government was necessary, and the logical choice for heading a government
was the figure with the best understanding of God’s law: the jurist.
Khomeini’s vision was integrated into the text of the new Iranian con-
stitution in Articles , , and  (see Table .). These articles placed
the jurist at the top of the governmental structure with final authority over
most issues. The scope of the jurist’s powers was further extended in 
when Khomeini argued that governance was the most important of divine
ordinances. This meant that it took precedence even over fundamental
religious duties. The head jurist could thus suspend the daily prayer if
doing so served the greater interests of the Islamic system. Such a view
placed Khomeini far outside the mainstream of the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ scholarly
tradition.
By his death in , Khomeini had implemented his vision of an Islamic
state. This did not, however, lead to wide acceptance of his views among
other senior Twelver scholars. A few expressed their concerns in public but
most remained silent on the “rule of the jurist.” The lack of participation
by the leading “sources of emulation” in the Iranian government, however,
speaks to reservations about Khomeini’s ideas. Twelver jurists today espouse
a variety of opinions regarding political power. Many of these are not easily
classified as simply accommodationist or activist. This complexity is
particularly apparent in the figure of Ayatollah ‘Alı̄ Sı̄stānı̄, a prominent
“source of emulation” based in Najaf, Iraq. In the aftermath of the 
US invasion of Iraq, commentators have characterized Sı̄stānı̄’s actions in
disparate ways that range from highly interventionist to overtly quietist.
This lack of clear (or consistent) juristic positions suggests that the long-
term impact of Khomeini’s ideas remains uncertain.
iii. final thoughts

In the fifteenth century, Twelver Shı̄‘ism was defined by three primary
characteristics: (i) it was built on a theological foundation that was partly
derived from Mu‘tazilism, (ii) it used a rationalist legal methodology that
was gradually developed by scholars beginning in the tenth century, and (iii)
it was quietist and politically disengaged, awaiting the return of the Imām
who was the sole legitimate source of religious and political authority. Dur-
ing the Safavid period, two of these elements faced significant challenges.
First, Akhbārı̄ scholars criticized the inherent uncertainty of a juristic sys-
tem predicated on human reason. They were ultimately defeated by Us.ūlı̄
 For a cogent analysis of these varied positions, see Rizvi, “Political Mobilization.”
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
Table . The Role of the Jurist in the Iranian Constitution
Article  During the occultation of the Lord of the Age, the governance and
[Office of leadership of the nation devolve upon the just and pious jurist (faqı̄h)
Religious who is acquainted with the circumstances of his age; courageous,
Leader] resourceful, and possessed of administrative ability; and recognized
and accepted as leader by a majority of the people. In the event of
that no jurist should be so recognized by the majority, the leader or
leadership council composed of jurists possessing the aforementioned
qualifications will assume these responsibilities. [Note: In , the
Constitution was revised, allowing the election of a leader who was
not considered superior. This led to the election of Ali Khamenei to
the office.]
Article  () Following are the essential qualifications and conditions for the
[Leadership Leader:
Qualifications] (a) Scholarship, as required for performing the functions of
religious leader in different fields
(b) Justice and piety, as required for the leadership of the Islamic
umma
(c) Right political and social perspicacity, prudence, courage,
administrative facilities, and adequate capability for
leadership
() In case of a multiplicity of persons fulfilling the above
qualifications and conditions, the person possessing the better
jurisprudential and political perspicacity will be given preference.
Article  () Following are the duties and powers of the Leader:
[Leadership . Delineation of the general policies of the Islamic Republic of
Duties and Iran after consultation with the Nation’s Exigency Council
Powers] . Supervision over the proper execution of the general policies
of the system
. Issuing decrees for national referenda
. Assuming supreme command of the Armed Forces
. Declaration of war and peace and the mobilization of the
Armed Forces
. Appointment, dismissal, and acceptance of resignation of:
(a) the religious men on the Guardian Council,
(b) the supreme judicial authority of the country,
(c) the head of the radio and television network of the
Islamic Republic of Iran,
(d) the chief of the joint staff,
(e) the chief commander of the Islamic Revolution Guards
Corps, and
(f ) the supreme commanders of the Armed Forces
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
. Resolving differences between the three wings of the Armed

Forces and regulation of their relations
. Resolving the problems which cannot be solved by
conventional methods, through the Nation’s Exigency
Council
. Signing the decree formalizing the election of the President
of the Republic by the people. The suitability of candidates
for the Presidency of the Republic, with respect to the
qualifications specified in the Constitution, must be
confirmed before elections take place by the Guardian
Council and, in the case of the first term of a President, by
the Leadership.
. Dismissal of the President of the Republic, with due regard
for the interests of the country, after the Supreme Court
holds him guilty of the violation of his constitutional duties,
or after a vote of the Islamic Consultative Assembly testifying
to his incompetence
. Pardoning or reducing the sentences of convicts, within the
framework of Islamic criteria, on a recommendation from
the head of judicial power
() The Leader may delegate part of his duties and powers to another
person.
scholars who further entrenched rationalism within Twelver jurisprudence.

Second, the Safavids transformed Iran into a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ nation. In the
process, Twelver scholars were made increasingly complicit in political
power. The impact of this cooperation was felt in legal rulings as well as
governmental patronage of religious festivals.
The twentieth century witnessed an acceleration in the politicization of
Twelver Shı̄‘ism. This tendency was evident in Shariati’s transformation of
the narrative of Karbala from an expression of mourning and suffering to
one of political empowerment. It was also reflected in Khomeini’s vision of
a state in which the jurist exercised absolute juridical and political power
in the name of the hidden Imām. Although both of these developments
have had a profound impact throughout the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ world, their per-
manence remains uncertain. Traditional commemorations of Karbala are
still the norm for many Twelver communities, which resist transforming
the devotional elements of the narrative into essentially a political ideol-
ogy. Leading scholars have also expressed reservations about the potential
corrupting influences of direct juristic rule.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The defining feature of Twelver Shı̄‘ism over the past thousand years
has been the absence of the inerrant Imām. In the early stages of the
Imām’s occultation, Twelver jurists developed a viable system grounded in
rationalist discourse for the defense of the community. Over time, they
appropriated the Imām’s legal authority and deemed all political authority
in his absence illegitimate. This allowed them to craft a legal approach that
met the evolving needs of the community and operated alongside the Sunnı̄
law schools. It also partially deflected the suspicions of rulers, who were
willing to tolerate a Twelver community that had abandoned its political
ambitions. At the same time, the absence of the Imām limited the flexibility
of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars. Because they were fallible human beings, their
shortcomings were acknowledged, and radical shifts in interpretations were
sure to meet with opposition. Whereas the Nizārı̄ Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ Imām could
initiate a fundamental shift in law or theology though simple decree and
without explanation, a Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ jurist had to contend with competing
opinions and engrained popular sentiment. Even after the victory of the
rationalist (Us.ūlı̄) position, the authority of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ jurists paled in
comparison with that of the Aga Khan.
suggestions for further reading

The following works focus on Shariati and the evolving narratives of Karbala:
), particularly –.
Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, translated by Richard Philcox (New York:
Grove Press, ).
Ali Rahnema, An Islamic Utopian: A Political Biography of Ali Shariati (New York:
I. B. Tauris, ).
Ali Shariati, Red Shı̄‘ism, translated by Habib Shirazi (Houston: Free Islamic
Literatures, ).
Ali Shariati, “Shahādat,” in Jihād and Shahādat, ed. Mehdi Abdi and Gary Legen-
hausen (Houston: Institute for Research and Islamic Studies, ).
For a general history of modern Iran, including developments within the juristic
establishment, see Roy Mottahedeh, The Mantle of the Prophet (New York:
Simon and Schuster, ).
The text of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran can be accessed at
http://www.iranonline.com/iran/iran-info/government/constitution-.html
The following works provide background on Khomeini and his doctrine of the
rule of the jurist:
), particularly –.
The Politicization of the Twelver Shı̄‘a 
Hamid Algar, Imam Khomeini: A Short Biography (n.p.: Institute for Compilation
and Publication of Imam Khomeini’s Works, n.d.). Available at http://www
.al-islam.org/imambiography.
Ruhollah Khomeini, Islam and Revolution, translated by Hamid Algar (Berkeley:
Mizan Press, ).
Hamid Mavani, “Analysis of Khomeini’s Proofs for al-Wilaya al-Mutlaqa (Com-
prehensive Authority) of the Jurist,” in The Most Learned of the Shi‘a, ed. Linda
Walbridge (Oxford: Oxford University Press, ), –.
Sajjad Rizvi, “Political Mobilization and the Shi‘i Religious Establishment,” Inter-
national Affairs  (): –.
Linda Walbridge, ed., The Most Learned of the Shi‘a (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, ).
The following works provide background for the politicization of the Shı̄‘a in
South Lebanon and the rise of Hezbollah:
Lara Deeb, An Enchanted Modern: Gender and Public Piety in Shi‘i Lebanon
(Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, ).
Lara Deeb, “Living ‘Āshūrā’ in Lebanon,” Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa,
and the Middle East  (): –.
Hassan Nasrallah, Voice of Hezbollah: The Statements of Sayed Hassan Nasrallah,
translated by Ellen Khouri, ed. Nicholas Noe (New York: Verso, ).
Augustus Norton, Hezbollah: A Short History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press, ).
The following works discuss the politicization of the Shı̄‘a in Iraq:
T. M. Aziz, “The Role of Muhammad Baqir al-Sadr in Shi‘i Political Activism in
Iraq from  to ,” International Journal of Middle East Studies  (),
–.
Chibli Mallat, “Muhammad Baqer al-Sadr,” in Pioneers of Islamic Revival, ed. Ali
Rahnema (Atlantic Highlands, NJ: Zed Books, ), –.
Yitzhak Nakash, The Shı̄‘ı̄s of Iraq (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press,
).
Muhammad Baqir Sadr, The Awaited Saviour, translated by M. A. Ansari (Accra,
NY: Islamic Seminary, ).
Conclusion: Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ Relations
On the morning of February , , a bomb blast ripped through the al-
Askarı̄ Mosque in the Iraqi city of Samarra. Al-Qā‘ida’s affiliate in Iraq took
responsibility for the attack, which triggered a wave of violence between
Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims that lasted almost two years and (according
to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees) created nearly
, refugees. The violence transformed the demographics of entire
cities. Neighborhoods previously home to both Sunnı̄s and Shı̄‘a were
increasingly identified with a single religious community. The intensity of
the reaction to the bombing stemmed from the site’s importance for the
Twelver Shı̄‘a, as the complex houses the tombs of the tenth and eleventh
Imāms and marks the location of the disappearance of the twelfth Imām.
Since , conflict between Sunnı̄s and Shı̄‘a has featured prominently
in media coverage of the Muslim world. Pakistan, a hotbed of Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘a
violence for decades, has seen a dramatic escalation of attacks over the past
five years against Shı̄‘ı̄ groups in Karachi and Lahore by Sunnı̄ paramilitary
organizations that operate outside governmental control. Since , the
Malaysian government has organized a systematic campaign against the
country’s small Shı̄‘ı̄ population. The Syrian civil war that erupted in 
pits a government dominated by an Alawite (Nus.ayrı̄) Shı̄‘ı̄ community
and backed by the Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ regime in Iran against a coalition of groups
supported by the Sunnı̄ monarchies of the Arabian Peninsula. There are also
regular reports of anti-Shı̄‘ı̄ violence from Egypt, Bahrain, Saudi Arabia,
and the United Arab Emirates.
The friction between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ communities is not simply a
phenomenon of the contemporary world. In a recent work aptly titled
Tradition and Survival, Hossein Modarressi documents the persecution
of the early Shı̄‘ı̄ community during the lifetimes of the Twelver Imāms.
 Hossein Modarressi, Tradition and Survival (Oxford: Oneworld, ), vol. .

Conclusion 
Baghdad witnessed multiple periods of Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ mob violence, par-
ticularly in the eleventh and twelfth centuries as the ruling Sunnı̄ Seljuq
Sultans and the Sunnı̄ ‘Abbāsid caliphs attempted to discredit the Shı̄‘ı̄
Fāt.imids in Egypt. There were a number of Safavid purges of Sunnı̄ popu-
lations in Iran and periods of intense persecution of Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars
in Ottoman Syria. The list is long and includes examples of both Sunnı̄
violence against Shı̄‘ı̄ populations and vice versa.
Given the abundant historical evidence of Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ conflict through
history, it is easy to exaggerate the tension between the communities.
Although periods of Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ cooperation are less known, they likely
provide a more representative picture of communal relations over time.
After all, the historical sources were authored by religious scholars who
were more interested in theological differences than might be the case for a
merchant or a carpenter or a butcher. These sources are prone to overstating
the degree of animosity at the popular level.
A number of recent studies have uncovered evidence of cooperation
between Sunnı̄s and Shı̄‘a. In her examination of the religious topog-
raphy of eleventh- to thirteenth-century Syria, for example, Stephennie
Mulder notes the importance of ‘Alid shrines for both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄
populations. She also documents the degree to which these shrines, which
held particular significance for the Shı̄‘a, were maintained or even founded
on Sunnı̄ patronage. Mulder’s work suggests that relations between the two
communities were closer than the image conveyed by historical sources.
There is also significant evidence of collaboration and overlap at the elite
level. In his recent doctoral dissertation, Matthew Melvin-Koushki argues
for an “Imamophilism” (a loyalty to descendants of ‘Alı̄) through which
fourteenth- and fifteenth-century scholars in Iran fostered intellectual iden-
tities that transcended categories such as Sunnı̄ or Shı̄‘ı̄.
On balance, then, we are left with a picture of Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ interac-
tions that oscillates between animosity and cohabitation. There are periods
when the two communities cooperate and others when they collide. In
the remainder of this conclusion, I examine a number of factors that help
shape relations between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ communities. The first section
discusses mundane matters, such as joint participation in group prayers
 Stephennie Mulder, The Shrines of the ‘Alids in Medieval Syria (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University
Press, ), particularly chaps.  and .
 Matthew Melvin-Koushki, “The Quest for a Universal Science” (PhD diss., Yale University, ),
–.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
and intermarriage. Here we return to the jurist from the book’s introduc-
tion who was interested in fostering Muslim unity while maintaining a
distinctive communal identity. Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars struggle to balance
the competing interests of unity and proper doctrinal belief. The second
section focuses on conflict and cooperation on the national and interna-
tional levels. What causes the outbreak of religious violence in places such
as Lebanon in the s and s or Iraq in ? Are there particular
circumstances that fuel Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ violence? Is this violence a product of
theological differences and disputes over early Islamic history? The astute
reader can probably anticipate the answers to some of these questions.
i. the calculus of social interactions and the

logic of cooperation
Recent decades have witnessed the proliferation of Muslim websites dedi-
cated to answering legal questions. Sunnı̄ websites are often administered
by religious scholars who range from chaplains with training in American
and European seminaries to formal jurists with degrees from traditional
religious institutions in the Muslim world. By contrast, Shı̄‘ı̄ websites are
mostly managed by the philanthropic foundations of prominent jurists
(i.e., Ayatollahs considered “sources of emulation”). These sites provide
forums to discuss contemporary issues and usually post replies to questions
submitted by readers from across the Muslim world.
Frequently, the questions on these websites involve financial matters,
dietary laws, and the complications of living in non-Muslim societies.
A significant portion, however, focus on relations between Sunnı̄ and
Shı̄‘ı̄ communities. In a vast majority of cases, the rulings affirm that the
opposing group lies within the broader bounds of Islam. Sunnı̄ sites, for
example, confirm the permissibility of food prepared by Shı̄‘ı̄ butchers and
chefs, while Shı̄‘ı̄ sites uphold the ritual purity of Sunnı̄ Muslims. Some
cases, however, are more ambiguous.
One such case involves the group prayer. A common question on this
issue concerns the permissibility of performing a communal prayer next
to an adherent of a different tradition. Most of the websites allow this
practice, but there are significant exceptions, especially from Sunnı̄ scholars
who adhere to traditionist interpretations prevalent in Saudi Arabia or
parts of Pakistan. In addressing the issue, Sunnı̄ scholars often create a
hierarchy of “deviance” and direct their criticism at those Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims
who actively curse the Companions or embellish the status of their Imāms.
Among Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars, participation in prayers led by Sunnı̄s is sometimes
Conclusion 
discouraged because of probity requirements for prayer leadership. They
argue that the prayer leader must be held to a high moral standard, which
disqualifies Sunnı̄s as well as Shı̄‘a Muslims of questionable credentials.
The general tenor of these websites combines a cautious acceptance of the
other community in daily interactions and mundane matters with serious
reservations about theological doctrine.
The most commonly asked question on both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ websites
involves intermarriage. This is a particularly charged matter because of its
bearing on the religious orientation of children. With the notable objection
of certain traditionist Sunnı̄ websites, there is a general consensus in favor
of Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ marriages, with one important caveat. Both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄
scholars assert that marrying a member of the other group is permissible
as long as there is no threat of being misled in belief. In other words, these
scholars acknowledge the status of the other group as Muslim, thereby
affirming the unity of the larger community, while simultaneously main-
taining the boundary that differentiates Sunnı̄ from Shı̄‘a. In other words,
it is fine to marry into the other group, but only if you can avoid being
adulterated by its problematic beliefs. In framing their answers, scholars
seek to minimize social tension without sacrificing doctrinal difference.
On the popular level, there are countless examples of friendly relations
between Sunnı̄s and Shı̄‘a in many regions. Numerous shrines in Egypt,
Iraq, and Syria are frequented by both communities. The H . usayn Mosque
in Cairo, purported to contain the head of H . usayn b. ‘Alı̄, is a central place
of worship for the largely Sunnı̄ population of Egypt. The al-Askarı̄ Mosque
(site of the  bombing) has long served as an important religious site
for the predominantly Sunnı̄ inhabitants of Samarra. The ‘Alid shrines of
Syria have a complicated history involving both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ patrons
and pilgrims. Although these sacred sites hold different meanings for the
Sunnı̄s and the Shı̄‘a, they are part of a shared religious topography. A
similar dynamic informs commemorations of Karbala in many parts of
the Indian subcontinent, particularly the Punjab, where processions are
attended by a range of religious communities, including, in some cases,
Hindus. It seems that within these regions social bonds override theological
 It should be noted that there are also many reports from the Imāms that recommend participating
in group prayers led by Sunnı̄ Muslims.
 This is especially the case for scholars in the United States or Europe, where minority Muslim
populations struggle to maintain their identity among majority non-Muslim populations.
 For Sunnı̄s, the shrines might be important centers of worship that benefit from the religious
charisma of a pious historical figure. For the Shı̄‘a, those same shrines might serve as access points
for asking Imāms to intercede on their behalf with God.
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
differences. Increasingly, however, such local dynamics are giving way to
more divisive forces, and ‘Āshūrā’ processions are becoming flashpoints for
violence.
ii. deconstructing some causes of

s u n n ı̄ – s h ı̄ ‘ ı̄ v i o l e n c e
As already mentioned, there are well-documented historical and contem-
porary instances of Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ violence. These cannot be dismissed as
anomalies, but they are also not an inevitable consequence of theological
difference or of an enmity dating back to the time of the Prophet. The
situation is far more complex. This section attempts to outline some of the
primary causes for the outbreak of violence between the two communities.
It offers a preliminary typology of factors that have precipitated Sunnı̄–
Shı̄‘ı̄ animosity, but it does so with the understanding that no explanation
can explain the conflict in its entirety.
A. Resource Allocation
Outbreaks of violence between Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ populations often involve
disparities in the allocation of resources. These resources may take many
forms. A religious community may be systematically deprived of its share
of a state’s financial resources (e.g., oil revenue), thereby stifling its devel-
opment. It may also be denied political resources through limits on its
representation in a legislature or its access to government jobs. These situa-
tions create a sense of disempowerment and aggravate resentments between
competing religious groups. As long as the state maintains the appearance
of strength, it may be possible to stifle communal violence. In such cases,
however, any decline in central authority, whether real or perceived, often
results in mass unrest, especially if the deprived community constitutes a
plurality or majority of the population.
The textbook example of this dynamic was the Lebanese Civil War
(–), which involved a wide range of Muslim and non-Muslim reli-
gious communities. By the late s, the Shı̄‘a constituted a plurality of
the Lebanese population, but they received far fewer financial resources
from the state than did other, less populous communities. Furthermore,
their share of political power was predicated on an outdated census that
subordinated them to both the Maronite Christians and Sunnı̄ Muslims.
 For specific figures on the situation of the Shı̄‘a in the Lebanese Civil War, see Augustus Norton,
Amal and the Shi‘a (Austin: University of Texas Press, ) and Hezbollah (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, ).
Conclusion 
Over the course of the civil war (and instigated partially by the Israeli inva-
sion of Lebanon in ), the Shı̄‘a became politicized first into the Amal
Movement of Musa al-Sadr and then into Hezbollah. They then mobilized
in defense of their own interests and in strong opposition to the Lebanese
Sunnı̄ community. The situation was further inflamed by the complete
collapse of government authority.
The US invasion of Iraq in  provides a second example of how
resource allocation in a period of weakened central authority promotes
Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ violence. Beginning in , Iraq was ruled by the Ba‘ath Party,
which was ostensibly committed to secular Arab nationalism. It included
both Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ members and did not openly favor one community
over the other. Relations between the Sunnı̄s and the Shı̄‘a in Iraq were
generally cordial, as tribal differences often trumped religious affiliations
in importance. In the aftermath of the  Iranian Revolution, however,
Saddam Hussein (r. –), fearful of activist Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄ jurists,
initiated a systematic persecution of the Shı̄‘ı̄ population in southern Iraq.
Despite this, the Iraqi Shı̄‘ı̄ community remained largely loyal to the state
and even fought in large numbers against their Iranian coreligionists during
the Iran–Iraq War (–).
The religious dynamic in Iraq was fundamentally altered after the First
Gulf War (Operation Desert Storm, –) when, upon the encourage-
ment of the United States, the Shı̄‘a of southern Iraq rebelled en masse,
only to be crushed by the remnants of the Iraqi army. Subsequent years
witnessed an increase in the Iraqi regime’s persecution of the Shı̄‘a, as
Saddam Hussein sought to garner popular support in the Arab world by
casting himself as a global champion of Sunnı̄ Islam. When the United
States invaded Iraq in , it destroyed much of the ruling infrastructure
of the Ba‘ath regime. The resulting collapse in centralized authority led
to violence that crystallized around the Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ divisions fostered by
Saddam Hussein during his last decade in power. Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ tensions were
also exacerbated by the influx of radical elements (e.g., al-Qā‘ida), which
declared the Shı̄‘a apostates and carried out systematic attacks against Shı̄‘ı̄
religious sites such as the al-Askarı̄ Mosque in Samarra.
In the aftermath of the invasion, the Shı̄‘a, who constituted a plurality
of the Iraqi population, were able to dominate the government, take the
lead in drafting a new constitution, and claim a larger share of the coun-
try’s natural resources. This shift in resource allocation, both political and
financial, contributed to a further deterioration in Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ relations.
 For a slightly different perspective, see Yitzhak Nakash, The Shi‘is of Iraq (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press, ).
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
The bombing of the al-Askarı̄ Mosque in  simply ignited the already
volatile situation. The violence, although articulated in terms of religious
difference, was largely a fight over resources in a time of weakened central
authority.
B. Imperial/State Competition
Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ violence also occurs in periods of rivalry between strong cen-
tralized states. In historical terms, this type of conflict is an offshoot of
competition between empires that promote a specific religious identity
(e.g., Sunnı̄ or Shı̄‘ı̄) as a means of galvanizing their population against
an enemy. In such instances, the terms Sunnı̄ or Shı̄‘ı̄ become synony-
mous with foreign threats. In eleventh-century Baghdād, for example,
Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ relations disintegrated as ‘Abbāsid caliphs and Seljuq sultans
contested Fāt.imid claims to political and religious legitimacy. Similarly,
the sixteenth century saw a rise in the persecution of Sunnı̄s in Safavid
territories and an exacerbation of government-sponsored violence against
the Shı̄‘a in Ottoman-dominated regions of Lebanon. In both of these
cases, strong states used religious violence to forward political ends. It is
certainly possible that those who participated in this violence were driven
by theological differences. The violence itself, however, was the result of
pragmatic governmental policy.
C. Crisis and Scapegoats

Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ violence frequently increases in periods of existential crisis,
when explanations are sought for political setbacks or a perceived decline.
The search for answers turns inward, as weaknesses are ascribed to a devi-
ation from an idealized past. Perhaps the most significant episode of this
variety involved the thirteenth-century Mongol conquests, which culmi-
nated in the sack of Baghdad and the execution of the last ‘Abbāsid caliph
in . The Mongol armies marched as far west as Jordan before they were
defeated by the Mamlūks (r. – in Egypt) at the Battle of ‘Ayn Jālūt
in .
These conquests were particularly traumatic because, unlike previous
invaders from Central Asia, the Mongols were not Muslims. Their successes
created an empire that, for the first time, saw large Muslim populations
governed by non-Muslims. Even in subsequent generations, when the
Mongols ostensibly converted to Islam, many religious leaders remained
skeptical. In such a period of crisis, the internal weakness of the community
Conclusion 
was attributed to doctrinal deviations introduced by “heretical” groups
such as the Shı̄‘a. A number of Sunnı̄ scholars went so far as to accuse
the Shı̄‘ı̄ community of Iraq and Shı̄‘ı̄ government officials of conspiring
with the Mongols in the conquest of Baghdad. In Syria, the H . anbalı̄ Sunnı̄
scholar Ibn Taymiyya (d. ) authored numerous anti-Shı̄‘ı̄ texts and even
reportedly participated in military campaigns against the Shı̄‘a.
A similar dynamic appears to have informed the writings of revivalist
figures in the eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Muslim world. These
reformers attempted to diagnose the factors that had permitted the rise of
European colonial power. In most cases, they explained the decline of the
Muslim world as a result of doctrinal deviations from a pristine Islam,
directing much of their criticism toward Sufism and Shı̄‘ism. The most
intransigent of the revivalists was Muh.ammad b. ‘Abd al-Wahhāb (d. ),
the eponym of the Wahhābı̄ religious tradition that is dominant in modern
Saudi Arabia. In his writings, Muh.ammad b. ‘Abd al-Wahhāb accused
the Sufis and the Shı̄‘a of corrupting Islam through the introduction of
innovative blameworthy practices including, for example, the veneration
of tombs. He declared the Shı̄‘a apostates and explicitly authorized the use
of violence against them.
D. Theology
Our discussion to this point has focused largely on nonreligious factors
such as resource allocation, imperial competition, and societal crisis. In
emphasizing their importance, it is easy to argue that theological beliefs
have no real impact on the eruption of religious violence or that the terms
Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘a simply provide labels which mask more fundamental social
divisions. But this is not an honest position. There are, in fact, numerous
cases in which theological differences are the the primary causes of Sunnı̄–
Shı̄‘ı̄ violence. In such instances, those who carry out violence are motivated
by the belief that their opponents are apostates and therefore subject to
death in accordance with Islamic law.
The Sipah-e Sahaba movement in Pakistan (founded in the late s),
for example, has carried out a systematic campaign against leading Shı̄‘ı̄
public figures over the past three decades, particularly in Karachi, Lahore,
and Multan. A similar motivation appears to inform anti-Shı̄‘ı̄ legislation
in Malaysia, where government officials inflate the religious threat posed
by a small Shı̄‘ı̄ minority. Although al-Qā‘ida is best known for an agenda
centered on the removal of European and American power from the Mid-
dle East, it also promotes an avidly anti-Shı̄‘ı̄ message. These groups are
 Shı̄‘ı̄ Islam
not using anti-Shı̄‘ı̄ rhetoric simply for propaganda purposes; rather, they
believe the Shı̄‘a are apostates for holding theological views that they con-
sider deviant.
Although theologically motivated groups remain limited in number, it
has become increasingly possible for them to exert disproportionate influ-
ence. In states with weakened governments that lack popular legitimacy,
such groups have the ability to ignite religious violence despite local efforts
to reduce tensions. Returning to the  bombing of the al-Askarı̄ Mosque
in Samarra, the ensuing violence between Sunnı̄s and Shı̄‘a erupted over
calls for peace from influential religious scholars and political leaders. For
example, Ayatollah ‘Alı̄ Sı̄stānı̄, by far the most important Twelver Shı̄‘ı̄
scholar in Iraq, forbade his followers to carry out retaliatory attacks against
Sunnı̄ mosques. Similar sentiments were expressed by Sunnı̄ religious lead-
ers, particularly in Baghdad. There were also joint statements issued by
Sunnı̄ and Shı̄‘ı̄ scholars that called for a nationwide effort to reduce reli-
gious tensions. Still, the unrest between the two communities persisted for
almost two years.
iii. final thoughts

None of the explanations provided here offer a comprehensive explanation
for Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ violence. In actuality, religious violence results from a
combination of factors, most of which, I contend, are not theological in
their origins. At the same time, it is true that violence in the Muslim world
often assumes a Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ dimension. This suggests that theology cannot
simply be dismissed as irrelevant. In fact, as noted throughout this book,
the Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ divide is predicated on fundamental differences in belief
and practice supplemented by singular readings of the past. Once activated,
these differences are difficult to quell. In Iraq or Pakistan, an outburst of
violence in a mosque or a shrine can inflame a religious community’s
sense of disempowerment. In the case of the Shı̄‘a, such a sentiment might
quickly be integrated into a broad narrative that stretches back to H . usayn
at Karbala and compel a powerful reaction.
There is nothing intrinsic to Sunnı̄ or Shı̄‘ı̄ beliefs that neccesitates
conflict between the two communities. And yet these beliefs are always
available as a resource for the justification of communal violence. As I write
these words in , Syrian rebels aligned with al-Qā‘ida have threatened
 The absence of parallel anti-Sunnı̄ groups is probably a function of demographics as opposed to any
intrinsic inclusiveness within Shı̄‘ism.
Conclusion 
to destroy the Sayyida Zaynab Mosque on the outskirts of Damascus
where, fifteen years earlier, I had attended a lecture on Muslim unity. A
number of Shı̄‘ı̄ volunteers have responded to these threats by creating
a protective cordon surrounding the shrine. In the last year, Hezbollah
has used the threats to recruit Lebanese Shı̄‘ı̄ Muslims and intervene in
the Syrian civil war on the side of the government. These developments
reflect the increasingly partisan nature of a Syrian conflict that involves
resource allocation (political representation and economic resources) and
state competition (Iran against the Gulf monarchies, the United States
against Russia). Sunnı̄–Shı̄‘ı̄ rivalries may well prove relevant to other
regional conflicts as well. Only time will tell.
Appendix: Verses Mentioned in the Argument from
Qur’ānic Expectations in Chapter 3
Q2:83 And [remember] when We made a covenant with the Children of Israel,
[saying]: Worship none save God, and be good to parents and to
kindred and to orphans and the needy, and speak kindly to mankind;
and establish worship and pay the poor-due. Then, after that, you slid
back, save a few of you, being averse.
Q2:177 It is not righteousness that you turn your faces to the east and the west;
rather, righteous is he who believes in God and the Last Day and the
angels and the scripture and the prophets; and gives wealth, for love of
Him, to kinsfolk and to orphans and the needy and the wayfarer and to
those who ask, and to set slaves free; and observes proper worship and
pays the poor-due. And those who keep their treaty when they make
one, and the patient in tribulation and adversity and time of stress. Such
are they who are sincere. Such are the God-fearing.
Q2:215 They ask you, what shall they spend. Say: that which you spend for
good [must go] to parents and near kindred and orphans and the needy
and the wayfarer. And whatever good you do, God is aware of it.
Q3:33–34 God preferred Ādam (Adam) and Nūh. (Noah) and the family of
Ibrāhı̄m [Abraham] and the family of ‘Imrān (Amram) above [all]
creatures.
They were descendants one of another. God is the Hearer, the Knower.
Q4:7–8 To the men [of a family] belongs a share of that which parents and near
kindred leave, and unto the women a share of that which parents and
near kindred leave, whether it be little or much – a legal share.
And when kinsfolk and orphans and the needy are present at the division
[of inheritance], bestow on them from it and speak kindly to them.
Q6:84–87 And We bestowed upon him [Ibrāhı̄m], Ish.āq (Isaac) and Ya‘qūb
(Jacob); each of them We guided; and Nūh. did We guide aforetime; and
of his seed [We guided] Dāwūd (David) and Sulaymān (Solomon) and
Ayyūb (Job) and Yūsuf (Joseph) and Mūsā (Moses) and Hārūn (Aaron).
Thus do We reward the good.
(continued)

 Appendix
(continued)
And Zakariyyā (Zachariah) and Yah.yā (John) and ‘Īsā (Jesus) and Ilyās
(Elias). Each one [of them] was of the righteous.
And Ismā‘ı̄l (Ishmael) and al-Yasa‘ (Elisha) and Yūnus (Jonah) and Lūt.
(Lot). Each one [of them] did We prefer above other creatures,
With some of their forefathers and their offspring and their brethren;
and We chose them and guided them unto a straight path.
Q8:75 And those who afterward believed and left their homes and strove along
with you, they are of you; and those who are kin are nearer one to
another in the ordinance of God. God knows all things.
Q9:113 It is not for the Prophet, and those who believe, to pray for the
forgiveness of idolaters, even though they may be near of kin, after it has
become clear that they are people of the hellfire.
Q11:45–46 And Nūh. cried unto his Lord and said: My Lord! Lo! My son is of my
household! Surely Your promise is the truth and You are the most just of
judges.
He said: O Nūh.! He is not of your household. He is of evil conduct, so
ask not of Me that of which you have no knowledge. I admonish you
lest you be among the ignorant.
Q19:5–7 Lo! I fear my kinsfolk after me, since my wife is barren. Oh, give me, by
Your presence, a successor
Who shall inherit of me and inherit of the house of Ya‘qūb. And make
him, my Lord, acceptable.
[It was said unto him]: O Zakariyyā! We bring you tidings of a son
whose name is Yah.yā; we have given the same name to none before
[him].
Q19:49–50 So when he [Ibrāhı̄m] had withdrawn from them and that which they
were worshipping beside God, We gave him Ish.āq and Ya‘qūb. Each of
them We made a prophet.
And We gave them of Our mercy, and assigned to them a high and true
renown.
Q20:29–30 Appoint for me an assistant from my folk,
Hārūn, my brother.
Q21:48 And We verily gave Mūsā and Hārūn the criterion [of right and wrong]
and a light and a reminder for those who keep from evil.
Q24:22 And let not those among you who possess dignity and ease take an oath
against giving to the near of kin and to the needy, and to fugitives for
the cause of God. Let them forgive and show indulgence. Have you not
learned that God may forgive you? God is Forgiving, Merciful.
Q25:35 We verily gave Mūsā the scripture and placed with him his brother
Hārūn as an assistant.
Appendix 
Q29:27 And We bestowed on him [Ibrāhı̄m] Ish.āq and Ya‘qūb, and We

established the prophethood and the scripture among his seed, and We
gave him his reward in the world, and in the hereafter he is among the
righteous.
Q33:6 The Prophet is closer to the believers than their selves, and his wives are
[as] their mothers. And the owners of kinship are closer one to another
in the ordinance of God than [other] believers and the migrants [who
fled from Mecca]; nevertheless you should act in kindness toward your
friends. This is written in the Book.
Q38:30 And We bestowed on Dāwūd Sulaymān. How excellent a servant! He
was ever turning in repentance.
I draw heavily on Marmaduke Pickthall’s English translation of the Qur’ān.

Najam Haider - Shi'i Islam An Introduction (2014)

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List of Tables and Maps page ix

section 3: constructing shı̄‘ism 101

section 4: shı̄‘ism in the modern world 167

Appendix: Verses Mentioned in the Argument from Qur’ānic

A number of people were pivotal in bringing this book to fruition. I

The cover image is an illustration of the investiture of ‘Alı̄ by the Prophet

The system of transliteration employed in rendering Arabic names, technical

i. previous approaches in introductory

ii. the structure of the book

 Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, bk. II, chap. .

iii. a user’s guide

‘Adl (Rational Divine Justice)

i. free will and evil

These verses promise a just reckoning of human actions with an emphasis

ii. law and jurisprudence

 The Sunnı̄s would, of course, contest this appraisal of their position.

A. Grace or Kindness (Lut.f )

Prophets, then, are products of God’s kindness, sent to human communities

 Sobhani, Doctrines, .

B. Enjoining Good and Forbidding Wrong

C. Final Notes about Rational Divine Justice and the Imāmate

suggested readings for further study

Imāmate (Legitimate Leadership)

i. the spiritual dimensions

A. Walāya (Charismatic Loyalty)

B. The Family of the Prophet (Ahl al-Bayt)

ii. the political and knowledge dimensions

A. Requirements and Scope

B. The Imāmate of the Zaydı̄ Shı̄‘a

C. The Imāmate of the Ismā‘ı̄lı̄ and Twelver Shı̄‘a

 Virani, The Ismailis, –.

Zaydı̄s Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s Twelvers

Walāya Charismatic bond Charismatic bond Charismatic bond

Zaydı̄s Ismā‘ı̄lı̄s Twelvers

suggested readings for further study

Memories matter. They reflect a community’s understanding of its origins,

A. The Prophet-Historical Case for Succession

 Guillaume, Life, – (with some changes).

The first four traditions provide proof of ‘Alı̄’s successorship by empha-

B. The Qur’ānic Expectation Case for Succession

Insofar as the Qur’ān expresses the thoughts of Muh.ammad, it is evident that he

ii. the tragedy at karbala

A. The Base Narrative

Personalities (in alphabetical order) Brief Description/Background

B. The Shı̄‘ı̄ Narrative(s)

The Zaydı̄ Narrative

The affirmation of an actual uprising and H . usayn’s efforts at constructing a

The Twelver Narrative

A multitude of similar traditions quote the Imāms ordering the Shı̄‘a to

 Haider, Origins, .

 Aghaie, Martyrs, .

 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .

In other words, H . usayn is aware of the broader context of the situa-

This level of detail is designed to elicit a powerful emotional response.

 Al-Shaykh al-Mufı̄d, Irshād, .

Passages from the Post-Safavid Karbala Narrative

 Aghaie, Martyrs, .

 Rippen and Knappert, Textual Sources, .

suggested readings for further study