Constructing a Worldview English: Al-Barq?'s Role in the Making of Early Sh??? Faith 9782503560908, 2503560903

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CONSTRUCTING A WORLDVIEW

MIROIR DE L’ORIENT MUSULMAN Directeur de la collection Denise AIGLE Conseil scientifique Denise AIGLE (Directrice d’études à l’EPHE-UMR 8167 « Orient & Méditerranée ») Reuven AMITAI (Professeur à l’Université hébraïque de Jérusalem) Michele BERNARDINI (Professeur à l’Université de Naples « L’Orientale ») Michal BIRAN (Professeur à l’Université hébraïque de Jérusalem) Antoine BORRUT (Professeur associé à l’Université du Maryland) Abdallah CHEIKH MOUSSA (Professeur à l’Université Paris 4) Alain DESREUMAUX (Directeur de recherche émérite au CNRS-UMR 8167 « Orient & Méditerranée ») Anne-Marie EDDÉ (Professeur à l’Université Paris 1-UMR 8167 “Orient & Méditerranée”) Pierre LORY (Directeur d’études à l’EPHE-UMR 8584 « Laboratoire d’études sur les monothéismes ») Corinne LEFEVRE-AGRATI (Chargée de recherche au CNRS-UMR 8564 « Centre d’études de l’Inde et de l’Asie du Sud ») Charles MELVILLE (Professeur à l’Université de Cambridge) Françoise MICHEAU (Professeur à l’Université Paris 1-UMR 8167 « Orient & Méditerranée ») Christian ROBIN (Directeur de recherche au CNRS-UMR 8167 « Orient & Méditerranée »)

Constructing a Worldview Al-Barqī’s Role in the Making of Early Shīʿī Faith

Roy Vilozny

F

Cover illustration: Day of Judgement according to a 1550s Fāl-Nāma illustration, commonly attributed to Qazvin, Iran. SLUB Dresden / Digital Collections / Mscr.Dresd.Eb.445. I thank Raya Shani for directing me to this specific image.

© 2017 Brepols Publishers n. v., Turnhout, Belgium All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

D/2017/0095/225 ISBN 978-2-503-56090-8 e-ISBN 978-2-503-57251-2 DOI/10.1484/M.MOM-EB.5.112275 Printed on acid-free paper

To my parents

Table of Contents Abbreviations 9 Acknowledgements 11 Preface 13 Table of the 12 Imams

17 Part I: Background

1.

Al-Barqī – Life and Work 21 I. Life 22 II. Work 24 III. Eleven in-Depth Probes into the Heart of Kitāb al-maḥāsin 32 IV. Conclusion 53 Part II: Worldview

2. Election I. Introduction II. Creation Myths III. Birth Myths IV. Election — Non-Mythic Propaganda V. Election Based on the Quran and its Interpretation VI. Election and the Performance of Religious Duties VII. Death Myths VIII. Eschatological Myths IX. Conclusion

57 57 61 76 79 83 85 88 97 108

3.

111 111 114 127 130 136

Predestination and its Deterministic and Dualistic Implications I. General II. The Pre-Existential Setting III. Predestination due to Historical, Ethnic and Legal Criteria IV. Determinism due to God’s Intervention in this World V. Mental or Psychological Determinism

8

Table of Contents

VI. Fair Determinism VII. Cracks and Question Marks VIII. Imams as Theologians IX. Conclusion

138 142 153 159

Part III: The Literary Genre: Two Unique Sub-books of Kitāb al-maḥāsin 4

The Numerical Organization of ḥadīth — a Rule and its Exceptions 163 I. Structure and External Characteristics 165 II. The Literary Genre 168 III. The Content of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin 172 IV. The Question of the Last Three Chapters 181 V. Conclusion 185

5.

Between Law and Doctrine — the ʿilal Genre 187 I. Style 189 II. Content 190 III. Nine Irregular Traditions 203 IV. Conclusion 208

Final Thoughts

209

Bibliography of Works Cited

211

Index 219

Abbreviations BSOAS EI² EI³ EIR GAS IJMES IOS JA JAOS JSAI REI RIMA SI ZDMG

Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition (Leiden: Brill, 1960–2002) Encyclopaedia of Islam, 3rd edition, online Encyclopaedia Iranica Geschichte des Arabischen Schrifttums International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies Israel Oriental Studies Journal asiatique Journal of the American Oriental Society Jerusalem Studies in Arabic and Islam Revue des Etudes Islamiques Revue de l’institut des manuscrits arabes Studia Islamica Zeitschrift der morgenländischen Gesellschaft

Acknowledgements My first encounter with Shīʿī literature in general and with al-Barqī, the protagonist of the present study, in particular took place towards the end of the previous millennium. I was at the time an undergraduate at the department of Arabic Language and Literature at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and as part of my curriculum I attended the course ‘Readings in Early Shīʿī Sources’. One of the first sources from which we read was Aḥmad b. Muḥammad alBarqī’s Kitāb al-maḥāsin. Professor Etan Kohlberg, who taught the course, later became the advisor of my MA thesis and a member of my PhD dissertation committee. I am deeply grateful to Etan for this first encounter with al-Barqī as well as for his inspiration, guidance and encouragement ever since. As my interest in the Shīʿa and particularly in their early worldview grew, Kitāb al-maḥāsin and the role it played in the formation of the Shīʿī doctrine became the primary object of examination in both my MA thesis and PhD dissertation that formed the basis of the present book. During these significant stages of my studies, I was fortunate to study with Professors Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi at the Ecole Pratique de Hautes Etudes in Paris (2005–2006) and Meir M. Bar-Asher who was the advisor of my PhD thesis at the Hebrew University (2007–2012). I am greatly indebted to Meir for his continuous support, advice and reassurance along the challenging years of working on this project. Had it not been for the help and support of these three distinguished academics, each in his particular way and all in the most unassuming and generous manner, this book would not have seen the light. Etan has also read various drafts of the present book and made insightful comments for which I am most thankful. The responsibility for any errors or inaccuracies that may still be found in the book is entirely mine. As a Polonsky postdoctoral fellow at the Van Leer Jerusalem Institute (2014–2016), I have been enjoying the rare privilege of being able to work on this book uninterruptedly and continuously. The Polonsky Academy for Advanced Study has provided me with the ideal conditions for academic research and it is a pleasant duty to acknowledge the exceptional generosity of Dr Leonard Polonsky, which made it possible.

I also wish to express my gratitude to the Research Authority of the University of Haifa for taking part in the financial costs that were involved in the process of preparing the manuscript for press. I thank Domenico Agostini that urged me a couple of years ago to write a book-proposal based on my dissertation and another dear friend whose name could not be mentioned publically who helped me in its elucidation. I am also deeply grateful to Tal Gur and Mira Grinshpan, my dear friends, for their support, especially at times of doubt and perplexity. The completion of this book would not be possible though without my partner, Hila, who continuously encouraged me throughout the process and helped me to realize that completing it was indeed a necessary thing. Lastly, I thank my grandmother, Rachel Eliyahu ( Jerusalem, 1926–2015), who triggered my curiosity for the Arabic language and culture.

Preface This book delineates several fundamental characteristics of the Shīʿī faith in its formative period, towards the end of the third/ninth century and about half a century prior to the beginning of the crystallization of Twelver Shīʿī dogma. This formative period is still shrouded in obscurity due to the scarcity of early Shīʿī works. Moreover, the crystallization process, as well as the formation of a canonical body of Shīʿī literature, which took place following the occultation of the twelfth Imam (328/940) and mainly during the Buwayhid period (334/945–447/1055 ce), inevitably involved modifications in and adaptations of the Shīʿa’s early corpus. The terms Shīʿī and Imāmī are thus used interchangeably throughout the present study to denote this early, proto-Twelver manifestation of Shīʿism. The book focuses on the contribution of the Qummi scholar and traditionist, Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī (d. 274/888 or 280/894), to the shaping of the Shīʿī doctrine. Al-Barqī’s main work, Kitāb al-maḥāsin, is one of the earliest, if not the earliest of the Shīʿī texts available to us today and is a rare example of ḥadīth literature before the canonical texts were established. The significance of this work was such that the prominent Shīʿī scholar Qāḍī Nūr Allāh al-Tustarī (d. 1019/1610) argued that it should be included in the Twelver Shīʿī canon. The present book is situated in the ongoing process of increasing our familiarity with and understanding of the Shīʿī religion in its early stages of development. Despite the importance of al-Barqī’s contribution, the originality of his work and its centrality in Shīʿī ḥadīth literature, it has not hitherto received sufficient scholarly attention. Apart from Paul Sander, who in his book Zwischen Charisma und Ratio attempts to describe some theological principles through an examination of several early Shīʿī sources, including Kitāb almaḥāsin; and Andrew Newman, who in the fourth chapter of The Formative Period of Twelver Shīʿism provides an account of al-Barqī’s biography and briefly describes the contents of his Kitāb al-maḥāsin, no western scholar has

14

Preface

focused on this book as his main object of research.1 In her Early Shīʿī Thought, Arzina R. Lalani refers briefly to Kitāb al-maḥāsin as an early work which has a section on jurisprudence, overlooking the text’s other dimensions.2 Besides the scholars mentioned above, the supplement of the Encyclopaedia of Islam (second edition) includes a short entry on al-Barqī by Charles Pellat.3 Pellat provides information about al-Barqī’s life, remarks briefly on the contents of Kitāb al-maḥāsin and comments on the text’s presumed goal. An interesting exception is a dissertation titled Kitāb al-maḥāsin by Aḥmad al-Barqī (d. 274/887 or 280/893) as a Source for the History of Shīʿī Islam written in Russian by Ara G. Margaryan under the supervision of Professor Stanislav M. Prozorov and submitted to the Institute of Oriental Manuscripts in Saint Petersburg in 2013. I learned about the existence of this dissertation only in February 2017, while I was already in the process of preparing the present book for press and therefore could not incorporate a thourough examination of this dissertation, a task to which I hope to devote a separate study in the near future.4 In his comprehensive book on the Shīʿī faith, The Divine Guide in Early Shīʿism5, Mohammad Ali Amir-Moezzi explains why Kitāb al-maḥāsin was not one of the main sources on which he based his research. He notes that it lacks the Imamological and esoteric aspects which are his two main concerns in his study. Nevertheless, an in-depth analysis of this text and occasionally reading between its lines provided me with most of the conclusions presented here regarding these two aspects. This was successfully undertaken also by Maria Massi Dakake, who in her The Charismatic Community managed to explore fundamental notions of the faith by making considerable use of Kitāb 1. See P. Sander, Zwischen Charisma und Ratio. Entwicklungen in der frühen imāmitischen Theologie (Berlin, 1994) and A. J. Newman, The Formative Period of Twelver Shīʿism: Hadith as Discourse between Qum and Baghdad (Richmond, 2000). 2. A. R. Lalani, Early Shīʿī Thought. The Teachings of Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir (London and New York, 2000). 3. Ch. Pellat “al-Barḳī,” EI² (supplement). 4. Маргарян, Ара Григорьевич, “Китаб ал-махасин Ахмада ал-Барки (ум. в 274/887 или 280/893 г.) как источник по истории шиитского ислама,” PhD dissertation, Saint Petersburg, 2013. I am grateful to Professor Prozorov for bringing to my attention the existence of this study as well as for his time and hospitality during my visit at the Institute of Oriental Manuscripts in Saint Petersburg in February 2017. 5. M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide in Early Shiʿism: The Sources of Esotericism in Islam (English translation by D. Streight, originally published under the title Le guide divin dans le shiʿisme originel) (Albany, 1994).



Preface 

15

al-maḥāsin.6 However, Kitāb al-maḥāsin does not contain any clear credo, nor does it present a system of belief to the reader. Anyone attempting to describe Shīʿī doctrine according to this text has to put together the scattered pieces of this complex puzzle on his own. Furthermore, in The Divine Guide AmirMoezzi examines the Shīʿī faith while focusing on the role of the Imam as the main axis around which the faith developed and as a necessary condition for its existence. In this study, particularly in the second part, which is devoted to doctrinal questions, it is argued that ordinary believers and  —  at least to some extent  —  non-believers too, are no less central to the Shīʿī worldview as derived from the analysis of Kitāb al-maḥāsin. Finally, it is of note that although details regarding al-Barqī and Kitāb almaḥāsin are recorded both by Fuat Sezgin7 and Agha Bozorg al-Ṭihrānī,8 two of the main introductory books in the field9 contain no reference to al-Barqī nor to his al-Maḥāsin. This is surprising, especially in light of al-Maḥāsin’s centrality in al-Majlisī’s (d. 1111/1700) Biḥār al-anwār, with which both authors must have been familiar. In al-Majlisī’s list of abbreviations of the sources he used, ‘sn’(‫ )سن‬stands for al-maḥāsin. Kitāb al-Maḥāsin, it will be demonstrated, continued to play a central role in the later Shīʿī tradition, a role that has so far gone unrecognized and calls for a reassessment of this source. Ironically, the great importance ascribed to the text by Shīʿī scholars of later eras resulted in an insufficient interest on the part of scholars of Shīʿī Islam, who focused instead on canonical works that quote extensively from Kitāb al-maḥāsin and neglected the examination of this source as a primary object of research. The present book, taking Kitāb al-maḥāsin as its main object and repositioning it as a central source for the study of early Shīʿism, aims to fill this gap. Like most works stemming from early Islam, Kitāb al-maḥāsin is not an explicit doctrinal or theological treatise. Rather, it is a collection of 2609 traditions ascribed to one of the Shīʿī Imams or to the Prophet Muḥammad. These traditions constitute the only part of the text that has survived; there is indisputable evidence that the original work was far more substantial. As the 6. M. M. Dakake, The Charismatic Community: Shiʿite Identity in Early Islam (Albany, 2007), see in particular Part II, chapters 7–8, “Predestination and the mythological origins of Shīʿite Identity” and “The charismatic nature and spiritual distinction of the Shīʿites.” 7. F. Sezgin, Geschichte des Arabischen Schrifttums (Leiden, 1967–1986), vol. 1, p. 538. 8. A. B. al-Ṭihrānī, Al-Dharīʿa ilā taṣānīf al-shīʿa, vol. 20, p. 123. 9. I refer here to M. Momen, An Introduction to Shiʿi Islam (New Haven and London, 1985) and H. Halm, Shiʿism (English translation by J. Watson and M. Hill) (New York, 2004).

16

Preface

title of the present book suggests, al-Barqī’s compilation was a fundamental building block in the process of constructing the Shīʿī worldview during the third/ninth century. It is only by piecing together various parts of the extant text and subjecting them to an in-depth analysis that this worldview can be comprehended. Part I of the book opens with an introduction to the life and work of Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī. In the main part of the book (part II) I will present and discuss three prominent notions that arise from the analysis of Kitāb al-maḥasin and characterize the early Shīʿī faith: election, determinism and dualism. The three are embedded throughout al-Barqī’s work and the relevance of each is traceable in all aspects of the faith. In addition, the book offers a unique window into the content and stylistic characteristics of the Shīʿī ḥadīth literature before it became canonical (part III).

Table of the 12 Imams The Prophet Muḥammad (d. 11/632) Fāṭima (d. 40/661) (2) al-Ḥasan (d. c. 50/670)

∞

(1) ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib (d. 40/661) (3) al-Ḥusayn (d. 61/680) (4) ʿAlī Zayn al-ʿĀbidīn (d. c. 95/714) (5) Muḥammad al-Bāqir (d. c. 114/732) (6) Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq (d. 148/765) (7) Mūsā al-Kāẓim (d. 183/799) (8) ʿAlī al-Riḍā (d/ 203/818) (9) Muḥammad al-Jawād (or al-Taqī) (d. 220/835) (10) ʿAlī al-Hādī (d. 254/868) (11) al-Ḥasan al-ʿAskarī (d. 260/873–4) (12) Muḥammad al-Mahdī (disappeared 260/873–4)

Part I: Background

1. Al-Barqī – Life and Work The purpose of this chapter is twofold.1 First, to shed light on the biography and works of Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī, one of the less familiar scholars of the pre-Buwayhid era, who lived and worked in Qumm in the second half of the third/ninth century. Second, to acquaint the reader as thoroughly as possible with the content and stylistic characteristics of Kitāb al-maḥāsin,2 the main object of the present study. Although some general characteristics of the text will also be discussed in the second part of the book, where doctrinal and theological aspects of the faith are examined, it is in this chapter that an overall presentation of the text by both observation from the outside and demonstrations from within is attempted. This presentation is important as an end for itself, but it also seeks to give the reader a rounded contextualization of the issues addressed in the second part of the book. Finally, by taking al-Barqī as a case study, the aim is to illuminate some of the characteristics of Shīʿī ḥadīth literature before its final crystallisation and establishement as canonical during the Buwayhid period (334/945–447/1055). As it is hoped will become clear in the course of this chapter, the discussion of the thematic and stylistic characteristics of al-Barqī’s work brings to the fore some of the fundamental notions of the Shīʿī faith at this early stage of development. 1. An earlier version of this chapter was published under the title “Pre-Būyid Ḥadīth Literature: The Case of al-Barqī from Qumm (d. 274/888 or 280/894) in Twelve Sections,” in The Study of Shiʿi Islam (eds F. Daftary and G. Miskinzoda; London, 2014), pp. 203–230. 2. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī, Kitāb al-maḥāsin (ed. Jalāl al-Dīn al-Ḥusaynī, Tehran, 1370/1950–51, two volumes, continuous pagination; reprinted Qum and Beirut, n.d.). References will be to this edition, as a rule in the abbreviated form “see al-Barqī.” Another edition of the text was published in Najaf, 1384/1964 (ed. Muḥammad Ṣādiq Baḥr al-ʿUlūm, two volumes, continuous pagination; reprinted Beirut, 2008). For details regarding the manuscripts, see: GAS, vol. 1, p. 538. Sezgin lists four manuscripts of the text: two in Mashhad, one in Tehran and another in Kāẓimiyya. According to Sezgin, one of the Mashhad manuscripts is the earliest, dating to 1052/1642–43, that is, 750 years after the death of al-Barqī. The other is dated a year later, which may indicate that in fact the two constitute two parts of one text. The Tehran MS is dated by Sezgin to 1280/1863–64; according to RIMA 4/240 (cited by Sezgin), the Iraqi MS was copied in 1044/1634–35 by ʿAbdallāh b. Muḥammad al-Ṭabrisī. The editors of the printed editions do not specify which manuscripts they are based on, but Muḥammad Ṣādiq Baḥr al-ʿUlūm indicates at the end of the introduction to the Najaf edition that it is a second edition of the text which was first printed in Tehran by Dār al-kutub al-Islāmiyya.

22

Part I: Background

I. Life Very little can be said about al-Barqī’s character or personal worldview, as the only two works by him extant, Kitāb al-rijāl3 and Kitāb al-maḥāsin, contain no personal utterances, neither in the form of a preface or an introduction, nor by an expression of his own opinions in the text itself. In his work, so it seems, al-Barqī restricted himself to the role of the classical traditionist or biographer, whose sole task was to collect information, at times to rearrange it, and to put it down in writing. By adhering to this method, al-Barqī may be counted among the traditionists of the proto-Akhbārī school of Qumm. A few remarks about the man, which derive from an examination of both the dimensions of his work and its contents, seem appropriate and will be made further below. But prior to that, an attempt will be made to reconstruct al-Barqī’s life, according to the information available to us in biographical and bibliographical sources. Neither of the two main biographical sources on which the following is based, by al-Najāshī4 and al-Ṭūsī,5 provides any information regarding alBarqī’s date of birth. What we do find are some details about his forebears and origins. Al-Barqī‘s family came from Kūfa, where his great-grandfather had been arrested and later executed by Yūsuf b. ʿUmar al-Thaqafī (the governor of Iraq during the years 120–126/738–744), supposedly for taking part in the failed rebellion of Zayd b. ʿAlī (Muḥammad al-Bāqir‘s half-brother) against the Umayyads in 122/740. Following this unhappy event the family migrated to a small village near Qumm called Barq Rūd or Barqat Qumm, which is the putative reason for the nisba al-Barqī.6 3. Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī, Kitāb al-rijāl (Tehran, 1342/1963); see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival: A Bibliographical Survey of Early Shiʿi Literature (Oxford, 2003), vol. 1, p. xvii, where Modarressi remarks that this text may have been written in a later period and is erroneously ascribed to al-Barqī; in his concluding remarks for the Tehran edition of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, Jalāl al-Dīn al-Ḥusaynī raises the possibility that al-Rijāl was originally a part of al-Maḥāsin, see al-Barqī, p. 648. 4. Aḥmad b. ʿAlī al-Najāshī who died in 455/1063, the author of Kitāb al-rijāl, one of the most often quoted Shīʿī biographical sources. See B. S. Amoretti, “ʿIlm al-Ridjāl,” EI². 5. Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan, Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭūsī, a prominent Imāmī scholar, born in 385/995 in Ṭūṣ, was a disciple of al-Shaykh al-Mufīd in Baghdad and of his successor, al-Sharīf alMurtaḍā, whom he himself, as the latter’s prominent disciple, succeeded in 436/1044. Al-Ṭūsī is the author of two of the “four books” of the Imāmiyya. He died in Najaf in 459–60/1066– 1067. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, “al-Ṭūsī,” EI². 6. See al-Najāshī, Rijāl, Beirut, 1988, vol. 1, pp. 204–207; al-Ṭūṣī, al-Fihrist, Najaf, 1960, pp. 44–46; A. J. Newman, The Formative Period of Early Shīʿism, pp. 51–52; Ch. Pellat, “alBarḳī,” EI² (supplement, pp. 127–128).



1. Al-Barqī – Life and Work 

23

Aḥmad’s father, Muḥammad, was a disciple of both the eighth Imam, ʿAlī al-Riḍā (d. 203/818), and the ninth Imam, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī (d. 220/835), and seems to have been the first member of the family to transmit Shīʿī traditions.7 According to the Fihrist of Ibn al-Nadīm, which on this point differs from other biographical sources, it is Muḥammad, Aḥmad’s father, who was behind the compilation of Kitāb al-maḥāsin.8 Even if the information provided by Ibn al-Nadīm is not entirely correct, the fact that almost one-third of the traditions included in al-Maḥāsin are ascribed to Aḥmad’s father9 may indicate that it was not the work of a single author, but rather of both father and son. Aḥmad followed in his father‘s footsteps both as a Shīʿī devotee — he was the disciple of the ninth and tenth Imams, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī (d. 220/835) and ʿAlī b. Muḥammad (d. 254/868) — and as a compiler and transmitter of traditions.10 In spite of his reliance on weak transmitters (ḍuʿafāʾ),11 both al-Najāshī and al-Ṭūsī considered Aḥmad to be trustworthy (thiqa)12 and agree that he was the author of numerous books, including Kitāb al-maḥāsin.13 The year of al-Barqī’s death is given as either 274/888 or 280/894.14 It is noteworthy that both are later than that of the beginning of the twelfth Imam‘s lesser occultation which was 264/873–874. It seems quite unlikely that in the 15 or 20 years that passed from the occultation of the twelfth Imam until the death of al-Barqī, the doctrine of 12 Imams could have taken root and it is therefore difficult, if not impossible, to consider al-Barqī as a ‘Twelver’. This conclusion goes hand in hand with the lack of any direct or indirect references to the number 12 or to the concept of ghayba (occultation) in his Kitāb al-maḥāsin.15 7. Ch. Pellat, “al-Barḳī”; Newman, The Formative Period of Early Shīʿism, p. 51. 8. Ibn al-Nadīm, Fihrist, Cairo, 1348/1929, pp. 309–310; Ch. Pellat, “al-Barḳī.” 9. A. J. Newman, The Formative Period of Early Shīʿism, p. 53, notes that 739 traditions (28 per cent) in Kitāb al-maḥāsin are ascribed to Aḥmad’s father. 10. See al-Ṭūsī, Rijāl, Najaf, 1961, p. 398, where Aḥmad is included among the companions of the ninth Imam, and p. 410, where he is included among the companions of the tenth Imam; F. Sezgin, GAS, vol. 1, p. 538; A. J. Newman, The Formative Period of Early Shīʿism, p. 51. 11. See J. Robson, “al-Djarḥ wa-l-Taʿdīl,” EI², where it is explained that although a ḍaʿīf is a person “weak in tradition,” he is not rejected if his traditions are supported elsewhere. 12. See G. H. N. Juynboll, “Thiqa,” EI², where this term is defined as “qualification used in the science of ḥadīth to describe a transmitter as trustworthy, reliable.” 13. See note 6. 14. Al-Najāshī, Rijāl, pp. 206–207; al-Ṭūṣī, Rijāl, p. 398. 15. About the development of the term ithnā-ʿashariyya see: E. Kohlberg, “From Imāmiyya to ithnā-ʿashariyya,” BSOAS 39 (1976), pp. 521–534, repr. in E. Kohlberg, Belief and Law in Imāmī Shīʿism (Aldershot, 1991), article xiv. Of special relevance to our discussion is Kohlberg’s

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Part I: Background

The year of al-Barqī‘s death should also be considered from another perspective — it preceded one of the most important turning points in the early development of the Shīʿī religion and its ḥadīth literature: the coming to power of the Buwayhid dynasty in the year 334/945. In fact, most of the classical Shīʿī ḥadīth compilations are the result of the work of scholars from the Buwayhid period, during which Shīʿī intellectual activity was encouraged by the ruling dynasty which allowed Shīʿī scholars to work freely.16 Viewed in this light, al-Barqī’s work is unique, as it is a rare example of a ḥadīth collection from the pre-Buwayhid era.17 One should also bear in mind that these political circumstances coincided with the growing need for a reliable corpus of ḥadīth in the absence of an Imam, especially after contact with the hidden Imam came to an end in 328/940 — the year which marks the end of the lesser and the beginning of the greater occultation.

II. Work The development of Shīʿī literature was strongly related to the evolution of its Sunni counterpart. During the third/ninth and fourth/tenth centuries — the period of the formation of the early Islamic literary corpora — one can trace the movement of knowledge, ideas and stylistic characteristics between Shīʿī and Sunni scholars. This happened either through their quoting of each other, or as a result of teacher-student relationships, which at times transcended the sectarian boundaries. For example, Shīʿī scholars often cite Sunni traditions that praise ʿAlī, or others that may be understood as supporting the

observation on p. 523 that neither al-Barqī nor his contemporary, al-Ṣaffar al-Qummī (d. 290/903), provide any information regarding the concept of twelve Imams and the idea of occultation; see also E. Kohlberg, “Early Attestations of the Term ‘ithnā-ʿashariyya’,” JSAI 24 (2000), pp. 343–357, and A. Arjoumand, “Imam Absconditus and the Beginning of a Theology of Occultation: Imāmī Shiʿism circa 280–90/900 A.D.,” JAOS 117 (1997), pp. 1–12; see also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, pp. 101–102, where references in early sources to the number of Imams and the occultation are discussed. 16. E. Kohlberg, “Shīʿī ḥadīth,” in Arabic Literature to the End of the Umayyad Period (Cambridge, 1983), pp. 302–303. 17. Another important source of a proximate time is the Baṣāʾir al-darajāt of al-Ṣaffar alQummī (d. 290/903); see M. A. Amir-Moezzi, “al-Ṣaffār al-Qummī (d. 290/902–903) et son Kitāb baṣāʾir al-darajāt,” JA 280 (1992), pp. 221–250; of particular relevance is Amir-Moezzi’s observation on pp. 240–241 that, unlike the Kitāb al-maḥāsin, this text includes five traditions which refer specifically to the notion of twelve Imams.



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conception of the Imamate, as a sound proof for the veracity of the Shīʿī stand.18 The two works by al-Barqī that have survived — Kitāb al-rijāl and Kitāb al-maḥāsin — represent two of the most common genres of the era —  biographical dictionaries and compilations of ḥadīth. Not surprisingly, the most striking difference between Shīʿī and Sunni works of these genres derives from the centrality of the Imam, both as a real authority in religious matters and as a theoretical subject of discussion. These two dimensions are thoroughly reflected in the large amount of biographical sources devoted to the Imams and their companions/disciples, in the fact that the major part of the Shīʿī traditions is ascribed to one of the Imams rather than the Prophet Muḥammad and, of course, in the content of many traditions that address Imamological questions. Naturally, the Shīʿī denouncing of most of the Prophet‘s companions (al-ṣaḥāba) for taking part in the usurpation that followed the Prophet’s death had a considerable influence on the content of the Shīʿī biographical dictionaries as well as the chains of transmission in the ḥadīth compilations.19 Al-Barqī’s biographical dictionary, Kitāb al-rijāl, is comprised mainly of lists of names of the companions of each Imam. It starts by listing the companions of the Messenger of God (aṣḥāb rasūl Allāh), goes on to those of the Commander of the Faithful (i.e. ʿAlī, the first Imam), his two sons, Ḥasan and Ḥusayn, and so on until the eleventh Imam.20 Given that al-Barqī composed his Rijāl towards the end of his life, or at least was able to update it as long as he was alive, the fact that he stopped at the eleventh Imam who died in 260/874 may indicate that the identity of the latter’s successor was not known to him. If true, this would explain why his Kitāb al-maḥāsin contains no references to the twelfth Imam or to his occultation. At the same time though, one could expect to find some clues as to the reality in which al-Barqī lived and worked — either when the Imam’s identity was unknown or when there was simply no Imam. A separate section of his Rijāl, albeit significantly shorter than the previous one which was devoted to men, is consecrated to 18. See E. Kohlberg’s introduction to the 3rd part (Shiʿi Ḥadīth) of The Study of Shiʿi Islam, pp. 175–76. 19. On this see E. Kohlberg, “Some Imāmī Shīʿī Views on the Ṣaḥāba,” JSAI 5 (1984), repr. in his Belief and Law, art. ix. 20. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-rijāl, pp. 1–61; as noted above (note 12), there are some doubts regarding the attribution of the Rijāl to al-Barqī. See H. Ansari, L’imamat et l’occultation selon l’imamisme (Leiden, 2016), p. 171, note 4 and the references given there. Not surprisingly, the sixth Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, who is the most important Imam for the development of the Imāmī doctrine — also called Jaʿfariyya — had the largest number of companions (pp. 16–47), whereas the third Imam, al-Ḥasan, had the fewest (a very short list of ten names on p. 7).

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women who transmitted traditions that they heard directly from the Prophet or the Imams.21 A special place is given at the end of the Rijāl to those who rejected Abū Bakr. That their number is said to have been twelve seems not to be connected to the special significance of this number in Twelver Shīʿism, especially in light of the above-mentioned lack of references to this number in al-Barqī’s alMaḥāsin. The fact that in their case al-Barqī not only provides a list of names, but also elaborates on the circumstances in which each of them rejected Abū Bakr, is remarkable.22 According to al-Barqī, the first person who objected to Abū Bakr’s appointment was the muhājir, Khālid b. Saʿīd al-ʿĀṣ, who did so by reminding Abū Bakr of the Prophet’s words at the Battle of Qurayẓa: “O People of Quraysh, keep my will that ʿAlī will be your Imam after me. Gabriel informed me so in the name of God.”23 The title of al-Barqī’s main work, Kitāb al-maḥāsin, which may be translated as “The book of good qualities,” already reveals something about its contents. As with any other cultural oeuvre, this text did not spring out of nowhere and the reflection of both external influences and internal Shīʿī tendencies can be seen already in its title. By the time of al-Barqī, such a title may well have rung a bell with the literate audience, who were familiar with other works of similar titles— a possible indication that they belong to the same literary genre — such as al-Maḥāsin wa-l-aḍdād which is ascribed to the renowned al-Jāḥiẓ, a contemporary of al-Barqī, or al-Maḥāsin wa-l-masāwī by Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad al-Bayhaqī who was active during the first three decades of the fourth/tenth century.24 Furthermore, for the Shīʿī believer whose notions of good and evil are deeply rooted in his dualistic worldview, the term ‘good qualities’ is necessarily associated with ‘bad qualities’. Indeed, Kitāb al-maḥāsin of al-Barqī deals not only with ‘good qualities’ but also with their counterpart. The fact that in the title only the positive side is mentioned is in a way comparable with the fact that in many traditions in the work the negative element is missing or, at times, only alluded to. As will be seen further below, the negative mirror reflection of praising the Shīʿī community by ascribing to them ‘good qualities’,

21. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-rijāl, pp. 61–62. 22. ibid., pp. 63–66. 23. ibid., p. 63. 24. See I. Geries, Un genre littéraire arabe: al-maḥāsin wa-l-masāwī (Paris, 1977); J. S. Meisami and P. Stark (eds) Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature (New York, 1998), vol. 1, p. 145.



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that is, the condemnation of its opponents, may be inferred quite easily, even when a tradition is seemingly not at all concerned with it. Kitāb al-maḥāsin is a large collection of traditions ascribed to the Imams or to the Prophet Muḥammad and organized thematically.25 In its published editions the text includes 11 sub-books (kitāb pl. kutub), which are all that survived of the original 90-odd sub-books.26 Each sub-book within al-maḥāsin has a title indicating its contents and in most cases, excluding the sixth subbook, is divided into chapters (bāb, pl. abwāb) that normally have a title of their own. The fact that some chapters are titled “The chapter of ” followed by the remark “this is how it appears in all the versions of al-Maḥāsin at my disposal” may indicate that the division into chapters is original and whenever a title was missing, the copyists or the later editors left the chapter untitled. Each chapter contains numerous traditions ascribed to one of the Imams or to the Prophet, mostly though not always, dealing with a certain aspect of this sub-book’s main subject. In the light of the rich variety of subject matter that characterises Kitāb al-maḥāsin, especially when one also examines the titles of its missing parts that dealt with subjects such as medicine, astrology, grammar and many more, Pellat’s suggestion that this book was intended as a sort of encyclopaedia for the believer seems plausible.27 The combination of this with the remarks made above about its title and literary genre, may lead to the conclusion that Kitāb al-maḥāsin was conceived as a moral guide for all aspects of the believer’s life — from daily legal details to the fundamentals of the creed, a conclusion that tallies with the eclectic character of the text. Despite the apparent resemblance to works bearing similar titles, alMaḥāsin is by no means a work of adab  — a genre of which al-Jāḥiẓ is one of the most prominent representatives. Of main importance in this regard is al-Barqī’s complete reliance on Imāmī or prophetic traditions whose authoritative character alone would prevent his text being included in this particular genre.28 Had the scientific parts of the text survived, we would be able to know whether a sub-book devoted to astronomy, or others consecrated to medicine and grammar, were also based on Imāmī traditions or rather on other sources. Information of this kind would enable us to better judge the genre of the text, 25. The Arabic term that describes this sort of ḥadīth compilations is muṣannaf, which differs than musnad where traditions are sorted according to transmitters’ names rather than themes. See G. H. A. Junyboll’s entries on the two terms in EI². 26. Al-Najāshī, Rijāl, pp. 205–206, gives a list of 93 sub-books that were included in alMaḥāsin; al-Ṭūsī in his Fihrist, pp. 44–45, lists 97 sub-books. 27. Ch. Pellat, “al-Barḳī.” 28. See F. Gabrieli, “Adab,” EI².

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but unfortunately, it is not available. At most, it can be said that the external and stylistic characteristics of his work were influenced by this popular genre. Doubtless, however, it lacked the entertaining and humorous aspects which are so typical of adab works.29 Another important literary context, which must be borne in mind when discussing al-Barqī’s work, is that the Sunni canonical books of ḥadīth were formed approximately at the same period. For example, two of the most important of the six canonical collections, ­al-Ṣaḥīḥān (i.e. ‘the two reliable ones’), were compiled by al-Barqī’s contemporaries, Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl al-Bukhārī (d. 250/870) and Muslim b. al-Ḥajjāj al-Nisābūrī (d. 261/875) who like alBarqī, were of non-Arab origin (mawālī).30 Similarly to al-Maḥāsin, their works were organized thematically and divided into sub-books and chapters. Judging by the scope of his work and its presumed goal, al-Barqī must have been an exceptionally diligent scholar with great ambitions. Accomplishing a project such as this seems to be impossible without complete and hermit-like dedication. That he may have dedicated most of his life to this purpose could indirectly teach us something about his personality, since a project of this scale can only be done by someone entirely devoted, not only to his work but apparently also to his faith. The possibility that Kitāb al-maḥāsin was written by more than one person was already mentioned above when referring to alBarqī’s father. Given the gigantic dimensions of the original text, the possibility that al-Barqī, like al-Majlisī in the case of his Biḥār, had a team working for him cannot be excluded. Finally, in attempting to form some general impression of the kind of person that al-Barqī was, his uncompromising avoidance of any personal opinions or utterances, although an accepted practice at the time, should be borne in mind as well.31 The 11 sub-books that have survived from the original Kitāb al-maḥāsin and comprise a total of 2609 traditions are:32

29. The question of Kitāb al-maḥāsin’s genre and its relation to adab are further discussed in chapter 4 of the present book. 30. All authors of the other four canonical books of the Sunnis lived approximately at the same time and to exclude Abū Dāwūd al-Sijistānī (d. 275/889) who had Arab ancestors, were non-Arab clients. 31. On the implicit expression of opinion by early authors or compilers of ḥadīth through their choice and arrangement of traditions, see E. Kohlberg’s introduction to the 3rd part (Shiʿi Ḥadīth) of The Study of Shiʿi Islam, pp. 171–172. 32. For a concise account of the contents of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, see also: A. J. Newman, The Formative Period of Early Shīʿism, pp. 52–59.



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1. Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin (‘The book of parallels and comparisons’). This sub-book includes 51 traditions in 11 chapters dealing mostly with instructions for correct religious comportment. The first 8 chapters (43 traditions) are numerical in character and are entitled according to the number with which they deal, from ‘the chapter of three’ until ‘the chapter of ten’.33 That the three last chapters do not share this numeric pattern and are entitled: ‘the chapter of the benefit of saying good’, ‘the chapter of the Prophet’s instructions’ and ‘the chapter of the instructions by the descendants of the Prophet’, may indicate that originally they belonged to another sub-book. Worth mentioning is the fact that in this particular sub-book Aḥmad’s father, Muḥammad, appears in only one chain of transmission.34 2. Kitāb thawāb al-aʿmāl (‘The book of the reward for [good] deeds’).35 This sub-book includes 152 traditions in 123 chapters, mostly concerned with the reward for virtuous deeds, mainly religious duties such as obedience to God, prayer, pilgrimage, ablution and repetition of various religious formulae. Of doctrinal importance are chapters 78–87 which describe the rewards for different forms of loyalty to the family of the Prophet (Āl Muḥammad). Three recurring terms in those chapters which are used to describe the doctrinal principle of loyalty to the family of the Prophet (i.e. the Imams), are worth mentioning: walāya, ḥubb and mawadda.36 3. Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl (‘The book of the punishment for [evil] deeds’).37 It includes 143 traditions in 70 chapters, dealing mostly with the punishment for failing to fulfil religious duties (such as prayer, pilgrimage, alms and so on) or for vice (killing, adultery, homosexuality, lying and more). Chapters 14–20, which have titles as ‘The punishment of the one who has doubts regarding the Messenger of God, ʿAlī and his descendants’ or ‘The punishment of the one who denies the right of the descendants of the Prophet and ignores their right to rule (jahila amrahum)’, describe the punishment 33. The peculiarity of this sub-book is discussed in detail below, see Ch. 4, “The numerical organization of ḥadīth – a rule and its exceptions” which is based on R. Vilozny, “A Concise Numerical Guide for the Perplexed Shiite: al-Barqī’s (d. 274/888 or 280/894) Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin,” Arabica 63, 1–2 (2016), pp. 64–88. 34. See al-Barqī, p. 10, no.  31; see also note 9 above where it is stated that Aḥmad ascribes almost a third of the traditions in al-Maḥāsin to his father. 35. Note that Ibn Bābawayh has a work with the same title: Kitāb thawāb al-aʿmāl. 36. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, s.v. “walāya,” and idem, “Notes à propos de la walāya imamite (aspects de l’imamologie duodécimaine, x),” JAOS 122 (2002), pp. 722–741, repr. in his The Spirituality of Shiʿi Islam (London, 2011), ch. 7, pp. 231–275. 37. Note that Ibn Bābawayh has also a work entitled Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl.

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for disloyalty to or rejection of the descendants of the Prophet, that is, the Imams. The general attitude towards sinners of this kind is to declare them as non-believers since loyalty to ʿAlī and his descendants is considered a fundamental pillar of the faith. To what degree this principle is important can be seen in the following statement which is ascribed to Jaʿfar alṢādiq: “Had everyone on earth rejected the Commander of the Faithful [i.e. ʿAlī], God would have tortured them all and put them in Hell.”38 4. Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma (‘The book of the elect, the light and the mercy’). This sub-book includes 201 traditions in 47 chapters. Together with the fifth sub-book it represents the most interesting part of Kitāb al-maḥāsin as it includes a rich variety of traditions of both a mythic and a doctrinal character. As the title of this sub-book indicates, three central motives are significantly important in the attempt to portray the Shīʿī community as an elect minority.39 Indeed, many traditions in this sub-book depict the creation of the Shīʿī believer as related to these three motives: being of the elect on the one hand and the outcome of a unique relationship between the divine light and God’s mercy on the other. That the believer’s relationships with God, the Prophet, the Imams, his fellow believers and non-believers, are influenced by the character of his creation is only natural and has far-reaching consequences both in this life and in the afterlife. 5. Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam (‘The book of the lights of darkness’). This subbook, which is the second largest of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, includes 467 traditions in 49 chapters (see the above remark about the fourth sub-book). While the previous sub-book dealt mainly with the mythic elements of Shīʿī beliefs and doctrine, in this sub-book one witnesses some preliminary attempts at creating a systematic doctrine and theology. This is not to say that al-Barqī himself is expressing his personal views on different theological issues, but rather that the traditions are assembled under chapters which can already be defined as doctrinal or theological; ‘The chapter of intelligence (al-ʿaql)’, ‘The chapter of acknowledging the Imam’, ‘The chapter of God’s guidance to the right path’, ‘The chapter about the necessity of an Imam (ʿālim) on earth at all times’ and ‘The chapter of taqiyya (the obligation to conceal one’s beliefs)’, to name only a few of the themes that 38. See al-Barqī, p. 89, no. 36. 39. This sub-book was analyzed and discussed at length in R. Vilozny, “A Shīʿī Life Cycle according to al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-Maḥāsin,” Arabica 54/3 (2007), pp. 362–396. Traditions included in this particular sub-book formed the basis for discussion in the chapter on ‘Election’ in the second part of the present book.



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are dealt with in this sub-book. The fact that in most cases the various doctrinal concepts which are expressed in this sub-book have not as yet taken their final shape is extremely important, since it enables us to examine Shīʿī doctrine in an initial stage of its development. In addition to theological questions of which the author of Kitāb al-maḥāsin was probably aware, one can find valuable information and come to conclusions regarding less obvious theological issues, such as dualism and determinism (discussed in the second part of the present book). 6. Kitāb al-ʿilal (“The book of causes”).40 This sub-book includes 130 traditions with no division into chapters. It describes the causes or reasons for a large variety of phenomena, mostly in the field of religious law but also in general.41 A justification (or a ‘reason’) for compiling a book of this sort may be found in the following words which are ascribed to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq in one of the traditions of this sub-book: ‘God has not done anything without a reason’.42 7. Kitāb al-safar (‘The book of travel’). This sub-book includes 160 traditions in 39 or 40 chapters (after the thirthy-ninth chapter there is a title-less chapter that is not included in this sub-book’s list of contents). It is concerned with different aspects of travel, both religious and practical: those times when travelling is desirable and those when it is not, the various formulae that the traveller should recite before departing, on the benefits of offering alms to the poor on the day of departure, the importance of having companions for the journey, where on the way one should not pray, and so on. 8. Kitāb al-maʾākil (‘The book of foodstuffs’). This is by far the largest subbook in Kitāb al-maḥāsin. It includes 981 traditions in 127 chapters. This sub-book deals with different kinds of food and with phenomena related to eating from different perspectives: legal, nutritional, medical, social, etc. Some chapters in this sub-book are devoted to the way one should behave in circumstances that involve foodstuffs or eating. Chapters of this kind may describe the duty to feed others, to invite and accept invitation for dining, the ablution prior to eating, formulae that should be recited prior to a meal or after eating, and more. Many chapters are entitled according 40. Ibn Bābawayh also has a work entitled ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ (The reasons behind religious laws). 41. This sub-book is analyzed and discussed at length in Ch. 5 below, ‘Between law and doctrine – the ʿilal genre’, which is based on R. Vilozny, “Réflexions sur le Kitāb al-ʿIlal d’Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī (m. 274/888 ou 280/894),” in Le Shīʿisme imāmite – quarante ans après (eds M. A. Amir-Moezzi, M. M. Bar-Asher, S. Hopkins; Turnhout, 2009), pp. 417–35. 42. See al-Barqī, p. 333, no. 100.

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to the specific kind of food with which they deal: ‘the chapter on meat’, ‘the chapter on kebab’, ‘the chapter on rice’, ‘the chapter on olives’, and so forth. In this kind of chapters, one may learn about the nutritional values of various foodstuffs as well as of legal restrictions regarding other kinds of foods (for example: ‘the chapter of forbidden meats’). 9. Kitāb al-māʾ (‘The book of water’). This sub-book includes 114 traditions in 20 chapters. It deals with the value of water in general — ‘Water is the lord of beverages in this world and in the afterlife’43 — and water from certain sources (Zamzam, the Euphrates) in particular, as well as with some legal aspects of water and its consumption. Chapter 9 is devoted to the sorts of water that should not be consumed: salty water and the water of hot springs in the mountains that smell of sulphur. (Chapters 13–20 seem to belong to ‘The book of foodstuffs’ and not to ‘The book of water’.) 10. Kitāb al-manāfiʿ(‘The book of benefits’). This is the shortest sub-book: it includes 33 traditions in 6 chapters and is concerned mostly with different ways of reaching a decision in times of confusion or perplexity. According to this sub-book, there are three different ways of reaching a firm resolution in times of confusion: istikhāra (turning to God in order to reach the better decision), istishāra (seeking advice from other human beings) and qurʿa (lot-casting, performed by an Imam). To each of these methods a chapter in this sub-book is devoted. Naturally, these methods raise difficulties and questions in a community guided by an Imam. 11. Kitāb al-marāfiq (‘The book of the household’). This sub-book, the last in the printed editions, includes 174 traditions in 16 chapters. It deals with legal and practical aspects of house maintenance (building, cleaning, servants, animals and so forth). Alongside traditions that define the minimum size of a room on a roof in which one can sleep overnight,44 we can find an instruction ascribed to the Prophet to sweep the courtyards in order not to become similar to the Jews.45

III. Eleven in-Depth Probes into the Heart of Kitāb al-maḥāsin It seems to the author of the present lines that discussing in detail a small number of traditions would be the best way of acquainting the reader with 43. ibid., p. 570, no. 2. 44. ibid., p. 621, no. 62. 45. ibid., p. 624, no. 76.



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the contents and characteristics of Kitāb al-maḥāsin. In the eleven sections that follow only a single tradition from each sub-book will be presented and analysed. Naturally, these eleven traditions, which serve as specific case studies of this book’s main case study, al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-maḥāsin, cannot cover every aspect and theme in a text of more than 2600 traditions. However, as will be seen below, these traditions are representative for two main reasons: first, each of them gives the reader a taste of the essence and characteristics of the relevant sub-book, and second, in most cases the tradition selected is an example of a group of traditions with a similar message. Furthermore, it will be seen that these eleven traditions which are concerned with a variety of fields deal, either directly or indirectly, with some of the most important aspects of Shīʿī doctrine. At any rate, the following selection should not be regarded as an attempt to cover the whole, but rather as 11 short in-depth probes into the heart of each of the surviving parts of the text. Thus, combined with the sections about al-Barqī’s life and work, it can be argued, a fair overview of the text could be gained. Although the different traditions selected may at times seem to have no common denominator, since they merely reflect the eclectic character of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, it will be seen that a few general remarks can be made that are relevant to all of them.

a. Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin (‘The book of parallels and comparisons’) Al-Barqī — [missing chain of transmission] — Salmān [al-Fārisī, or ʿAlī b. Abū Ṭālib],46 may God be pleased with him, said: “Three things make me laugh and three things make me cry. The three that make me cry are: the departure [i.e. death] of those beloved [by God]: Muḥammad and his party; the horror during the mortal throes; facing the Lord of the Universes on the Day upon which all secrets will become public, not knowing whether I am going to Heaven or to Hell. As for the three that make me laugh: a person who is neglectful [of his duties] but whose deeds do not [lit., ‘but who does 46. In al-Barqī’s version, after ‘Salmān’ the verb ‘said’ appears twice and therefore it is not entirely clear whether this tradition is ascribed to Salmān or to ʿAlī, to whom he was very close; in two places in al-Majlisī’s Biḥār al-anwār (Tehran, 1956–1972), vol. 68, p. 266, no. 9 (from Fattāl’s Rawḍat al-wāʿiẓīn) and vol. 70, p. 94, no. 73 (from Ibn Bābawayh’s Khiṣāl) a somewhat different version of this tradition on the authority of Salmān is cited. At any rate, this is not a typical isnād and may well be related to Salmān’s special status and relationship with ʿAlī. For more, see G. Levi Della Vida, “Salmān al-Fārisī,” EI², vol. 12 (supplement, pp. 701–702); see also note 49 below.

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not’] go unnoticed [by God];47 a person who is chasing this world while death is chasing him; a person who is laughing his head off while not knowing whether his Lord is satisfied or angry with him.”48

It is more than likely that this tradition is expected to be read by people to whom it is clear beyond any doubt that an Imam does not share his feelings with an audience unless he has a very good reason to do so. This observation seems to be relevant in our case, whether the speaker in the present tradition is the first Imam or Salmān, whose status is here elevated almost to that of an Imam.49 Information given by an Imam, who is regarded as a model for imitation, must be of an instructive or a guiding character. In the present case, this would naturally mean that one’s feelings with regard to the six facts mentioned in the tradition should be similar to those of the Imam. Furthermore, as crying and laughing represent deep emotions, having similar feelings towards these six facts cannot be the outcome of simple imitation and must be the result of a certain way of life. A summary of the main principles of this way would be: 1. Mourning the death of the Prophet and members of his party. 2. Awareness of death and of the horrible tortures which are part of it. 3. Fear of the Day of Judgment. 4. Belief in God’s omniscience (particularly noticeable on the Day of Judgment). 5. Belief in the existence of Heaven and Hell. 6. Acceptance of the fact that throughout life one does not know what his fate in the afterlife will be.

47. This statement may well be alluding to the Qurʾanic expression wa-mā llāhu/rabbuka bighāfilin ʿammā taʿmalūn/yaʿmalūn ‘what you do does not go unnoticed by God’ which appears nine times in different verses and another time in a slightly different rephrasing wa-lā taḥsabanna llāha ghāfilan ʿammā yaʿmalu al-ẓalimūn (Q 14: 42). With some exceptions, the English versions of Quranic verses in this book are based on M. A. S. Abdel Haleem’s translation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 48. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, p. 4, no. 6; quoted in al-Majlisī, Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 67, p. 386, no. 50; for another version of this tradition see also al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 7, where the three things that made Salmān laugh in tradition no. 6 are presented as making [another Imam or Salmān] wonder. 49. See E. Kohlberg, “The Term Muḥaddath in Twelver Shīʿism,” Studia Orientalia memoiriae D. H. Baneth dedicata ( Jerusalem, 1979), pp. 39–47. Of special relevance to the present case is Kohlberg’s description (pp. 42–43) of the tension and doctrinal problems created by Salmān’s special status as a muḥaddath (i.e. ‘to whom an angel speaks’).



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7. Negligence in fulfilling one’s duties does not meet with an equivalent attitude on the part of God, that is, negligence in judging this individual’s behaviour. 8. Earthly desires are meaningless if the ephemerality of life is taken into consideration. 9. Laughter in light of one’s ignorance regarding God’s opinion about him is legitimate only to a certain extent. That the inclusion of this tradition in the sub-book on ‘comparisons and parallels’ is justified seems to be obvious: Salmān (or the first Imam) is comparing the things that make him cry with those that make him laugh by presenting them as two parallel, even opposite, groups. A closer examination of the two different groups reveals that, excluding the first thing that makes him cry, Salmān cries or laughs at the very same things; the only variation between the two is the perspective. The other side of fearing death is ignoring it and chasing worldly pleasures. Not knowing whether you are headed for Heaven or for Hell is equivalent to ignorance regarding the degree of God’s satisfaction or dissatisfaction. To these two pairs one may add the first thing that makes Salmān laugh, that is, a negligence of duties which does not go unnoticed by God, as this too points to peoples’ lack of the desired balance or awareness of their own state vis-à-vis greater things, such as God, Heaven and Hell, and death. What is unique about the first thing, that is, the departure of the ones beloved by God, is that it refers to something external rather than to some inner fear or imbalance. Despite the impression that there is nothing specifically Shīʿī about this tradition, one can assume that what makes Salmān (or ʿAlī, the first Imam) cry must also characterise true believers and that the things that make him laugh may apply to non-Shīʿīs. In other words, listing various things under two opposing categories — crying and laughter — seems to fit very well the dualistic world view which is so typical of the Shīʿī religion.50 The Imam’s (or Salmān’s) choice of rephrasing some principles using a numerical structure, three against three in the ‘chapter of three’, may raise certain questions — which are relevant to the bulk of the material in this subbook — mainly: why would an Imam choose to use numerical elements to express his opinion? The argument that the Imam uses this literary, or rhetorical technique as a mnemonic device is only one possible response. However, in this context, the striking similarity to the pre-Islamic Persian andarz literature 50. For more about dualism, see below under section e.

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is worth mentioning. Should traditions of this sort not be authentic, what they may represent is a later adaptation of the Shīʿī doctrine to this unique literary genre by arranging it according to a numerical pattern and ascribing it retrospectively to the Imams.51

b. Kitāb thawāb al-aʿmāl (‘The book of the reward for [good] deeds’) Al-Barqī — Yaʿqūb b. Yazīd — Muḥammad b. Abī ʿUmayr — Bakr b. Mu­ ḥam­mad — Fuḍayl b. Yasār — Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him, said: “Whenever we are mentioned [reading dhukirnā] in the presence of someone and as a result his eyes flow [with tears], be it only to the amount of a fly’s wing, God will forgive his sins even if they are as [many as] the foam of the sea.”52

That this tradition is intended to emphasise the importance of remembering the Imams — an elementary part of the believer’s duty to love the Imams53 — is self-evident. The emotional dimension which is presented in this tradition as critical for a reward, and which is expressed by shedding tears, seems to be worth closer examination. Why should the secreting of some tears, which may be as small as the wing of a fly, while remembering the family of the Prophet or the Imams, justify the erasure of one’s sins, no matter how many they may be? It must mean that for Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, shedding tears, perhaps generally, but clearly when remembering the Imams, symbolises something extremely important.54 Although it is not explicitly stated in the tradition, one may conclude that the reward for remembering the Imams without shedding a tear must be

51. As mentioned earlier, due to the peculiarity of this sub-book and the resemblance of its content to the Persian andarz, it will be discussed in detail in Ch. 4 below. 52. Al-Barqī, Kitāb thawāb al-aʿmāl, p. 63, no. 110; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 71, p. 351, no. 18 (from al-Ḥimyarī, Qurb al-isnād, p. 18 and Ibn Bābawayh, Thawāb al-aʿmāl, p. 170) with two optional readings of the verb ‘mentioned’: active (dhakaranā) and passive (dhukirnā) which appears to be the better reading; and vol. 44, p. 282, no. 14 (from Qurb al-isnād, p. 26) with the addition that ‘God will be merciful towards whoever lends life to our cause (aḥyā amranā, i.e. the Shīʿī faith)’. 53. On the duty to love the Imams, see M. A. Amir-Moezzi, Divine Guide, s.v. ‘walāya’ and “Notes à propos de la walāya imamite,” pp. 722–741 repr. in his The Spirituality of Shiʿi Islam, ch. 7, pp. 231–275. 54. Another situation in which weeping plays an essential role are the taʿziya celebrations; see M. Ayoub, Redemptive Suffering in Islam: A Study of the Devotional Aspects of Ashūrā in Twelver Shiʿism (The Hague, 1978).



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smaller, but probably still existent.55 Worth noting is the fact that “The book of punishment for [evil] deeds” does not include punishment for remembering the Imams without shedding tears. To use legal terminology, “shedding a tear” when remembering the Imams could be regarded as a desired deed rather than an obligatory one. It is as if the tear is seen as a proof or an indicator for the level of faith, and shedding it is necessarily the result of deep emotional involvement on the part of the believer. Normally, in traditions of this sort, the believer is confronted with a certain model of behaviour for which a person may be rewarded or punished. The believer is naturally expected either to imitate the positive example or avoid the negative one. The implication of this rule in the case of the “tear tradition” would be that a believer should aspire to reach the emotional state in which remembering the Imams brings him to tears. The idea that the way to reach this level is not specified by the Imam may lead us to the conclusion that such matters are not in the hands of the believer: either you have it in you or you do not. On the other hand, one cannot ignore the strong mystical echo resulting from the combination of a principle of faith and an external expression of emotion. This being the case, the way to reach the desired emotional level, of shedding a tear while remembering the Imams, is surely mysticism. Finally, it is worth pointing out the remarkable contrast in the Imam’s words between the smallest human tear and the foam of the sea. One drop of salt water created by the eye of the believer while remembering the Imams is weighed against the foam created by all the salt water of the sea. The contrast between the salt water of a tear, as representing deep emotions and supreme values, and the foam created by other salt water, as representing the quantity of sin, is not likely to be coincidental and may well be related to the concept of purity versus impurity.56

55. See al-Barqī, Kitāb thawāb al-aʿmāl, p. 62, no. 107, where the reward for remembering the family of the Prophet [without shedding tears] is cure of illnesses and protection against evil thoughts. 56. It is worth noting that the use of the expression ‘as [many as] the foam of the sea (zabad al-baḥr)’ to describe a very large amount of sin is common in Shīʿī sources. See for example al-Ṭūṣī, Miṣbāḥ al-mutahajjid (Beirut, 1991), p. 261, where recitation of the verse ‘He is one God’ [Q 112: 1] 200 times in four rakʿas erases one’s sins ‘even if they were as many as the foam of the sea’.

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c. Kitāb ʿIqāb al-aʿmāl (‘The book of the punishment for [evil] deeds’) Al-Barqī — Muḥammad b. ʿAlī — al-Faḍl b. Ṣāliḥ al-Asadī — Muḥammad b. Marwān — Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him, said: “The Messenger of God said: ‘Whoever hates us, the family of the Prophet (ahl albayt), God will resurrect him as a Jew.’ Someone said: ‘Oh, the Messenger of God, even if he acknowledged the two shahādas?’ [The Prophet] said: ‘Yes, by those two pronouncements he is only protected from having his blood spilled or [paying] the poll-tax (jizya), which involves humiliation.’ Then he repeated: ‘Whoever hates us, the family of the Prophet (ahl al-bayt), God will resurrect him as a Jew.’ Someone then asked: ‘And how is that, O Messenger of God?’ [The Prophet] said: ‘If this person lived until the false messiah (dajjāl)57 appeared, he would believe in him.’”58

If the previous tradition dealt mainly with the principle of love for the Imams, this one, which deals with hatred for them, may be seen as its mirror image. In fact, by stating what the destiny of those who hate the Imams will be, the contrary, or at least the negation of this destiny may be ascribed to the ones who love the Imams — they will be resurrected as true believers, or at least not as Jews. Two communities are presented in a pejorative way in this tradition: Muslims who acknowledge God’s unity and the message of His Prophet (the two shahādas), but express hatred for the Imams, and Jews who are only used as an example for bad destiny. The main tension in the tradition is that between the Shīʿī community and the Muslim non-Shīʿī one. Although there is no discussion of Muslims who acknowledge both shahādas, do not hate the Imams and neither love them nor are loyal to them, the existence of such a category could not be excluded. Restricting the discussion solely to Muslims who hate the Imams goes hand-in-hand with the Shīʿī dualistic perception of the world — one is either on the right side and loves the Imams or on the wrong side and hates them. Arguing that reciting the two shahādas — the first pillar of Islam — is worthless if one hates the Imams is a private case of one of the common Shīʿī means of displaying the superiority of their faith over other forms of Islam, that 57. See A. Abel, “Al-Dadjdjāl,” EI². 58. Al-Barqī, Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl, p. 90, no. 39; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 52, p. 192, no. 25 and vol. 69, p. 134, no. 13; and with some minor variations also in Ibn Bābawayh, Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl, pp. 203–204.



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is, maintaining that adherence to the fundamental principles of Islam is deprived of any value if a person fails to fulfil his duties as a Shīʿī.59 What is unique about the present tradition is that the Imam also supplies some further information on the worthlessness of the two shahādas when pronounced by an anti-Shīʿī Muslim — such a Muslim must have acknowledged them for the wrong reasons: as protection from bloodshed or in order to avoid paying the poll tax. It would be reasonable to assume that hating the Imams is a horrible sin for which the punishment has to be a dreadful one — being resurrected as a Jew must therefore be seen as just such a punishment.60 That the Imam does not feel the need to explain why it is so bad to be resurrected as a Jew may indicate that at his time this was generally accepted. In other words, the conditions of the Jews — at least as the Imam saw it — including the consequences of being resurrected as one, must have been familiar to the common Shīʿī listener.61 The reason why a Muslim who hates the Imams will be resurrected as a Jew is related directly to the assumption that such a Muslim would probably believe in the false messiah, the dajjāl, if only he lived long enough to witness his appearance.62 A subsequent conclusion may therefore be that believing in the dajjāl was a main accusation of Shīʿīs against the Jews. This issue may have been so central in inter-religious debate that the Imam thought it a good enough means for explaining to his audience why an anti-Shīʿī would be resurrected as a Jew.

d. Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma (‘The book of the elect, the light and the mercy’) Al-Barqī — Ibn Maḥbūb — ʿAmr b. Abī al-Miqdām — Mālik b. Aʿyan alJuhanī: Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him, came to me and said: “O Mālik, by God, you are truly/rightfully our party (shīʿatunā). O Mālik, indeed you may think that you have gone too far in describing our 59. See the discussion of the worthlessness of the performance of religious duties when one fails to acknowledge the basic Shīʿī principles in R. Vilozny, “A Shīʿī Life Cycle,” pp. 394–395. 60. Compare with al-Barqī, Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl, p. 91, no. 42, where the punishment for hating the Imams is being resurrected as leprous, or with al-Barqī, Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl, p. 153, no. 76, where the punishment is Hell, and what determines in which category of Hell one will be is the level of his hatred (the worst is hating by heart, tongue and hand). 61. For more on the status of Jews in early Shīʿī literature, see M. M. Bar-Asher, “On the Place of Judaism and Jews in the Religious Literature of the Early Shīʿa,” Peamim, 61 (1994), pp. 16–36 (in Hebrew). 62. On the concept of the dajjāl in Shīʿī thought, see D. Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic (Princeton, 2000), pp. 221–225.

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superiority [but this is not the case]. No one can describe God nor fully grasp the essence of His omnipotence and greatness. Just as no one can fully grasp God’s attribute nor the essence of His omnipotence and greatness — since ‘to God applies the highest attribute’ [Q 16 : 60] — no one is able to describe the Messenger of God, may God pray upon him and his family, nor our superiority and what God bestowed upon us, nor the duties that He obliged [others to fulfil] with regard to us. Just as no one is able to describe our superiority, nor what God bestowed upon us, nor the duties that He obliged [others to fulfil] with regard to us, no one is able to describe the believer’s right and it is respected [only] due to the duties that God obliged fellow believers with regard to each other. By God, O Mālik, when two believers meet and shake hands God looks at them with love and compassion, the sins then fall off of their faces and organs until they separate. Who then can describe God or those whose state with God is such?”63

This tradition was chosen mainly due to the fact that it clearly underlines several central and recurring themes in the Shīʿī self-perception: hierarchy, exclusivity, superiority and solidarity. (a) Hierarchy: even though the Imams’ status in practice may often seem higher than that of the Prophet (compare, for example, the number of traditions ascribed to the Prophet with those ascribed to the fifth and sixth Imams in the Shīʿī ḥadīth), the commonly accepted doctrine is that reflected in the above-quoted tradition: God — the Prophet — the Imams — the believers. Although not explicitly stated, it is quite obvious that whoever is not included in this description, that is, non- Shīʿīs, must be inferior. Remarkably, this hierarchical scheme is meant not only to establish the relative position of its constituent members, but also to present them as belonging to one group elevated above all others. Several aspects of the tradition bear witness to the special affinity between representatives of the various levels that comprise this group; thus, a believer has a discussion with an Imam; the Imam describes this believer as being a member of his party; God is compassionate and loving towards the believers.64 63. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma, p. 143, no. 41; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 71, p. 226, no. 18 and in vol. 64, p. 65, no. 13 (from Kitāb al-muʾmin of al-Ḥusayn b. Saʿīd, p. 31, no. 59); this tradition and its implications with regard to the hierarchy in the community is analyzed also by M. M. Dakake in The Charismatic Community, pp. 165–167. 64. On the tension between the attempt to create hierarchy in the community and at the same time to elevate the status of its ordinary members, see E. Kohlberg, “Imam and Community in the Pre-Ghayba Period,” in Authority and Political Culture in Shiʿism (ed. Said Amir Arjomand;



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(b) Superiority: the notion of God’s transcendent superiority, as well as the notion of the Prophet’s superiority over other human beings, seem to be of less interest for the present discussion and are common also to other currents within Islam, as well as to other religions. However, presenting the superiority of the Imams and especially that of the Shīʿī community by comparing it to God’s divine attributes or to His omnipotence is not self-evident. Claiming that the difficulty of grasping the status of the Imams or that of the believers is equal to the difficulty of grasping the nature of God may be a step in the direction of deification, even if the Imam had different intentions in mind.65 On the other hand, presenting the status of the Imams and their community as something beyond human grasp may be regarded as an attempt to explain why the Shīʿīs, despite their superiority, remained a persecuted minority. Had this status been graspable, it must have had clear practical consequences in practice and not only theoretical ones. Needless to say, this superiority has its unseen benefits: God’s love and compassion and the erasure of sins which strongly allude to the eschatological era. (c) Solidarity: emphasis is placed on fellow believers shaking hands. The impression gained is that this specific action is so crucial for attaining God’s love and compassion that questions regarding the fate of the believer who does not shake hands with his fellow believer may seem appropriate. Will he be deprived of God’s love and compassion? A possible answer may be that expressing solidarity in the form of shaking hands is a characteristic common to all believers and it is therefore clear that all of them enjoy God’s love and compassion. It is not the only case in which the believer’s sins are forgiven, but depicting the erasure of sins as a result of this physical expression of solidarity seems noteworthy. It may well be related to the above-mentioned endeavour of creating a clear hierarchy but simultaneously maintaining strong relationships between members in each level of it and between members of various different levels. One could picture some sort of unique mechanism,

Albany, NY, 1988), pp. 25–53, repr. in Kohlberg’s Belief and Law, article xiii. On p. 31 this tension is demonstrated through the analysis of traditions that depict Imams and believers as being created from similar substances. 65. For more on the close relationship between representatives of the different levels, God — Imams — believers, see M. A. Amir-Moezzi, “Seul l’homme de Dieu est humain. Théologie et anthropologie mystique à travers l’exégèse imamite ancienne (Aspects de l’imamologie duodécimaine iv),” Arabica 45 (1998), pp. 193–214, and M. A. AmirMoezzi, The Spirituality of Shīʿī Islam, ch. 3, “Some Remarks on the Divinity of the Imam,” pp. 103–131.

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comprised of four layers that are both vertically and horizontally linked and separated at the same time. (d) Exclusivity: that all the above is limited only to members of the Shīʿī community is implied in the text and needs no further clarification. However, one thing seems to be intrinsic to both members of the Shīʿī community and others: people of both groups are unable to grasp the unique status of the believer. The difference is that while a true believer fulfils his duties towards his fellow believer as part of his obedience to God, the non-Shīʿī ignores them.

e. Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam (‘The book of the lights of darkness’) Al-Barqī — ʿAlī b. Ḥadīd — Samāʽa b. Mihrān: I was at Abū ʿAbdallāh’s [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him, while he was receiving several of his companions.66 When the issue of intelligence (ʿaql) and ignorance (jahl) was brought up,67 he, peace be upon him, said: “If you know intelligence and its armies and ignorance and its armies, you will be guided to the right path.” I [i.e. Samāʿa] said: “Oh, may I be your ransom, we know only what you teach us!” Abū ʿAbdallāh said: “God created from His light68 intelligence, which was the first among the spiritual creatures, to the right of His throne and told it to turn its back and it did. Then He told it to turn forward and it did. God, may he be exalted, said: ‘I created you as a great creation and honoured you above the rest of My creatures.’ Then God created ignorance from the dark salty sea and told it to turn its back and it did, and then He told it to turn forward but it did not. God asked it: ‘Are you being arrogant?’ And He cursed it. Then God created for intelligence seventy-five armies. When ignorance saw the honour which God bestowed on intelligence and what He gave it, it [ignorance] developed a hatred for it [intelligence] and said: ‘O my Lord, this is a creature just like me; You created it and honoured it and strengthened it and I, who am his opponent have no strength against it. Give me armies equal to those You gave it.’ God said: ‘Yes, but if you disobey afterwards, I shall remove you and your armies from my mercy.’ Ignorance said: ‘I agree,’ so God gave it seventy-five armies. Among the seventy-five armies that God gave intelligence was goodness, who is the minister [that is, deputy

66. Note that the word mawālīhi, which was translated as ‘companions’ may also be translated as ‘followers’ when vocalised as muwālīhi. 67. Amir-Moezzi discusses at length the terms intelligence and ignorance in his The Divine Guide; see ‘ʿaql’ and ‘jahl’. 68. On the concept of “light,” see U. Rubin, “Pre-Existence and Light: Aspects of the Concept of Nūr Muḥammad,” IOS 5 (1975), pp. 62–112; M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, s.v. ‘nūr’.



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or assistant] of intelligence, He established as its opponent evil, who is the minister [that is, deputy or assistant] of ignorance.”69

Following ‘good and evil’ there is a long list of seventy-four pairs, which may best be described as representing positive and negative human qualities. Finally, the Imam claims that all the armies of intelligence are to be found in a prophet, an Imam or in a believer whose heart was tested by God. In ordinary believers there must be a minimum of intelligence’s armies which enables them to gradually attain the missing ones, avoid ignorance and thus be on the same level as prophets and Imams. Dualism and determinism, probably two of the most important aspects of the early Shīʿī doctrine, seem to be the main themes of the present tradition. The coming to being of the spiritual entities in this world was followed immediately by a primordial struggle between intelligence and ignorance. Although it is not explicitly stated in the tradition, it is reasonable to assume that this struggle will last as long as the world exists. Why God decided to create ignorance and ignite this eternal struggle is not explained in the tradition. For a non-Shīʿī observer this story could appear to be a possible mythic solution for the existence of evil in a world created by an omnipotent God.70 In Shīʿī eyes, what we see is the background for the main axis around which everything in this world turns — intelligence versus ignorance, good versus evil. Everything in this world must be linked to either of the two poles — intelligence/good and ignorance/evil and there appears to be no room for flexibility. It is quite clear that this polar depiction of the spiritual entities is an allegory of the state of man, or of the inner struggle that exists in every human being (excluding prophets, Imams and “believers whose hearts have

69. Al-Barqī, Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam, pp. 196–98 , no. 22 [only the beginning of this tradition is translated here, p. 196]; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 1, pp. 109–111, no. 7; see also alKulaynī, Uṣūl al-kāfī, vol. 1, pp. 20–23, no. 14; Ibn Bābawayh, ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ, vol. 1, pp. 113–115, no.10; for other versions of the creation of good and evil see Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam, pp. 281– 282, no. 412–413, where another interesting dimension comes to the fore: that in reality there is no perfect dualism; it is noteworthy that similar ideas are expressed in al-Mufaḍḍal b. ʿUmar al-Juʿfī’s Kitāb al-haft wa-l-aẓilla which is one of the important texts adumbrating the early Nuṣayrī religion; see H. Halm, Die Islamische Gnosis (Zurich and Munich, 1982), pp. 240–274. This tradition is analyzed in detail below (chapter 3, section II), where the deterministic and dualistic implications of the pre-exitsential era are discussed. 70. On the difficulties that this question raises in general, see R. Schulze, ‘Das Böse in der Islamischen Tradition,’ in Das Böse in den Welt-Religionen (ed. J. Laube; Darmstadt, 2003), pp. 131–200.

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been tested by God”) between good and evil.71 Seeing man’s inner complexity purely in terms of a polar struggle between two possible extremities has farreaching deterministic and dualistic implications. Furthermore, the impression is that the seventy-five pairs of good and bad qualities represent the entire spectrum of the human character or personality, as if man could develop only according to the qualities in this list. That these spiritual entities were created prior to the creation of man must mean that man was created as part of an existing dualistic pattern and, therefore, had to fit into it. Fortunately, all Shīʿī believers are created with the minimum number of armies of intelligence required in order to gradually attain their entirty and avoid ignorance. One can conclude that it is likely that non-Shīʿīs are created without this required minimum and, therefore, will inevitably be affiliated with ignorance and its armies. This deterministic state of things is meant to present the Shīʿī community in a positive light as God’s elect. However, the lack of independent judgement on the part of the believer could somewhat tarnish this ideal image (unless we choose to understand that having the required minimum of intelligence only provides the believer with the ability to attain the rest on his own, but he is not forced to do so). That presenting the ‘right side’ in an idealistic manner may take its toll can be seen in the way the tradition portrays intelligence and ignorance: obedience on the part of intelligence and disobedience on the part of ignorance led to equal outcomes, as each received from God the same number of armies. The difference between the two is that whereas intelligence obtained them as a reward for its blind obedience, ignorance acquired them through intelligent arguments in its negotiations with God. Reading the story from this perspective may easily reverse its intended purpose and present ignorance as having the upper hand, especially since it is only due to its behaviour that intelligence and ignorance have become equal rivals.

f. Kitāb al-ʿilal (‘The book of causes’) Al-Barqī — his father — al-Ḥasan b. Maḥbūb — Muḥammad b. Qazʿa: I told Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him, that people among us say that Abraham circumcised himself using an adze over a wine jug (?). He [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq] said: “By God, it is not like they say, they lied about Abraham.” He [b. Qazʿa] said: “How is that?” [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq] said: “In the case of the prophets, the foreskin used to fall off together with the 71. According to the chapter on ‘The creation of good and evil’ in Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam, pp. 283–284, however, a person is good or evil solely as a result of God’s determination.



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umbilical cord on the seventh day. When Ishmael was born to Abraham from Hagar his foreskin fell off with his navel and following this Sarah berated Hagar, as she would do to the slave girls. Hagar cried as it was hard for her and when Ishmael saw her he cried because she was crying. Abraham came in and asked: ‘Ishmael, why are you crying?’ And he told him that Sarah had berated his mother for such and such reasons and that he had cried because his mother had cried. Abraham went to his place of pray and addressed his God asking him to relieve Hagar of that thing and God did it. Afterwards Sarah gave birth to Isaac and on the seventh day his navel fell off but not his foreskin and this saddened Sarah. When Abraham came in she asked him: ‘What is the thing that happened to Abraham’s family and to the sons of the prophets? The navel of your son, Isaac, fell off whereas his foreskin did not’. Abraham went again to his praying place and addressed his Lord asking Him what is the thing that happened to Abraham’s family and to the sons of the prophets — the navel of his son, Isaac, fell off, whereas his foreskin did not. God revealed to him: ‘Oh, Abraham, this is the result of Sarah’s condemnation of Hagar — I promised to Myself that I would not make it [the foreskin] fall off in any of the prophets’ sons after Sarah’s rebuke of Hagar. Circumcise Isaac with a knife and let him taste the heat of the metal.’ Abraham circumcised him using a knife and circumcision became the practice (sunna) among the people.”72

The attempt to provide answers to some of the fundamental mysteries of life in the form of a religious doctrine, normally accompanied by a codex of religious laws, does not necessarily make it easier for man to understand them. It is true that in God, who is seen in monotheistic religions like Islam as an omniscient and omnipotent entity, one should seek all the answers, but as the present tradition demonstrates, this is not enough. It is only natural that living according to a detailed legal system will raise endless questions to which the answer “because God decided so” is not sufficient. Even when God’s omniscience and omnipotence are taken for granted, the human mind requires a logical or a reasonable explanation for various phenomena — a thing that in itself must derive from a divine reason or cause (if one is to apply some religious thinking to the present discussion). 72. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-ʿilal, pp. 300–301; a short version of this tradition is in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 12, p. 8, no. 22 and a full one in vol. 101, pp. 113–114, no. 27; both quotations in the Biḥār are from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ of Ibn Bābawayh, (vol. 2, pp. 505–506, no. 1), and there is no reference to Kitāb al-maḥāsin; the last three words ‘among the people’ are based on the version of ʿIlal alsharāʾiʿ which is cited in Biḥār (vol. 101, pp. 113–114, no. 27) and ends with the words: fī-l-nās. The reading fī Ishāq, which appears in al-Maḥāsin could — with difficulty — be understood as “according to the precedent established in the case of Isaac.”

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As seen in the text, men came up with a variety of reasons for the custom of circumcision. The one given by the disciple in the text is based upon the version that he heard regarding the circumcision of Abraham. According to this version, Abraham had performed the procedure on himself and, being the founder forefather, by doing so he instituted the norm. If we consider this tradition to be authentic, what we have is a perplexed disciple who wants to verify whether a possible explanation for a religious custom is true or false. If not, the disciple’s version may be nothing more than a literary stratagem to present the Shīʿī point of view regarding the custom of circumcision. At any case, the question must have preoccupied the community. In addition to the ‘real’ reason for the institution of the circumcision, an examination of the Shīʿī version reveals several other meaningful aspects. The fact that the foreskin used to fall off by itself in the case of prophets and sons of prophets must have been the outcome of God’s will and thus necessarily represents the desired physical condition. A natural, not to say a miraculous, biological phenomenon that characterised prophets and their sons was stopped by God following the birth of Ishmael. In other words, Ishmael was the last son of a prophet whose ‘circumcision’ occurred naturally, without human interference. Sarah is to be blamed for God’s decision to stop this phenomenon from happening anymore, as it was a result of her reproaching of Hagar after Ishmael’s birth. In a way, her behaviour, following which the prophets and their children were deprived of a unique privilege, could be compared with that of Adam, in which too a woman was involved, and that resulted in his expulsion from Paradise. Something in the ideal form of creation was damaged and it is man’s duty to try to restore it, but as we learn both from the present tradition and the story of Adam, pain will be forever part of this effort. However, the fact that it is Sarah who is responsible for this divine decision does not mean that her part in the story is wholly negative. After all, it is she who is behind the custom of circumcision as we know it until today, and her son, Isaac, was the first to undergo it. As for Abraham and Ishmael, it is remarkable that they represent the last examples of the ‘pre Sarah–Hagar incident’, in which bodies of prophets and sons of prophets used to get their divinely desired shape — the model for generations to come — in a natural way. An interesting paradox may arise when one tries to square this tradition with the Shīʿī belief that the Prophet and all Imams were born circumcised. An attempt to resolve this contradiction from an internal perspective, or from a Shīʿī point of view, could rely on the well-known affinity between Abraham



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and Muḥammad, who are regarded as the forefathers and representatives of the true monotheistic belief — Islam as a late representation of dīn Ibrāhīm. From an external perspective, this contradiction requires no particular resolution, as it is quite common in this sort of literature that one finds that an attempt to supply explanation to one phenomenon — in our case the reason for a legal practice — may contradict another principle — that the Prophet and the Imams are different from ordinary people.

g. Kitāb al-safar (‘The book of travel’) Al-Barqī — al-Qāsim b. Yaḥyā — his grandfather — al-Ḥasan b. Rāshid — Mufaḍḍal b. ʿUmar: “I was travelling to Mecca in the company of Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq]. When we arrived at a certain wadi he said: ‘Put up your camp here and do not enter the wadi.’ We set up our camp and shortly afterwards we found ourselves in the shadow of a cloud. It rained over us until the wadi was flooded and washed away whoever was in it.”73

In this deceptively simple story several important points are made; let us discuss them starting with the obvious and going to the obscure. As mentioned earlier in the general description of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, this book was probably meant as a guide to all aspects of the believer’s life. In the present tradition we get clear instructions as to where one should not put up a night camp while travelling.74 The warning against camping in a wadi in the desert is the obvious message and could also be found in any modern travel guide. Ascribing this warning to an Imam shortly before a flash flood washes away anyone who has not followed his advice is something slightly different. The practical warning is given to the believer in a literary way, through a story with a moral. Alongside the main message of this tradition, which justifies its inclusion in ‘The book of travel’, some fundamental virtues of the hero, that is, the Imam, can be inferred quite easily: (1) The Imam’s knowledge also covers practical aspects of journeying, which may be regarded as further evidence of its being all-encompassing. (2) The Imam foresees the future. (3) Being saved from the flood or dying in it can be seen to symbolise the general rule according to which following the Imam means salvation whereas failing to do so implies perdition. 73. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-safar, p. 364, no. 106; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 73, p. 279, no. 18. 74. This tradition is included in a chapter which is devoted for this purpose and therefore entitled “The chapter of places where one should not camp.” Other traditions in this chapter warn against camping in a wadi since it is normally inhabited by lions and snakes. See al-Barqī, p. 364, no. 103–105.

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h. Kitāb al-maʾākil (‘The book of foodstuffs’) Al-Barqī — Muḥammad b. ʿAlī b. Asbāṭ — Sayyāba b. Ḍurays — Ḥamza b. Ḥamrān — Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him: “ʿAlī b. alḤusayn [the fourth Imam] used to order a lamb on days on which he had been fasting. The lamb would be slaughtered and its organs cut and cooked. In the evening, while he was still fasting, he used to take care of the pots until he could smell the meat stew. Then he used to say: “Bring the bowls and pour [some] for this family and for that family” until the last pot. Afterwards bread and some dates would be brought and this used to be his dinner.”75

The present tradition, like the previous one, could be approached from two different angles: firstly, what practical information related to ‘foodstuffs’ does it convey? And secondly, what Shīʿī aspects are integrated in the story? Let us start this time with a few remarks about the fourth Imam, ʿAlī b. al-Ḥusayn, and finish with a short remark about the practical dimension of this tradition. It is well known that generosity and satisfaction with little were important qualities in pre-Islamic times and an indispensable characteristic of proper manhood or muruwwa, at times translated as ‘gentlemanly behaviour’.76 Add to these two an ascetic dimension and you get a perfect model for how a man should behave in post-Jāhilite times. That the fourth Imam is presented in this light is, therefore, not surprising, considering the fact that his biography lacks significant military achievements and thus the other crucial manly qualities, namely courage and bravery on the battlefield, could not be ascribed to him. Based on the assumption that this tradition aims at presenting the Imam on the one hand as a model for imitation and on the other as a miraculous being whom one could barely hope to imitate, one can determine that it represents an extreme form of asceticism and generosity that could scarcely be attained by ordinary human beings. The believer is therefore not expected to reach the level of asceticism represented by the Imam, but rather to consider the latter’s behaviour as a point of reference. Finally, the situation described in the tradition would not have been so extreme, unless it is assumed that the Imam, like

75. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-maʾākil, p. 396, no. 67; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 46, pp. 71–72, no. 53 (also from Manāqib ʾāl Abī Ṭālib of Ibn Shahrāshūb, vol. 3, p. 294, which indicates that the purpose of this tradition goes beyond practical or legal aspects of food); compare with the famous Jāhilī story about Ḥātim’s generosity. 76. See I. Goldziher, A Short History of Classical Arabic Literature (tr. J. Desomogyi) (Hildesheim, 1966), pp. 1–2.



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others at his time, really liked lamb stew. In light of this assumption the scene is painted with some even more dramatic colours. The practical or legal message of this tradition does not differ from that of other traditions in ‘The chapter on feeding in Ramaḍān’ whose main aim is to underline the importance of inviting fellow believers to the meal of fastbreaking during the month of Ramaḍān — an act even ‘more valuable than fasting itself ’.77

i. Kitāb al-māʾ (‘The book of water’) Al-Barqī — Yaʿqūb b. Yazīd — Yaḥya b. al-Mubārak — ʿAbdallāh b. Jabala — Ṣārim: “One of our fellow believers in Mecca suffered from [an illness] until he was at the point of death. I met Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him, on the road and he asked me: ‘Ṣārim, how is so-and-so?’ I said: ‘I left him at the point of death.’ [Abu ʿAbdallāh] said to me: ‘If I were in your place, I would give him to drink some drainpipe water [i.e. fresh rainwater].’ We looked for it everywhere but could not find it. While we were searching, a cloud appeared, there was thunder and lightning and it started to rain. I came to someone at the mosque, gave him a dirham, took a cup and filled it with drainpipe water. I brought it to him [to the sick person] and gave him to drink. I stayed by him until he had swallowed some wheat porridge (sawīq) and recovered.”78

Through a tradition in the ‘Book of water’ several further aspects of the life of the Shīʿī community and its leader, the Imam are demonstrated. The principle of solidarity between members of the community, which was discussed above on the theoretical level (see section d. above), takes a concrete form in the present story — nursing a dying fellow believer. The vertical dimension of the solidarity that characterises the community, that is, between the leader and the believers, can also be clearly deduced. By chance, a believer meets the Imam and a conversation takes place. That the leader of a community is accessible in such circumstances could be regarded as one side of the vertical 77. Al-Barqī, p. 396, no. 66; see also traditions no. 64–65, where inviting a believer to the meal of breaking the fast (ifṭār) is compared to freeing a slave. 78. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-māʾ, p. 574, no. 24; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 63, pp. 357–358, no. 44 and vol. 96, p. 245, no. 17. It is worth noting that following this tradition which forms ‘The chapter of the value of drainpipe water’ appears a tradition that focuses on the purifying and healing values of ‘water from the sky’. It seems that drainpipe water is no different than ‘water from the sky’ and that the reason for including these two traditions in different chapters is merely the different terminology used in each of them.

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solidarity. That the Imam is aware that a member of the community is severely ill and shows real concern and empathy is another aspect. The fact that in addition the Imam points to an efficient cure for the disease reveals something important not only about his relationship with the community but also about himself. By advising Ṣārim to make the invalid drink water from a drainpipe the Imam fulfils a role similar to that of a specialist in folk medicine or home remedy, but, as the story unfolds, we realise that the Imam’s miraculous powers go far beyond that. Advising someone to bring rainwater to a dying person when such water is unavailable might be very frustrating. When the Imam gives his advice clouds then appear in the sky, lightning flashes and it starts to rain, and the Imam is presented as no less than a miracle-worker. In this light the recovery of the dying person could only be expected.79 To conclude, the image of the Imam that arises from this tradition could be summarised as that of a leader elevated above ordinary people, both by his vast knowledge and by his ability to perform miracles, yet who at the same time is very much involved in the life of the community, concerned about the wellbeing of specific individuals in it and accessible in informal ways.

j. Kitāb al-manāfiʿ (‘The book of benefits’) Al-Barqī — Muḥammad b. ʿĪsā — Khalaf b. Ḥammād — Isḥāq b. ʿAmmār: I told Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq], peace be upon him: “Sometimes I am torn between two opposing courses of action, with one part of me ordering me to act and another forbidding me.” [ Jaʿfar] said: “If you are in such a situation, pray two rakʿas and seek God’s advice by istikhāra80 a hundred times, then consider which of the two options is more difficult [to follow] and act accordingly since this is the right choice. If God wills, may your istikhāra be for a state of well-being, since sometimes a man is given a choice [between a positive result] and having his hand cut off, his offspring killed or his property destroyed.”81

79. On the Imams as performers of miracles, see J. Loebenstein, “Miracles in Shīʿī Thought: A Case-Study of the Miracles Attributed to Imām Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq,” Arabica 50 (2003), pp. 199– 244; L. N. Takim, The Heirs of the Prophet: Charisma and Religious Authority in Shiʿite Islam (Albany, 2006), pp. 62–64. 80. See T. Fahd, “Istikhāra,” EI². 81. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-manāfiʿ, p. 599, no. 7; Cf. the version in Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 3, p. 472, where the word aʿzam ‘more difficult’ in al-Barqī’s version is replaced by aḥzam (i.e. sounder, based on a better judgement).



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Surprisingly, an Imam, who is normally considered as the ultimate recourse in times of perplexity, advises a believer in such a state82 to make up his mind by other means — istikhāra — a contradiction to which several possible solutions may be suggested.83 First, that the Imam exists and is not yet hidden (prior to the occultation) does not necessarily mean that he is available at all times and can be consulted on all matters by every member of the community. Second, whether or not the tradition is authentic, or that it was actually the sixth Imam who was behind the recommendation to perform istikhāra, it may be seen as an attempt to provide Shīʿī legitimacy to a pre-Islamic custom. Third, if the tradition is not authentic, it may in fact be an example of an anachronism in which post-occultation thinking is being expressed through the words of an Imam, as it supplies the believer with instructions to find his way out of a problematic situation without having to consult an Imam. A closer look at the details provided in the tradition regarding the process of the istikhāra, as well as an attempt to evaluate its efficiency, may lead to some further observations. The istikhāra does not end with a definite result given by God to the person who performs it; the latter still has to work out for himself which of the two options is the more difficult to follow. Furthermore, the ‘right’ decision is normally not the easy one and may involve catastrophic consequences. Indeed, sometimes a minor catastrophe could be unavoidable in the course of preventing a major one from happening, but yet, a combination between the fact that at the end of the process the believer is still the one responsible for the decision and the fact that this decision may lead to a catastrophe, makes one question the efficiency of the process. That Jaʿfar alṢādiq claims that a person who is not satisfied with the results of his istikhāra, and therefore becomes upset, is “the most hated by God” since his behaviour is equal to “blaming God,”84 may be regarded as further evidence for the problematic consequences that may follow the performance of istikhāra. It is as if the Imam is trying hard to defend this custom against people who, following an unsuccessful attempt, may doubt it. As in similar cases in other contexts, 82. In two other traditions from ‘The chapter of istikhāra’ the Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, is quoted as encouraging the believer to perform istikhāra prior to any [meaningful] action and not necessarily in times of perplexity. See al-Barqī, p. 598, nos. 3–4. 83. Noteworthy in this context is Kitāb fatḥ al-abwāb bayna dhawī al-albāb wa-bayna rabbi al-arbāb fī al-istikhārāt (Beirut, 1989), by the Shīʿī scholar Ibn Ṭāwūs (d. 664/1266), which is devoted mainly to different aspects of istikhāra, as well as for other forms of consulting God (for example: qurʿa, lot casting); see E. Kohlberg, A Medieval Muslim Scholar at Work: Ibn Ṭāwūs and his Library (Leiden, 1992), s.v. istikhāra. 84. Al-Barqī, p. 598, no. 5.

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it seems that Jaʿfar’s statement would not have been necessary had the performance of istikhāra not been problematic.

k. Kitāb al-marāfiq (‘The book of the household’) Al-Barqī — his father — Aḥmad b. al-Nadr — ʿAmr b. Shimr — Jābir — ʿAbdallāh b. Yaḥya al-Kindī — his father (who was in charge of bringing water to ʿAlī for the purpose of ritual ablution85) — ʿAlī [b. Abī Ṭālib], peace be upon him, said: “The Messenger of God, may God pray upon him and his family, said: ‘Oh, ʿAlī, Gabriel came to me last night and greeted me at the door. I said: ‘Come in!’ But he replied: ‘We do not enter a house that contains what this house contains.’ I believed him, but I did not know about anything [untoward] in the house. I clapped my hand and suddenly there appeared a puppy with whom al-Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī had played the day before and who had slipped under the bed at nightfall. I drove him out of the house and then he [Gabriel] came in. I asked him: ‘Oh, Gabriel, don’t you enter a house in which there is a dog?’ He said: ‘No, and neither do we set foot in a house in which there is a junub [i.e. someone in a state of major ritual impurity] or a statue/an idol.’”86

The legal dimension of this tradition, that is, that one should not keep a dog at home, place a statue or be in one’s home in a state of major ritual impurity, may very well be implied by the angel’s refraining from setting foot in a house that contains any of these things and is of little relevance to the present discussion.87 Of much greater interest is the way the relationships between the different characters of the story are depicted. The angel’s visit to the Prophet’s house seems to be a casual thing — he drops by and the Prophet invites him in. That on this specific visit he refused to come in is presented as an exception to the norm. ʿAlī is, of course, the first person with whom the Prophet would share his experiences and it is therefore not surprising that he told him about the event. It seems that the whole purpose of the angel’s visit was to instruct the Prophet on a legal ruling, or in other words to increase his legal knowledge. The Prophet immediately passes this new information on to his cousin and son-in-law, who also happens to be 85. This is my translation of the Arabic term ṣāḥib maṭharat ʿAlī; see al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 6, p. 528, note 2. 86. Al-Barqī, Kitāb al-marāfiq, p. 615, no. 41; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 615, no. 41. 87. In several other traditions in the same chapter the angel Gabriel is quoted saying that angels do not enter a house that contains a dog, a human image, a statue [of a man], or a receptacle of urine. See al-Barqī, pp. 614–615, no. 38–40.



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the first Imam, whose knowledge — as well as that of his successors — has to be equal to that of the Prophet according to the Shīʿī doctrine. Juxtaposed with the principle of ʿiṣma, that is, the immunity from sin and error which is ascribed to all prophets and Imams, this story raises some important questions. Could it be that Muḥammad, who was certainly a prophet when this episode occurred, was about to spend the night with a dog in his house?88 Or that the future Imam, Ḥusayn, although still a young boy, would play with a dog which is an impure animal? A positive answer on these questions would contradict the Shīʿī view of ʿiṣma, according to which the Prophet and the Imams were immune from error and sin before their mission, and certainly afterwards when they were functioning as Prophet or Imams. However, theoretical discussions of this kind about the nature of ʿiṣma and the attempt to apply this principle to stories about prophets and Imams were not yet common in the time of al-Barqī and are typical of the rationalisation of the post-Buwayhid era.89

IV. Conclusion Despite the great variety of themes that seem to have preoccupied al-Barqī, and notwithstanding the various literary genres and stylistic means of which he made use, there is a common denominator which transcends the thematic and stylistic borders throughout the Kitāb al-maḥāsin. Regardless of whether a tradition deals with a mythic story about the creation of “intelligence and ignorance” or with the medical value of “drainpipe water,” the superiority and exclusivity of the Shīʿī community, represented in many cases through the special status of the Imam, will somehow find expression in it.

88. Compare with tradition no. 34 on al-Barqī, pp. 612–613 where ʿAlī recounts that when the Prophet sent him to Medina he instructed him to erase all images, to flatten all graves and to kill all dogs; See also F. Viré, “Kalb,” EI². 89. See, for example, the discussion about ʿiṣma in al-Shaykh al-Mufīd, Kitāb awāʾil almaqālāt, (Beirut, 1993), pp. 39–40, or in al-Sharīf al-Murtaḍa’s Kitāb tanzīh al-anbiyāʾ (Najaf, 1960); see in addition M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis in Early Imāmī Shiism, Leiden, 1999, pp. 159-179. 

Part II: Worldview

2. Election I. Introduction This chapter seeks to explore how the notion of the Shīʿa as an elect community finds expression in Kitāb al-maḥāsin. As this chapter unfolds, the reader will be gradually acquainted with the central role of this notion in the Shīʿī worldview and with its multifaceted implications in both principles of belief and daily practice. Like literary accounts of other religious communities who considered their creed to be the one and only manifestation of the divine will, early Shīʿī sources are rich in motifs, which explicitly or implicitly, make the same claim. Naturally, asserting that the Shīʿī faith is the only true one has far-reaching consequences, positive with regard to the community, and negative for the rest of humanity. Below, we will see that the notion of election is entirely dependent on and inseparable from the questions of ethnicity and genealogy: the Shīʿa are the elect because they were made of the right materials and that they believe in the right things is a condition that derives directly from this fact. A significant term of which al-Barqī repeatedly makes use in this context is ṣafwa, that is, ‘the best’, ‘the chosen’ or ‘the elect’.1 The fact that the term is included alongside ‘light’ and ‘mercy’ — two other fundamental elements in the Shīʿī worldview — in the title of the fourth sub-book of the printed editions of the text, Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma (‘The book of the elect, the light and the mercy’), may indicate how important this notion was. Indeed, many of my arguments and conclusions regarding the conception of election are based on traditions from this particular sub-book of al-Maḥāsin. It is worth noting that in a pioneering study on the relationship between Jewish and Shīʿī ideas, Shlomo Pines already alluded to the affinity between the Shīʿī term ṣafwa and the Jewish concept of segula.2

1. See for example, al-Barqī, pp. 138–39, no. 25, and pp. 282–83, no. 413. 2. Sh. Pines, “Shīʿite Terms and Conceptions in Judah Halevi’s Kuzari,” JSAI 2 (1980), pp. 165–251; this was further developed by Ehud Krinis in his PhD (Ben Gurion University, 2008, in Hebrew) and later in his book, God’s Chosen People: Judah Halevi’s ‘Kuzari’ and the Shīʿī Imām Doctrine (Turnhout, 2014); it is worth mentioning that although the term ṣafwa

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As will be argued in the next chapter,3 two other inter-related pivotal notions, predestination (along with its deterministic implications) and dualism, characterized the Shīʿī worldview before there emerged a theological discourse per se and before the impact of Muʿtazilite rationalism can be discerned in their literature.4 Examined in light of these two other notions, election seems like the third side of the early conceptual triangle according to which the Shīʿa perceived themselves, both independently and with reference to others. By itself, the idea of election may be seen as another triangle whose three sides are the elector, the elect and those not. It is not surprising that when the elector is an omniscient and omnipotent god, the act of election will be described in predestinarian and deterministic terms. A predestinarian election of one group out of many leads inevitably to a binary dualistic relationship between the elect and the unelected. In fact, the three notions (election, predestination and dualism) are so strongly embedded in al-Barqī’s text that the reader gains the impression that, to varying degrees of intensity and directness, any tradition included in it could be used for discussing at least one of these three concepts. Since the message of these three notions is present throughout the text, this statement is applicable also with regard to traditions that lack any apparent references to any of the three aspects. For the sake of our discussion of the notion of election, however, we will make use mostly of traditions that address it directly. The reader of Kitāb al-maḥāsin learns quite fast that the Shīʿa is an exclusive group, elevated above the rest of humankind. This can be seen in a tradition ascribed to the sixth Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq (d. 148/765) who summarizes the idea: “We are loved only by the elect (ṣafwa) [of every generation], whatever generation it may be.”5 According to this statement, love for the family of the Prophet and the Imams — a basic prerequisite, and in this context very likely a sufficient one for inclusion in the Shīʿa — is a virtue typical solely of the elect of every generation. The notion behind the Imam’s statement, however, did not develop in a vacuum and one cannot evaluate the message it entails without taking into consideration the broader context. This chapter will reveal and analyze the ideological foundations that stand at the background of al-Ṣādiq’s brief statement. As we will see, God’s preference does not appear in the Quran, the root ṣ.f.w. and mainly the verb iṣṭafā (‘elected’, ‘chose’) that derives from it are found in various Quranic contexts. 3. See below, ch. 3, ‘Predestination and its deterministic and dualistic implications’. 4. See W. Madelung, “Imamism and Muʿtazilite Theology,” in Le shīʿisme imāmite – Colloque de Strasbourg (6–9 mai 1968) (ed. T. Fahd; Paris, 1970), pp. 14-30. 5. Al-Barqī, pp. 138–39, no. 25; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 152, no. 22.



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for the Shīʿa over the rest of humanity — the implied message of this tradition — is depicted in the text in diverse ways and has multiple dimensions. It is not surprising that many of the traditions that address the question of election bear mythic characteristics. After all, it is in the realm of myth that societies, since the dawn of humanity, have searched for roots and anchored their beliefs. Arguing that the purest and most outstanding representations of the act of election — such that can only rarely be corroborated in real life — took place in a distant mythic past, that is, at the time of the creation, or, alternately, will take place in a remote future, that is, in the eschatological era, achieves two goals simultaneously. First, it highlights the value of the notion of election and, self-evidently, the status of the elect. Second, it provides the Shīʿa with a means of negotiating elements that clearly contradict this notion and which are inevitably posed by real life in this world. It is very difficult to determine which of these two motives resulted in situating election accounts in a mythic context. In most cases traditions that deal with the theme are probably the outcome of a mixture between the desire to render the notion and the community more valuable and the necessity to tackle concrete problems. As the tradition quoted above clearly demonstrates, the act of election finds its expression also in the time that stretches between the two mythic extremes of beginning and end. It is a crucial characteristic of society in every generation, and love for the Imam is only one of its many manifestations. Others, which will be dealt with at some length further below, come to the fore in significant moments in life such as birth and death. However substantively real they may be, it can be argued nonetheless that it is because of their mysterious, inaccessible dimension that birth and death play an important role in shaping the concept of election. One could look at creation and birth on the one hand, and at eschatology and death on the other, as representing two levels of beginning and end. Creation and eschatology symbolize the universal imagined beginning and end respectively, whereas birth and death represent the concrete starting and terminating points of each individual. One can thus argue that a large portion of the Imāmī endeavour to provide the notion of election with a firm foundation is concerned with starting and ending points, on the universal spiritual level and on the individual more tangible one. That these extremes are — wholly (as in the case of creation and eschatology) or partially (as in the case of birth and death) — beyond the grasp of man, turns them into fertile ground for the development of various myths, including such that portray the Shīʿa as God’s elect.

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Although several scholars of Shīʿism have alluded to the mythic dimension in the Shīʿī corpus,6 the explicit use of the term myth with reference to Imāmī traditions is not common in works devoted to different aspects of this literature. The reluctance of scholars to use the term can be seen as a reflection of a broader concern in Islamic studies which Charles Adams had already pointed as early as the 1960s in an article on the preoccupying gulf that separates Islamic studies from the history of religions.7 This gap explains why the question of myth was rarely addressed by scholars of Islam whereas the complex relationship between myth and religion was a major theme in many other academic disciplines including the history of religions and comparative religion, philosophy, psychology, anthropology and so forth. In addition to the contribution of the present study to the understanding of the Shīʿa in their formative period, this work also aims at expanding the disciplinary boundaries of discourse in the field through explicit reference to the mythic dimension found in the early sources. The question of myth has preoccupied scholars of different eras, who have been fascinated by different aspects of this universal human phenomenon. Most attempts at understanding it, in the hope of discerning a common denominator or arriving at a definition suitable for all forms of myth, evolved around three fundamental questions: origin, theme and function.8 Although unintentionally, in this discussion of the myths that stand at the basis of the notion of election, at least to a certain extent, these three key questions are being addressed. Any attempt to include all types of myth under one definition 6. See for example M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide and idem, “Cosmogony and Cosmology in Twelver Shiʿism,” EIR; W. Madelung, “Cosmogony and Cosmology in Ismaʿilism,” EIR; H. Corbin, En islam iranien: aspects spirituels et philosophiques, tome I, le shīʿisme duodécimain (Paris, 1971); E. Kohlberg, “Some Views on the Antediluvian World,” SI 52 (1980), pp. 41–66, repr. in his Belief and Law, art. xvi; M. M. Dakake, The Charismatic Community (mainly in part ii). 7. Ch. J. Adams, “The History of Religions and the Study of Islam,” in The History of Religions: Essays on the Problem of Understanding (eds J. M. Kitagawa, M. Eliade and Ch. H. Long; Chicago and London, 1967), pp. 177–193; In January 1980, a symposium on Islam and the history of religions was held at Arizona State University in an attempt at “employing some of the theoretical insights and methodological richness of the science of religion on the area of interest [i.e. Islam].” This led to the publication of R. C Martin (ed.), Approaches to Islam in Religious Studies (Tucson, 1985). Attempts of the kind however are scarce and there is still a yawning gap between the two fields of specialization. 8. See G. S. Kirk, “On Defining Myths,” in Sacred Narrative. Readings in the Theory of Myth (ed. A. Dundes; London, 1984), pp. 54–55; R. A. Segal, Myth: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2004), pp. 4–6.



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have been unsuccessful and resulted simply in innumerable different definitions. Of this immense variety, the very general definition that “a myth is a sacred story that explains how the world and man have reached their current condition” is applicable to the traditions handled below.9

II. Creation Myths As Amir-Moezzi rightly argues in his “Cosmogony and Cosmology in Twelver Shiʿism,” Shīʿī materials that describe the creation lack any sort of chronological order or thematic consistency.10 In this respect, al-Barqī’s text is not different, and it is doubtful whether an examination of the creation accounts included in it may lead to a coherent creation story. Al-Barqī’s choice of assembling various creation myths under the heading ‘The book of the elect, the light and the mercy’ may therefore derive from other motives. Namely, that he saw in creation stories an important layer in the construction of the notion of election.11 According to Amir-Moezzi, apart from minor details, the main difference between the Shīʿī and Sunni versions lies in the former’s focus on the role of the Imams. This chapter will show that Shīʿī creation stories are concerned not only with the Imams, but also with the believers as both individuals and as members of an elect community. The significant consequences of the creation of every individual as well as of the entire group are the main subject of the present section. To understand these creation myths, one must be familiar with the Shīʿī notion of pre-existence, according to which, long before the creation of the first man, the community already existed in a non-physical, spiritual state. There are various versions as to the state in which the members of the community existed in this primordial past. The most recurring terms to describe them are light (nūr), shadows (aẓilla), silhouettes (ashbāḥ) and particles (dharr). The idea of presenting the origins and formation of a religious community in a 9. See A. Dundes (ed.), Sacred Narrative, p. 1. 10. In EIR and see note 6 above. 11. The contents’ list of the original text includes also a part whose title ‘The book of the creation of Heaven and earth’ may give the impression that al-Barqī attempted to provide the readers with a more coherent creation story. An assumption of the kind is however doubtful in light of the general eclectic character of the text and one has no reason to assume that a study of this lost part would result in conclusions different than those reached by Amir-Moezzi following his examination of the voluminous ‘Book on the Heavens and the earth’ within al-Majlisī’s Biḥār al-anwār (see notes 6 and 10 above).

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pre-existential past is not peculiar to Shīʿism and is common to other currents of Islam, as well as Judaism and Christianity.12 Part of the difficulty involved in arriving at a coherent creation narrative derives from the division of creation into two distinct, spiritual and tangible phases. As we will see throughout the present chapter, a distinction between the two is not always possible as they are highly interrelated. In a way, creation myths serve as a bridge between the spiritual and tangible realms, highlighting the implications of pre-existential processes in the life of this world and consequently also in that of the world to come. Through stories about the creation of the Shīʿī community, the reader learns about several meaningful relationships in the believer’s world. The common denominator of all these relationships is that they highlight unequivocally the community’s status as an elect. The first and most important among these relationships is the one between God and the believer. Its nature affects a whole series of less important, though nonetheless crucial, relationships: between the believer and the prophets, between the believer and the Imams, between believers, and between members of the community (believers) and unbelievers. The materials from which God created the believer/s seem to have a highly significant impact on these relationships. We shall see that it is not always possible, though, to define the materials from which the believer is created. According to some mythic accounts, he is created out of abstract materials; according to others, abstract and real materials are mixed together during the creation. But even when apparently real materials are involved, it is doubtful whether these are any tangible form of substance. However, as the aim in the present section is to examine how the status of an elect community is depicted through creation myths rather than exploring the physical aspects of creation, the attempt to define these materials physically or philosophically will be avoided. Moreover, the ambiguity with regard to the materials of creation and the difficulty of imagining how a human being can be created from them go hand in hand with the mythic supra-natural atmosphere of these accounts. This also strengthens the doubt raised above regarding the cosmogonical purpose of these stories.

12. See U. Rubin, “Pre-Existence and Light. Aspects of the Concept of Nūr Muḥammad,” pp. 62–119 and idem, “Prophets and Progenitors in the Early Shīʿa Tradition,” JSAI 1 (1979), pp. 41–65; M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, Ch. 2 and; M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 130–140 (and mainly notes 13–15 on pp. 130–131).



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To begin, let us examine the tradition that opens Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma which is ascribed to the eighth Imam, ʿAlī al-Riḍā, and demonstrates clearly how creation processes affect the status of the Shīʿī believer: God, may he be blessed and exalted, created the believers out of His light, anointed13 them with His mercy and established a covenant of loyalty (walāya)14 between them and us [the Imams]. It is due to this that the believers are siblings from the [same] father and mother, their father is light and their mother is mercy. Therefore, beware of the believer’s special skill of seeing (firāsa), since he sees with the divine light from which he was created.15

Comparing God’s light and mercy to father and mother respectively (nūr and raḥma, which are, by the way, masculine and feminine nouns) rasises further very interesting points. Two of God’s attributes are depicted in this tradition as responsible for the creation of human beings. Although God is the one behind the entire process, light and mercy are portrayed as ‘parents’, that is, as creative beings or as active divine emanations, and thus here go beyond their usual status of divine attributes. As the tradition indicates, the implications of this perception of creation are highly significant: all believers are siblings, which turns the community into one big family. Since creation here bears characteristics common to giving birth, it is not surprising that a crucial quality of the believer is presented as being inherited: his special skill of seeing. 13. ‘Anointed’ is my translation of the verb ṣabagha; compare with al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl al-kāfī (Beirut, 1980), vol. 2, p. 14, where the term ṣibghat allāh in the Quranic verse 2:138 is interpreted as Islam. This interpretation was common also among Sunni commentators, see for example al-Qurṭubī’s (d. 671/1272) al-Jāmiʿ li-aḥkām al-qurʾān (Beirut, 1994–1995), vol. 1, pp. 135–136, where the author argues that the term ṣibgha is a synonym of fiṭra, which means being created or born with the right religion. Another interesting aspect in al-Qurṭubī’s commentary on the term ṣibgha is the analogy he makes with the Christian baptism, which is unnecessary for those born with the right ṣibgha; see also al-Jalālayn’s (ninth/fifteenth century) addition that the religion with which one is born is discernible, like colour (ṣibgh) on clothes; See A. Jeffery, The Foreign Vocabulary of the Qurʾān (Leiden and Boston, 2007), p. 192, where the putative Syriac origin of the word and its relation to the Christian baptism are discussed; see also al-Majlisī’s explanation in his Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 73, no. 1, of the term ṣabaghahum as rendering [the believers] capable to receive/absorb God’s mercy. 14. We will return to deal with the far-reaching implications of this covenant below. 15. Al-Barqī, p. 131, no. 1; cf. Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 75, no. 6 and with minor variations in al-Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt (Tabriz, 1960), pp. 163–164; see also M. M. Dakake, The Charismatic Community, pp. 170–171, where this tradition is cited as supporting both the spiritual ‘brotherhood’ among members of the community and the believers’ ‘epistemological charisma’ or ‘clairvoyance’ (firāsa); cf. Kohlberg, “Imam and Community,” p. 32.

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That the Imam warns his audience against the believer’s special skill of seeing clearly shows that this inherited quality is relevant also in this world and not only in the mythic past, where the creation event took place.16 The same can be said about the familial bonds between believers; they were molded at the time of creation but will characterize the community forever. This sort of affinity between the believer and God is described elsewhere as resulting from the fact that God created the believer from the light of His greatness and the glory of His mightiness. Whoever claims against the believer or opposes him is therefore equal to the one who opposes God on His throne.17 These notions of affinity, and even identity, between the believer and God may tell us something about the reality in which election myths were conceived: 1. The Imam’s need to warn against the believers’ special skill of seeing indicates that people (most likely non-Shīʿīs) did not dread it. 2. For the parallelism between opposing a believer and opposing God to be effective, it must be referring to those who believe in the same God, namely, Muslims who rejected the Shīʿī claim. This impression is further strengthened in a tradition ascribed to the sixth Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq. According to him, if only the cover that prevents people from seeing the bond between God and the believer were removed, they would obey the believer very easily and present no difficulties for him.18 The conclusion is that when this tradition was conceived, non-Shīʿīs were apparently unable to see and appreciate the special status of the believer that derives from his affinity to God. More importantly, since this tradition is meant for Shīʿī believers, it is quite likely that many within the community, perhaps due to difficult circumstances, were unable to see this bond and needed encouragement in the form of an Imāmī teaching. The choice of rephrasing this tradition as an unreal condition (if only…) alludes to the Shīʿī awareness of the 16. See al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 1, p. 218, no. 3, where the fifth Imam interprets the word mutawassimīn in Quran 15: 75 as referring to the Imams since, according to the Prophet, the believer sees with the divine light; see also M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, p. 144, where the commentary on this Quranic verse leads to a discussion about the origins of the Imams’ special knowledge as expressed in the word mutawassimīn and the related concept of firāsa. In his commentary on a similar tradition (cited from Ṣaffār’s Baṣāʾir), al-Majlisī attempts to resolve the problem that arises by ascribing firāsa to both Imams and believers. According to him, a complete firāsa is a quality of the Imams alone whereas the firāsa of ordinary believers depends upon the degree of their faith, see Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 73, no. 1. 17. See al-Barqī, pp. 131–132, no. 3; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 125, no. no. 26 and in vol. 72, p. 146, no. 17. 18. See al-Barqī, p. 132, no. 4.



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impossibility of this wish being actualized in this life and hints at the awaited inversion of the earthly state of things in the Hereafter. The creation out of light is not out of context and is clearly part of one of the fundamental motifs in Shīʿī literature — light. The main light myth describes the divine light from which the Prophet, ʿAlī and the Imams would be created, long before their physical creation. In the created world, this light started its voyage in Adam’s loins going through his descendants until it was divided between the fathers of the Prophet and ʿAlī. The light was reunited in ʿAlī’s descendants by his wife, Fāṭima (the Prophet’s daughter), that is, the Imams. The unique aspect of the light traditions in al-Maḥāsin is that they are concerned with the believers rather than the Prophets and Imams.19 Alongside the creation from light, we find a series of traditions that describe the creation of the believer from ‘a substance’. The Arabic term for this material is ṭīna, which can be translated as clay, argil, material or substance.20 The fact that this word expresses a tangible substance does not necessarily help us to grasp its nature. The ambiguity increases when this material appears as the first part in expressions such as ‘substance from the seventh Heaven’ or ‘substance from Paradise’, which combine the concrete and the abstract. When asked from which substance (ṭīna) the believer was created, the sixth Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, replies: “From the substance of the prophets and therefore he shall never be impure.”21 Again, we witness the special status of the believer that derives directly from the nature of the material from which he was created. This tradition does not provide any details regarding the characteristics of this material to exclude the fact that it was used also for the creation of the prophets. Although this is not explicitly stated, the believer’s immunity from impurity guaranteed by al-Ṣādiq makes one think about the immunity from sin and error, which, in the pre-Buwayhid era, was ascribed by the Shīʿīs to the prophets.22 The status of the believer is further elevated when, in another tradition, al-Ṣādiq 19. See al-Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, pp. 79–80; al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 1, pp. 194– 196; U. Rubin, “Pre-Existence and Light - Aspects of the Concept of Nūr Muḥammad,” pp. 62– 119; M. A. Moezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 30 and idem, “Cosmogony and Cosmology in Twelver Shiʿism,” EIR. 20. The word ṭīn (which derives from the same root) appears nine times in the Quran in the context of creation. In Quran 38: 71–72, God informs the angels about His intention to create a man from ṭīn, shape his body and breathe His soul into him. The well-known refusal of Iblīs in Q 7: 17 to prostrate before a man created of ṭīn when he was created from fire highlights the hierarchical importance of the materials of creation already in the Quranic discourse. 21. See al-Barqī, p. 133, no. 7 (combined, traditions 8–9 in the same page contain the same message); quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 225, no. 1. 22. See M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 167–179.

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argues that the Imams and the believers were created from the same material. The implications of this are that the believers are the most social of humankind and its best representatives.23 Elsewhere, the fifth Imam, Muḥammad al-Bāqir, simply states “We and our party were created from one substance,” apparently assuming that the consequences of this statement are well known to his audience. At this point, it is worth noting that although the creation processes of non-Shīʿīs are not discussed here, the reader — believer or not — can easily imagine the negative mirror image of the traditions discussed here.24 On the face of it, the endeavour to present the status of the believer as an elevated one could cause confusion with regard to the hierarchy in the Shīʿī community. One might get the impression that there was no difference between the prophets, Imams and believers since all were created from the same materials. This difficulty is resolved in a tradition ascribed to the fourth Imam, ʿAlī b. al-Ḥusayn, who preaches that God created the hearts and bodies of the prophets from the material of the seventh Heaven (ṭinat ʿilliyīn). He then goes on to say that the hearts of the believers were created from the same material but their bodies from a material inferior to that.25 This tradition achieves two goals simultaneously: on the one hand, like the previous tradition, it portrays the strong connection between believers and prophets. On the other hand, it creates a clear separating line between the two groups. The relationship between believers and Imams is portrayed in a very similar way by al-Ṣādiq who tells that God created the Imams — apparently both their bodies and hearts — from the upmost part of the seventh Heaven (aʿlā ʿilliyīn). The hearts of the believers were created from the same material but their bodies from an inferior substance (yet a substance inferior to that of the highest part of the seventh Heaven is still likely to be placed very high in the hierarchy of creational materials). The meaningful addition of this particular tradition is that, following this description, al-Ṣādiq provides an interesting 23. See al-Barqī, p. 135, no. 15; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 77, no. 3, following which alMajlisī explains the expression ānas al-ins, which I translated as ‘the most social of humankind’. He says that the believers socialise usually either to the Imams or amongst themselves. 24. See al-Barqī, p. 135, no. 14; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 77, no. 2; a version that includes reference also to the creation of the enemies of the Shīʿa appears in Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, p. 35, where according to Imam al-Bāqir they were created from ‘dried clay’. Interestingly, the Imam’s devaluation of non-Shīʿīs is similar to that of Iblīs in Quran 15: 33, where he refuses to prostrate before Adam since the latter was created of “dried clay”; cf. E. Kohlberg, “Imam and Community,” p. 31. 25. See al-Barqī, pp. 132–133, no. 6; similar traditions that refer also the creation of non-believers can be found in Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, p. 35, no. 5 and in Ibn Bābawayh, ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ, vol. 1, p. 116, no. 13; see also R. Paret, “ʿIlliyyūn,” EI².



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insight regarding the implications of this creation myth. The fact that the hearts of believers are made from a material equal to the one used for the creation of the Imams makes the believers’ hearts yearn for the Imams.26 Thus, we are introduced to the way a basic feature of the duty of walāya, namely yearning for the Imams, is the direct result of the creation. Furthermore, the impression is that the performance of this duty does not depend on the believer’s will, but rather is something inherent.27 We see, then, the far-reaching consequences on the relationship between believers and Imams who only partially share their creational materials. In the traditions discussed above, we also learn that believers fully share the same creational materials — that is to say, both their hearts and their bodies were created from the same substance. The implications of this perception — in addition to the relationship of siblings that was mentioned above — are clearly summarized in a tradition ascribed to Jābir b. Yazīd al-Juʿfī:28 I sighed in front of Abū Jaʿfar [Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir], peace upon him, and said: “O Descendant of God’s Messenger, although I was not struck by any apparent calamity or disaster, I am worried to the degree that my family and friends can see it upon my face.” He [the Imam] said: “Yes, Jābir.” I said to him: “O Descendant of God’s Messenger, what does it mean?” [the Imam] asked: “And what will you do with this [information]?” I said: “I want to know it.” The Imam said: “O Jābir, God created the believer from the substance of Paradise and breathed into him from the spirit of His soul, therefore the believers are siblings from the same father and mother, and if a calamity strikes one of these souls somewhere, all the souls [of fellow believers] are sorry for that since they belong together.”29

26. See al-Barqī, p. 132, no. 5; this tradition, with the additional description of the creation of non-believers, appears in Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, p. 35, no. 3; al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 1, p. 39, no. 4 and vol. 3, p. 4, no. 4 and Ibn Bābawayh, ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ, vol. 1, p. 116, no. 12. It is likely that authors more or less contemporary with al-Barqī had access to a complete version of this tradition, either because a fuller version of al-Maḥāsin was available to them, or perhaps an intermediate source. 27. The theological difficulties that this deterministic perception raises will be dealt with at length in the next chapter. 28. An important transmitter of traditions from the late Umayyad period (d. 128/745–46), was for many years a close disciple of Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir with whom the latter shared the esoteric side of the faith, see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival., pp. 86–103; GAS, vol. 1, p. 307; W. Madelung, “Djābir al-Djuʿfī,” EI² (supplement). 29. See al-Barqī, pp. 133–134, no. 10; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 58, p. 147, no. 23 and vol. 71, p. 256, no. 71.

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In addition to the miraculous sympathy and solidarity that this tradition ascribes to all believers, the dialogue in this tradition exposes us to another feature of the Shīʿī faith. The Imam does not reply directly to Jābir’s question. He first wants to know what Jābir intends to do with this new information and replies only after Jābir insists that he would like to know it. Given the close relationship between the two,30 the fact that the Imam still hesitates before answering creates the impression that the information included in the answer belongs to the secret, esoteric side of the faith. The framing story of this tradition — be it a genuine or invented one — portrays the Imam as the recourse to which a believer (in this case, a close disciple) turns at times of agony. Being part of the community of believers, so it seems, at times takes its toll. The Imam’s decision to provide a social explanation for a personal suffering may seem somewhat superficial, but it certainly serves the goal of highlighting the unique characteristics of the elect who were all created from the same material. As for the believer, that he should seek an explanation for his inner suffering in the realm of external calamities or disasters might seem naive. Combined, the attitudes of the Imam and his disciple, give the impression that the framing story was made up as a basis on which the idea of a strong sense of solidarity between the members of the community could be elaborated. Another aspect of the price paid by the believer for his inclusion in the elect community is expressed in traditions that depict the Shīʿa as a closed group which no one can join or leave until the end of time. This notion too is directly related to the creation, since God, says Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, created the Shīʿa from a stored substance (ṭīna makhzūna). The emphasis this time is not on the quality of the material but rather on its quantity. God used a limited, stored, quantity of material to create the Shīʿa, and whoever was not part of it then, could never become a Shīʿī believer. The creation of the Shīʿa is described as a one-time event and not something that repeats itself in every generation (an idea strongly related to the notion of pre-existence). The deterministic and dualistic implications of this conception are self-evident and one should remember that they are twofold — no entering and no leaving of the community. Although both dimensions supposedly contribute to the positive perception of an elect community, one can quite easily reverse their message and imagine the Shīʿa as being held in this closed group against their will.31 30. See note 28 above. 31. See al-Barqī, pp. 134–135, no. 13; appears with minor variations also in Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, p. 37, no. 11, tradition no. 12 on the same page bears a similar message only



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a. The Covenant Myth Another central myth that depicts the Shīʿa as an elect community, elevated over the rest of humankind, is that of their covenant with God, which took place a long time before their physical creation.32 The creation myths that were discussed up to this point portray the exclusivity of the Shīʿa as the result of God’s will alone and give very little room for mutuality. The myth of the covenant fills this gap by assigning a crucial role to the community in shaping its relationship with God, which, as we saw, affects a series of other relationships. Despite the obvious lack of balance in this human-divine relationship, by fulfilling their part of the covenant, the spiritual representations of the future Shīʿa keep it upright and guarantee their status as the elect. To the relationships discussed above the content of the covenant adds the further dimension of a commitment on the part of both God and the community and its scenario is intertwined with the broader story of creation. The state in which the material of the future Shīʿa was at the time of this pact is of great significance to its validity. A relatively detailed version of the covenant narrative appears in a tradition ascribed to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq who declares that God made a covenant with the Shīʿa while they were particles (dharr). At this event, the Shīʿa committed to acknowledge God’s sovereignty, Muḥammad’s prophethood and to be loyal to the Imams (walāya).33 For a reader acquainted with the Quran, this description may well recall the covenant between God and the future descendants of mankind in Q 7 : 172: “When your Lord took the offspring (dhurriyya) from the loins of the children of Adam and made them bear witness about themselves, He said ‘Am I not your Lord?’ and they said ‘Yes, we bear witness’.”34 However, two that according to it, the material from which believers were created was ‘the substance of the throne’ (ṭīnat al-ʿarsh). 32. See al-Barqī, pp. 135–136, ‘The Chapter of the Covenant’ (bāb al-mīthāq), traditions 16– 19; see in addition M. M. Dakake’s treatment of the subject in her The Charismatic Community, pp. 145–155; on the concept of covenant between God and mankind see M. Ebstein’s entry “Covenant,” EI³; see also J. van Ess, The Flowering of Muslim Theology (translated by Jane Marie Todd; Cambridge, Massachusetts and London, 2006), pp. 11–12, where the centrality of the notion of a covenant in Judaism, Christianity and Islam is referred to along with the term’s legal implications in the case of the latter. 33. See al-Barqī, p. 135, no. 16; cited in Biḥār, vol. 5, p. 250, no. 43. 34. This verse was widely discussed in research, see: M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 132–133; U. Rubin, “Pre-Existence and Light,” pp. 67–68; R. Gramlich, “Der Urvertrag in der Koranslesung (zu Sura 7, 172–173),” Der Islam 60 (1983), pp. 205–230; M. A. AmirMoezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 34; according to M. Ebstein (EI³, s.v. “Covenant”), this verse

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important differences between the Quranic verse and the tradition discussed here should be stressed. First, unlike the Quranic verse that refers to the children of Adam, i.e. human beings, the Shīʿī covenant took place long before the physical creation of man. Second, while the Quranic message is universal and refers to mankind in general, the Shīʿī version is clearly exclusive. The tradition ends when, following the covenant, God presented to the Prophet his community as shadows (aẓilla) in the substance and He then introduced them to the Prophet and ʿAlī. As for the Imams, al-Ṣādiq states, they recognize the members of the community by the intonation of their speech (laḥn al-qawl) [Quran 47 : 30].35 The belief that the Imams recognize their followers by the intonation of their speech is remarkable. It is quite clear that their intonation is depicted in this tradition as a highly positive virtue that characterizes the Shīʿa and differentiates them from the rest of humanity. Interestingly, this attitude appears to contradict the Quranic conception of the expression ‘the intonation of their speech’ which is clearly a pejorative characteristic that enables the Prophet to point out those ‘corrupt at heart’ [Quran 47 : 29]. It is in this negative spirit that al-Ṣādiq, in a different tradition, interprets the Quranic expression laḥn al-qawl as ‘hatred for ʿAlī’.36 The conclusion is that both believers and nonbelievers have a discernible intonation of speech which is indicative of their religious conviction. The term ‘intonation of speech’ is thus neutral and its negative or positive value is context-dependent.37 The active role played in the covenant myth by the future community gives the impression that these primordial entities were functioning as humans although their physical form was far from complete. As Imam al-Ṣādiq states, the souls of the Shīʿa were created two thousand years prior to their bodies. Clearly, the period of time is a topos and is meant to imply ‘a long time before/ago/earlier’. But the theological significance of the perception that the spiritual entity (the soul) was created long before its physical counterpart (the body) can hardly be ignored. Its implication is that upon birth, is the nucleus of later developments of the idea of the kind ascribed to the sixth Imam in the present discussion. 35. See al-Barqī, p. 135, no. 16. 36. ibid., pp. 168–169, no. 132. 37. The inversion of a pejorative name ascribed to the Shīʿa by their opponents into a positive one of which the community makes use for praise, is familiar also from the transformations of the term rāfiḍa, see E. Kohlberg, “The term ‘Rāfiḍa’ in Imāmī Shīʿī Usage,” JAOS 99 (1979), pp. 677–679, repr. in his Belief and Law, art. iv. Some of Kohlberg’s conclusions derive from his analysis of al-Barqī, p. 157, traditions 90–92.



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the pre-existent soul and the newborn body unite to create a believer, the soul being already an experienced and committed entity.38 According to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s commentary on the verse mentioned above [Q 7 : 172], participants at the covenant scene were able to visualize God, an experience that He later erased from their memories, leaving in their hearts only the acknowledgement of His sovereignty. Had this event not taken place, al-Ṣādiq argues, no one would know who his Creator and Provider is.39 This attitude softens to a certain extent the difficulty that may arise when mythic past and real, actual present are juxtaposed. Apparently, the Imam is aware of this difficulty and therefore argues that the believers forgot the most dramatic part of this mythic event. Being a believer, though, entails the acceptance of the blurred border between the realms of myth and reality. That one’s acknowledgement of God’s sovereignty may well be perceived as the remains of a primordial experience that included the vision of God does not necessarily contradict the fact that it is also the result of exposure and adherence to Imāmī teachings. Like the ‘stored substance’ that unequivocally determined who will be included in the community from creation until the end of time, the covenant myth excludes from the elect those who were not present at the scene.40 In this light, it is not surprising that Shīʿīs interpret the hatred of non-Shīʿīs towards 38. The concept of the community’s pre-existence in a non-tangible though recognisable and conscious state is familiar also from the pre-Islamic Iranian world where creation in the mēnōg state is believed to have taken place parallel to the material creation (gētīg), see Sh. Shaked, “Gētīg and Mēnōg,” EIR and idem, “The Notions of Mēnōg and gētīg in the Pahlavi Texts and their Relation to Eschatology,” Acta Orientalia 33 (1971), pp. 59–107, repr. in idem, From Zoroastrian Iran to Islam: Studies in Religious History and Intercultural Contacts (Aldershot, 1995), art. II; see also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Spirituality of Shiʿi Islam, ch. 4, “The PreExistence of the Imam,” pp. 133–167 and note 44 on pp. 153–154 where Amir-Moezzi refers to this point. The deterministic far-reaching consequences of this notion will be discussed in the next chapter. 39. See al-Barqī, p. 281, no. 411; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 223, no. 13, following which al-Majlisī is trying to argue that the Imam used the term ‘vision’ (muʿāyana) metaphorically while in fact God only addressed the community in speech. Al-Majlisī’s reluctance to accept the Imam’s interpretation may have well derived from the theological debate around the problem of visualizing God, which was not yet fully developed in al-Ṣādiq’s time. See G. Vajda, “Le problème de la vision de Dieu,” in Le shiisme Imāmite (ed. T. Fahd; Paris, 1970), pp. 31–54; the complexity of resolving the vision of God will be further discussed below, under the section concerned with the Day of Judgment. 40. See al-Barqī, pp. 135–136, no. 17; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 252, no. 47; cf. tradition no. 18 which makes use of the word ‘people’ (nās) to describe both those who cannot be part of the Shīʿa and those with whom God made a covenant. Since the word ‘people’ is usually used

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them as an expression of envy and frustration. When, during a minor pilgrimage (ʿumra), an Iraqi believer was asked by Imam al-Bāqir about the situation in Iraq, he replied that al-Ḥajjāj (the Umayyad governor of Iraq between 75 and 95/694 and 714) cursed ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib from the pulpits of the mosques. In response to this news Imam al-Bāqir declared: The enemies of God curse us, but had they been able to be part of our Shīʿa, they would. They cannot, because God made a covenant with us and with our Shīʿa while they and we were shadows (aẓilla). Even if the people [who were not present at the scene] try hard to add to them [the members of the Shīʿa] or remove [any] from among them, they will not be able to.41

This tradition does not deny the harsh reality lived by the members of the community in Iraq, but rather it provides a mythic explanation for this state of things. This explanation depicts the enemies of the Shīʿa as the victims of the mythic past, as their hatred for the Shīʿa is involuntary and if they could, they would happily join them. Since their behavior cannot be changed and, as Imam al-Bāqir argues elsewhere, they are incapable of expressing love for the Imams, there is no point in arguing with them. One cannot ignore the empathy shown by the Imam — perhaps due to his impotence to change reality — to his enemies whom he describes as trapped in their predestined fate. This, of course, results in an interesting inversion of the victim — oppressor roles.42 Finally, another aspect of God’s part of the covenant is included in the information that He revealed to the Prophet during the latter’s Heavenly journey. According to this, whoever humiliates God’s friend (walī), declares war on God and should expect God to fight back. When the Prophet wants to understand what God means by the term ‘friend’ (walī), he is told: “He with whom I made a covenant of loyalty to you, to your heir [i.e. ʿAlī] and to the heirs of you both [i.e. the Imams].”43 The affinity, almost to the degree of identity, between God and the believer that resulted of the covenant recalls that which derived from the creation out of light (discussed above). Again, the threat ascribed to God in this tradition is indicative of the real condition lived by the Shīʿa as a persecuted, and probably often humiliated, minority. in Shīʿī sources for non-Shīʿīs, this tradition could be read as referring to a parallel, or mirror image covenant between God and non-Shīʿīs. 41. See al-Barqī, pp. 135–136, no. 17 (see also p. 203, no. 48). 42. ee al-Barqī, p. 136, no. 18; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 132, no. 21. 43. See al-Barqī, p. 136, no. 19, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 72, p. 146, no. 18.



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b. Elect but not Perfect The impression gained so far is that the Shīʿa, whose creation and covenant with God had such far-reaching positive implications, are an ideal closed community. The traditions discussed above were mythic in nature and gave very little room for the complexities encountered by the community in daily life. The gulf that separates the mythic realm from the realistic one has already been alluded to, but this was based on reading between the lines of some of the previous traditions. To end the part devoted to creation myths, let us examine traditions that explicitly bring to the fore the concrete difficulties experienced by the Shīʿa. In these traditions, a disciple asks the Imam for an explanation of the apparent contradiction between the doctrine (which is based on mythic accounts) and his personal experience in day-to-day life. The core question in these traditions is why, despite their close relationship with God, are the character and behaviour of some Shīʿīs far from ideal. The other side of this question is why certain non-Shīʿīs, who according to the doctrine are supposed to lack any moral standards, may have all the virtues. How can it be, a believer asks Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, that sometimes, either through his business or in other circumstances, he encounters ‘bad’ Shīʿīs and ‘good’ non-Shīʿīs.44 It is clear that behind this naive question stands a strictly dualistic perception of humanity as divided into two opposing poles. It is in the light of this worldview that the presence of ‘bad’ Shīʿīs and ‘good’ non-Shīʿīs is regarded as a deviation from a certain order and so requires explanation. Al-Ṣādiq, which is aware of this reality as well as of his inability to change it, again provides a mythic explanation. Thus he says that God took substance from Paradise and substance from Hell, mixed them and then separated one from the other. The bad behaviour of Shīʿīs and the good qualities of their enemies are the result of the substance of Hell and Paradise that stuck to each respectively. The essence of the Shīʿīs, though, as well as that of their enemies is either strictly good or bad. The deviations from this rule are thus to be understood as merely marginal.45 44. See al-Barqī, pp. 136–138, no. 20–21. 45. One should not acquire the impression that the story about the mixture of the materials is an Imāmī innovation. It is also a common notion in the Zoroastrian tradition that refers to the state of things in this world as a mixture (in middle Persian gumēzishn) between the creations of Ohrmazd and Ahriman, see D. N. Mackenzie, “Gumēzišn,” EIR; also the Manichaean notion of creation as the result of the mixing of two eternal principles (light and shadow) was appealing to Muslim thinkers in the first centuries of Islam, see J. van Ess, The Flowering of Muslim Theology, pp. 24–25 and idem, Theologie und Gesellschaft im 2. und 3. Jahrhudert

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A simple reading of these traditions exposes us to the way an Imam increases the knowledge of a disciple with regard to cosmological questions. One’s impression is, however, that the disciple’s problem, as he describes it, is too well phrased to reflect an authentic appeal to the Imam. The disciple’s question and the Imam’s reply are too symmetrical to be merely an arbitrary account of an encounter. It is more likely that both the story told by the disciple as well as the Imam’s mythic explanation were carefully formulated to address the tension between doctrine and reality. But whatever the case, these traditions clearly demonstrate that this tension preoccupied the community and that there were doctrinal attempts to resolve it rather than deny it. Therefore, the report may be taken as emblematic rather than actual. Other traditions that tackle the same difficulty describe a somewhat different process of creation but still stress the mixture of the two opposite substances and its implications. According to the Imams al-Bāqir and al-Ṣādiq, God created earth and mud from which water flowed. God let this water flow on the earth for seven days and nights until it dried out. From the best part (ṣafwa) of this mud He took the substance of the Imams and from a lower part of this mud He took the substance of their offspring and the Shīʿa. At this point, although the substance of the Shīʿa was taken from a lower part, there was no difference between Imams and their followers. God, however, created salty earth on which He made salty water flow for seven days and nights until the water dried out. He then took from the worst part (ṣafwa)46 of this mud the substance of the infidel Imams [and apparently from a lower part the substance of their followers]. God mixed the substances of the Shīʿa and their enemies and then separated them by making the former destined for Paradise and the latter for Hell. This is the reason for the existence of ‘bad’ Shīʿīs — who are obviously inferior to their Imams — and ‘good’ enemies of the Shīʿa. This is also why the enemies of the Shīʿa perform fundamental religious duties such as the pilgrimage, alms-giving and other good deeds.47 Although the performance of religious duties by the enemies of the Shīʿa is depicted here as something positive, we will see below that it is nevertheless worthless since God does not accept it.

Hidschra. Eine Geschichte des religiösen Denkens im frühen Islam, vol. 1, (Berlin and New York, 1991), pp. 418–423. 46. The term ṣafwa is used in this tradition as the best part of the ‘good’ substance and the best part of the ‘bad’ and hence the translation ‘the worst’. 47. See al-Barqī, pp. 282–283, no. 413, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 253–254, no. 49.



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The myth of the mixture of the two substances is also a means to shape the hierarchy within the community: had the two not been mixed, Imams and followers would be equal (lakuntum antum wanaḥnu shayʾan wāḥidan).48 That the followers of the Imams are inferior since the substance used for their creation was in contact with that of their enemies is remarkable. This notion gives room for, and legitimizes the commonalities of the Shīʿa and their enemies by drawing a clear line between the two groups and the Imams. Although the Imams and the Shīʿa were created from the same mud, the dramatic mixing of the believers’ substance with the substance of infidels is something alien to the Imams but shared by believers and non-believers. The Imams are thus seen as pure and miraculous leaders (this also recalls the immunity from sin and error ascribed to them) whereas their followers and their enemies dwell in the realm of reality — where the line between good and evil is often blurred. In another version, ascribed to Muḥammad al-Bāqir, God created sweet and salty water from which He intended to create respectively Paradise and those who obey Him and Hell and those who disobey Him. Then God ordered them to be mixed and this is why a believer may give birth to an infidel and an infidel to a believer.49 It is interesting that according to this tradition the mixture affects the birth and depicts deviations from the rule as a born quality and not as an acquired behaviour. Moreover, this tradition regards ‘bad’ Shīʿīs and ‘good’ non-Shīʿīs as people who are no longer part of their original group, which is an alternative way of addressing the complexity of reality. According to al-Bāqir, if people were aware of this version of the beginning of creation, there would not be any dispute.50 Again, it can be seen that awareness of these primordial events and of cosmology provides, in the Imāmī outlook, the solution to the asymmetries and contradictions of this world. Things are the way they are for a reason and the seemingly disordered reality is in fact very well organized. The mythic cosmology expounded by the Imam is a clear indication of the disputes in reality between the Shīʿa and others over the right order of things. Between the lines, though, one can discern the 48. ibid. 49. See al-Barqī, p. 282, no. 412; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 252–253, no. 48 and with minor variations also in al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 3, pp. 6–7, no. 1; the creation of two seas, sweet and salty, and the creation of man from water is familiar from the Quran [25: 53–54, 27: 61 and 55: 19–20]. In the Quran, though, God separated the two seas with a barrier (barzakh) to prevent the mixture. It is likely, however, that where the two seas meet, a certain portion of each is mixed. This fits our context since it regards deviations from the rule — viz. a ‘bad’ Shīʿī and a ‘good’ non-believer — as marginal phenomena. 50. ibid.

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resonance of a hope for a different reality that would fit more smoothly with the glory of the mythic past.

III. Birth Myths By alluding to the mixture of the two seas, the previous tradition paves the way for a change of religious identity through the generations: Shīʿīs can give birth to infidels and vice-versa. This stands in contradiction to the perception of the elect as a closed exclusive group, which no one can join nor leave, and it is very hard to juxtapose it with the notions of creation from ‘a stored substance’ or with the covenant. It seems, however, that embracing the Shīʿī faith or leaving it in the favor of other branches of Islam were in reality not impossible and required doctrinal considerations. Such considerations find expression in two traditions that address the issue on two levels: the ontological and the legal. Combined, these two traditions provide an effective demonstration of how Shīʿī thought coped with the inevitable tension between theory and practice, doctrine and reality. To explain the ontological — that is, why there are differences in religious adherence within the family — the Imam resorts again to the supernatural. In fact, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq adds another layer to the tradition about the mixture of the seas that explains why religious identity is not necessarily inherited. This time he refers to a pre-birth miraculous process that takes place in this world and makes possible the conception of a believer by non-believers. According to him, when God desires to create a believer from an infidel parent, He sends an angel who lets a drop of water from the rain clouds fall over a leaf that one of the parents consumes prior to intercourse. The newborn believer is thus the outcome of this miracle.51 It is not surprising that a miracle is required to enable a deviation from the view based on mythic accounts of the Shīʿa as a closed community. Having clarified the miraculous circumstances under which such deviation is possible, al-Ṣādiq addresses the legal difficulties to which this situation gives 51. See al-Barqī, p. 138, no. 22; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, pp. 77–78, no. 4; this miraculous process is very similar to the one which, according to al-Ṣādiq, took place prior to the birth of his son, Mūsā al-Kāẓim and apparently of every Imam, see al-Barqī, pp. 314–315, no. 32, al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 1, pp. 385–386, no. 1, Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, pp. 440–442. The striking resemblance to the miraculous birth of Zoroaster as told in the Denkard is worth mentioning, see M. Boyce, A History of Zoroastrianism (Leiden, 1975), vol. 1, pp. 277–279; see also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, pp. 56–57.



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rise. As long as the believer’s seed is in his parent’s loins, the Imam states, no harm will befall him and this is the case from his birth until he reaches legal maturity. After that, one can implicitly deduce, he is no longer protected from the bad influence of his infidel parent.52

a. The Purity of Birth A considerable number of traditions (eleven) in Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma is devoted to the purity of birth (ṭīb al-mawlid) and impeccable lineage (nasab ṣaḥīḥ). Interestingly, these traditions refer to the stage of conception rather than birth. More concretely, they address the nature of the relationship between the parents. Although this is not explicitly stated, it appears that the concept of pure birth and lineage aims to present the Shīʿa as free of the offspring of illicit intercourse (walad zinā), a problem with which the Imāmī literature deals at length.53 It will be shown that the endeavour to depict the Shīʿa as a community protected against the results of this particular sin plays a major role in its portrayal as God’s elect. Obviously, the Imāmī preoccupation with the subject reflects the need to confront the fact that this community, like any other, is not immune to it. A pure birth and impeccable lineage are crucial as they dictate one’s fate in this world and the next. Like the substance from which one was created, they draw the line between the elect, who are necessarily characterized by these two facts, and the rest of humanity, who inevitably lack them. Theoretically, there is no room for flexibility and the two are sufficient to determine whether one belongs to the elect or not. The implications of a pure birth and impeccable lineage in this world are twofold. First, love for the family of the Prophet, i.e. the Imams, is a clear proof of a pure birth. Therefore, whoever finds out that he loves them, should praise God for what is called the first grace (probably because it was the first to be bestowed on man during his physical existence), that is, pure birth.54 Pure birth is thus a condition of loving the family of the Prophet, a fundamental tenet of the Shīʿī faith that guarantees inclusion among God’s elect. It is implicit, one can deduce, that those who do not share this characteristic have had an impure birth. The choice to present humanity as divided into the offspring 52. See al-Barqī, p. 138, no. 23. 53. See E. Kohlberg, “The Position of the walad zinā in Imāmī Shīʿism,” BSOAS 48 (1985), pp. 237–266, repr. in his Belief and Law, art. xi. 54. See al-Barqī, pp. 138–139, no. 24–26; traditions 25–26 are cited in Biḥār, vol. 25, p. 152, no. 22–23.

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of licit and illicit intercourse is remarkable and probably echoes the centrality of the issue in the society. On the face of it, by ascribing pure birth to all members of the Shīʿa, this point of view does not reveal the tension to which this delicate issue must have given rise within the Shīʿī community. However, since future, yet to be born believers can do nothing with this information, it may well be read as a warning against illicit intercourse to the living Shīʿa. Second, an impeccable descent guarantees loyalty to the Shīʿa even in cases when one’s behavior towards the Shīʿa is indicative of the very opposite. For instance, when a believer asks Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s advice following the unjust confiscation of his house, the Imam tells him to turn for help to his neighbours, who are apparently of the Shīʿa’s adversaries, simply because they have an impeccable lineage. When the believer tells his neighbours that Jaʿfar instructed him to ask for their help, they reply: “Even if we were not among Jaʿfar’s followers, we would be obliged to execute his request due to his impeccable lineage.”55 It is likely that these neighbours were in fact Shīʿīs practicing taqiyya to such a degree that they were regarded by their neighbours as antiShīʿīs. Their reference to Jaʿfar’s impeccable lineage as a sufficient reason for anyone to execute his orders — whether of his followers or not — may be read as a call to acknowledge the rights of the Prophet’s offspring. At any rate, the impeccable lineage is depicted in this tradition as a sort of social code that guarantees mutual trust and support. Another account along the same lines describes the journey of a Shīʿī from Iraq to see Imam al-Ṣādiq in Medina. During the long journey, his companion, a well-known adversary of the Shīʿa, turns out to be a most reliable person. Upon their arrival, this companion asks the Shīʿī man to ask for permission to meet his Imam and the latter, to the believer’s great joy, approves it and invites the two to dine at his house. Following the meal, the Imam shares with them some fundamental Shīʿī notions. The Shīʿī is so baffled by this that in the night that follows he can hardly sleep. First thing in the morning, he goes again to the Imam to find out why he exposed an enemy of the Shīʿa to such secret knowledge. The Imam calms him down and tells him that this person was of a good lineage (lahu aṣl) and therefore he may either accept the Imam’s teaching or, without harm to the Shīʿa, reject it. When the Shīʿī returned to Iraq he found out that his ex-companion had become a prominent supporter of the Shīʿī cause.56 The message of the story — a person, who according to Imāmī criteria is of good lineage, may embrace the Shīʿī faith. Hence, we 55. See al-Barqī, p. 140, no. 31; cited in Biḥār al-amwār, vol. 27, p. 153, no. 25. 56. See al-Barqī, pp. 140–141, no. 32; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, pp. 153–155, no. 26.



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are introduced to an additional way of explaining deviations from the strict concept of a hermetically closed community. Pure birth has two clear implications in the world to come. The first is that on the Day of Resurrection, all people will be called by their mothers’ names except the Shīʿīs, who will be called by the names of their fathers. This will be a paramount proof of the Shīʿī’s pure birth and impeccable lineage.57 The second is that all those whose birth is pure will enter Paradise.58 To conclude, let us examine a tradition directly addressing the possibility that a Shīʿī could be the offspring of illicit sexual intercourse. When asked for his opinion about a believer who is known as a walad zinā, Imam al-Bāqir declares that a house from ice will be built for him in Hell and his sustenance will be provided for him.59 As can be seen, not only does the Imam not deny this possibility, he also presents an ending in the afterlife for those belonging to this peculiar category of human beings.

IV. Election — Non-Mythic Propaganda Not all traditions in Kitāb al-maḥāsin that portray the Shīʿa as God’s elect do so by alluding to mythic or miraculous events. Some achieve the same purpose by presenting this notion to the reader in a direct, straightforward way, which lacks any sort of mythic contextualization. Naturally, these traditions form a part of the whole and were intended for an audience familiar with the mythic dimension. Nevertheless, they do justify a note as they represent a somewhat different and explicit line of propaganda whose principal target, so it seems, were the Shīʿa themselves. One of the questions addressed here revolves around the reasons for an internal propaganda within the community. In a chapter, whose title ‘There is nothing apart of God, His messenger and our party’ is indicative of the Shīʿī endeavour to undermine the legitimacy of anyone not included in this list, we find the following three traditions which are ascribed to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq:

57. See al-Barqī, pp. 141, no. 33–34; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 7, p. 240, no. 6–7. 58. See al-Barqī, pp. 139, no. 28–29; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 287, no. 10–11. 59. See al-Barqī, p. 149, no. 64; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 287, no. 12; the translation ‘ice’ is based on my reading of the word ṣadr as ṣabar. Following al-Majlisī’s interpretation of the word ṣadr as ‘the upper part of Hell’ where one’s suffering is apparently less horrible, he suggests that this word should be read as ṣabar; see in addition E. Kohlberg, “The Position of walad zinā,” pp. 262–263.

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1. “There is no one aside from us but you [the Shīʿa], indeed you are with us on the highest summit [of Paradise], therefore strive for the [highest] levels.”60 2. “Everything has an essential part (jawhar). The essential part of Adam’s offspring are Muḥammad, we [i.e. the Imams] and our party.”61 3. “You are the family of Muḥammad; you are the family of Muḥammad.”62 From the first tradition we learn that the only people who will get to reach the highest peak of Paradise are the Imams and their followers. Alongside the great affinity between the Imams and their followers that this tradition creates, it implicitly maintains the line that separates the two. The encouragement by the Imam to strive for the highest levels implies that while he, as well as his fellow Imams, is on the highest level of the highest peak, the believers still ought to make great efforts to be as close as possible to him. At the same time, the fact that there are various levels on the highest summit makes it clear that there is also a hierarchy of the ordinary believers (who are not Imams) among the elect and therefore a good reason to work hard in this life. As for the rest of mankind, its unequivocal exclusion from this noble status requires no further clarification. It is worth noting however, that the Imam here does not rule out the possibility that non-Shīʿīs will inhabit the lower levels of Paradise. The second tradition acknowledges the descent of all mankind — Shīʿīs and non-Shīʿīs alike — from Adam. That the Shīʿa see themselves as the essence and most important part of humanity does not set them apart as an entity nor does it necessarily have negative implications for other parts of humankind. On the contrary, it highlights the common origin of the elect and others, and addresses it through the creation of hierarchy between them. In the third tradition, the Imam says twice that the believers are the Prophet’s family. The impression is that the implications of kinship to the Prophet were clear and needed no elaboration by the Imam. In other words, the perception of election as an inherited quality and its consequences were common knowledge. Apparently, the one thing that was ambiguous and required an Imāmī clarification was the identity of the members of the Prophet’s family. 60. See al-Barqī, p. 142, no. 38; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, pp. 27–28, no. 5; my choice to understand the expression ‘the highest summit’ (al-sanām al-aʿlā) as referring to Paradise is based, in addition to the eschatological overtones of this tradition, on al-Majlisī’s interpretation of the term (on p. 28) as ‘the highest part of Paradise’ (aʿlā ʿilliyyīn). 61. See al-Barqī, p. 143, no. 39; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, pp. 27–28, no. 52. 62. See al-Barqī, p. 142, no. 39; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, pp. 27–28, no. 53.



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In another series of traditions, included under the chapters ‘You are the people of God’s religion’63 and ‘You believe in the truth and those who disagree with you believe in the false’,64 propaganda concerning the elect is based on a comparison between the faith of the elect and that of others. According to one of these traditions, what motivates Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq to utter traditions and give advice to the community of Shīʿī believers is their being ‘God’s army’ (jund Allāh) and that no adherents of any other faith truly worship God. The Imam instructs his followers to embrace their religion, not to spread it and at the same time not to deprive thereof those who belong to it. Had he deprived the believers in the religion, says al-Ṣādiq, he would be deprived of it.65 In addition to the exclusive status of the Shīʿa as God’s army and the only community that worships Him, they are entrusted with the delicate task of sharing their knowledge only with those entitled to it. In the Shīʿī view, the Imam would probably not instruct them to do this, unless he knew that they had the ability to recognize their fellow believers as well as their opponents. The strict dualistic attitude is further developed in the chapter ‘You believe in the truth and those who disagree with you believe in the false’. The first of the two traditions that make up the chapter ascribes to Imam Jaʿfar alṢādiq the declaration that constitutes the chapter’s title and which highlights a binary view of mankind. Following this, the Imam expresses his complete confidence in the fact that his followers will enter Paradise.66 The second tradition, on the authority of Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir, presents a more complex view of reality. According to al-Bāqir, anything true or right held by non-Shīʿīs must have originated from the family of the Prophet (ahl al-bayt, i.e. the Imams). He then goes on to state that ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib is the key and origin of any right judgment and correct legal ruling made by a non-Shīʿī. However, if such a person, due to some ambiguity, arrives at an erroneous conclusion, he himself is responsible for it and not ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.67 It is remarkable that al-Bāqir, perhaps in accordance with his view of the reality in 63. See al-Barqī, pp. 145–146, no. 52–53. 64. ibid., p. 146, no. 49–51. 65. ibid., pp. 145–146, no. 50; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 146, no. 13 and vol. 27, p. 183, no. 34; the tradition starts only after the Imam admits that at first he did not want to teach his audience. According to al-Majlisī, this was either due to an external threat (that required the practice of taqiyya) or something problematic in the audience itself. At any rate, al-Majlisī says, something in the circumstances changed and enabled the Imam to utter the tradition. 66. See al-Barqī, p. 146, no. 52; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 47, p. 342, no. 28 and vol. 65, p. 119, no. 46; cf. al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 7, p. 145, no. 119. 67. See al-Barqī, p. 146, no. 53; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 94, no. 31.

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his surroundings, does not rule out the possibility that non-Shīʿīs would stick to the truth or judge justly. This time the doctrinal explanation for a reality in which non-Shīʿīs are not always wrong focuses on the figures of ʿAlī and the other members of the family of the Prophet. They are the origin and source of any truth, their followers are likely to be closer to the truth, but those who do not follow them are not deprived of it. Referring to the Shīʿa as the only community that adheres to Abraham’s religion is another element in its depiction as God’s elect.68 The implications of this reference are significant: 1. The Shīʿa is the best of all sects (khayru al-firaq). 2. God will receive [good] deeds only from Shīʿīs. 3. God will forgive the sins of Shīʿīs alone. To conclude this section, let us briefly discuss the content of another relevant chapter from Kitāb al-ṣafwa, ‘The chapter of purification’ (tazkiya),69 in which the propaganda on the matter of the elect and their election finds its utmost expression. The chapter opens with a series of five traditions whose message can be summarized in the following manner: 1. The Shīʿīs acknowledge the Imams’ rights whereas others deny them. 2. The Shīʿīs love the Imams while others hate them. 3. The Shīʿīs maintain their connections with the Imams and others break theirs. 4. The Shīʿīs truly believe in God while others deny the true faith. An additional dimension to which the third of these traditions explicitly refers is the proportion of Shīʿīs in society. Imam Jaʿfar is quoted as saying: “You have acknowledged amidst many deniers and loved amidst many haters,” thereby highlighting this additional value of being part of a minority.70 This position is brought to the fore to a greater degree in the tradition that closes this chapter and is ascribed to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq: “I swear to God, you are light in the darknesses of the earth.”71

68. See al-Barqī, pp. 147–148, no. 54–57. 69. ibid., pp. 161–163, no. 107–112. 70. ibid., p. 162, no. 109; cf. Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, pp. 94–95, no. 56 (cited from the Quran commentary of al-ʿAyyāshī). 71. See al-Barqī, pp. 162–163, no. 112; cf. Quran 6:59, which is the apparent inspiration for the Imam’s choice of words ‘darknesses of the earth’ (ẓulumāt al-arḍ).



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V. Election Based on the Quran and its Interpretation It is not surprising that many traditions in Kitāb al-maḥāsin claim that the idea of the Shīʿa as God’s elect has already appeared in the Quran. One of the chapters of Kitāb al-ṣafwa is devoted to the Quranic verses that were revealed regarding the Shīʿa.72 The verses in this chapter that, according to Imāmī interpretation, express the idea of the Shīʿa’s election may be divided into two main groups: 1. Verses in which a universal statement is interpreted as sectarian. 2. Verses that refer to a certain group and the Imāmī addition is to determine that the group referred to in the Quran is the Shīʿa. Let us examine several examples of the first category: 1.a. “You [Iblīs] will have no power over My servants” [Q 15 : 42]. Jaʿfar alṢādiq explains the words ‘My servants’ as referring to ‘this group’ (hādhihi al-ʿiṣāba), that is, the Shīʿa. His disciple wants to know how this is possible in light of what this group consists of, apparently alluding to sins committed by members of the group, which he understands as resulting from the bad influence of Iblīs. The Imam replies that this is not what he meant, but rather that Iblīs is incapable of making members of the group love infidelity and hate belief.73 The conclusion is that sins by members of the Shīʿa are committed against their will and this does not alter their basic love of belief, which is beyond the reach of Iblīs. 1.b. “Those who believe and do good deeds are the best of creation” [Q 98 : 7]. Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir declares that this verse refers to Shīʿī believers exclusively.74 Some examples of the other type: 2.a. “Can those who know be equal to those who don’t know? Only those with understanding remember” [Q 39 : 9]. Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq interprets ‘those who know’ as the Imams, ‘those who don’t know’ as their enemies and the Shīʿa as those who have understanding.75

72. See al-Barqī, pp. 169–171, no. 134–140; cf. E. Kohlberg, “The Abū Baṣīr Tradition: Qurʾānic Verses on the Merits of the Shīʿa,” in Law and Tradition in Classical Islamic Thought: Studies in Honor of Professor Hossein Modarressi (eds M. Cook, N. Haider, I. Rabb and A. Sayeed; New York, 2013), pp. 3–19. 73. See al-Barqī, p. 171, no. 137; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, p. 94, no. 36. 74. See al-Barqī, p. 171, no. 140. 75. ibid., pp. 169–170, no. 134–135.

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2.b. “Every soul is held responsible for its deeds, except the companions of the right” [Q 74 : 38-39]. The ‘companions of the right’, according to Muḥammad al-Bāqir, are the Shīʿa.76 The verses dealt with in this chapter are not the only ones for which the Imams provide an exclusive interpretation and it is hard to tell what the rationale behind their inclusion in this chapter was. One possible explanation is the explicit reference in these verses to groups of people, which the Imams, without commenting on the characteristics ascribed to each group, interpret at times as the Shīʿa and at others as their enemies. In other verses (not included in this chapter) that the Imams interpret as referring to the election of the Shīʿa, the sectarian message becomes obvious only following the Imam’s exposure of a hidden meaning. Thus, the terms ‘ease’ (yusr) and ‘hardship’ (ʿusr) of Quran 2 : 185, which are normally associated with the performance of religious duties (in this particular verse, fasting in Ramadan), are interpreted by Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq as loyalty (walāya) and opposition (khilāf) to the Imams. The same approach is employed with the verbs ‘to be guided to the right path’ (ihtadā) and ‘to guide to the right path’ (hadā) in Quran 20 : 82 and 2 : 185, which, according to the Imam, should be understood as referring to the Shīʿī duty of loyalty to the Imams (walāya).77 Another interesting example is Muḥammad al-Bāqir’s commentary on Quran 28 : 88 “Everything will perish except His face.” Being aware of the problems that arise when the word ‘face’ (wajh) is attributed to God, he explains it as “His religion and the side (wajh) from which it is approached.”78 This interpretation paves the way for the commentary of his son, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, on the same verse. According to the latter, everything will perish “excluding those who chose the path on which you [the Shīʿīs] are.”79 Evidently, this interpretation implies that Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq understands perishing as something other than dying, as consignment to Hell rather than Paradise. The reason for depicting fundamental Quranic concepts as exclusive is twofold: on the one hand it anchors the elevated status of the Shīʿa in the divine revelation, on the other, it clarifies that the key to a true understanding of the scripture are the Imams. 76. ibid., p. 171, no. 139. 77. ibid., p. 142, no. 35–36. 78. ibid., pp. 218–219, no. 116. 79. ibid., p. 199, no. 30; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, p. 95, no. 39 and vol. 24, p. 201, no. 34; cf. al-Barqī, p. 219, no. 117, where Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq says that everything will perish “except those who chose the path of the truth”; cf. tradition 118 on the same page, where al-Ṣādiq explains the word ‘face’ as referring to obedience to God, His messenger and the family of the messenger. i.e. the Imams.



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VI. Election and the Performance of Religious Duties As detailed in the chapter on al-Barqī’s life and work, Kitāb al-maḥāsin contains a considerable number of legal traditions that describe the manner in which believers ought to perform a variety of religious duties, often down to the minutest details. Two sub-books of the work are devoted to the reward and punishment for one’s deeds (thawāb and ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl), other parts to the reasons behind legal duties (al-ʿilal), to the desired characteristics of water used for ablution (al-māʾ), or foodstuffs (al-maʾākil). In fact, the titles of most parts of the extant version of al-Maḥāsin — although they contain also non-legal traditions — are indicative of the great importance ascribed to legal matters among the elect. In what follows, we will examine how emphasis on the performance of religious duties is relevant to the notion of election. The tension caused by the juxtaposition of the notion of election and the duty to perform so many religious duties is one of the issues to be addressed. In a tradition ascribed to the sixth Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, he cites the Prophet who attributes to God the statement that the preferable way for man (ʿabd, lit. ‘servant’) to be loved by Him is by performing His duties. When God loves someone, He becomes his hearing and seeing senses, the tongue with which he speaks, the hand with which he grasps things and the leg with which he walks. At this state, God answers man whenever he calls Him and fulfils all his requests.80 Two main motives stand behind the choice to begin the discussion with this tradition. First, it places the performance of religious duties very high — it is the best way to acquire God’s love and reach intimacy with Him. Second, the use of the universal term ‘man’ (ʿabd) raises questions with regard the identity of this individual — can this tradition be understood as referring not only to the elect, but rather to any human being who performs God’s duties? Both Muslim and non-Muslim scholars have pointed out the similarity between the Shīʿa and the rest of the Islamic world in what concerns the performance of religious duties. Except for some marginal differences, Muslims of various sectarian adherences perform the same religious duties. The difference between the Shīʿa and other Muslims in daily life and practice may hence be reduced to a minimum and at times disappear altogether. This, of course, results in an evident contradiction with the notion of an elect community and gives rise to numerous questions. The Shīʿī response to this difficulty revolves around the different values given to the same religious duties when performed 80. See al-Barqī, p. 291, no. 443; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 67, p. 22, no. 21.

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by the elect and by others. As we have already seen in other contexts, despite the dualistic attempt to colour reality as black and white, the Shīʿī tradition gives considerable room for grey, which seems to be a genuine reflection of reality. One of the rituals in which the resemblance between performers of the same duties reaches its peak is the pilgrimage to Mecca. The difficulty that this resemblance raises is discussed in a number of traditions whose message is clear: a pilgrimage performed by other Muslims is not equal to that performed by a Shīʿī.81 When during the circumambulation of the Kaʿba a believer turns Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s attention to the great number of pilgrims, the Imam responds: “No one performs the pilgrimage but you [i.e. the Shīʿīs].”82 The distinction between the value of a duty when performed by a Shīʿī and its worthlessness when carried out by a non-Shīʿī is not restricted to the pilgrimage, it covers all religious duties: “Had people seen the deeds returned from Heaven, they would say: God does not accept anyone’s deeds.”83 According to this perception, God only accepts a very small portion of the deeds performed by mankind, that of the elect minority. In reality, however, God’s rejection of the majority of the deeds of His believers is unseen and thus the performance of equal duties by Shīʿīs and others is a fertile ground for speculations about God’s preferences. The Imam’s choice of words, although made for rhetorical purposes, may still tell one something about the Shīʿī perception of their numbers — a tiny minority — in relation to the Muslim population as a whole. The value of religious duties is strongly related to another central concept in Shīʿī terminology, that of ʿaql.84 Let us follow Amir-Moezzi’s observation in the introductory chapter of his Divine Guide, that the translation of this delicate term is context-dependent,85 and leave it for a moment in its original Arabic form. According to a tradition ascribed to the Prophet, negligence in performing fundamental religious duties by the ʿāqil (that is, he who has ʿaql) is more valuable than their performance by the jāhil: sleeping by the former is better than the latter’s waking up for prayer, eating of the former is better than the latter’s fasting and so on. Moreover, cumulatively the deeds of all men do

81. See al-Barqī, p. 145, no. 49 and pp. 167–168, no. 125–128. 82. ibid., no. 49; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 183, no. 35. 83. See al-Barqī, p. 132, no. 4; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 73, no. 44. 84. On this term and its antonym, jahl, see M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, s.v. ʿaql and jahl. The two are discussed also in the following chapter, ‘Predestination and its deterministic and dualistic implications’. 85. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, pp. 6–7.



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not equal those of the ʿāqil.86 This attitude clearly sets the ʿaql as a condition for any religious deed to be of value and the implicit message is that such a condition is the privilege of the elect exclusively. Although the possession of ʿaql marks the line that separates those whose deeds are valuable from the others, one should not get the impression that all those who possess it are equal. Numerous traditions clarify the point that people have varying degrees of ʿaql and that God judges them accordingly.87 It seems then that a bare minimum of ʿaql is the dividing line between ʿāqil and jāhil, separating the elect, despite their internal variety, from the rest of mankind. In this context, the term clearly contains both its all-Islamic meaning as ‘the faculty of religious good direction’88 — without which any deed loses its value — and its Imāmī depiction as a condition for inclusion in the elect. This attitude is further elaborated when a believer, bewildered by the Quranic verse 5 : 27 “God only accepts from those who are mindful of Him,” asks Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq for a commentary. What baffles the believer is that God might not accept the prayers and fasting of all Muslims. The Imam makes it very clear that God only accepts the deeds of those, who in addition to religious practice, also ‘know’. By determining that none of the deeds of a well-known non-Shīʿī ascetic will be accepted, the Imam leaves very little doubt as to the meaning of ‘know’.89 Alongside the strict approach that devalues the deeds of those not included in the Shīʿa, we find a moderate position that recognizes the performance of religious duties by people “who do not know but do not oppose the Shīʿa.” Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq maintains that God, due to His mercy, will let people of this category who fast, pray, refrain from forbidden things and fear God enter Paradise.90 It is unclear whether, according to the Imam, such people deserve to enter Paradise or if they will get there only because God pities them. Nevertheless, that according to al-Ṣādiq not all non-Shīʿīs are doomed is remarkable and signifies a deviation from the strictly dualistic worldview 86. See al-Barqī, pp. 193–194, no. 11; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 1, pp. 91–92, no. 1. 87. See al-Barqī, pp. 193-194, tradition no. 11, where it is stated that prophets and messengers have ʿaql worthier than that of their nations; see in addition al-Barqī, p. 195, no. 16, where we are taught that on the Day of Judgment God will judge people according to the quantity of ʿaql He gave them. The evident implications of this perception on man’s free will are discussed in the next chapter. 88. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 7. 89. See al-Barqī, p. 168, no. 129; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 185, no. 42; cf. al-Barqī, p. 168, no. 130, where Imam al-Bāqir states that no matter how many good deeds one makes, if he hates the Imams, God will reject all of them. 90. See al-Barqī, p. 158, no. 94; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 183, no. 36 and vol. 69, pp. 162–163, no. 19.

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that characterizes the entire text in the direction of an ecumenical approach allowing for more than one school of thought. This balanced approach may well be reflective of the Imāmī desire to accommodate the fundamental notion of election with their actual need to integrate in their Sunni surroundings. It also gives expression to the believer’s inevitable admiration of the piousness displayed by his fellow-Muslims, regardless of the particular sectarian adherence. After all, practicing Shīʿīs must have been well aware of how hard it is to fast, to wake up for prayer in the middle of the night and in general to observe all the divine commandments.

VII. Death Myths Like creation and birth, death too is the universal fate of any living creature. Let us explore the way Imāmī traditions depict it in partisan terms — drawing again a clear line between the death of the elect and of others — and turn it into a significant exclusive characteristic of the Shīʿa. A study of traditions that deal with death in al-Barqī’s text gives the impression that, above all, it is the universal dimension of death that preoccupied the Shīʿī community. At the background of these traditions echoes the non-asked question: how can it be that death strikes Shīʿīs and non-Shīʿīs alike? The motivation behind the composition of these traditions, however, could not be regarded as purely sectarian and they must be seen as reflective of the human need for guidance and advice vis-à-vis one of life’s most difficult and enigmatic moments. That everyone dies is undeniable and it would seem pointless to argue otherwise. Being aware of this fact, in a tradition attributed to him, Imam Jaʿfar alṢādiq places the stress on God’s particular approach towards the death of the believer. According to al-Ṣādiq, God loves the believer so much, that if there had been only one believer on earth, He would prefer him over the entirety of His creation. God is thus torn between His desire to meet the believer and the latter’s unwillingness to die. Al-Ṣādiq presents this state as one of the hardest God has to face and in the light of this tremendous difficulty, He decides to postpone the believer’s death.91 This depiction of God experiencing difficulties carrying out His decision, may hinder to some degree His omniscience or limit His omnipotence, but this seems of little relevance to the utterer of this 91. See al-Barqī, pp. 159–160, no. 99–100; tradition 99 is cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 160, no 24 and vol. 64, p. 66, no. 23; tradition 100 is cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 160, no. 25 and vol. 64, pp. 148–149, no. 6.



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tradition.92 Its principal purpose is to highlight the strong bond between the believer and God and portray the believer’s death in a unique way, which, as the reader may deduce, is entirely different from the death of the unbeliever. Another way of confronting the difficulty that death’s universalism poses is by ascribing to members of the elect community a different, exclusive feeling at the very moment of dying — that of deep joy and gratitude (ightibāṭ).93 For both Sunnis and Shīʿīs death is a step towards the Hereafter, where all difficulties will be swept away and replaced by the true, long-awaited order. Eschatological predictions regarding one’s fate in the afterlife are common in religious discourse and clearly set death as a relative rather than a complete end. Nevertheless, stressing the unique feeling of the elect at the moment of their dying — although, as we will see, it is related to events taking place after death — seems like a doctrinal attempt to provide the believer with a remedy against this inevitable, universal doom already in this life. Worthy of note is that the feeling of every individual at the moment of his death is something personal that can only be experienced by the dying person. In this sense, the moment of death, although taking place in this world, is a fertile ground for the development of myths that can be neither corroborated nor proved to be erroneous by the living believer. The reason for the believer’s profound joy at the moment of his death is quite simple: “Death is the only thing standing between him and seeing what will please him.”94 When the believer’s last hour arrives, but still before passing away — at this stage of transition between the world of the living and the world of the dead — he sees all the things he yearned for during his life and simultaneously he leaves behind him all the things of which he was afraid. This privilege derives directly from the fact that the believer had been following the true Imam.95 That this occurrence takes place in a transitional state is further stressed by the fifth Imam, Muḥammad al-Bāqir, who is said 92. Al-Majlisī, who was apparently aware of this difficulty, suggests the following compromise: God does not postpone the death of the believer, but rather grants him things that will never perish (i.e. the afterlife) see Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 160. 93. See the chapter that al-Barqī devotes to this phenomenon (bāb al-ightibāṭ ʿinda al-wafāt), pp. 174–178, no. 152–162. Some of my observations regarding this phenomenon as well as the legal status of the dying believer (i.e. martyrdom) which is discussed below appeared also in R. Vilozny “The Ambivalent Shiʿi Attitude towards Martyrdom” in Martyrdom and Sacrifice in Islam: Theological Political and Social Contexts (eds M. Hatina and M. Litvak) (London, 2017), pp. 39-51. 94. See al-Barqī, p. 174, no. 152; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 187, no. 22 and vol. 68, p. 183, no. 42. 95. See al-Barqī, p. 174, no. 152.

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to have preached that the Shīʿī believer “will be happiest about that in which he believed at the threshold of the Hereafter, when this world will already be cut off from him. At this limit, he will know that he is bound for Paradise and safe from all the things that he used to dread. He will know for sure that what he believed in was the truth and everyone who opposed him was erroneous and will perish.”96 Both traditions depict the joy at the moment of death as a reward for the believer’s adherence to his faith until the last moment on the one hand, and as a proof for the veracity of his faith on the other. The relationship between the joy the believer experiences at the moment of dying and the truthfulness of his faith is interestingly expressed in a tradition that describes ʿUqba b. Khālid97 and Muʿallā b. Khunays98 visiting Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq. A discussion starts when the Imam states that on the Day of Judgment, God will not accept from people anything but that in which the two believe, that is, the Shīʿī faith. According to him, death is the only thing standing between the believers and seeing all the things that will please them. At this point in the discussion, Muʿallā urges ʿUqba to ask the Imam about the things that the believer sees on his death. ʿUqba repeats this question more than a dozen times but the Imam refrains from elaborating on the point. When, finally, ʿUqba breaks into tears and reveals his tremendous fear of death, the Imam tells him that the believer sees the messenger of God and ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib and that the believer’s soul leaves his body only after this encounter. Surprisingly, ʿUqba wants to know whether after this encounter the believer will come back to this world. To this the Imam gives a negative reply, affirming that the believer continues onwards, apparently to the Hereafter.99 Before discussing the last part of this tradition, it is worth devoting a few words to ʿUqba’s ‘naive’ question regarding the believer’s destination following the encounter with Muḥammad and ʿAlī. For ʿUqba, so it seems, what may really please the believer after death and following this encounter is coming back to this world rather than enjoying the pleasures of the Hereafter. This question genuinely reflects the gulf between the natural human fear of death and its perception as a bitter universal fate and the Shīʿī doctrinal endeavour 96. ibid., pp. 177–178, no. 162; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 187, no. 22 and vol. 68, p. 183, no. 42. 97. Known as ʿUqba al-Asadī, he transmitted traditions of Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, pp. 388–389. 98. Non-Arab Kufan, resided in Medina and served as Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s assistant. Muʿallā was executed following the Abbasid revolution in 132/750, see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, p. 326; see also J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, pp. 320–321. 99. See al-Barqī, pp. 175–176, no. 158; quoted in Biḥār, vol. 7, p. 185, no. 20.



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to reshape it as a desirable destiny which believers should be looking forward to. Furthermore, the impression one gains is that although human weakness vis-à-vis mortality contradicts the doctrine of joy, it nourishes this doctrinal endeavour, which, in addition to its clear partisan message, serves a therapeutic purpose. That ʿUqba had to reiterate his question so many times brings to the fore another interesting aspect of the Shīʿī notion of death — that it has aspects which belong to the esoteric dimension of the faith and the Imam does not readily reveal them even to close disciples. Alternately, if we doubt the authenticity of the framing story, ʿUqba’s insistence on getting an answer may be seen as a simple literary device for creating a dramatic denoument and depicting the Imam’s message as so secret that the reader necessarily concludes that it must be true. Let us now turn to the content of this significant encounter. According to al-Ṣādiq, the Apostle of God and ʿAlī approach the dying believer, the former sits next to his head and the latter next to his feet. The Apostle of God then says to him: “O God’s beloved, rejoice, I am the Apostle of God and I am better for you than the world you are about to leave.” At his turn, ʿAlī says to the believer: “O God’s beloved, rejoice, I am ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib whom you loved and I shall be of benefit to you.” Finally, the Imam tells his disciples that this situation is anchored in God’s holy book. ʿUqba asks the Imam for the exact reference and he directs him to Surat Yūnus ( Jonah) and recites verses 63–64: “For those who believe and are conscious of God, for them there is good news in this life and in the Hereafter — there is no changing the promises of God– that is truly the supreme triumph.”100 Another aspect of death, which is discussed in many traditions, is the implications of the manner in which one dies for one’s fate in the afterlife. The main problem that seemed to preoccupy the community concerned the circumstances under which death can be considered as martyrdom (shahāda) and the dead person a martyr (shahīd). Traditions that deal with shahāda maintain that a Shīʿī believer dies as martyr or shahīd if he “[dies] while believing in this matter,”101 ‘this matter’ being the Shīʿī faith. This, says Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, is so “even if he died in his bed,” as he will then be considered to be “alive with his Lord, [and] well provided for.”102 Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq paraphrases 100. See al-Barqī, pp. 175–176, no. 158. 101. ibid., pp. 172–74, no. 144–151. 102. ibid., p. 164, no. 116; for Sunni interpretations of Q 3: 169 and especially whether the adjective ‘alive’ should be understood as referring to both body and soul or only to soul, see Kohlberg, “Martyrdom and Self-Sacrifice in Classical Islam,” Peʿamim 75 (1998), pp. 6–13 (in Hebrew) and idem, “Medieval Muslim Views on Martyrdom,” Mededelingen der Koninklijke

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part of Quran 3 : 169 by referring to “those who have been killed in God’s way”; in doing so, he proclaims that every person who dies believing in ‘this matter’ achieves the status of a shahīd killed during jihād. Similarly, when a disciple of al-Ṣādiq asks him to pray to God so that He may grant him the noble shahāda, the Imam answers: “The believer is a shahīd wherever he dies” and, again, recites Quran 3 : 169.103 In another tradition, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq determines that whoever dies “while believing in this matter” is equal to anyone “who fights in the way of God.”104 As long as the person belongs to the Shīʿa, he is a shahīd, whether “he was devoured by a wild beast, burned in a fire, drowned or killed.”105 Interestingly, in this tradition the Imam preaches that the manner in which a person dies “will not harm him,” as he will anyway be a shahīd. The choice of wording, common in the Shīʿī tradition, is not fortuitous and clearly reflects the fear of dying a natural death, i.e. of not dying a glorious death on the battlefield, and thus being deprived of its rewards. In the context of the present discussion one should bear in mind that for several generations, and mainly during the Abbasid period in which al-Barqī compiled Kitāb al-maḥāsin, the Shīʿīs were a persecuted minority. Adhering to one’s faith under such circumstances, which occasionally demanded practicing taqiyya, must have meant being engaged in an ongoing struggle — or, in Arabic, in jihād.106 Moreover, advocating such quietist interpretation of jihād rather than a jihād involving physical fighting was necessary for the sect’s survival, as shall be seen below. The third Imam, Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, also said that anyone who dies believing in the Shīʿī faith is a shahīd.107 Upon a disciple’s enquiry about whether this is true, in spite of the fact that most Shīʿīs die a natural death, Ḥusayn presents a somewhat different argument. According to him, if only individuals dying while performing active jihād were to be considered martyrs (shuhadāʾ, the plural of shahīd), their numbers would be small. He bases his argument on Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen 60 (1997), pp. 281–307, see also Kohlberg’s entry “Shahīd,” in EI². 103. See al-Barqī, p. 164, no. 117. 104. ibid., p. 164, no. 119; see also p. 174, no. 150, where the dying believer is compared to someone fighting with his sword, following the path of God. 105. ibid. 106. For more on the Shīʿī (and Sunni) view that jihād does not necessarily mean physical fighting in the battlefield, see E. Kohlberg, “The Development of the Imāmī-Shīʿī Doctrine of jihād,” ZDMG 126 (1976), pp. 66–67, repr. in his Belief and Law, art. xv. 107. See al-Barqī, p. 163–164, no. 115.



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verse 19 of Surat al-ḥadīd (57 : 19): “Those who believe in God and His messengers are the truthful ones who will bear witness before their Lord,” where shuhadāʾ may indeed be interpreted as all Shīʿī believers. The disciple, who was of course familiar with this verse, was so surprised by the Imam’s interpretation that he said: “It was as if I had never read this verse before.”108 In fact, Qurʾan commentators have devoted considerable discussion to the ambiguity of the meaning of shahīd in this verse. There are two major difficulties. First, should the word shuhadāʾ be connected to the first part of the verse, according to which those who believe in God and his messengers become shuhadāʾ when they die? And second, does the word shuhadāʾ in this context mean martyrs, or does it refer to all those who bear witness that there is no God save the One God and that Muḥammad is the Apostle of God (i.e. the term shahīd is used with reference to the first pillar of Islam, al-shahāda)?109 Interestingly, for Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī — himself the ultimate, heroic shahīd — the word shuhadāʾ is clearly connected to the first part of the verse and its meaning in this context is indeed martyrs. As we said, for Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, the Shīʿī believer earns the status of shahīd when he dies, regardless of the mode of his death. His claim that were only those who die while performing jihād to become shuhadāʾ, their number would be small seems slightly odd in view of the mythic nature of Ḥusayn’s own heroic death as a shahīd at the battle of Karbala. These concepts are developed further in other traditions according to which “whoever dies while believing in this matter” is equal not only to someone who “fights in the way of God,” but also to “those who died as shahīds together with the Apostle of God” — clearly the highest form of jihād one could wish for, even higher than fighting alongside the Qāʾim (the awaited messianic saviour) when he appears.110 To better understand Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s line of thinking, let us now take a closer look at another tradition attributed to him: “The person who dies [while believing] in this matter of ours has the same standing as the one who sets his tent next to that of the Qāʾim [in battle], and as the one who fights side by side with him, and as the one who dies as a martyr alongside the Apostle of God.”111 In another version of this narrative the Imam remains silent for a while between his description of the various 108. ibid. 109. See for example the exegetic discussion in al-Qurṭubī, al-Jāmiʿ li-aḥkām al-Qurʾān (Beirut, 1994–1995), vol. 9, pp. 228–229; see also E. Kohlberg, EI², s.v. “Shahīd.” 110. See al-Barqī, pp. 172–173, no. 144–147, 149, 151. 111. ibid., p. 173, no. 145.

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degrees of martyrdom, thus creating tension and increasing the listener’s/ reader’s curiosity.112 Messianic expectations of the Qāʾim’s return and a commitment to stand by him in battle are also considered prominent forms of jihād. Through a tradition ascribed to the fifth Imam, Muḥammad al-Bāqir, one is also given a fleeting glimpse of the atmosphere among Shīʿīs at the time, or at least of the way it was perceived retrospectively. A devoted believer tells al-Bāqir that he and other fellow believers “left their markets,” that is, they discontinued their commercial activities, since they were expecting ‘this thing’ — apparently a reference to the expected return of the Qāʾim.113 Some believers must have felt that his return was so near at hand since they actually abandoned everything else and prepared to join him on the battlefield. For some of them, as the tradition clearly asserts, this act of withdrawal from commercial life led to such utter financial disaster that they literally had to beg for money.114 Muḥammad al-Bāqir’s initial reaction to the story is to reassure the believer that God will surely provide a solution for those who devoted their lives to Him and to the Shīʿī cause. Then, the Imam uses the following words to comfort the believer, who is worried about the possibility that he will not live long enough to stand on the side of the Qāʾim: “Those among you who say: ‘If I live long enough [to see the return of ] the Qāʾim, I will support him’ are equal to those who fight for him with their sword; and he who dies as a shahīd while fighting for him, receives [a reward equal to] two shahādas.”115 It does not matter if the person committing himself to support the Qāʾim dies before his return; what matters is the expectation of his return and the commitment to stand at his side. It is clear from this discourse that leading the believers to holy war was a role reserved exclusively to the Qāʾim rather than the current Imam. This coincides with the fact that it was only during the greater occultation of the twelfth Imam (during the second half of the fourth/tenth century and long after al-Barqī’s death) that the two characters, the Qāʾim and the hidden Imam, were merged to form a single messianic figure.116 Although the concept of shahāda may be seen as encouraging physical jihād among the Shīʿīs, the traditions discussed above, while portraying shahāda as a positive value, do offer the believer an alternative means of 112. See for example ibid, p. 174, no. 151. 113. ibid., p. 173, no. 147. 114. ibid. 115. ibid. 116. See S. A. Arjomand, “Imam Absconditus and the Beginnings of Theology of Occultation,” pp. 10–11.



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achieving martyrdom: adherence to the Shīʿī faith. By doing so one reaches the highest level of jihād, just as if one had died fighting alongside the Qāʾim or the Apostle of God. These traditions, in which spiritual or intellectual jihād is on equal terms with physical jihād, appear to be typical of an attitude advocating a policy of quietism (quʿūd). Whether it is achieved on the battlefield or on a peaceful deathbed, shahāda resembles other Shīʿī concepts in its dualistic division of the world into believers and non-believers. On the one hand, any Shīʿī believer who adheres to his faith can achieve the special status of shahāda. On the other, non-Shīʿīs cannot achieve it, even if they die while taking part in physical jihād on the battleground. When people killed in war are mentioned in Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s presence, he says: “What profit will they get out of it? They only hasten their death in this world and in the Hereafter. I swear by God, that there are no shahīds but the members of our Shīʿa, even those among them who die in their beds.”117 Between the lines of this tradition, one can discern a feeling that it was those who died in battle who were seen generally speaking as the true — maybe also the only — martyrs. In such a climate, the value of martyrdom achieved by Shīʿīs who do not die in combat was probably questionable. Had this not been the case, the Imam would have had no reason to declare falling in battle to be meaningless. The Imam’s attempt to minimize the value of active fighting seems to reflect the difficulty of maintaining a quietist attitude in a turbulent environment. To conclude the discussion of death as a fundamental component of the elect community, let us examine a series of traditions that set the acknowledgement of the Imam at the moment of passing away as a condition for a licit form of death. These traditions teach that whoever dies without acknowledging his Imam dies a pagan death, that of disbelief (mīta jāhiliyya).118 That the Shīʿī principle of loyalty to the Imam is regarded as a criterion differentiating believers from unbelievers is not so surprising. After all, this has been the core issue of the split in the Islamic community and it is only natural that adoption or rejection of the Shīʿī point of view on that matter would draw a line between the two groups. Of more relevance for the present discussion is why adopting this principle while dying is so important. 117. See al-Barqī, p. 164, no. 118. 118. Another circumstance that can bring about an illicit death or mīta jāhiliyya is the proximity of impure animals to the dead during the preparation of the body for burial and the funeral, see Amālī al-Ṣadūq (Beirut, 1990), pp. 106–107, where this was the fate of a companion of the Prophet (Khālid b. Yazīd al-Bajalī) who refused to acknowledge ʿAlī’s right to the caliphate despite his presence at the Ghadīr Khumm event.

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Imam al-Ṣādiq’s juxtaposition of the following two principles may elucidate, to a certain degree, the importance of this timing. According to him — and in accordance with one of the central tenets of the Shīʿī faith — the earth cannot function properly unless there is an Imam present in it. Thus, al-Ṣādiq states, whoever dies without acknowledging the Imam [of his time] dies as a pagan.119 The conclusion that one is expected to draw is that as long as the earth exists, there must be an Imam upon it and recognizing him is obligatory. Al-Ṣādiq then adds that people will be in the greatest need to acknowledge the Imam at their death, because they will be able to say: “Indeed, I have believed in a good thing.”120 Like joy at the moment of death, the great value of acknowledging the Imam when dying is an individual experience. The living can never know what it is like to die while acknowledging the Imam and therefore, as in the case of joy, it enabled the development of a variety of myths. Between the lines of this tradition, one can read how difficult, and at times probably confusing, it must have been to adhere to the Shīʿī Imam. Being a Shīʿī devotee did not make life any easier and the great reward for acknowledging the Imam rarely materialized in this world. The paramount proof of having chosen the right path would take place in the mythic realm of the moment of dying and — as with joy and gratitude — would affect the dead exclusively. Before examining how eschatological traditions contribute to the depiction of the Shīʿa as God’s elect, let us see how this is manifested during the final stage of life in this world — the funeral. When the Apostle of God saw four black men carrying a dead person he asked them to lower him, revealed his face and asked whether someone knew the deceased. ʿAlī told the Apostle of God that he knew him and that it was a slave of the tribe of Banū Riyāḥ who used to tell ʿAlī whenever he saw him: “I swear to God, I love you.” When the Apostle of God heard that, he said: “Whoever loves you is a believer and whoever hates you is a nonbeliever, seventy thousand companies of angels accompany him, each company in turn consisting of seventy thousand companies.” Muḥammad then removed the dead man’s tattered clothes, washed him and prayed over him.121 The social dimension here — being a slave — is recruited to further highlight the notion discussed above, according to which one’s relationship with the Imam is a sufficient condition for inclusion in or exclusion from the community of the faithful. Although this is not explicitly 119. See al-Barqī, p. 154, no. 79 and p. 92, no. 46 (from ‘The book of the punishment for [evil] deeds’); cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 23, p. 76, no. 2. 120. See al-Barqī, p. 154, no. 79 and p. 92, no. 46. 121. ibid., pp. 150–151, no. 70; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 39, p. 254, no. 25.



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stated in the tradition, from the fact that the four carriers of the dead were black, one can deduce that ethnicity is of little significance as well.

VIII. Eschatological Myths As in the accounts describing the creation and the covenant, the existence of the soul independently from the body is also vital for the portrayal of the Shīʿa as the elect in the world to come. The absence of a tangible body — either because it was not yet created or because it has died, decayed and has not yet been resurrected — is the common denominator of both these mythic eras. Another element common to accounts depicting them is the lack of clear chronology or order, which hinders any attempt at a coherent view of events taking place in the Hereafter. Broadly speaking and despite this limitation, one can detect four main consecutive stages in the eschatological era: 1. The time between death and Resurrection 2. Resurrection 3. The Day of Judgment 4. Following the Day of Judgment

a. The Time between Death and Resurrection Interestingly, in the tradition that opens the chapter devoted to the souls of the believers (bāb arwāḥ al-muʾminīn)122 Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq refers to the relationship between sleeping and death. According to him, whenever a believer falls asleep, God raises his soul up to Himself. The souls of those whose time to die has come are transferred to Paradise, whereas the other souls are sent back to the believers’ bodies accompanied by the most trustworthy angels.123 The existence of the soul independent of the body is thus a phenomenon not restricted to the time before creation and after death, but rather is an integral part of one’s daily routine. The daily separation of the soul from the body may be very brief, in which case the two reunite when one wakes up. Alternatively, in the case of death, the separation lasts until the Day of Resurrection. At any rate, the perception is that this separation is only temporary. This is also the status of the soul before the creation of the body — the souls are already in existence and are waiting to be united with their bodies. It seems that the 122. See al-Barqī, p. 178, no. 163–165. 123. ibid., no. 163; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 234, no. 47 and vol. 58, pp. 165–166, no. 15.

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only lasting state is the one of the unity of body and soul which will follow the Resurrection, given that those who shall reach this state shall not sleep. In accordance with the view of death as an entry into the realm of the unknown, we are not told what exactly the souls experience when they are raised up to God. Nevertheless since, unlike death, sleep is a recurring experience familiar to all, the comparison between the two may also derive from the endeavour to shed light on the enigmatic long-lasting sleep that is death. In the second tradition of the same chapter, Imam al-Ṣādiq describes how the souls of the believers meet, question one another and get to know each other in a very peaceful ambiance.124 Although it is not explicitly stated, my impression is that this description refers to the souls of the dead rather than of the sleeping. The encounter between the souls is so intimate that they can actually recognize one another. Clearly, the emphasis in this tradition is on the communal aspect, maintaining the image of the elect community as characterized by strong social bonds and solidarity. In the third and last tradition, Imam al-Ṣādiq is asked about the whereabouts of the believers’ souls. This time, it is obvious that in his reply the Imam is referring to the period following death. He portrays figuratively the manner in which the souls spend the time until the Resurrection. The souls, says al-Ṣādiq, are in rooms in Paradise where they eat the food and drink the beverages of Paradise and pay visits to each other (again — the social aspect). The souls turn to God and ask Him to make the hour of Resurrection come so that He fulfils what He promised them.125 In the second part of this tradition, the Imam is asked about the souls of unbelievers. Not surprisingly, al-Ṣādiq provides the negative mirror image: “They are in rooms in Hell, eating its food and drinking its beverages, visiting each other and pleading with God not to make the hour of Resurrection come so that He would not fulfil what He promised them.”126 Noteworthy is the depiction of the souls as consumers of both food and beverages, which raises questions with regard to the nature of these souls, namely, are they to be regarded at this stage as spiritual or physical entities? It is difficult to explain the great expectation of the Resurrection on the part of the believers and the concomittent anxiety of the unbelievers unless we consider both the reward and the punishment as related to the reunion of body and soul. The notion that following death the grave still stands as a barrier to one’s way to the Hereafter is common in Islam and is expressed by 124. See al-Barqī, p. 178, no. 164; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 58, pp. 51–52, no. 35. 125. See al-Barqī, p. 178, no. 165; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 234, no. 49. 126. See al-Barqī, p. 178, no. 165.



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the term barzakh.127 The expectation for the Resurrection may therefore be regarded as waiting for the barrier between body and soul to be removed. Dwelling in Heaven and enjoying its pleasures is apparently not satisfactory for the souls of the believers since they ask God to hasten the Resurrection. On the other hand, the souls of unbelievers wish to prolong their sojourn in Hell as much as possible, since they probably realize that what awaits them following the Resurrection is much worse. That imaginable carnal and other bodily pleasures as well as tortures are far more comprehendable may stand at the background of this. However, it creates an interesting inversion in the first stage after death — believers are not content and look forward for a change whereas unbelievers are satisfied. For the souls, dwelling in Paradise or Hell without a body is thus not eternal but rather a temporary state in which expectation — a fundamental Shīʿī tenet — as well as fear — a prominent characteristic of unbelievers in Islamic eschatology — remain manifest. One should bear in mind that expectation is a positive virtue that can be added to the long list of pleasures awaiting the believers after death.128

b. Resurrection Although eschatological accounts in Kitāb al-maḥāsin indicate that the Resurrection and the Judgment take place close to one another, it is doubtful whether one can measure the period that separates the two in familiar, worldly measurements of time. At any rate, it would seem sensible to devote an independent discussion to the depictions of each of the two phases. The events of the Resurrection begin with the dead rising from their tombs. Like Quranic passages that present vivid descriptions of the rising of the dead, traditions in Kitāb al-maḥāsin that deal with the theme are extraordinarily rich in figurative details and images on the basis of which several interesting observations can be made. Let us first focus on the physical state and characteristics of the believers during their resurrection. According to one tradition, in spite of their sins, God will resurrect believers with white faces,129 even whiter than the moon.130 The conclusion that one can easily 127. See B. Carra de Vaux, “Barzakh,” EI². 128. See L. Halevi, Muhammad’s Grave: Death Rites and the Making of Islamic Society (New York, 2007), of special relevance for the present discussion is chapter 7, pp. 197–233, that describes the experience of the soul between death and resurrection and whose resemblance to accounts of the same stage in Kitāb al-maḥāsin should be pointed out. 129. See al-Barqī, pp. 178–179, no. 166; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 7, p. 184, no. 35. 130. See al-Barqī, p. 179, no. 168; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 7, p. 185, no. 37.

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draw is that the sins of the believers were not erased nor forgotten prior to their Resurrection — they do have an impact on the Day of Resurrection, but nonetheless, the believers’ faces will be white, a symbol of purity and piousness. This implies that the believers spent the period before the Resurrection in Paradise despite their sins. A conclusion that clearly contradicts another important notion that is expressed in a series of traditions gathered under the ‘Chapter of the purification of the believer’ (bāb taṭhīr al-muʾmin), namely, that in order to pave the way for the believer’s entry to Paradise, he is punished for his sins in this world and thus arrives in the Hereafter pure and sinless.131 Again, this contradiction strengthens the impression that the purpose of the eschatological accounts in the text is sectarian rather than theological. In other words, it is far more important for the authors of these traditions to highlight the unique and elevated status of the Shīʿa in the Hereafter than to resolve theological contradictions or provide a coherent description of events in the afterlife. Another important detail about the external appearance of the believers upon their rising is that their genitals will be covered132 by ‘clothing whiter than milk’,133 a description reminiscent of the shroud in which one is buried and may indicate that the believer’s body, as well as its cover, remain intact between death and Resurrection. This, of course, tallies with the above-mentioned status of martyr to which every dying believer is entitled.134 Despite the lack of references to unbelievers, one can easily deduce — for example by recalling the first part of Q 39 : 60 where the text reads: “On the Day of Resurrection, you [Prophet] will see those who told lies against God, their faces darkened” — that their state upon their rising will be different. Unlike the minimalist description of the believers’ clothes and their simplicity, their shoes seem to occupy a more central place in accounts of the rising from the tombs. Believers will wear sandals made of light with golden laces,135 or laces that shine like pearls.136 Ascribing motifs of light to the believers’ shoes is not 131. See al-Barqī, p. 172, no. 141–143. 132. ibid., p. 178–179, no. 166; it should be pointed out that covering the genitals (ʿawrāt) may also be understood as covering any sins that were committed by these organs, see E. W. Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon, vol. 1, part 5 (New York, 1956), vol. 5, p. 2194. 133. See al-Barqī, p. 179, no. 168. 134. Islamic sources of different eras provide fascinating stories of martyrs whose bodies remained intact, or kept on bleeding long after death had occurred. See Kohlberg, “Martyrdom and Self-Sacrifice in Classical Islam,” pp. 13–14. 135. See al-Barqī, p. 170, no. 168. 136. ibid., no. 166–167.



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only metaphorical; it is done also due to pragmatic reasons: their shoelaces will illuminate their way wherever they go.137 Another external characteristic of the rising dead are the wondrous mounts upon which they will ride out of their tombs. There are various versions as to the precise kind of these mounts: traditions depict them as either she-camels made of precious stones, white winged she-camels or noble camels made of light upon which there are saddles of light, their halters are made of gold and their stirrups are of chrysolite. The destination of this miraculous ride is specified in one of the traditions as the area before the throne of God.138 According to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s interpretation of verse 85 of Surat Maryam [Q 19 : 85]: “On the Day we gather the righteous as an honored company before the Lord of Mercy,” the believers will rise from the tombs upon noble she-camels (najāʾib).139 Al-Ṣādiq’s commentary leaves little doubt regarding the identity of the ‘righteous’ mentioned in the verse, as he obviously understands the term as referring to the members of the elect community exclusively. The impression is that riding towards the throne of God represents a summit in the events of the Resurrection that will culminate when the believers are seated next to God on daises of light and their appearance will be of light. Although they are not prophets nor martyrs, prophets will envy them.140 With the exception of the Imams — one may presume for the sake of maintaining the internal hierarchy of the community — the believers will be those closest to God on this Day.141 Interestingly, the Imam stresses the fact that those who will sit next to God are not martyrs. A statement that clearly contradicts the above-mentioned notion according to which every believer dies as shahīd. There is, however, no point in trying to resolve this contradiction since the purpose of the present tradition is to highlight the extremely elevated status of the community on the Day of Resurrection, even at the expense of other notions. Furthermore, already in the above discussion of the notion of martyrdom, we were able to discern between the lines an echo of the common attitude that viewed ‘real’ martyrdom in the battle field as far more valuable than the one involving a natural death. This tradition may therefore be regarded as part of the same Shīʿī endeavour to portray the fate of all members of the community in the Hereafter — regardless of the way they died — in the best possible colours. 137. ibid., pp. 180–181, no. 172; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 138, no. 50. 138. See al-Barqī, p. 179, no. 166–168. 139. ibid., p. 180, no, 170. 140. ibid., p. 181, no. 175; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 7, p. 185, no. 38. 141. See al-Barqī, p. 182, no. 177; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 7, pp. 185–186, no. 40.

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An additional aspect of the Day of Resurrection, which seems strongly related to the endeavor to portray the affinity between God and His elect, is the direct visual contact between the believers and God. On this Day, the believers will enjoy the privilege of seeing God and, although it is less surprising, of being seen by Him without any veil between them. This is the reward for being loyal to the family of the Prophet, that is, the Imams, as well as for repudiating their enemies.142 As we have seen above, visual contact between God and the elect (as silhouettes or particles) formed also part of the covenant in the pre-existential era. Following this event, the vision of God was forgotten, leaving an eternal impact upon the community. The Day of Resurrection may be seen as the completion of a cycle that starts and ends with the direct vision of God. The reader gains the impression that the time between these two events is experienced by the community as a long waiting period during which one looks forward to reliving this unique primordial experience which one can only vaguely remember and as a result of which one is aware of the identity of one’s Creator and Provider.143 Shīʿī scholars who came after al-Barqī have addressed the theological difficulties to which the concept of visualizing God may give rise. The core issue in debates devoted to the matter was whether God can be physically seen with one’s eyes or whether Quranic and Imāmī references to this privilege of the elect should be understood metaphorically.144 It is, however, doubtful whether theological difficulties of this sort preoccupied al-Barqī.

c. The Day of Judgment The mental state of the believers upon their rising cannot be separated from the concept of the trial or judgment. The idea that they rise from their tombs without any fears or worries, safe from any calamities, innocent of any sorrow or concern, is related directly to the fact that it is said that at this stage they already know what their fate will be. In comparison, the state of the rest of 142. See al-Barqī, p. 60, no. 101; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 90, no. 42; See also E. Kohlberg, “Barāʾa in Shīʿī Doctrine,” JSAI 7 (1986), pp. 139–175; see in addition J. Calmard, “Tabarruʾ,” EI². 143. In this sense, the vision of God may be regarded as another aspect of the ‘return to the origin’ that characterizes the Shīʿite eschatology, referred to by M. A. Amir-Moezzi in his “The End of Time and the Return to the Origin,” The Spirituality of Shiʿi Islam, pp. 403–429, and mainly on pp. 424–425, where the author draws a parallel between pre-existential and eschatological entities. 144. See G. Vajda, “Le problème de la vision de Dieu,” Le shīʿisme imāmite, pp. 31–54.



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the dead during the Resurrection represents, once again, a negative mirror image. Since the worst still awaits them, they rise haunted by sorrow and fears. To render this unbalanced situation extreme, we are told that while the non-Shīʿīs stand for trial, the believers sit and dine around a table that was prepared for them beforehand.145 The impression gained from this description is that the trial is only relevant for non-Shīʿīs, that is, for those not included in God’s elect group. However, this one-sided portrayal of the Day of Judgment, according to which Shīʿīs are exempted from trial, should not be seen as representative of the Shīʿī perception of this Day. It should rather be regarded as another means to highlight the unique elevated status of the believers that, as we have seen in other cases, does not correspond to the theological viewpoint. Following this unequivocal description of events, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq cites the Quranic verses that he apparently considers to be at the background of this account [Q 21 : 101–102]: “But those for whom We have decreed Paradise will be kept far from Hell — they will not hear a murmur from it — and endlessly they will enjoy everything their souls desire.”146 Clearly, for al-Ṣādiq these verses refer to the Shīʿa exclusively. The feeling of security and confidence that characterizes the believers on this Day has another explanation, not directly related to the trial. The idea that this Day is a terrible day of horror is not alien to the Shīʿa and they refer to it as a day of ‘horror from the Heavens’ (fazʿa min al-samāʾ).147 Every community will seek refuge on this Day; the believers will find refuge with the Imams, the Imams with the Prophet and the Prophet with God. According to the fourth Imam, to whom one of the two traditions in this spirit is attributed, the Shīʿa have to be content with this arrangement, which highlights both the solidarity and hierarchy within the community.148 As the Imam puts it, every community, and not only the Shīʿa, will seek refuge from the horrors of this Day. There is no direct reference, however, to the effectiveness of the refuges of other communities. Nevertheless, one can deduce that other communities will inevitably turn to their false Imams and will therefore not be spared. The problematic relationship between other communities and their leaders who will disavow each other on the Day of Resurrection is talked of elsewhere. The Shīʿa is the only community whose leaders and followers will

145. See al-Barqī, pp. 178–179, no. 166–168. 146. ibid., no. 166. 147. ibid., pp. 182–183, no. 181–182. 148. ibid., no. 181.

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remain loyal to each other on this Day.149 This point of view, according to either al-Barqī or the editor of the text who decided to include both traditions that express it under the chapter of “On the Day when we summon each community with its leader” (yawma nadʿū kulla unāsin bi-ʾimāmihim), reflects the Quranic verse [17 : 71] from which the title of the chapter is taken. According to Imam al-Ṣādiq’s interpretation of this verse, it refers to the community of believers and their leader in every generation, namely, the Apostle of God and his followers, ʿAlī and his followers, al-Ḥasan, al-Ḥusayn along with their followers and every Imam along with the community who died during his time.150 Once again, we are presented with a specific interpretation of what may easily be read as a universal Quranic message. The endeavor to provide a one-sided depiction of the Day of Judgment is manifest in another series of traditions that, surprisingly, present the testimony that ‘there is no god but God’ as a sufficient condition to enter Paradise. According to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, on the Day of Resurrection a caller will declare: “Whoever bears witness that there is no god but Allah will enter Paradise.” Al-Ṣādiq’s disciple, baffled by the Imam’s statement, wishes to know what then actually distinguishes the Shīʿīs from others. To this, al-Ṣādiq replies that on the Day of Resurrection all non-Shīʿīs will forget this testimony.151 Or, as Imam al-Bāqir puts it: “On the Day of Resurrection God will gather all men in a garden [or meadow] and, except those who believed in this matter [i.e. the Shīʿī faith], will deprive everyone else of ‘no god but God’.”152 The idea that the belief in one God will be forgotten by non-Shīʿīs on the Day of Resurrection is extremely interesting since it is indicative of the challenge the Shīʿa had to face vis-à-vis other forms of monotheism, mainly other forms of Islam. Indeed, it is only natural that the acknowledgment of the same God by various religious communities would be seen as a threat to the exclusivity and superiority of each. The solution provided by the Shīʿī tradition to this tension is that on the Day of Judgment their form of monotheism will be the only one that survives. Again, we are introduced to the inclination to turn to the mythic realm in order to resolve mundane difficulties and present them in accordance with the doctrine — especially such that revolve around the inevitable tension between universalism and particularism. This is of course not peculiar to Shīʿī Islam and characterizes also other allegedly elect communities. 149. ibid., pp. 143–144, no. 42–43. 150. ibid., p. 144, no. 44; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 11, no. 6. 151. See al-Barqī, p. 181, no. 173; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 3, pp. 12–13, no. 26. 152. See al-Barqī, no. 174; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 3, p. 12, no. 25.



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Intercession (shafāʿa) is another topic that comes to the fore in traditions dealing with the events on the Day of Judgment.153 The discussion of the concept is carried out on two levels. On the first, representing the common and familiar approach, the privilege to intercede on the Day of Judgment is ascribed to the Prophet and the Imams. On the second, to which readers may be less accustomed, it is argued that the believer has the right to intercede on behalf of his family, friends and neighbours. That the Prophet is entitled to intercede on behalf of the members of his community we learn from Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir’s straightforward statement.154 As to the Imams, their right of intercession is clearly manifest in Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s commentary on three Quranic verses that he interprets as referring to the Imams exclusively: 1. They will not speak except for those to whom the Merciful gives permission, who will say what is correct [Q 78 : 38].155 2. Who can intercede with Him except by His permission, He knows what is before and after them [Q 2 : 255].156 3. We have no intercessors; and not a devoted friend [Q 26 : 100–101].157 Following the above-mentioned accounts of the Day of Resurrection in which the Shīʿa are portrayed as exempt from trial, one may wonder about the importance and necessity of intercession on behalf of members of the community. This time, the apparent contradiction is resolved by Imam alBāqir who preaches that everyone, and not only those destined for Hell, needs Muḥammad’s intercession.158 A possible conclusion is that in the case of the Shīʿa the Prophet’s intercession is needed to protect them from the horrors of the Day of Resurrection rather than the trial. That the believer’s right to intercede on behalf of his family was not selfevident is discernible in two different attitudes towards the issue in Imāmī 153. See al-Barqī, pp. 183–185, no. 183–193. The chapter devoted to shafāʿa in the extant versions of Kitāb al-maḥāsin only begins from tradition no. 187 on p. 184, but this is presumably due to a copyist’s error. Originally the chapter must have begun from tradition no. 183. 154. ibid., p. 184, no. 188; cited without the words fī ummatihi (‘of the members of his community’) in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 42, no. 33. 155. See al-Barqī, p. 183, no. 183; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 41, no. 28. 156. See al-Barqī, p. 183, no. 184; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, pp. 41–42, no. 30; cf. M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 185–186, where the author cites an exegetical tradition in which Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq expresses a similar opinion. 157. See al-Barqī, p. 184, no. 187; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 42, no. 32. 158. See al-Barqī, pp. 183–184, no. 185–186.

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traditions. In the first, the believer’s right is mentioned explicitly alongside the Prophet’s right to intercede for his community and that of the Imams on behalf of the Shīʿa.159 Thus, presenting this right, just like that of the Prophet and the Imams, as if it did not give rise to any questions. Interestingly, the tradition orders the three groups entitled to intercede in a clear hierarchy: Prophet — community; Imams — Shīʿa; believer — family. Acknowledging the Prophet’s right to intercede for his entire community (umma) is remarkable, since it may appear to put the elect and the other Muslims on the same level. This difficulty may be resolved if we are to understand the tradition as referring solely to followers of the Prophet in his lifetime, that is, prior to the schism within the Islamic community. In the Shīʿī view thus, following the Prophet’s death, the umma ceased to exist and was replaced by the elect. The complexity of the issue is more obvious in a tradition in which Imam Jaʿfar is asked whether the believer intercedes on behalf of his family. The Imam answers in the affirmative by stating that the believer “intercedes and his intercession is accepted” (yashfaʿu fa-yushaffaʿu).160 Both the question and the reply may indicate that there was some sort of ambiguity with regard to the subject that this tradition attempts to tackle. From another tradition, attributed to Muḥammad al-Bāqir, we learn that the believer’s right to intercede is not restricted to members of his family alone. On the Day of Resurrection, those who had good relations with the family of the Prophet after his death (i.e. the believers who were loyal to the Imams) have the right to go around and take into Paradise those who maintained good relations with them.161 This tradition significantly extends the circle of those on behalf of whom the believer can intercede beyond his family and relatives. The peak of the extension of this circle finds expression in a tradition that includes in it even unbelievers destined for Hell. On the Day of Judgment, so we are told, a believer meets an acquaintance who is on the way to Hell. The acquaintance addresses the believer and begs him to rescue him due to the favours he had done for the believer in this world. If the believer wishes, he can give an order to an angel to release his acquaintance and thus save him from Hell. That the believer’s order will be executed is guaranteed by God.162 159. ibid., p. 184, no. 189; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 42, no. 34; the notion of intercession and its being a distinction shared by the Imams and their followers is discussed by M. M. Dakake in The Charismatic Community, pp. 172–173. 160. See al-Barqī, p. 184, no. 191. 161. ibid., p. 62, no. 109. 162. ibid., pp. 184–185, no. 192; quoted in Biḥār, vol. 71, p. 398, no. 31.



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In light of the perception that a believer can influence, and at times even reverse the fate of unbelievers among his acquaintances, Imam al-Bāqir advises his disciples not to seek help — such as asking for water or food — from unbelievers in this world. By adhering to this advice, the believer will avoid the unpleasant situation in the Hereafter of not being able to turn down the request for help of an acquaintance who had helped him in this world.163 It is doubtful whether the Imam’s advice should be taken at face value, namely, that a thirsty or hungry believer should refrain from asking an unbeliever for help. It is more likely that once again we witness an attempt to provide the reader with the idea that in the world to come — apparently in contrast to their real status in this world as a persecuted minority — the Shīʿa will have the upper hand.

d. Following the Day of Judgment A tradition ascribed to both Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir and his son, Jaʿfar alṢādiq, in which the Prophet provides ʿAlī with a detailed account of Paradise as he saw it during his nightly journey (al-isrāʾ), seems like a proper conclusion for the present chapter. The impression is that what the Prophet saw during this Heavenly journey represents the future eternal abode of the believers, that is, after the Resurrection and Judgment, rather than Paradise at the time of his journey. A clear proof for this is that ʿAlī, who was alive at the time when the framing story is said to have taken place, plays a major role in Muḥammad’s eschatological vision. Additional evidence for this are the references in the tradition to carnal pleasures of the kind one could enjoy only following the final reunion of body and soul. Abū Jaʿfar [Muḥammad al-Bāqir] and Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq] said that the Prophet told ʿAlī: “When [God] made me travel by night, I saw in Paradise a river whiter than milk, sweeter than honey and more straight than an arrow, from which [one could fill] as many pitchers as the stars. On its banks, there were piles of red ruby stones and white pearls. When the angel Gabriel struck his wings next to it [the river], a pungent smell of musk was produced. I swear to God, in Paradise there are trees that praise God in a voice that was never heard by anyone, they grow a fruit similar to pomegranate and when it is given to a person, he can split it into seventy dresses [of Paradise’s maidens]. The believers will sit on chairs made of light, shining

163. See al-Barqī, p. 185, no. 193; quoted in Biḥār, vol. 8, p. 42, no. 36.

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due to their piousness164 and you [ʿAlī] will be their Imam on the Day of Resurrection. They will wear sandals with laces of light that will illuminate their way, wherever around Paradise they wish to wander. While they are in this state, a woman from above will appear and say to the believer: “Praise the Lord, O Servant of God, will we not enjoy your turn?” He will ask her who she is, and the woman will answer that she is one of those on whom God said in the Quran [32 : 17]: “No soul knows what pleasing things (qurrat aʿyun) were hidden for them as a reward for what they used to do.” I swear to God, every day seventy thousand angels will come to him [the believer in Paradise] and call him by his name and his father’s name [an indication of a licit descent].”165

IX. Conclusion As argued at the beginning of the present chapter, the approach here has been that the notion of election is embedded throughout al-Barqī’s text so much so that, theoretically, almost every tradition in Kitāb al-maḥāsin could be used for an examination of this fundamental tenet. From this richness, it was decided to focus in the present chapter on some of the most central aspects of the topic. Despite the eclectic character of the work, an attempt was made to present expressions of the notion of election chronologically — from the pre-existential era until the eschatological. In the long period that stretches between these two extremities, the discussion revolved around four crucial aspects: creation, birth, life in this world and death. A major observation in this chapter was that the most important foundations for the notion of election are to be found in traditions that have been here defined as mythic. These traditions refer mainly to the events at the beginning of time and in its end as well as to enigmatic moments, such as birth and death, which take place between the two. The limitation of human knowledge regarding these stages of existence was a fertile ground for the development of a variety of Shīʿī myths which form an integral part of the faith. As we have seen, the Shīʿa perceived of themselves as God’s elect and this is also based on the Imams’ interpretation of various Quranic verses as referring clearly to the exclusive status of the Shīʿa and their Imams. Another dimension in which 164. The believers are compared to noble horses with white stains on their forehead and knees (al-ghurr al-muḥajjalūn) as a metaphor for the excessive use made in these organs during the ritual ablution and prayer. 165. See al-Barqī, pp. 180–181, no. 172; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 138, no. 50.



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the superiority of the Shīʿa came to the fore was the performance of religious duties in this world — both those common to all Muslims and peculiar to the Shīʿa — which is valued by God only if the performer is a Shīʿī believer. To remove any doubt regarding the Shīʿa’s election, the text also provides the reader with numerous purely propagandist statements that are neither mythic nor related to the performance of duties. Another important observation that emerged from the analysis of traditions related to the notion of election, was that universal commonalities, both human (such as death) and Islamic (such as belief in the same God and Prophet as well as several identical rituals), posed numerous serious challenges to this worldview. Obviously, the depiction of the Shīʿa as the elect was supported occasionally by the negative portrayal of non-Shīʿīs as lower in rank and doomed. This, as we have often seen, was done either explicitly or implicitly. In the latter case, the trained reader could easily infer this message. Moreover, as was pointed out, it is likely that depictions that place the Shīʿa way above all others are in fact reflective of the reverse situation in reality. Although the notion of election was meant to divide humanity into two distinct groups — the elect and all others — in reality it was sometimes much more complex. This complexity will be further investigated in the following chapter that addresses another fundamental notion in the Shīʿī faith: predestination along with its inevitable deterministic and dualistic implications.

3. Predestination and its Deterministic and Dualistic Implications I. General The degree to which a person is responsible for his destiny is one of the most central questions in this world in general and in religious thought in particular. Between the two possible extremities — completely responsible and not at all responsible — there is a wide range of possibilities. The purpose of the present chapter is to trace and analyze materials relevant to this fundamental question in Kitāb al-maḥāsin in an attempt to evaluate the early Shīʿī point of view on the issue. Clearly, in any community that perceives of the world and man as created and governed by an omniscient and omnipotent divine entity, this question gives rise to a variety of difficulties. It is inevitable that under such circumstances God will have a crucial role in shaping one’s conduct during life along with its implications in the world to come. In Islam, as in other theocentric religions, accommodating God’s omniscience and omnipotence with man’s responsibility for his deeds and fate has been a prominent theological challenge. The essence of this challenge was succinctly captured by Montgomery Watt who described the relationship between free will and predestination, or between human and divine power as “one where there are two opposing yet complementary truths, which at the present stage of man’s intellectual development cannot be wholly reconciled with one another, but which must nevertheless be held together.”1 The fatalist approach, or the perception that man’s fate is not in his hands but rather in the hands of a supreme power, was common already in preIslamic Arabia. In the poetry of the era, this approach is often related to two prominent terms: dahr and zamān. Both may be translated as ‘time’ and were 1. See M. Watt, Free Will and Predestination in Early Islam (London 1948), p. 2; see M. M. Dakake, The Charismatic Community, chapter 7 “Predestination and the Mythological Origins of Shiʿite Identity,” pp. 141–155, in which Dakake examines the early Shīʿī approach to the question of predestination on the basis of numerous traditions from Kitāb al-maḥāsin. While sharing Dakake’s general impression that these traditions have a strong predestinarian inclination (p. 141), the attempt here, in what follows, is to emphasize the inconsistencies and relative flexibility that find expression in the same materials.

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regarded as a power of nature that directs the occurrences in one’s life. This, however, did not imply that any human act was predetermined by dahr or zamān. Rather, this power was seen as determining whether the results of one’s acts would be good or bad as well as the unalterable appointed hour of every individual (ajal).2 Describing the worldview of the Arabs prior to the advent of Islam, the Quran too, refers to the centrality of the terms dahr and ajal. A good example is the following statement that the Quran ascribes to non-Muslim Arabs [Q 45 : 24]: “There is only our life in this world. We die, we live, nothing but time (al-dahr) destroys us.” Following Muḥammad’s monotheistic message, time was replaced by God, as one can infer from the verse that follows [Q 45 : 26]: “It is God who gives you life, then causes you to die then gathers you all to the Day of Resurrection of which there is no doubt though most people do not comprehend.” Unlike the term dahr that was replaced by the notion of one God, the concept of ajal, that is, an individual’s death-time, which is very common in the Quran, seems to have found its way into the monotheistic terminology of the new religion. Naturally, this concept is seen as another manifestation of God’s omniscience and omnipotence as demonstrated — although with reference to entire communities rather than to each individual — in the following verse [Q 10 : 49]: “There is an appointed term (ajal) to every community and when it is reached they can neither delay nor hasten it, even for a moment.” Starting from late in the first/seventh century, that is, during the Umayyad period, there is evidence for a theological dispute between supporters and opponents of what van Ess defines as ‘the naive’ deterministic viewpoint, which I briefly described above.3 In the course of time, the term qadariyya was coined to designate opponents of this deterministic viewpoint. The term derives from the noun qadar, that is, fate or destiny, and ironically refers to those who believe in man’s free will rather than divine predestination. The supporters of the deterministic viewpoint were called mujbira, thus alluding to the fact that according to them, man’s conduct is the result of a divine predestined decree, 2. See W. M. Watt, Islamic Philosophy and Theology, (Edinburgh, 1985), p. 25; and see also J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, vol. 1, pp. 24–25 and idem, Zwischen Ḥadīth und Theologie: Studien zum Entstehen prädestinatianischer Überlieferung (Berlin, 1975), pp. 75–79. It is noteworthy that with regard to this issue, as well as to other theological questions, the Quran is equivocal, thus both sides in this dispute could have provided Quranic evidence to support their position, see B. Abrahamov, “Theology” in The Blackwell Companion to the Qurʾān, (ed. A. Rippin; Oxford, 2006), p. 421. 3. See the reference to J. van Ess’ Zwischen Ḥadīth und Theologie in the previous note.

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jabr.4 By the end of the third/ninth century, and mainly due to the increasing influence of the Muʿtazila, supporters of man’s free will came to crystallize their principles. For the Muʿtazila, who promoted the notion that God must act justly towards humankind, adopting a deterministic stand was an impossibility since it meant that God was responsible for human acts which he consequently punished or rewarded.5 A network of social, professional and familial connections between prominent figures of the Muʿtazila and the Imāmiyya started to form mainly in Baghdad during the second half of the third/ninth century. It seems, however, that significant infiltration of Muʿtazilī ideas and principles into Imāmī scholarly circles did not occur before the first half of the fourth/tenth century. The first school to merge Imāmī and Muʿtazilī principles was founded by two members of the Nawbakht family in Baghdad, Abū Sahl Ismāʿīl (d. 311/923) and his nephew, al-Ḥasan b. Mūsā (d. between 300/912 and 310/922).6 The Shīʿī scholar who is most credited with paving the way to the adoption of Muʿtazilī ideas is Muḥammad b. Muḥammad al-Nuʿmān, better known by his honorific al-Shaykh al-Mufīd (d. 413/1022). It should be noted that al-Mufīd disagreed with his teacher, Abū Jaʿfar Ibn Bābawayh, al-Shaykh alṢadūq (d. 381/991), who tried all his life to protect the Shīʿī doctrine against the influence of Muʿtazilī ideas and prevent infiltration of the use of kalām, which was typical of the Muʿtazila, into the Shīʿī theological discourse.7 For the purpose of our discussion, however, it is of importance that the first significant fusion of Muʿtazilī and Imāmī ideas took place following al-Barqī’s time and relatively far from Qumm. The tension between the two approaches, free will and predestination, that nevertheless finds its expression in Kitāb al-maḥāsin should thus be regarded as representative of the pre-rationalist discourse around the issue with origins, as noted above, that can be traced back to the end of the first/seventh century. Not surprisingly, the picture that emerges from the analysis of traditions that deal with the theme is far from monolithic; it is rather multidimensional and complex. Despite this state of 4. See J. van Ess, “Ḳadariyya,” EI² and idem, Theologie und Gesellschaft, vol. 1, pp. 72–135. 5. See D. Gimaret, “Muʿtazila,” EI²; see in addition, N. Haider, Shīʿī Islam: an Introduction, (Cambridge, 2014), pp. 18–30, where the author offers a short overview of the centrality of the divine (rational) justice within the Shīʿī theological discourse. On the difficulty to accept the use of rational methods among al-Barqī’s Sunni contemporaries and the tension between traditionalism and rationalism in general, see B. Abrahamov, Islamic Theology: Traditionalism and Rationalism (Edinburgh, 1998), mainly Ch. 3, “Traditionalism against Rationalism,” pp. 19–31. 6. See W. Madelung, “Imamism and Muʿtazilite Theology,” pp. 14–16. 7. ibid., pp. 17–26.

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things, one can still detect a general approach throughout the text. In some cases, we will see that contradictions to this approach preoccupied the Shīʿa and can be considered as reflective of a genuine internal debate. In others, these inconsistencies are merely the result of the observations of an outsider. Another prominent notion, which is embedded throughout al-Barqī’s work, is the strict dualistic worldview that portrays the world as divided into two opposing poles of good and evil along with their numerous manifestations. This view is multidimensional and refers to both celestial and terrestrial creatures as well as to the entirety of history from its very beginning until the end of time. The reason behind dealing with deterministic and dualistic notions in one chapter derives from the realization that the two are interdependent to the degree that they may be seen as two sides of the same coin. An examination of these two aspects in the text has led to the conclusion that devoting a separate discussion to each would be practically impossible and even erroneous. As will be seen below, in most cases the dualistic point of view leads inevitably to deterministic consequences and vice versa. After all, how could an attitude that sees humankind as divided into two opposing groups not have unequivocally deterministic implications? On the other hand, the lack of flexibility in the view that human acts are predetermined is, to begin with, a fertile ground for development of a dualist approach. Although on the face of it, the fusion of these two elements should leave very little room for free will, the text is not always consistent. In places of relative flexibility with regard to man’s ability to influence his fate, one encounters a more moderate view, characterized by cracks and imperfections rather than an ideal hermetic approach.

II. The Pre-Existential Setting According to Kitāb al-maḥāsin, long before the creation of mankind, whose responsibility for their fate constitutes the main issue of the present chapter, things were already shaped in a way that left little room for flexibility. The creation of several crucial elements prior to the creation of man — either in his pre-existential form or in his corporal state — meant that he was not created in a vacuum, but rather in an existing order. This order was, is and will forever be based on numerous opposing powers that were created by God and whose most general representations are good and evil.8 8. M. A. Amir-Moezzi devotes an entire chapter to this pre-existential era in his The Divine Guide, pp. 29–59. While his focus throughout the book, including in this particular chapter,

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In the fifth sub-book of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam (‘The book of the lights of darkness’), we find a series of three traditions whose basic common message is: I am God, there is no god but Myself, the creator of good and evil. These are two creatures of my creation; fortunate is the one to whom I predestined (qaddartu lahu) good and miserable is the one to whom I predestined (qaddartu lahu) evil and woe unto to the one who asks how can this be.9

In the first of these three traditions, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq states that these things were revealed to Moses and appeared in the Torah. In the second tradition, Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir says that they appear in a book that God revealed, but he does not specify in which book. In the third tradition whose translation appears above — also on the authority of Imam al-Bāqir — God is quoted without any reference to the source. This idea, which is repeated in three variations, could be summarized as follows: God created good and evil, He decides who will be associated with good and with evil, the lucky ones and the miserable respectively. The impression gained is that this state of things is fixed and unchangeable. Otherwise, one would expect some precaution on the part of the lucky ones with regard to their fortunate fate and optimism on the miserables’ part regarding the possibility that their state will eventually change. This tradition does not refer to good and evil as inevitable, necessary manifestations of divine goodness. Rather, we are introduced to a clear judgmental position regarding both good and evil and those associated with each of them. Thus, the possibility that this tradition reflects a theodicean approach could be ruled out. It should be stressed, however, that the fact that some individuals are deterministically associated with evil does not necessarily contradict God’s good will towards mankind in general. Although this is not explicitly stated, it is quite obvious that these traditions refer to the dualistic division of humanity, to those who were lucky to

is on the figure of the Imam, the present discussion of this era aims to shed light on the Shīʿī perception of determinism and dualism. 9. Al-Barqī, p. 283, no. 414–416; the translation above is of tradition 416; see also al-Kulaynī, Uṣūl, vol. 1, Bāb al-Khayr wa-l-sharr, p. 88; tradition 416 is cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 160, no. 20; see also A. R. Lalani, Early Shīʿī Thought, pp. 91–92, where the author bases herself on these traditions in an attempt to describe al-Bāqir’s view on al-Qaḍāʾ wa-l-qadar which is discussed further below; see M. M. Dakake, The Charismatic Community, p. 144; see in addition E. Kohlberg, “Evil,” EIR.

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be included among the Shīʿīs and those who were not. We shall see that this ideal division does not always stand the test of reality. A hint regarding the difficulties to which the view expressed in these traditions may give rise is discernible in the text of the tradition cited above. The threat “Woe unto those who ask how this is” that appears in continuation of God’s statement in two of the three traditions may indicate that to a certain degree this precise question preoccupied people’s minds. The question “How can this be?” may refer to two of the truths in the tradition: 1. How is it that God created evil? 2. How is it that God decided arbitrarily who will be associated with good and evil? These two questions represent two core issues in theology and stand at the basis of the idea of determinism. In what follows, we will consider in detail different aspects of these questions. The way this tradition is structured may lead the reader to believe that all its parts constitute a divine statement. This impression is created mainly because the threat not to ask ‘how can this be’ appears in one sequence with the words of God and contains the same threatening word ‘woe unto’(wayl)  — relatively a common Quranic expression — that appears earlier in the tradition. I would argue, however, that although the part warning against asking “How this can be” may resonate with a Biblical source (discussed below), it reflects the intellectual tension at the time of the composition of this tradition rather than the human perception of God’s opinion on the issue. This tension could be either between advocates of the pursuit of theological debate and their opponents or, alternatively, between advocates of predestination and of free will. The combination of both possibilities represents the Shīʿī position at the time of the fifth and sixth Imams, or at least the way it was perceived by the time of this tradition’s composition: people’s fate was predestined by God in a binary manner and one must not engage in a theological debate as to why. Unless the utterers of these traditions truly believed that God had actually revealed these things at some point in human history, we are faced here with an attempt to establish a theological concept by banning any form of theological discourse. As problematic as this may sound, it is an individual case of a common tendency among religious thinkers. Namely, to arrive at a certain conclusion which they regard as the ultimate and prevent any further development of the very same arguments of which they made use. If we consider the bibliographical or pseudo-bibliographical references in the first two versions of the tradition as based upon actual sources, there could theoretically be a way to trace them in the Torah or in another revelation. Should such a verse be found, it may also help us determine whether the

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injunction not to question why forms an integral part of the divine message. Three verses from the Book of Isaiah [45 : 5–7] deliver a very similar message: “I am the Lord, and there is none else, there is no God beside me: I girded thee, though thou hast not known me; That they may know from the rising of the sun, and from the west, that there is none beside me. I am the Lord, and there is none else; I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.” Remarkably, the verses that follow, which further highlight God’s unity and almightiness, also include [mainly 45 : 9–10] the warning against raising questions regarding this state of things: “Woe to him who strives with him who formed him, a pot among earthen pots! Does the clay say to him who forms it, ‘What are you making?’ ‘Your work has no handles’? Woe to him who says to a father, ‘What are you begetting?’ or to a woman, ‘With what are you in labor?’” Although these verses do not refer explicitly to God’s association of every individual with either good or evil, one could argue that this message is implied in their unequivocal depiction of God as the creator of everything. However, it is doubtful whether the utterers of the Imāmī tradition had these specific verses in mind. The impression is that the role of these bibliographical or pseudo-bibliographical remarks was to render credibility to the divine statement, rather than actually to base it upon a previous source. Moreover, the idea that good and evil were created by God was not a Shīʿī invention and these pseudo-bibliographical references may reflect the utterer’s vague awareness of the existence of a similar notion in neighbouring religious cultures ( Judaism, Christianity, Zoroastrianism).10 The first spiritual entity that God created was intelligence (ʿaql).11 God created it to the right of His throne and from His light. Following its creation, God asked intelligence to turn around and approach Him and upon examining His creation He said: “I have created you so great and honoured you 10. With regard to Zoroastrianism, it should be pointed out that the view according to which Ahura Mazda was responsible for the existence of both light and darkness formed part of the early Zoroastrian worldview. Later, the realm of darkness was associated with the Evil Spirit exclusively. At any rate, that evil was created by God could be ascribed to Zoroastrianism only by someone not thoroughly acquainted with this religion. See Sh. Shaked, “Isaiah, the Book of,” EIR. 11. This term represents a central concept in Shīʿī thought, the present chapter addresses only some of its many aspects. On the difficulty of translating it and its multiple meanings in different contexts, see Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, pp. 6–13. This term was discussed at some length in the previous chapter under section VI “Election and the performance of religious duties.”

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over the entirety of My creation.” Afterwards God created ignorance (jahl). God created it from the salty dark sea and then He told it to turn around and approach Him but it disobeyed. God considered this act of disobedience as hubris and cursed it.12 Following this, God created 75 armies to stand alongside intelligence. When ignorance saw this, it started to grow animosity towards intelligence and asked God to endow it with a similar number of armies. Ignorance’s claim was that it was intelligence’s counterpart and it had no power against it. When ignorance promises God not to disobey Him ever again, He agrees and creates for it 75 armies that represent the opposites of intelligence’s 75 armies. At the head of intelligence’s armies stands ‘good’, who is intelligence’s deputy or assistant and its counterpart is ‘evil’, which is ignorance’s deputy or assistant. Beneath each of the two there are 74 additional pairs of opposites that represent good and bad human qualities.13 The coming into being of the spiritual entities begins with this primordial struggle. Although it is not explicitly stated, one can assume that this struggle will last as long as the world exists. This view of the dawn of history gives rise to numerous questions that are highly relevant for our present discussion. God’s decision to create ignorance is not explained in the tradition and may be regarded as the religio-mythic explanation for the existence of evil in the world. Reflecting on the role of this tradition in shaping the Shīʿī deterministic worldview, ignorance’s behaviour and relationship with God is highly interesting. Ignorance disobeyed God’s request to turn around and approach Him. The difficulty that this act raises could be resolved if we assume that God intentionally created an entity that would disobey Him, thus turning this disobedience into an involuntary deterministic act on ignorance’s part. This reading, however, does not go hand in hand with the negotiations that follow between ignorance and God. It is not only that following this disobedience 12. See Immanuel Kant, Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der bloßen Vernunft (Hamburg, 2003), pp. 21–22, where Kant observes that various religions agree that the beginning of the world is good, but very early, following the fall into wickedness, the world moves into an evil era; the sin of hubris or disobedience is a well-known motif in myths of the fall. The tradition discussed here recalls the description of the fall of the pre-existential entities in the NuṣayrīʿAlawī sacred narrative, see M. M. Bar-Asher and A. Kofsky, The Nuṣayrī-ʿAlawī Religion: An Enquiry into its Theology and Liturgy (Leiden, 2002), pp. 75–77. 13. See al-Barqī, pp. 196–198, no. 22; al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, pp. 16–17, no. 14, included in Kitāb al-ʿaql wa-l-jahl that opens the work; al-Ṣadūq, al-Khiṣāl, pp. 589–591, no. 13 and ʿilal alsharāʾiʿ, pp. 114–116, no. 10; cited also in al-Majlisī, Biḥār, vol. 1, pp. 109–111, no. 7 and vol. 75, pp. 316–319.

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ignorance dares to negotiate with God its status vis-à-vis that of intelligence, it also achieves its goal. The attempt to depict the dawn of humanity in strict deterministic colours includes a dramatic interaction between God and ignorance whose message represents the exact antithesis. Namely, that even in cases where God determined something, His mind could be changed through negotiation. That a change in God’s decision was achieved by a sinful, disobedient entity that represents the universal evil further highlights this possibility. An additional aspect that comes to the fore in the discussion between God and ignorance is the way the latter perceives itself as unjustly lacking power equal to that of its opposite, intelligence. From the moment of its creation, ignorance — despite the meaning of the term — is aware of its place and mission in the world, that is, to be intelligence’s equal counterpart, a mission that could not be adequately performed unless God would endow it with the same power He gave intelligence. God’s fulfilment of ignorance’s wish was not unconditional. He warned it that if it should disobey Him again, He would exclude it along with its armies outside the realm of His mercy. This condition may indicate that ignorance’s initial disobedience constituted a deviation from the desired divine course of things. This deviation resulted eventually in creating the balance between ignorance and intelligence. Ignorance agreed to God’s condition and as far as this tradition is concerned, there is no evidence for its violation thereafter. The fact that there is no mention of violation of this condition can be interpreted in two distinct ways. According to the first, the lack of reference to a violation does not necessarily imply the lack of a violation. Ignorance’s disobedience in the tradition discussed here may represent a pattern which will repeat itself forever and result in the permanent exclusion of ignorance from God’s realm of mercy. The second possible interpretation is that following the agreement between God and ignorance, ignorance will forever respect it and therefore will remain within the realm of God’s mercy. The implication of the second interpretation is far-reaching as it suggests that all of ignorance’s possible manifestations are carried out in accordance with the divine will. Theoretically, one could argue that the first reading is no less deterministic than the second as it ascribes to ignorance the inevitable repetitive disobedience. The degree, though, to which such a rebellious pattern that leads to exclusion from the realm of God’s mercy could be regarded as deterministic is questionable. As the following examples demonstrate, the world is replete with acts of disobedience that result in the exclusion of their performers from the realm of God’s mercy. Clearly, this tradition was meant to highlight the value of intelligence and devalue ignorance, the representatives or archetypes of the Shīʿīs and others

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respectively. However, the reading suggested above may easily reverse the desired message. Ignorance, in complete contrast to its essence, is portrayed as an intelligent entity, which unlike intelligence who blindly obeys God, analyzes correctly the cosmic balance, refuses to execute God’s orders and achieves what it desired through convincing arguments. By getting what it demanded, ignorance is responsible, no less than God, for the creation of the cosmic balance between the two opposing spiritual entities and their emanations in the form of the two parallel sets of 75 armies. This depiction contains crucial information regarding the degree of human freedom in the world. Since this cosmic drama occurred in the pre-existential era, that is, prior to the creation of mankind, it is clear that man was created in this existent state of things or order. Furthermore, as I said above, the 75 armies of each spiritual entity represent positive and negative personal virtues. This means that the parameters or the ingredients of the human character were already there when man was created. Whether a person is honest or a liar is therefore not due to his personal development, but rather to a quality or its opposite that was attached to him at his creation. It is even more striking that the lists of 75 armies and their counterparts seem to represent the entire spectrum of human characteristics. The potential of a person to develop seems to be limited to this polar list of opposites. There appears to be no room for qualities that are not on the list nor to an intermediate position between two possible opposites or for a combination between a virtue and its opposite.14 Towards the end of the story we are told that intelligence, along with its emanations or armies, could fully exist only in a prophet, in a prophet’s heir (waṣiyy), that is, an Imam, or in a believer whose heart has been tested by God. In every Shīʿī believer there must be a part, or at least one of the emanations of intelligence, through which he may complete the rest and avoid ignorance. Once a believer has achieved this state, he is on the same level as the prophets and the Imams.15 One can deduce, although this is not explicitly 14. Recalling in this context the words of the late Polish philosopher, Leszek Kołakowski (1927–2009) seems highly suitable: “Undoubtedly the needs which turn people towards selfrelativization in myth are to a certain extent inimical to freedom. That is because the yearning to be rooted in a world organized by myth aims at defining oneself in a given and experienced order of values; it is a desire to step outside oneself as an object with a designated sphere of possibilities, as a thing, as filling in a space in a structure which — virtually, at least — is already complete. As a participant in myth I am unable to treat the succeeding moments of my own existence as an absolute beginning,” see L. Kołakowski, The Presence of Myth (English translation by Adam Czerniawski) (Chicago, 1989), p. 19. 15. Al-Barqī, pp. 197–198, no. 22 (the final paragraph).

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stated, that the non-Shīʿī does not possess the same necessary minimum of intelligence or its emanations. This part of the tradition relates this primordial drama directly to the human context on both the personal and universal levels. In universal terms, it places the prophets, the Imams and their faithful on a level distinct from all others. On the personal level, it describes the initial stage of the Shīʿī believer and its potential to grow from there. Describing the believer as someone who must be characterized by at least part of the emanations of intelligence — which is in turn sufficient for him to thrive for a completion of the whole — reveals once again the tension between potential and its fulfilment. Does the fulfilment of one’s potential represent the result of the believer’s free will, or since he must be characterized by a bare minimum of these emanations, he is destined to fulfil the potential whether he wants it or not? This question remains unanswered. Among the pairs of opposites that were created prior to mankind and that appear in the list of intelligence and ignorance’s 75 opposing armies we find joy (saʿāda) and misery (shaqāʾ). Several traditions in Kitāb al-maḥāsin are devoted to this pair of opposing abstract notions and, as the following examination shows, they have significant deterministic implications.16 This examination will also permit a closer look at the relationship between preexistential virtues and determinism. According to one version, which may be called the general scheme of the story, God created joy and misery before He created mankind. When He created mankind He determined who would be happy (i.e. saved) and who would be miserable (i.e. damned). God will never hate the happy nor love the miserable. If the miserable does good deeds, God loves his deeds and still hates him, since this is the fate He predestined for him. When God loves something, He will never hate it, and when He hates something, He will never love it.17 The first thing that this tradition reaffirms is the chronology of creation according to which human virtues were created prior to the creation of mankind. When men were created, God associated each of them with either a virtue or its opposite. The lucky ones who were associated with happiness will forever enjoy God’s love whereas the miserable will be hated by God for eternity. It seems that the reference in the tradition to the good deeds that are performed by the miserable implicitly hints at the performance of religious duties by 16. See al-Barqī, pp. 279–280, no. 405–406, 409; see also Bāb al-Saʿāda wa-l-shaqāʾ in alKulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 87. 17. See al-Barqī, p. 279, no. 405.

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non-Shīʿī Muslims which, although appreciated by God, cannot narrow the fundamental eternal gap in God’s attitude towards the two communities. In another tradition addressing these two opposites, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is asked by a disciple whether it is likely that God would love an individual and then hate him or, alternately, that God would hate someone and then love him. Before al-Ṣādiq unequivocally rules out this possibility, he provides answers on three preliminary questions that prepare the ground for his final negative reply. Below are the disciple’s questions and the Imam’s answers: 1. Did God ever hate the Prophet? Had God hated the Prophet, He would not have transferred him from one state to another and made him a prophet. 2. Did God ever hate the happy? Had God hated the happy, He would not have bestowed His grace upon him and made him happy. 3. Did God ever love the miserable? Had God loved the miserable, He would not have left him in the state of misery, but would rather have made him happy.18 At first glance, the Imam’s arguments in each of the three answers seem to strengthen the deterministic worldview — it is unlikely that God would change His mind. On the other hand, it seems that both the Prophet and the joyful were in a different state prior to their prophecy or joyfulness. This, at any rate, does not necessarily contradict the predestinarian view, at least considering the divine perspective, since God must have known already in these pre-prophetic and pre-joyful eras that these individuals would eventually move to another state. That in these preparatory stages they were not aware of any future transformation does not imply a change in God’s predestined plan. Another thorny issue to which these traditions give rise is God’s role in this polar world. It is explicitly stated that God’s attitude towards individuals is eternal and unchangeable. According to this perception God too is bound to the same binary system that leaves no room for flexibility. God’s fixed and static relationship with people that can be either one of love or of hate and which cannot change in the course of time certainly limits His freedom and independence. Apparently, the main message of these traditions was to highlight the predestinarian division of humanity into two distinct groups rather than contemplate the divine attributes. This phenomenon, however, is not peculiar to Shīʿism. Once human beings recruit God for the mission of restricting 18. ibid., no. 406; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 158–159, no. 14.

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mankind to certain patterns of thought or behaviour, God becomes restricted by the very same patterns that He had allegedly imposed on mankind. Let us move from the spiritual, abstract sphere to the concrete, tangible one, namely, to the materials from which mankind was created. We shall start with the story about the preparation of the earth — in its literal meaning — to the creation of mankind. We are told that prior to the creation of mankind, God created sweet water that was designated for the creation of Paradise and the community of believers in it. At the same time God created salty water from which He intended to create Hell and the unbelievers. After the creation of these two waters, God ordered them to mix and this is why a believer can give birth to an unbeliever and vice versa. In the next stage, God took from the earth — at this stage already soaked in the mixed waters — the clay for the creation of the first man. God rubbed the mud vigorously until the future human beings came out of it in the form of little particles (dharr). God then determined that the people of the Right were going to Paradise and the people of Hell to Hell. Following this determination God clarifies that He will not mind anymore (walā ubālī) and that this will be the state of things forever after.19 God intentionally creates two groups of people, one that will be associated with Him and with Paradise and another that will be forever associated with Hell. Already the pre-human entities, or what will be mankind, in the form of small particles belong to either of the two possible poles — people of the Right and people of Hell. Immediately following their creation, God directs each group to its eternal destination. The impression is that even this initial division was not arbitrary but rather desired by God. The decision as to who will belong to each group may have been taken by God before the act of creation. One cannot avoid the similarity between this story and the one about the creation of intelligence and ignorance. God’s decision to create two distinct, not to say opposing groups, has naturally strong deterministic implications. If at this stage of the story the reader may still think that something in this state of things is reversible, that an individual could possibly change his predestinarian association with one pole or the other through hard work or sinful life, the final part of the tradition (see below) rules out this possibility. God orders the fire of Hell to ignite and then He orders the people of the Left20 to enter it, but they are afraid. When God orders the people of the 19. See al-Barqī, p. 282, no. 412; see also al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 332, no. 1; al-Ṣadūq, ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ, p. 83, no. 4; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 240, no. 21, pp. 252–252, no. 48. 20. At this point of the story, the term describing the group destined for Hell shifts to the synonymous expression ‘people of the Left’ in accordance with the Quranic terminology, see

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Right to enter the fire, they immediately do so and as they enter, God orders the fire to be ‘cool and safe’.21 The people of the Left ask God to exempt them from entering the fire and God promises that He will, if only they enter it (apparently just as He did with the people of the Right), but they are still afraid and go away. It is at this point that obedience and disobedience came into being and those belong to the obedient cannot become disobedient or vice versa.22 It is obvious that the obedient group represents the Shīʿa whereas the disobedient is the rest of humanity. Again, as in the case of intelligence and ignorance, although the intention of this tradition is to highlight the status of the people of the Right (representing the Shīʿa), it is easier for the reader to sympathize with the people of the Left and their human fear of the fire that results in disobedience. Setting an ideal example in the form of blind obedience is problematic since it may be perceived as beyond the reach of ordinary human beings, especially when natural feelings, like the fear of fire are involved. One element in the story does, however, leave some room for deviation from strict dualistic determinism, namely, the idea that God ordered the two waters to mix with each other. This, as we saw, resulted in the possibility that a believer would give birth to an unbeliever and the other way round. In the previous chapter we have seen how mixing the materials of creation served as a mythic explanation for the existence of ‘bad’ believers and ‘good’ unbelievers. Here, the tradition goes a step further by arguing that due to this mix, the genealogical sequence of believers and unbelievers may be interrupted, allowing an intergenerational change in the religious affiliation. A concept, which, although standing in contrast to the predestinarian viewpoint, reflects the blurred line that separated various religious communities within the Islamic world and the fluid transition possible between them. In another tradition along similar lines, the fifth and the sixth Imams, al-Bāqir and al-Ṣādiq, used the idea of mix to explain the fact that Shīʿīs and other Muslims share the same fundamental religious duties: the declaration of faith (shahāda), the pilgrimage (ḥajj), the minor pilgrimage (ʿumra), alms giving (zakāt) and charity (ṣadaqa), fasting (ṣawm) and prayer (ṣalāt). That all Muslims perform these duties is the direct result of the mixing of the materials from which Shīʿīs and others were created.23 I. Hasson, “Left Hand and Right Hand,” Encyclopaedia of the Quran (Leiden, 2001–2006), vol. III, pp. 176–180. 21. Compare with Quran 21: 69 “But We said, ‘Fire, be cool and safe for Abraham’.” 22. See al-Barqī, p. 282, no. 412. 23. ibid., pp. 282–282, no. 413; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 253–254, no. 49.

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Although this tradition may aim at devaluing the non-Shīʿīs’ motives for performing the religious duties, its message nevertheless is that due to this primordial mix the two communities share a core of belief and ritual. Ascribing the performance of fundamental common duties to a primordial contact between the materials from which the Shīʿa and other Muslims were created narrows significantly the distinction between the two groups. It is clear that when this tradition was uttered — either by the fifth and sixth Imams or by scholars of later generations who merely attributed it to the Imams — the Shīʿī community was preoccupied by the differences between various Islamic groups. The story of the mixing, though, is a cosmological myth which is universal in nature. In theory, this could mean that the observations by Imams al-Bāqir and al-Ṣādiq regarding the creedal and ritual commonalities between Shīʿīs and other Muslims may be extended to include other religious communities as well. In reality, what can clearly be seen here is the extent to which the preoccupations of the present influence the shaping of the mythic past. The religio-historical circumstances at the time of this tradition’s conception are projected retrospectively on the primordial past, featuring the materials of creation as archetypes of the two religious communities that preoccupied mostly the Shīʿa — themselves and other Muslims. Another series of traditions depicts an additional aspect of the relationship between God and the proto-human beings in their particle form (dharr). These traditions clearly portray the relationship at this pre-existential stage as bilateral, rendering the formation of the fundamentals of the creed a mutual character. The central theme is a covenant or a pact (mīthāq) that God made with the future believers. The essentials of this covenant were the acknowledgment of God’s sovereignty, of Muḥammad’s mission as a prophet and loyalty to the Imams.24 The Shīʿī myth of the covenant is strongly related to the Quranic verse [7 : 172]: “When your Lord took out the offspring from the loins of the Children of Adam and made them bear witness about themselves, He said, ‘Am I not your Lord?’ and they replied, ‘Yes, we bear witness.’ So you cannot say on the Day of Resurrection, ‘We were not aware of this’.”25 The Quranic verse offers a relatively detailed account of the role each party had to play in this scene. Although it is questionable, as has been seen above, 24. See al-Barqī, pp. 135–136, no. 17, where both the Imams and the believers are shadows (aẓilla); see also al-Barqī, p. 330, no. 97, p. 340, no. 129; aspects of the covenant that are relevant for the notion of election were discussed in detail in the previous chapter. 25. See M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 132–134; M. Ebstein, “Covenant,” EI²; R. Gramlich, “Der Urvertrag in der Koranslesung (zu Sura 7, 172–173),” pp. 205–230.

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whether the particles had the option not to bear witness or accept the terms of the pact, both the use of the term mīthāq and the active affirmation on their part, suggest that the covenant that shaped the faith forever was the result of a mutual understanding. According to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, on this occasion, which was forgotten by all the believers, the awareness of the existence of God was engraved in their hearts. Had this event not taken place, they would never have been able to tell who their Creator and Provider was.26 Elsewhere, al-Ṣādiq explains — along the lines of Quran 7 : 172 — that on the basis of this covenant God is entitled to judge all human beings and prove them to be erring since He had made a pact with all of them.27 Al-Ṣādiq’s universal interpretation of the covenant is on the one hand very sensible and corresponds to the Quranic narrative according to which the covenant was made with representatives of Adam’s offspring. On the other hand, it stands in contradiction to the strict deterministic worldview. After all, deviations from the desired, and agreed-upon type of relationship between God and mankind that are the result of a violating of the covenant could not have taken place without a minimum of freedom. Similarly, the fact that the Shīʿa constitute a distinct faithful community, is the result of active adherence to the principles set in the covenant rather than pure determinism. Finally, two additional aspects of the materials from which the Shīʿa were created are of relevance for the discussion of determinism. The two were discussed at length in the previous chapter and I will therefore refer to them very briefly. The first is the notion that the Shīʿī community was created from a limited, stored amount of material (ṭīna makhzūna) and therefore no one can leave it nor join it.28 The second is the view that the believer can never become impure since he was created from the same material that was used for the creation of the prophets.29

26. See al-Barqī, p. 241, no. 225; see al-Ṣadūq, ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ, pp. 117–118, no. 1; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 3, p. 280, no. 16 and vol. 5, p. 254, no. 32. 27. See al-Barqī, p. 242, no. 229. 28. ibid., pp. 134–135, no. 13 cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 25, pp. 11–12, no. 19. A similar idea is found in Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʿir al-darajāt, p. 37, no. 11, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 15, p. 22, no. 36. 29. See al-Barqī, p. 133, no. 7, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 225, no. 1; see in addition in Ṣaffār al-Qummī, Baṣāʿir al-darajāt, p. 38, no. 20.

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III. Predestination due to Historical, Ethnic and Legal Criteria Although the processes and events described up to this point may give the impression that their implications suffice to shape the world until the end of time, the projection of the deterministic-dualistic worldview is not limited to the pre-existential era. In the present section, we will see that a person’s genealogical background plays a pivotal role in shaping his destiny for better or for worse. An examination of traditions dealing with the issue in Kitāb al-maḥāsin reveals that the discussion is carried out on three levels. First, the historical background, that is, the relation to ancestors. Second, the ethnic affiliation. Third, the legal dimension, that is, the character of the relationship between one’s biological parents.

a. The Historical Dimension Adam: Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is said to have declared that “everything has an essence/core (jawhar) and the essence/core of Adam’s offspring are Muḥammad, God’s prayers upon him and his family, us and our Shīʿa.”30 Alongside the implicit universal awareness on the part of al-Ṣādiq that humanity in its entirety are of Adam’s offspring, we discern a clear hierarchy that places the Prophet, the Imams and the community of the faithful higher than everyone else. The impression is that this hierarchy was predetermined by God rather than established by human action. This impression is gained mainly due to the strong genealogical message implied in the expression ‘the essence/core of Adam’s offspring’. Although the Imam does not specify what the deterministic implications of this predetermined hierarchy are, one is led to believe that they must be positively overwhelming. Abraham: the four traditions included in the chapter “There is no one among Abraham’s religion or ethnic group (milla),” offer several variations of the idea that the Shīʿī believers are the only ones who are descended from Abraham ethnically and who went his way religiously.31 The main message of the first two traditions, on the authority of the third Imam Ḥusayn b. ʿAlī, is as follows: “No one is counted amongst Abraham’s religion except we and our

30. See al-Barqī, p. 143, no. 39; see M. M. Dakake’s use of this tradition to shed light on the affinity between Imams and their followers within her discussion of hierarchy among community members in The Charismatic Community, p. 167. 31. See al-Barqī, pp. 147–148, no. 54–57.

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Shīʿa and the rest of the people are innocent thereof.”32 To this, the third tradition, on the authority of Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, adds the implications of this exclusive affiliation: God accepts the deeds of the Shīʿa alone and only forgives them their sins.33 The last tradition, ascribed to Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir, states that those who followed Abraham, namely, the Prophet and the believers, are worthy of him.34 More than any other Quranic (or Biblical) figure, Abraham stands out as the founder of the first monotheistic religion, of the true faith that was in due time to become Islam. It is in this wider Islamic context that the Shīʿī exclusive affiliation with Abraham should be seen. Affiliation with Abraham, which is the result of either genealogy or of following in his footsteps, is generously rewarded by God. The negative mirror image that applies to all other Muslims is quite clear — their deeds are not accepted nor are their sins forgiven by God. As in other deterministic traditions, a change in this state of things seems like an impossibility. Muḥammad: Imam al-Bāqir emphasizes this point to his disciples, “You are the family of Muḥammad, you are the family of Muḥammad.”35 As in the case of the core of Adam’s offspring, the Imam does not need to specify what the implications of this genealogical affiliation are. The extension of the family of the Prophet to include the entire community, or at least some of al-Bāqir’s disciples is noteworthy. ʿAlī and Fāṭima: in the context of a tradition that discusses the status of a Shīʿī believer who fails to assist his fellow believer, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq states that such an individual “betrays God, His Apostle and the believers.” When al-Ṣādiq is asked to explain what he means by the word ‘believers’ (muʾminūn), he answers: “Starting from Amīr al-muʾminīn (i.e. ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib) and until the last of them.”36 The word ‘believers’ in this context raises a difficulty and, indeed, al-Majlisī suggests it should be understood as either the Imams or the Shīʿīs in general.37 It is clear that the believer who does not support his fellow believer betrays the believers. At the same time, the sequence: God, His Apostle and the believers, seems unusual and one would naturally 32. ibid., no. 54–55; cited in the framework of several exegetical traditions in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 64, p. 33 and vol. 65, p. 51, 85 and 88–89. 33. See al-Barqī, p. 147, no. 56; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, p. 89, no. 17. 34. See al-Barqī, pp. 147-148, no. 57, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, p. 84, no. 3 (from alʿAyyāshī’s Tafsīr). 35. See al-Barqī, p. 143, no. 40; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, p. 28, no. 53. 36. See al-Barqī, p. 98, no. 65; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 72, p. 175, no. 7 (from al-Ṣadūq’s Thawāb al-aʿmāl), p. 182, no. 25 (from al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī). 37. See Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 72, pp. 182–183.

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expect the word ‘Imams’ instead of ‘believers’. The possible, though somewhat difficult interpretation of the word ‘believers’ as referring to the entire community creates a very strong bond between ʿAlī and the entire community. Implicitly, once again, the reader may gain the impression that all believers are connected genealogically to the first Imam, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.

b. The Ethnic Dimension Loving ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib as a result of having Arab origins: Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is said to have told one of his disciples the following story: “A cousin of yours came to see me and he had the appearance of a Bedouin who was possessed by a demon, dressed in a mantle, a turban on his head and his shoes carried in his hand. He then said to me: ‘There are people who talk badly of you.’ I said to him: ‘Are you not an Arab?’ and he answered: ‘Yes, I am.’ I told him: ‘The Arabs do not hate ʿAlī, peace upon him.’”38 According to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, ethnic affiliation has a crucial deterministic influence on one’s feelings. A possible conclusion from this argument could be that non-Arabs are likely to hate ʿAlī, or at least have the potential to hate him, whereas Arabs are devoid of this negative inclination. On the face of it, it appears that the Imam gives here prominence to the Arabs over the non-Arab clients (mawālī) in Shīʿī circles. The Imam clearly wanted to calm down a worried Arab by reminding him that no matter how badly people may talk about an Imam, an Arab that hears it will never develop any hatred for ʿAlī, which in this context seems to be a reference to the Imams in general, including Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq. Nevertheless, his choice of words reveals that the deterministic implications of being an Arab are significant. The Imams, to whom the faithful turn at times of distress, may make a statement as an immediate remedy that, perhaps unintentionally, is more indicative of the broader picture than of any particular case.39

c. The Legal Dimension Although the implications of ‘a pure birth’ and ‘an impeccable lineage’ for the elect were discussed in the previous chapter, a brief mention of the two in the context of determinism is in order. As we have seen, what actually stands behind these two concepts is the nature of the relationship between one’s 38. See al-Barqī, pp. 89–90, no. 37; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 37, p. 273, no. 51. 39. This tradition recalls other accounts that associate the child of an illicit intercourse with certain non-Arab ethnic communities, see E. Kohlberg, “The Position of the walad zīnā in Imāmī Shīʿism,” p. 238.

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parents, and more specifically its legitimacy in legal terms. The offspring of a licit intercourse enjoys both ‘a pure birth’ and ‘an impeccable lineage’ whose implications are: love for the family of the Prophet and loyalty to the community of the faithful. These two fundamental characteristics of faith guarantee entrance to Paradise. The implications of the negative mirror image, that is, developing a hatred for the Prophet’s family, disloyalty to the community and in consequence ending up in Hell, characterize the destiny of the offspring of an illicit intercourse. Clearly, traditions that depict these circumstances aim at highlighting the importance of legitimizing relationships according to Islamic law. Interestingly, adherence to the law in this respect or a lack of it, have profound deterministic implications for the newborn child rather than his parents. Furthermore, if we rule out the possibility that God actively pushes people into illicit relationships, the picture is of parents who act freely and a newborn child that is bound to a certain end as a result of their behaviour.40

IV. Determinism due to God’s Intervention in this World From what we have seen so far, it may seem that after shaping man’s fate starting from the pre-existential era, going through the materials from which he was created and finally the circumstances of his birth and historical/genealogical background, there is no need for any further intervention on the part of the divine. As if everything was laid down either in the primordial past or at other early stages of man’s evolution. Following birth, it may be assumed that everything should happen according to the deterministic implications of previous stages. In the present section, we will see that this is not the case and that God continues His intervention — which at times can even be violent or surgical, at least metaphorically — in order to determine one’s fate in this world. It is hard to explain why this late intervention is required at all following the seemingly sufficient early intervention. The two seem to contradict one another and the one appears redundant in light of the other. In addition to the obvious explanation to this duality, namely, that it does not harm to present adherence to the Shīʿī faith (or its rejection) as the result of God’s permanent intervention and choice also in this world, we will see below that this duality plays an important role in shaping the Shīʿī approach towards engaging in polemical debate with other schools of thought, mainly polemicizing of 40. See the traditions that deal with the issue in al-Barqī, pp. 138–141, no. 24–34, and the discussion in the previous chapter, under section III, ‘Birth Myths.’

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the missionary kind. Most of the traditions upon which the present section is based are assembled in a chapter whose title is ‘The direction to the right path is from God’ (in the fifth sub-book of the text, Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam).41 As the title of this chapter indicates, according to the Shīʿī worldview, finding the right path is a matter that rests in the hands of God. As this section shows, sometimes this matter is portrayed as being literally in the hands of God.

a. ‘Violent’ Intervention When God wants what is good for someone, He grabs the person by the neck and drags him into ‘this thing’, that is, the Shīʿī faith, or, alternatively, He assigns an angel to do it. This action, traditions expressing the idea interestingly elaborate, is carried out either in accordance with the individual’s will or against it.42 This dramatic depiction of the way God forces individuals into the faith raises various questions. First, does this description apply to all believers? In other words, was this the way all members of the Shīʿī community entered the faith or that of only of a few? The former possibility clearly tallies with the strict dualistic deterministic view since it ascribes the same method of inclusion in the faith to all members of the group. Despite this correspondence, my reading of these traditions suggests that they are more likely to refer to specific individuals rather than to the community as a whole. Furthermore, it seems that God’s active intervention constitutes a liminal stage in a person’s life — transferring him from a state in which good is lacking to one in which it prevails. A possible explanation for this transformation could be that if God wishes, He can take unbelievers and turn them into believers either personally or through the agency of an angel. The question is why would God want to do something that stands in contradiction to the binary way in which He had shaped the world? Were people not destined to belong to either one group or the other long before their actual earthly existence? Although the divine ‘violent’ act which is required to direct a person to the right path — voluntarily or by coercion — may be indicative of reluctance on the part of that individual, it does not necessarily stand in contradiction to the search for this path. In fact, in its essence, this description does not differ greatly from the way the sources portray the first revelations of prophets 41. See al-Barqī, pp. 200–203, no. 32–49; see also al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 1, Bāb al-hidāya min allāh, pp. 93–94. 42. See al-Barqī, pp. 202–203, no. 42–47; cf. Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 198, no. 17, p. 204, no. 35–36 and p. 205, no. 39, where a similar idea is expressed.

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such as Abraham or Muḥammad. At any rate, according to this view, the determinism is being kept in the sense that it is God and not the individual who plays the active role in the shift from one state to the other. Another possible interpretation of the idea discussed here could be that it should not be taken literally but rather metaphorically, as a means of highlighting God’s omnipotence. In other words, God can do anything, including forcing anyone for whom He wishes what is good into the faith, but it does not mean that He actually does it. Another ‘violent’ way to maintain the deterministic worldview is to torment a Shīʿī who had committed sins during his life. The purpose of this torment is to purify the believer of all his sins, including the great ones (kabāʾir), in order to save him from Hell. Saving such a believer from Hell guarantees the sustainability of the basic principle that ‘those characterized by this thing’, that is, the Shīʿī faith, will not be ‘devoured by the fire of Hell’. The torment is gradual, going from the physical to decreasing one’s income and finally to making one’s death even more difficult, an act ensuring that this individual will meet God innocent of any sin. When God meets a Shīʿī at this state, He lets him enter Paradise.43 According to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, even if ‘he who knows this thing’, that is, the Shīʿī believer, committed almost every possible sin, God would not allow him to leave this world without letting a calamity befall him, either poverty or an illness, by which his sins will be atoned. In comparison, the enemy of the Shīʿa has no hope,44 apparently nothing — even great sufferings prior to death — will prevent him from ending up in Hell. In addition to the physical torments, there is suffering which is psychological in nature. According to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, one of the ways to make a believer who had sinned leave this world in a state of innocence is to cause him fear or terrorize him.45 It is questionable whether Imam al-Ṣādiq refers here to the natural fear of death that is common to all people. The impression is more of an unexpected horror that the believer experiences before dying rather than the universal fear of death. As such, it certainly belongs under the subtitle of the present section: ‘violent’ intervention that aims at maintaining the desired deterministic worldview.

43. See al-Barqī, p. 172, no. 141, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, pp. 120–121, no. 26; in tradition no. 143 on p. 172, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq clarifies that this scheme applies also to great sins. 44. See al-Barqī, p. 172, no. 142, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 161, no. 27 and vol. 65, p. 104, no. 16. 45. See al-Barqī, p. 172, no. 43.

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b. Surgical Intervention When God cares about one’s wellbeing, He carves a white slit or a dot in his heart. As a result of this action, the heart starts looking for the truth until it finally reaches ‘this thing’ faster than the birds reach their nests.46 Very often, as was seen, one can easily infer the negative mirror image of positive statements made regarding the Shīʿa being applied to their opponents. In the case at point, we are not required to do so since the sources offer an explicit description of the opposite situation: when God wishes someone what is evil, He carves in his heart a black slit or a black dot.47 The dualistic portrayal of reality in black and white is remarkable. Another dualistic depiction of this surgical divine intervention finds expression in the act of opening versus closing the minor holes in the heart (masāmiʿ qalbihi) in accordance with God’s will that the individual be directed (or not) to the right path. The act, whether of opening or closing, is valid forever.48 The idea that God prepares a person for a spiritual mission through a surgical intervention is not alien to Islamic thought. A famous case in point is the act God carried out on Muḥammad’s chest to which the Quran [94 : 1] alludes by the rhetorical question, “Did We not expand your heart for you [Prophet]?” As in the case of the ‘violent’ intervention, here too, there is no information regarding the circumstances in which God may wish what is good or what is bad for a person. The lack of reference to the circumstances strengthens the impression that this decision is taken arbitrarily by God, regardless of one’s conduct. Unlike the case of ‘violent’ intervention, in which the individual’s role was narrowed down to the minimum, following the surgical act, a person’s heart becomes active, searching for the truth and very quickly reaches the Shīʿī faith. Indeed, God is the one initiating the process through His surgical intervention, but once this stage is achieved, the completion of the process is carried out by the person himself. As in the case of intelligence (ʿaql), which is said to exist at least partially in every believer,49 it is questionable whether following the surgical act, a person’s choices depend on his own will or, alternately, they are the inevitable result of the newly designed heart. A partial answer to this question is offered by several traditions that address it directly. 46. See al-Barqī, pp. 200–201, no. 36–37, 40; cf. al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, pp. 93–94 and Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 204, where carving in the heart is mentioned and traditions 36–37 of al-Barqī are cited. 47. See al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 94, no. 2. 48. See al-Barqī, p. 200, no. 35; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 203–204, no. 31. 49. See section II of the present chapter, ‘The Pre-existential Setting.’

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When Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is asked whether human beings can do something about their belief, he answers unequivocally in the negative and states that the belief is from God. This is the shortest tradition within a series of three that bear a similar message. The other two are longer since the Imam bases the same statement on Quranic verses. In one case on: “these are the people in whose hearts God has inscribed faith” [Q 58 : 22]50 and in the other one: “God has endeared faith to you and made it beautiful to your hearts” [Q 49 : 7].51 In both cases the conclusion is that people can do very little to influence the nature of their belief. Another significant difference is that traditions depicting the surgical divine intervention do not offer any information regarding the individual’s attitude to this action. Whether it is carried out in accordance with one’s will or against it is not specified. This may strengthen the impression that the preparation of the heart, unlike the violent intervention, takes place before the individual develops his independent approach towards belief, thus preparing him for growth in the right or wrong direction rather than diverting him at some point of his life from one course to another. Should that be the case, we are faced again with the problem of the relationship between two distinct concepts that take place at different stages of one’s personal or spiritual development. A possible solution to the contradictions to which the existence of both concepts may give rise is, yet again, not to understand them literally. Both forms of divine intervention may be understood simply as metaphors that highlight the complete responsibility that God bears for a person’s religious identity and awareness. Grabbing someone by the neck or carving a slit in his heart are figurative ways of expressing the total dependence of man on the divine will. For Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, the violent way in which God brings human beings into the realm of belief is a convincing argument against any attempt to call people to join the Shīʿī faith.52 Similarly, basing himself on the account of the surgical intervention, al-Ṣādiq is asking his disciples the following rhetorical question: “What do you have with the people?”53 Elsewhere, he directs them not to engage in polemics with anyone with the aim of convincing them to join the faith.54 Indeed, in light of these divine interventions, what could possibly be 50. 51. 52. 53. 54.

See al-Barqī, p. 199, no. 27; is cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 222, no. 6. See al-Barqī, p. 199, no. 29; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 222, no. 4. See al-Barqī, p. 202, no. 44; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 65, pp. 207–208, no. 13. See al-Barqī, p. 200, no. 36. ibid., p. 201, no. 40.

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the value of human missionary effort? After all, “were all the inhabitants of Heaven and earth to unite in order to lead a person whom God misled, or to mislead a person whom God led, they will not be able to do so.”55 Another tradition attributes to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq the teaching that one should not polemicize about religion since arguing and polemicizing cause diseases of the heart. To bolster his opinion, al-Ṣādiq quotes Quranic verses in which God makes it clear to the Prophet that it is He who is responsible for people’s guidance and not the Prophet [Q 28 : 56] and that the Prophet cannot impose belief on people [Q 10 : 99]. Al-Ṣādiq also recalls that he heard his father say that if God determines that a person will enter the Shīʿī faith, he will reach it faster than a bird reaches its nest.56 This tradition does not offer details regarding the precise manner in which God directs a man to the faith but from the use of the verb ‘determined (kataba ʿalayhi)’ it is clear that He is responsible for it. The innovation in this tradition is that polemicizing is not desired since it damages the heart and not only because, given God’s crucial intervention, it is redundant. The Imam’s argument that polemicizing may make the heart ill could be understood either literally or in relation to the common Quranic expression “those who have sickness in their hearts” (alladhīna fī qulūbihim maraḍ). This expression appears in the Quran twelve times as a description of those who do not believe wholeheartedly and are doubtful. In the context of the present tradition, a sickness of the heart may be understood as the doubts and insecurity that polemicizing may provoke. Understanding the Imam’s teaching in the spirit of the Quranic expression may suggest that it was meant to protect the Shīʿīs from the inevitable risk of going astray as a result of an involvement in polemic. The overall negative attitude towards polemics may also have derived from a more concrete threat to the Shīʿa as a persecuted minority. All the reasons against it that were discussed above may therefore also be considered as various rational arguments to restrain the natural urge to publicly defend or advocate one’s faith. In other words, al-Ṣādiq’s preaching against polemicizing fits his quietist approach and derives from practical considerations rather than the deterministic implications of God’s interventions that were discussed above. The devaluation of polemics for missionary purposes may also appear to fit with the Shīʿī notion of a closed community. In fact, the whole discourse of 55. ibid., p. 200, no. 34; see also al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, pp. 93–94, no. 1; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 203, no. 30. 56. See al-Barqī, p. 201, no. 38; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 133, no. 24; sea also alKulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 166, no. 3, vol. 2, pp. 213–214, no. 4; Ibn Bābawayh, Tawḥīd, p. 415.

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divine intervention as well as the Imam’s preaching concerning the redundancy of missionary polemics leave the door open to newcomers. After all, God could grab someone by his neck or carve a white slit or a dot in his heart at any given moment. Any convert to Shīʿism could thus be seen as the outcome of some sort of divine intervention, which, according to the Imams, is undoubtedly possible. In a tradition along the same lines, a believer is said to have asked Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq whether he should encourage his adult children to join the faith. The Imam explains his negative answer by telling this believer that if a person is born ʿAlawī or Jaʿfarī, God grabs him by his forelock and pulls him into the Shīʿī faith.57 Here we are introduced once again to the importance of the genealogical aspect as a prerequisite for inclusion in the faith. Whereas in other genealogical traditions that we discussed this seemed like a sufficient parameter, here it appears as the first of two necessary stages. The second being God’s active pulling or grabbing of the ʿAlawī or Jaʿfarī individual into the circle of faith. Reading this tradition from a different angle may give the impression that being born as ʿAlawī or Jaʿfarī is not in the hands of God and once it occurs, God necessarily acts accordingly and pulls the ʿAlawī or Jaʿfarī individual into the faith. The attempt to highlight the importance of being of ʿAlawī or Jaʿfarī descent comes at the expense of God’s freedom, because it depicts the genealogical element as dictating the divine behaviour and not the other way around. Naturally, this is not the message the utterer of this tradition meant to convey.

V. Mental or Psychological Determinism Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have declared, “The heart turns around from its place up to the throat as long as it does not find the truth and when it does, it stabilizes.” Following this statement, al-Bāqir cites the beginning of the Quranic verse [6 : 125] “When God wishes to guide someone, He opens their breasts to Islam; when He wishes to lead them astray, He closes and constricts their breast.”58 As so often in Kitāb al-maḥāsin, this tradition contains two parts: the Imam’s teaching and a Quranic verse. Whether we choose to 57. See al-Barqī, p. 202, no. 45; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 205, no. 38; by the adjective jaʿfarī Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq probably means Jaʿfar b. Abī Ṭālib, ʿAlī’s brother, known also as al-Ṭayyār, and not himself, see L. Veccia Vagilieri, “Djaʿfar b. Abī Ṭālib,” EI². 58. See al-Barqī, p. 202, no. 41; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 204, no. 34.

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interpret the Quranic quotation as supporting the Imam’s teaching or, alternatively, the Imam’s teaching as an exegesis of the verse, the message is similar: 1. Not finding the truth results in unrest of the heart. This situation is caused by God’s closure and constriction of the heart. 2. The truth due to which the heart stabilizes is Islam and its finding is contingent upon God’s opening of the breast. This combination of the messages in the Imam’s teaching and the Quranic verse does not make any significant advance on the material in the narratives of surgical intervention. Here too, God carries out an act upon the heart or breast in order to either direct a person to find the truth or to lead him astray. In what follows, a somewhat different reading of this tradition, however, is suggested. An examination of the Imam’s teaching alone, that is, without juxtaposing it with the Quranic verse, reveals two significant facts. The first is that the Imam does not specify what the essence of the desired truth is and the second is that he does not ascribe its finding to an external agent. His teaching could thus be understood in several ways that differ significantly from the analysis above. The first is a mystical interpretation according to which the truth in the tradition represents God and its finding is the union between the believer and God that assures the stabilization of the heart. Another way to understand this tradition is philosophically. Namely, that human beings are destined to be in a state of unrest and eternal quest for a truth whose discovery guarantees peace of mind. In this case, it is not necessary that the truth be the same for each individual. Moreover, the search for this truth does not have to end in its discovery. The ideal depiction of the restful heart following the discovery of truth could be simply a goal to strive for. The peculiarity of this tradition goes however beyond the undefined nature of the truth which one is destined to seek. The description of the human heart as being in the state of unrest as long as it does not find the truth sheds an additional significant light on the deterministic worldview that one detects in Kitāb al-maḥāsin. It also offers a different, novel perspective on the state of man. One could naturally argue that God created the human heart in the way this tradition depicts it and therefore what we have here does not constitute an actual deviation from the strict deterministic worldview. However, presenting things in this manner overlooks the human universalism that is beautifully expressed in this tradition. While in previous narratives of divine intervention the inner state of the individual was not elaborated upon, this tradition offers a glimpse into it. The unrest that characterizes the heart before it finds

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the truth seems to be a universal phenomenon and not something exclusively Shīʿī. Even if we assume that only the Shīʿīs may eventually find the truth, the fact that before this happens unrest characterizes everyone is remarkable and does not correspond to the dualistic worldview. Furthermore, this tradition allows room in the world for those who never find the truth and keep searching for it forever. Unlike the common pejorative depiction of the non-Shīʿīs, their portrayal as those whose hearts will never cease searching for the truth is highly exceptional. This possibility must be ruled out if the Imam’s teaching is read as referring to the Shīʿīs exclusively, thus implicitly conveying the message that the hearts of the non-Shīʿīs do not seek truth as their hearts find peace in and settle for whatever belief they adopt. The Imam’s reference to ‘the heart’ (al-qalb) in general rather than to that of a specific group strongly suggests that he meant it universally (this also goes hand-in-hand with the Quranic verse that the Imam cites). Finally, whether the heart finds the truth or not, its unrest and persistent search for it represent a much more active view of the human role in finding the right path, whatever this may be.

VI. Fair Determinism Despite the arbitrary way in which divine determinism has been described up to this point, one can discern in Kitāb al-maḥāsin several ideas that render it a fair dimension. In the light of this dimension, God’s approach to human beings may seem just and relatively compatible with human reason, two Muʿtazilī principles that became prominent in Shīʿī theology starting from the third/ninth century.59 Although these ideas soften to a certain degree the absolute determinism described earlier, they do not constitute a meaningful deviation from this general worldview and it is doubtful whether one can see them as reflecting the early Imāmī-Muʿtazilī relationship. In a series of twelve traditions gathered together in a chapter titled ‘The earth will not be void of an Imam (ʿālim)’, the seminal idea which is expressed in the title appears in several variants.60 In one of these traditions, Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have described this idea in the following words: 59. See W. Madelung, “Imamism and Muʿtazilite Theology,” pp. 14–15 and N. Haider, Shīʿī Islam: An Introduction, pp. 18–30. 60. See al-Barqī, pp. 234–236, no. 191–202; this is one of the common ideas in Shīʿī literature, see e.g. al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 1, Bāb inna-l-arḍ lā takhlū min ḥujja, pp. 100–101; see also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 43, where this concept is defined as no less than ‘an axiom’.

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“The earth would not exist had there not been an Imam upon it.”61 Elsewhere, his son, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, puts it slightly differently: “The earth will not exist unless there is an Imam (ḥujja) upon it; it is the only way for both the people and the earth to function properly.”62 The deterministic implications of this idea are remarkable — God shaped earth and mankind in a way that requires the presence of an Imam in any given moment.63 In what follows it will been seen that an examination of the reasons behind this state of affairs shows that, rather than serving the deterministic worldview, it aims to leave some room for flexibility. In fact, like divine intervention during one’s life, the most important reasons for the unconditional dependence on an Imam are to a certain extent inimical to the strict dualistic-deterministic worldview. In other words, in a world fully corresponding to the depiction of it in the traditions we dealt with earlier (pre-existence, creation and birth), there would be no need for an Imam whose raison d’être is that only through him can people distinguish the permissible (ḥalāl) from the forbidden (ḥarām), and right (ḥaqq) from wrong (bāṭil).64 Despite the divine predestination that divides human beings into the happy who are going to Paradise and the miserable who are doomed to Hell, God determines that mankind will not be left on earth without someone to be addressed on matters of right and wrong, permissible and forbidden. This idea is expressed elsewhere in a tradition that describes a dialogue that took place between Adam and God following the termination of Adam’s prophetic role and apparently close to his death. God tells Adam that He will not leave the earth without a ‘knowledgeable one’ (ʿālim) — in Adam’s case it was Seth (hibat Allāh) — to whom Adam was requested by God to transfer all his knowledge. The knowledge that Adam had to transmit to his son included “knowledge in general (ʿilm), belief (īmān), the inheritance of the Prophecy (mīrāth al-nubuwwa), the remains of knowledge (āthār al-ʿilm) and the Great 61. See al-Barqī, p. 234, no. 191; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 76, p. 178, no. 56; cf. al-Ṣaffār’s Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, p. 505, no. 6. 62. See al-Barqī, p. 234, no. 193; cf. al-Ṣaffār’s Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, pp. 505–506, no. 9. 63. Following the occultation of the twelfth Imam, this becomes a major argument in support of the Imam’s inevitable existence, See Ibn Bābawayh, al-Shaykh al-Ṣadūq, Kamāl al-dīn wa-tamām al-niʿma (Beirut, 2004), pp. 16–17, where the idea that humanity cannot survive without an Imam is expressed by the concept of ‘an Imam prior to mankind’ (al-khalīfa qabla al-khalīqa). Namely, that the dependence on an Imam characterized human history from its very beginning. 64. See al-Barqī, p. 234, no. 192, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 26, p. 178, no. 57, 194–195, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 26, p. 178, no. 58–59; and see in addition al-Barqī, pp. 235–236, no. 201.

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Name (al-ism al-aʿẓam).” Through this ‘knowledgeable one’, God elaborates, His religion can be acknowledged as well as the right way in which to obey Him. This knowledgeable one, God concludes, will constitute a salvation/redemption (najāt) for those born in the periods between the death of a prophet and the appearance of a new one.65 Adam’s transmission of his knowledge to his son was the first in a series of similar transmissions from a ‘knowledgeable one’ — whether a prophet or an Imam — to his heir down the ages. The transmission of knowledge is thus another deterministic characteristic of this world that is not in the hands of the transmitter but rather of God. As Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have described it: “The knowledge that descended to earth with the first man did not disappear following his death, but rather it was inherited. An Imam does not die unless he leaves behind him someone who knows the same as he knows or whatever God wants [this heir to know].”66 A way to accommodate the conditional presence of an Imam on earth and the pre-existential dualistic shaping of the world is to argue that this Imam represents one end of a dualist axis. The other end, although it was not explicitly described in the traditions we analyzed above, being an ignorant, false Imam. Adherence to either of the two is not a matter of the free will of human beings but a predetermined thing that tallies with a person’s pre-existential biography, creation, birth and genealogy. Viewed in this light, distinguishing what is true from what is wrong and the permissible from the forbidden are things that characterize the Shīʿīs deterministically and therefore are consistent with the strict dualistic worldview. God’s fairness towards His creation comes to the fore also on the Day of Judgment. Several traditions indicate that one of the most important criteria according to which God judges people is the amount of intelligence (ʿaql) that He had given them.67 In one of these traditions, Moses passes with a pious 65. See al-Barqī, p. 235, no. 197; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 23, pp. 19–20, no. 15. Although this dialogue is said to have taken place between God and the first Prophet, it is remarkable that its final part states that the importance of an ʿālim reaches its peak in the periods between two prophets. This pattern can be easily applied to all of the prophets’ heirs until Muḥammad, but it is slightly problematic in light of the Islamic view of Muḥammad as the ‘seal of the prophets’ to regard the Imams after him as those who will be the saviours of humanity until another prophet rises. 66. See al-Barqī, pp. 235, no. 196; cited in Bīḥār al-anwār, vol. 26, p. 127, no. 22 (from alṢaffār’s Baṣāʾir al-darajāt); see also al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 222, no. 3; see in addition E. Kohlberg, “Imam and Community in the Pre-Ghayba Period,” p. 28 and note 29. 67. See al-Barqī, pp. 193–195, no. 10, 14, 16.

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person from the Children of Israel through a fertile pasture. Upon seeing the pasture, Moses’ companion sighs. When Moses asked him why he sighed, he replied: “I was wishing that my Lord would have a donkey that I could pasture here.” Moses was amazed and saddened by this wish and then God inspired him with the following: “Why do you ascribe so much importance to what My servant said? I punish/judge my servants in accordance with the amount of intelligence I gave them.”68 Already in the tradition about the creation of intelligence and ignorance, we were introduced to the idea that people are created with a varying amount of intelligence. Here, we are told that God is aware of the limitations that may derive from different amounts of intelligence and that He takes them into consideration in His judgment. Naturally, a person who was not created with the full scope of intelligence, that is, who is not a prophet or an Imam, must contain within himself some ignorance. This duality is not static but rather results in an inner struggle between the two faculties. This is very well summarized in a saying attributed to the eighth Imam, ʿAlī al-Riḍā: “Every person’s friend/ally is his intelligence and his enemy is his ignorance.” From the fact that God judges people according to the amount of intelligence He gave them, we can conclude that the outcomes of this struggle vary in correspondence to the starting point of each individual. God’s relative judgment of mankind recalls His approach in two other aspects of life: the religious duties of which God demands performance and God’s right to reproach believers. In the realm of religious duties, Imam Jaʿfar is said to have proclaimed that God imposed upon believers only what they are capable of performing, He did not demand the maximum but rather less.69 When this point of view is contrasted with the idea that God predestined everything in the Imam’s presence, he says that this is indeed the state of things: “God imposed on mankind only what He revealed to them and they are exempted from anything of which they are incapable. Everything is the result of what God wanted, determined, predestined and wished for.”70 Similarly, God reproaches believers only on the basis of the things He has brought them and taught them.71 The same idea is expressed in the words that Imam al-Bāqir is said to have ascribed to the Apostle of God in his last pilgrimage: “O people, 68. ibid., p. 193, no. 10; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 1, p. 91, no. 21. 69. See al-Barqī, p. 296, no. 465; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 41, no. 66; cf. Quran [2: 185] mainly the following part: “God wants ease for you, not hardship”; see in addition al-Barqī, pp. 276–277, no. 392. 70. See al-Barqī, p. 296, no. 466; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 41, no. 65. 71. See al-Barqī, pp. 275–276, no. 388; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 301, no. 5.

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fear God, there is nothing that can get you closer to Paradise and farther from Hell which I did not prohibit (nahaytukum ʿanhu) or permit to you (amartukum bihi).”72 To put it differently, through His Apostle, God provided mankind with all the information required to lead a pious life. The conclusion to be derived from this is that His judgment is inevitably just. Remarkably, the attribution of this statement to the Prophet on the occasion of his last pilgrimage by an Imam (or an Imāmī devotee), suggests that the Imams have very little to contribute to matters of religious law, at least to those concerned with prohibition and permission (nahy and amr).

VII. Cracks and Question Marks So far several questions regarding the coherency of the deterministic worldview that evolve from the relevant materials in Kitāb al-naḥāsin have been raised and a variety of contradictions in this general picture pointed out. The present section will be devoted to concepts and ideas that, unlike these previous reservations, could not be accommodated within the overall deterministic message of the text. Before addressing these ideas, it would seem sensible to clarify why these concepts are significantly different from previous seemingly inconsistent elements. While the difficulties in the materials analyzed up to this point arose mainly due to their examination from an unconventional angle rather than their straightforward message that aimed at bolstering the deterministic worldview, in what follows we will encounter traditions whose goal seems to be the promotion of tenets contradicting determinism. In the second part of Kitāb al-maḥāsin ‘The book of reward for [good] deeds’, one comes across two traditions that are placed under the chapter ‘The reward for thinking positively about God’ (thawāb ḥusn al-ẓann bi-llāh).73 Even before considering the details of these traditions, one is puzzled already by the idea expressed in the title, namely, that God rewards people for the way they think of Him or perceive Him. It is likely that along the same lines, God punishes those who think badly of Him.74 That God rewards or punishes according to the way He is perceived puts Him in a position that stresses His 72. See al-Barqī, p. 278, no. 399; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 171, no. 11. 73. See al-Barqī, pp. 25–26, no. 3–4, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 387, no. 51 and vol. 7, p. 288, no. 4 respectively. 74. Although this conclusion seems reasonable, I was unable to trace a tradition bearing this precise message in ‘The book of punishment for [evil] deeds’.

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dependency on mankind and consequently the bilateral nature of the humandivine relationship.75 In accounts depicting this sort of balanced relationship, God may seem to be adapting His behaviour to a human perception of Him. The first of these two traditions, on the authority of Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir, describes a person facing God on the Day of Judgment. When God orders this individual to enter Hell, he tells Him the following: “Oh no, Almighty God, this is not what I had thought of You.” When God inquires what this individual thought of Him, He is told: “I thought that You would forgive me.” When God hears this, He immediately forgives him.76 Here we have a clear demonstration of what ‘thinking positively about God’ means: that God forgives. It seems that once a person has thought that God would forgive him, God can no longer act differently. The impression is that He is committed to the positive way people think of Him and apparently also to the negative one. The fact that God has to alter His decision to make it fit a human prediction with regard to His conduct is completely alien to the deterministic worldview. As this tradition unfolds, we are introduced to al-Bāqir’s commentary on this story. In his view, during his earthly life, the individual in the story did not think that God would forgive him even for a moment. Had he done so, God would never have put him in this position,77 that is, in which He orders him to enter Hell. Al-Bāqir’s commentary raises two difficulties: 1. If we understand the statement ‘This is not what I had thought of You’ as referring to the individual’s life in this world, the inevitable conclusion is that he lied to God and was nevertheless rewarded. Could it be that God does not know when He is being lied to? 2. If this statement describes only what this individual was thinking at the moment that God ordered him to enter Hell, this would not be a lie, but the reward — altering a divine decision — for a momentary positive thought about God seems an exaggerated response. It is quite obvious that for al-Bāqir the story is a thorny one and requires clarification. Al-Bāqir clearly understands the individual’s statement as referring 75. In this context, see Zarathustra’s words to the sun in F. Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, (English by A. Del Caro) (Cambridge, 2006): “You great star! What would your happiness be if you had not those for whom you shine? For ten years you have come up here to my cave: you would have tired of your light and of this route without me, my eagle and my snake. But we awaited you every morning, took your overflow from you and blessed you for it.” 76. See al-Barqī, p. 25, no. 3. 77. ibid.

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exclusively to the moment of judgment. This understanding achieves two goals: first, it explains why the individual was initially sent to Hell and second, it highlights the reward for thinking positively about God. For al-Bāqir, so it seems, the reward for this momentary positive thought is not exaggerated but rather appropriate. This further strengthens the impression that God acts in accordance with the way human beings perceive Him to which I alluded above. This interpretation also tallies with the principle of divine justice, since God punishes and rewards justly. It would seem a bit farfetched to argue that the fifth Imam (d. 114/733) was already aware of this Muʿtazilī principle and incorporated it into his teachings. If al-Bāqir was actually the utterer of this tradition, his explanation reflects the theological preoccupations that characterized the discourse at his time. One of these preoccupations was apparently the divine justice, even if at this stage it was not yet formulated as a fundamental theological principle. Another option is that this tradition reflects a later interpolation, from the period when Shīʿī theologians strove to fuse Muʿtazilī ideas with Shīʿī doctrine, that is, during the second half of the third/ ninth century, in which al-Barqī worked on Kitāb al-maḥāsin. However, one suspects that al-Barqī was not responsible for this adaptation. If this is in fact a later interpolation, it is most likely that it reached al-Barqī already in the form found in Kitāb al-maḥāsin.78 In the second tradition in the chapter ‘The reward for thinking positively about God’, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq tells the story of a person who is brought before God on the Day of Resurrection. On God’s rhetorical questions “Have I not ordered you to obey Me? Have I not ordered you not to disobey Me?” the resurrected person answers positively and adds that, nevertheless, he was overtaken by lust. Due to these circumstances, he says, if God decides to punish him, it would be his fault and not an unjust act on the part of God. Following this dialogue, God orders him to go to Hell.79 Up to this point of the story we are introduced to the common scheme of obedience — disobedience, reward and punishment. This scheme is also problematic in a deterministic world; after all, how can God’s orders that should align with His will be violated? However, this difficulty constitutes an integral aspect of the tension between determinism and free will and had the tradition ended here, its inclusion in the present section would make little sense.

78. See W. Madelung, “Imamism and Muʿtazilite Theology,” pp. 14–15 and N. Haider, Shīʿī Islam: An Introduction, pp. 18–30. 79. See al-Barqī, pp. 25–26, no. 4.

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What justifies its inclusion here is the part that follows God’s decision to send this individual to Hell in which the latter says to God, “This is not what I had thought of You,” using the same wording we saw in the previous tradition. When God wants to know what this person thought of Him, he says: “I thought the best possible of You.” Upon hearing this, God orders to send this individual to Paradise, but this time He explains the alteration of His decision: “That you thought positively of Me is beneficial for you now.”80 Despite the obvious resemblance of the two traditions, in the second we are offered additional valuable information. The person described in this case has clearly sinned and is aware of his own responsibility for his fate. Furthermore, this person sees the possibility that God would punish him as just. When God actually informs him that He has decided to send him to Hell, he changes his attitude and tries to convince God to change His decision. Once God has made His decision, what had seemed to this person fair becomes in his eyes unjust. This story is particularly puzzling since the person’s awareness of God’s right to punish him due to his sins does not seem to qualify as ‘thinking positively about God’. Apparently, thinking that God is just in the sense that He punishes justly is not sufficient for the person who thinks so to be rewarded. There is, of course, a difference between one’s theoretical acknowledgement of God’s right to punish and the inevitable hope that eventually God will act differently. When after the person’s declaration that God would be acting justly if He punished him God actually does so, his disappointment finds its expression in the statement “This is not what I had thought of You,” which sounds almost like a reproach in response to which God changes His mind. Despite the obvious relevance of these traditions to the discussion of determinism, it seems that their goal was to highlight the importance of thinking positively about God rather than to shape the Shīʿī position towards the question of determinism. The first tradition implicitly indicates that, even briefly, thinking about God positively in this world will save a person from Hell. If a person fails to think positively about God during his life, he can still do so on the Day of Judgment and so influence his fate dramatically. The overall impression from both traditions is that ‘thinking positively’ about God actually means ascribing to Him forgiveness in general, or, even more concretely, the fact that He will forgive a person who truly thinks so. As was seen, attributing other positive attributes to God — such as punishing justly — went unrewarded. Whether the person thinks this positive thought

80. ibid.

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about God in this life or in the Hereafter is of little importance since it leads to the same outcome. Although the religious affiliation of the two individuals in the traditions we discussed above is not mentioned, it is likely that they were Shīʿīs or represent Shīʿīs. God’s alteration of His decision strengthens this assumption since it tallies with the notion we described earlier that God would do whatever was necessary — including inflicting physical and mental torment — to prevent a Shīʿī from entering Hell. These traditions are attributed to two Imams and were addressed primarily at the Shīʿī community in order to convey the message: think positively about God and you (i.e. the Shīʿīs) will be rewarded. As is argued throughout the present chapter, determinism and dualism are strongly interdependent and there is no reason to think that this attitude will not be relevant also in the case of thinking positively about God. In other words, influencing significantly God’s decision-making by thinking positively of Him is a right reserved to the Shīʿīs exclusively. To conclude the discussion about the reward for positive thinking about God, let us look at a tradition that sheds additional light on the subject. In this tradition — which constitutes the material of the chapter ‘The reward for perceiving God as just towards His creation’ (thawāb taʿdīl allāh fī khalqihi) — Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq says that the Prophet Muḥammad heard the following divine speech: “He who sins and knows that it is My right to punish him as well as to forgive him, I will forgive him.”81 The immediate thing that comes to mind is that this tradition contradicts the story about the person who was aware of God’s just right to punish him, as discussed above. Second, this tradition reinforces the desired deterministic balance in the relationship between human beings and God, namely, that God is strong, almighty and that He alone is responsible for laying down the commandments even if, in consequence, He is committed to them just as are ordinary human beings. Furthermore, the possibility that this divine speech was in fact attributed to God by a human being — be it the Prophet, an Imam, or a traditionist — cannot be ruled out. Should this be the case, then not only is God obliged to respect the rules that He sets, but He is also committed to the rules set by human beings and which they have put into His mouth, so to speak. 81. ibid., pp. 26–27, no. 6; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 6, p. 6, no. 9. It is noteworthy that the term taʿdīl (or other derivatives of the same root) that appears in the title of this chapter is absent in the tradition itself. This absence could be explained by assuming either that the extant text represents only a part of the original chapter, or that the title was added later and expresses the Muʿtazilī definition of this sort of discourse.

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An additional means of making God change His decision regarding people’s destiny on the Day of Judgment is through intercession (shafāʿa). In the fourth part of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, ‘The book of the elect, the light and mercy’, which constituted the main platform for the examination of the notion of election in the previous chapter, we find eleven traditions that address the concept of intercession.82 While in the previous chapter the discussion revolved around the exclusive right of God’s elect to intercede, in what follows the emphasis will be on the challenges posed by the Shīʿī concept of shafāʿa vis-à-vis the deterministic worldview. Of the various categories of those entitled to intercede, namely, angels, prophets, Imams and Shīʿī believers, the focus will be on the difficulties to which the human being’s right to intercede gives rise.83 Even before delving into the detailed picture that arises from an analysis of these traditions, the general idea that a human being may have a crucial impact on God’s opinion or decision regarding certain individuals seems to contradict the deterministic worldview. To resolve this contradiction one could of course argue that God had already determined who would intercede on behalf of whom and whether or not this intercession would bear fruit. This would turn intercession, a central facet of the faith, into nothing more than another stage in a game whose results are predetermined by God. In this case, the game could be more interesting if its participants are unaware of its results, thus leading them to believe that intercession might actually bring about a change in one’s fate. While the assumption that believers are not aware of the results of intercession may be plausible, it is harder to ascribe the same to prophets or Imams whose knowledge constitutes a major characteristic of their nature. Another problematic aspect of this solution is that it renders the idea that the right to intercede is reserved to the elect exclusively devoid of any value. It would seem senseless to highlight this unique privilege of the Shīʿa had it not contained actual rather than apparent content. If we accept the point that in the Shīʿī view intercession is not a mere outward show, then clearly the notion that God predetermined everything, including people’s fate, is challenged. 82. See al-Barqī, pp. 183–185, no. 183–193; traditions no. 183–186 seem to be mistakenly placed before the title that opens the chapter on intercession; see also M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 183–189. 83. See al-Barqī, pp. 183-185, no. 183-193. These categories are scattered throughout the eleven traditions (no. 183–193) mentioned in the previous note. Tradition no. 190 on p. 184 offers an indirect indication regarding the angels’ right to intercede stating, “Even if the angels who are closest to God and the sent prophets intercede on behalf of an enemy of the Shīʿa, their intercession will not be accepted.”

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The idea of intercession not only contradicts divine predestination; it also fails to accord with the notion that God is omniscient. Why would an omniscient entity have to rely on information from human beings regarding other human beings? In light of God’s omniscience any information possessed by human beings seems unnecessary and therefore the whole concept of intercession must fulfil a different need or serve another aim. It is possible that this aim is an element mentioned in the chapter about election, namely, that intercession is merely another means of highlighting the Shīʿa’s elevated status as God’s chosen group. This again turns intercession into a game whose results are known to God — and perhaps the prophets and the Imams — but are unknown to the majority of its participants. For the latter the right to intercede and its apparent implications may indeed seem as a great and exclusive reward. Given the immense influence on God which is ascribed to human knowledge in the form of intercession, it must be that intercession was perceived as more than just an outward show. Having clarified the conceptual difficulty, let us now examine several specific cases and the problems that they give rise to. A good starting point, one that offers a sectarian interpretation of the Islamic concept of intercession, would be Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s commentary on two Quranic verses. The first is the part referring to intercession in the well-known “Throne Verse” (āyat al-kursī) [Q 2 : 255]: “Who is there that can intercede with Him except by His leave?” Al-Ṣādiq simply answers the rhetorical question in the Quran by stating: “We [the Imams] are those who intercede.”84 The second verse being [Q 78 : 38] “They will not speak except for those to whom the Lord of Mercy gives permission, who will say only what is right.” On which al-Ṣādiq says: “We [the Imams] are those to whom permission will be given and who will say only what is right.” When asked what will the Imams say, al-Ṣādiq answers: “We will praise God, pray to our Prophet, intercede on behalf of our Shīʿa and God will not reject us.”85 The “leave” or “permission” to which both verses refer softens to a certain degree the conceptual difficulty alluded to above, since God is clearly depicted as the one who chooses whom He endows with the right to intercede before Him. It is likely that the divine permission to intercede coincides with God determining to alter His decision with regard to the potential objects of the intercession. Seen in this light, the alteration of the divine decision occurs 84. See al-Barqī, p. 183, no. 184; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, pp. 41–42, no. 30; cf. M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 185–186. 85. See al-Barqī, no. 183; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, pp. 41, no. 28.

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only because God wants it to take place. God’s commitment to accept the intercession of those allowed to intercede is expressed in al-Ṣādiq’s words: “God will not reject us.” This statement could be interpreted in two different ways, one that corresponds the deterministic worldview and a second that does not. According to the first, it is self-evident that God would not reject the intercession of the ones to whom He had given permission to intercede; this would make the whole process pointless. On the other hand, al-Ṣādiq’s unequivocal confidence that God would not turn down the Imams’ intercession might create the impression that He is obliged to do so. Al-Ṣādiq’s identification of the Quranic interceders as the Imams is an exegetic act that tallies with the Shīʿī reading of the scripture on the one hand and raises difficulties with regard to the nature of the relationship between God and the Imams on the other. The delicate balance of the relationship between God and His creation is further challenged in the depiction of situations where the protagonists are ordinary believers. Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is said to have stated that on the Day of Resurrection a man being led to Hell will pass by a Shīʿī believer and, reminding him of a favor he had done him in this world, will ask for his help. The Shīʿī, wishing to reciprocate the favor will then order an angel to set this person free and, following God’s approval of the Shīʿī’s order, the angel will free the person.86 This description, similarly to those highlighting the far-reaching impact of the Imams’ intercession, raises several difficulties. To start, it should be said that the scene described in this tradition, where a Shīʿī believer appears alongside a person sentenced to Hell, is desirable within the deterministic worldview. One assumes that, unlike this person, the Shīʿī is going to Paradise and thus both are on their way to fulfil their predestined fate. Even the doomed person’s request for help from the Shīʿī fits this picture since it depicts the latter as having the upper hand. In fact, according to this tradition, the reason for which the Shīʿī actually saves this person from Hell is to pay him back for a favour the latter had done him in this world. This picture offers an inversion in the Hereafter of the circumstances familiar from the empiric experience: a Shīʿī who needed the help of a non-Shīʿī in this life becomes his saviour on the Day of Resurrection. Remarkably, we find in Kitāb al-maḥāsin another tradition that warns Shīʿīs against precisely this possibility. In this tradition, Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir specifically warns one of his closest disciples, Jābir b. Yazīd al-Juʿfī,87 from asking an enemy of the Shīʿa for 86. See al-Barqī, pp. 184–185, no. 192; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 41, no. 26 (from alṢadūq’s Thawāb al-aʿmāl). 87. See note 28 in the previous chapter.

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any sort of help, food or water. When this enemy is in Hell, the Imam clarifies, Jābir — who represents here the Shīʿīs in general — will come across him and feel obliged to answer his call for help and to try to save him.88 The tension between the attempt to present the Shīʿī in a positive light, as someone who respects the social norms (paying back a favor), and the desire to maintain the dualistic division of the world is obvious in this scene. Another dimension of the same tension finds expression in the basic possibility that a non-Shīʿī will help a Shīʿī or that a Shīʿī will ask an enemy of the Shīʿa for help. These possibilities would probably not have found their way into the Shīʿī ḥadīth literature unless they were a reflection of actual circumstances. At any rate, that the Shīʿī will save the non-Shīʿī constitutes a clear deviation from the strict deterministic-dualistic scheme. An additional element that strikes one as unusual in al-Ṣādiq’s story is the assertiveness with which the Shīʿī believer reacts in the situation. Following the doomed person’s request, the Shīʿī orders an angel to release him, using the imperative form, “Let him go!” (khalli sabilahu).89 The portrayal of the Shīʿīs as people entitled to give orders to angels in the Hereafter is not selfevident and may represent another aspect of the inversion in relationships alluded to above. Whereas in this world angels, similarly to non-Shīʿīs, do not carry out the believers’ orders, in the Hereafter they will. The spontaneity that characterizes the Shīʿī’s order to the angel adds to the dramatic portrayal of the situation. This new balance in the relationship between angels and Shīʿīs in the Hereafter has another interesting aspect involving God. From the story, we learn that the angel executes the order only after God has approved it and ordered him to act. While in previous cases of intercession or alteration of a divine decision we saw a dialogue or some sort of negotiation between God and man, here the believer gives an order to the angel and God makes sure that it is executed. Even if the purpose of this tradition was to promote the self-image of the believer, the tension it creates with respect to the status of the believer vis-à-vis God cannot be overlooked. The difficulties to which the traditions dealt with in this section give rise make one think that the strict form of determinism and its dualistic 88. See al-Barqī, p. 185, no. 193. In this tradition, the Shīʿī’s attempt to save the doomed person is expressed by the verb yastanqidhuhu, which indicates a desire or intention to save, but does not necessarily mean that the person will actually be saved. On this see further below, note no. 93. 89. ibid., pp. 184–185, no. 192.

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implications which characterize the bulk of Kitāb al-maḥāsin are inevitably softened in the context of the rewards in the Hereafter. Of these rewards, the elevated status of the Shīʿī believer and his close relationship with the angels and God are particularly prominent. As we have seen, when juxtaposed against the notion of the Day of Judgment, the believer’s unique status necessarily creates cracks in the ideal deterministic-dualistic picture. Having discussed so far the thorny aspects that come to the fore upon examining the way al-Barqī’s work depicts those entitled to intercede, let us take a closer look at the objects of this intercession. In other words, who are the people who need the Prophet’s, the Imams’ or the believers’ intercession on the Day of Judgment? And, a question that naturally follows, is whether God actually accepts the intercession on their behalf at all times? As we will see, here too, the picture is far from clear and coherent. Two traditions on the authority of the fifth and sixth Imams, Muḥammad al-Bāqir and Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, tell us that everyone needs intercession on the Day of Judgment. In the first tradition, in al-Bāqir’s presence, a disciple expresses his surprise at the fact that people commit sins and then reassure themselves saying “Muḥammad’s intercession [will save us from Hell].” AlBāqir is angry with him and tells him that had he seen the horrors of the Day of Resurrection, he too would need Muḥammad’s intercession. Intercession, al-Bāqir concludes, is not only for those who are destined for Hell.90 This tradition is extremely important since it may help us accommodate the intercession within the deterministic-dualistic worldview. According to Imam al-Bāqir, the horrors of the Day of Resurrection are so great that everyone will need Muḥammad’s intercession, regardless of whether one is a sinner destined for Hell or a believer headed for Paradise. Intercession is thus something that helps one to pass through the stages preceding the Judgment or the Judgment itself regardless of the fact that one’s fate was predestined as early as the pre-existential era. When, according to the second tradition, someone tells al-Ṣādiq about his Khārijī neighbour who is worried that on the Day of Resurrection Muḥammad will be preoccupied with himself and not be able to intercede, he says: “Everybody, without exception, will need Muḥammad’s intercession on the Day of Judgment.”91 This makes it clear that dependence on Muḥammad’s intercession on that Day is universal and will not be ignored. Given this, one might gain the impression that on the Day of Judgment, at least for a while, everyone shares a common fate, that is, the need 90. ibid., pp. 183–184, no. 185; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 38, no. 16. 91. See al-Barqī, p. 184, no. 186; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 42, no. 31.

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for intercession. Nevertheless, the gap between the sectarian way in which Shīʿī traditions present those entitled to intercede and the universal understanding of those who need intercession is noteworthy. This gap increases the difference between the Shīʿīs and the others on the Day of Judgment since it makes it clear that whereas all human beings depend on intercession, only those associated with the interceders — according to the sectarian understanding of their identity — will benefit from it. Out of the entirety of humanity who will be in need of intercession during the horrors of the Hereafter, we are explicitly told that God will never accept intercession on behalf of one category — the enemies of the Shīʿa (nāṣibī pl. nawāṣib). This will be so “even if the angels who are closest to God and the sent prophets intercede on their behalf.”92 Clearly, the angels and prophets are used here only as a stylistic means of emphasizing the absurdity of such a possibility; after all, it is unlikely that they will unite to help an enemy of the Shīʿa. In light of this exclusion, it is reasonable to conclude that anyone who might be saved from Hell due to the intervention of a Shīʿī believer will not be an enemy of the Shīʿa but rather neutral non-Shīʿī. Had these people been enemies of the Shīʿa, they would probably not perform any favours for Shīʿīs in this world nor would the help of an ordinary believer be sufficient to save them.93 Finally, the strict dualistic-deterministic scheme is challenged by a category of people who are neither Shīʿī believers nor enemies of the Shīʿa, who fast, pray, refrain from committing sins and are generally pious and god-fearing (ḥasuna waraʿuhum). When Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is asked for his opinion about people belonging to this category, he says: “God, in His mercy, will let them enter Paradise.”94 If we rule out the possibility that this does not reflect al-Ṣādiq’s genuine opinion and he only expressed it while practicing precautionary dissimulation (taqiyya),95 we are introduced here to a refreshing 92. See al-Barqī , p. 184, no. 190 and see note 82 above. 93. In this context, it is worth mentioning again the tradition in which Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir warns his disciple against asking an enemy of the Shīʿa for help (See al-Barqī, p. 185, no. 193). As clarifed in note 88 above, should an enemy who helped a Shīʿī in this world ask for help in the Hereafter, the Shīʿī, due to his commitment to repay him, will try to save the enemy (yastanqidhuhu), but it is unclear whether the latter will actually be saved. At any rate, according to this tradition it is possible that an enemy of the Shīʿa could help a Shīʿī. 94. See al-Barqī, p. 158, no. 94; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 183, no. 36. 95. Given the strict sectarian interpretation that al-Ṣādiq offers in the first part of this tradition to Quran 6: 160 “Whoever has done a good deed will have it ten times to his credit” — which he understands as referring to the Shīʿīs exclusively — it seems unlikely that he was practicing taqiyya while uttering it.

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departure from the dualistic division of humanity into two opposing poles. On this ecumenical note, which reflects both the diversity of reality and the lack of consistency in al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-maḥāsin, let us move on to search for possible traces of a more conscious theological discourse in the text.

VIII. Imams as Theologians Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī is not a theologian and his work, Kitāb almaḥāsin, is far from being a theological treatise. Nevertheless, as this section demonstrates, al-Barqī’s text is replete with utterances on the authority of the Imams that reflect the existence of a conscious theological discourse. As the analysis of the traditions treated below demonstrates, it is doubtful whether Goldziher’s statement that “Prophets are not theologians” could be applied to the Shīʿī Imams.96 The traditions that form the basis of the present discussion differ from those we saw so far since, unlike the previous traditions where a deterministic message was presented by implication in a story, these explicitly present the Imams’ opinions on the question of determinism. The earliest Imam whose utterances will be analyzed in the present section is the fifth Imam, Muḥammad al-Bāqir. In his lifetime, that is, the first half of the second/eighth century, a discourse around several theological issues had already developed in the Muslim community. The responsibility of man for his deeds and his ability to determine his fate in the Hereafter were undoubtedly among the theological preoccupations of his time.97 This is to say that the existence in the ḥadīth of evidence for a theological discourse does not necessarily stand in contradiction to the authenticity of Imāmī traditions starting from al-Bāqir’s time. As we will see below, an important role is reserved in this discourse also for the sixth and eighth Imams, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq and ʿAlī al-Riḍā. It is nevertheless difficult to determine whether these Imams were actually involved in the theological discourse of their time or were only depicted thus retrospectively.

96. See I. Goldziher, Introduction to Islamic Theology and Law, translated from the German by A. and R. Hamori (Princeton, 1981), p. 67; On the Imams’ limited role as theologians see also W. Madelung, “Early Imāmī Theology as Reflected in the Kitāb al-kāfī of al-Kulaynī” in The Study of Shiʿi Islam, p. 465; on the beginnings of the Shīʿī theological discourse, see J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, vol. 1, pp. 316–318. 97. See T. Nagel, The History of Islamic Theology: From Muhammad to the Present (Princeton, 2000), pp. 35–41 and 49–57; see also A. R. Lalani, Early Shīʿī Thought, p. 84.

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An interesting case in point is a tradition where it is related that, when the tension between predestination (qadar) and man’s potential to create his own acts (istiṭāʿa) was discussed in Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s presence, he discredited the latter, calling it kalām khabīth, that is, an undesired, evil discussion. As for his own stance on the subject, al-Ṣādiq declares: “I adhere to the religion of my ancestors, I do not retreat from it: the sweetness and bitterness of predestination are from God, and good and evil are all from God.”98 The Imam’s unequivocal siding with predestination, which in this tradition seems to go hand in hand with the dualistic worldview, is more ambiguous elsewhere. In a tradition that reveals an awareness of the complexity of the issue, alṢādiq is said to have declared: “Whoever claims that God orders atrocities to be committed, lies about God and whoever claims that good and evil are [the result of ] his own [creation] lies about God.”99 On the one hand, the Imam adheres to the unequivocal opinion he expressed in the previous tradition, namely, that man is not responsible for good and evil. On the other hand, man is not allowed to ascribe the responsibility for the performance of evil deeds to God. Although the Imam does not express it explicitly, it seems that the only way to reconcile the two parts of the tradition is by ascribing some sort of responsibility, perhaps in the form of the freedom to choose between good and evil, to man. It is almost as if, through the juxtaposition of these two statements, the Imam pushes his audience to adopt a middle way between determinism and individual responsibility for one’s deeds. A further step in this direction, inviting the audience to think about predestination as something less rigid, can be discernible in al-Ṣādiq’s teaching: “Predetermination and divine decree (al-qaḍāʾ wa-l-qadar) are two of God’s creation and ‘He adds to creation as He will’ [Q 35 : 1].”100 The combination of the Imam’s declaration and the part of the Quranic verse that he is citing achieves two goals. First, it stipulates that predetermination is something that God has created and one should not doubt its validity. Second, he clarifies the point that God can add to this fundamental element whatever He wishes, thus also allowing for a change in the human perception of it. The centrality 98. See al-Barqī, p. 283, no. 417; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 161, no. 21; cf. a very similar version in al-Barqī, p. 284, no. 418, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 161, no. 23; see M. M. Dakake, The Charismatic Community, pp. 143–144; see also L. Gardet, “Istiṭāʿa,” EI². 99. See al-Barqī, p. 284, no. 419; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 161, no. 23; the terms good and evil in the second part of this tradition could theoretically also be ascribed to God, but this would contradict the Imam’s statement in the previous tradition. 100. See al-Barqī, p. 245, no. 240; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 115–116, no. 36 (from alṢadūq’s Tawḥīd); see in addition L. Gardet, “al-Ḳaḍāʾ wa’l-Ḳadar,” EI².

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of predetermination and divine decree (al-qaḍāʾ wa-l-qadar) is manifest also in another tradition recounted on the authority of al-Ṣādiq who counts these two things among the inevitable seven characteristics of anything that exists in Heaven and on earth; the other five being: the divine initial will (mashīʾa), the realization of the divine initial will (irāda), the permission (idhn), the book (kitāb) and the timing (ajal). According to al-Ṣādiq, anyone claiming that something can exist without one of these seven is an infidel.101 The two traditions mentioned above are taken from a chapter of significant relevance to our discussion titled Bāb al-irāda wa-l-mashīʾa (included in the fifth sub-book of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam).102 In one of the seven traditions included in this chapter, ʿAlī al-Riḍā, the eighth Imam, is quoted as saying: “Each thing is the result of what God wanted (shāʾa), than realized His will (arāda) with regard to it, determined (qaddara) and decreed (qaḍā).” When a disciple of al-Riḍā inquires what the precise meaning of each of these four verbs is, he is told by the Imam that shāʾa refers to the “beginning of the act,” arāda is “the persistence in it” (which I translate as “realization of the initial will”), qaddara is “the determination of a thing’s length and width” and qaḍā is explained by the Imam by the parallel verb amḍā, that is, to make something happen, “from which there is no way back.”103 The clarification in this tradition indicates the degree of ambiguity that was associated with each of the verbs. That the delicate nuance between shāʾa and arāda was especially hard to grasp can be deduced from the fact that two of the seven traditions included in Bāb al-irāda wa-l-mashīʾa as well as its title deal with it.104 On a second occasion when al-Riḍā explains these two, he refers to mashīʾa (a derivative of the verb shāʾa) as “having interest in something” and to arāda as the “continuation or persistence of the mashīʾa.”105 Based on these clarifications, here shāʾa is translated as “having an initial will” and arāda as “realizing the initial will.” The theological view that comes to the fore is that the divine process, which is an inevitable factor in the existence and occurrence of anything, is comprised of four stages: an initial will, a realization of this initial will, 101. See al-Barqī, p. 244, no. 236; cf. al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 1, Bāb fī annahu lā yakūnu shayʾun fī-l-samāʾ wa-l-arḍ illā bisabʾa, p. 86. 102. See al-Barqī, pp. 243–245, no. 235–241 and cf. al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 1, Bāb fī annahu lā yakūnu shayʾ fī-l-samāʾ wa-l-arḍ illā bisabʾa, pp. 86–87. 103. See al-Barqī, p. 244, no. 237; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 122, no. 68. 104. See al-Barqī, pp. 244–245, no. 237–238. 105. Ibid., no. 238; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 122, no. 69.

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a determination of the dimensions (i.e. length and width) and, finally, an execution. Once again one can see an attempt to ascribe to God some sort of order — in this case a four-stage scheme of action — that inevitably sets Him within the limits of human of perception and conduct. This view is problematic also from another point of view. According to this scheme, anything begins by an initial divine will. If something exists, it means that it also went through the additional three stages. According to this logic, atrocities must also be the result of a similar process. When Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is asked whether God had an initial will (shāʾa) in [non-believers’] apostasy/ unbelief which He then realized (arāda), he answers positively. When following this answer, al-Ṣādiq is asked whether God likes it and is satisfied with it, he says,“No.” When the disciple asks al-Ṣādiq how it is possible that “God had initial will which He then realized in things that He does not like nor do they satisfy Him,” the Imam refrains from providing a direct answer and says: “This is how it was revealed or inspired (ukhrija) to us.”106 The Imam’s refusal to elaborate on God’s motivation to want and realize things that contradict His liking and satisfaction may reflect the fact that there are limits to any theological discourse in which the Imam is willing to participate. From a certain point on, one is required to adhere to the tradition or the transmitted knowledge as it is (ukhrija), without further investigation. The nature of the divine knowledge and the degree to which it fits into the deterministic worldview is another theological issue addressed in several traditions which thus cast additional light on the role of the Imams as theologians. When asked if in his opinion, everything that was, is and will be until the Day of Resurrection existed in the divine knowledge before God created Heaven and earth, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq replies in the affirmative.107 On the face of it, this tradition, which validates the eternal nature of the divine knowledge, perfectly fits with the deterministic worldview, leaving no room for anything unpredicted. A far more complex picture comes to the fore elsewhere, when Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have further elaborated on the nature of the divine knowledge: (God’s) knowledge (ʿilm) is of two kinds: a knowledge which is stored with God of which He does not inform anyone of His creation, and a knowledge which He teaches His angels and messengers. Whatever He teaches His angels and messengers will happen since He will not turn Himself, His angels 106. See al-Barqī, p. 238, no. 239; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 121, no. 66. 107. See al-Barqī, p. 243, no. 233; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 4, p. 84, no. 14.

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and His messengers into liars. But of the knowledge which is stored with Him, He may advance, postpone and confirm whatever He wishes.108

The first impression is that the deterministic scheme, according to which all things have constituted a part of the divine knowledge from the dawn of history, is maintained. Nevertheless, the division of divine knowledge into two distinct categories seems to be an attempt to address the fact that empirical experience does not always correspond with the deterministic scheme. As such, it represents another reflection of the human inclination to subordinate both the predicted and the unpredicted to a transcendental entity. It is true that with regard to all the revealed information, there is very little to do, it must happen as it appears in the revelation. However, claiming that there is another body of unrevealed knowledge could easily resolve any inconsistencies that result from the gap between the revealed knowledge and the factual occurrence of the information it apparently conveys. Nevertheless, this tradition depicts God as committed to everything — revealed or unrevealed — that happens in this world until the Day of Resurrection. The freedom He has with regard to the timing of the occurrence of things belonging to His “guarded knowledge” does not change the fact that He has foreseen their actual occurrence throughout eternity. In other words, according to this view, God cannot create a thing or make something happen, unless it has constituted a part of His eternal knowledge. Badāʾ, that is, the possibility of a change in the divine knowledge, the divine will or the divine decree, is a theological concept particular to the Shīʿa.109 One of the ways to accommodate the belief in badāʾ with God’s omniscience is identical to al-Bāqir’s depiction of the divine knowledge. One basis for the notion of badāʾ is the belief that there are two distinct divine tablets — one which is guarded (al-lawḥ al-maḥfūẓ) and another on which both erasure and affirmation are possible (lawḥ al-maḥw wa-l-ithbāt). The knowledge contained in the first tablet is unchangeable whereas that on the other could be altered. The gap between arguing that God uses two distinct tablets and the notion of two types of divine knowledge is very small. Indeed, within the 108. A similar statement is attributed to Imam al-Bāqir in al-Barqī, p. 243, no. 232. See al-Barqī, p. 243, no. 231; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 4, p. 113, no. 36. See also Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 147, no. 5 and note 113 below. 109. See W. Madelung, “Badāʾ,” EIR; I. Goldziher [A. S. Tritton], “Badāʾ,” EI² and M. A. AmirMoezzi in EI³; J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, vol. 1, pp. 315–316; M. J. Mc Dermott, The Theology of al-Shaykh al-Mufīd (d. 413/1022) (Beirut, 1986), pp. 329–339; see also M. M. BarAsher, Scripture and Exegesis, pp. 210–212.

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framework of the principle of badāʾ, a central role is kept for the terms “inevitable knowledge” (ʿilm maḥtūm), which God revealed to the angels and the prophets and is therefore unchangeable, and “stored knowledge” (ʿilm amkhzūn), which God keeps for Himself and includes those things whose occurrence is delayed and changeable. An interesting example of the circumstances in which God may postpone the occurrence of an event known only to Him, that is, which constitutes part of His ‘guarded knowledge’, is the death of a believer. Despite the Quranic position that “There is an appointed term for every community, and when it is reached they can neither delay nor hasten it, even for a moment” [Q 49 : 10, 7 : 34 and 16 : 61], when a true believer reaches his term (ajal), God may delay it because of the love and affection He feels for him. The best way to become the recipient of this divine love, one should note, is through the performance of the obligatory as well as the superogatory religious duties. That God might delay the death of a believer He loves is implied in the words that the Prophet is said to have ascribed to God in a tradition on the authority of Imam Jaʿfar alṢādiq: “I do not waver over any of my actions as I do with regard to the death of a believer who does not wish to die and whom I do not wish to harm.”110 Although the use of the term badāʾ in theological discourse is ascribed to one of the earliest Shīʿī theologians, Hishām b. al-Ḥakam (d. 179/795–6),111 it appears only once in Kitāb al-maḥāsin. There, badāʾ is mentioned in a tradition attributed to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq who is said to have listed it as the first of five principles that have to be acknowledged by any prophet, thus creating the impression that the centrality of badāʾ in the Shīʿī doctrine goes back to al-Ṣādiq’s time.112 However, nowhere in the text do we have an elaboration 110. See al-Barqī, p. 291, no. 443; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 70, p. 22, no. 21; see in addition al-Ḥusayn b. Saʿīd’s Kitāb al-muʾmin, pp. 32–33, no. 61–62 and al-Kulaynī, al-Kāfī, vol. 2, p. 352, no. 7 (and the commentary in al-Mazandarānī’s Sharḥ uṣūl al-kāfī, vol. 9, pp. 193–195); cf. al-Barqī, pp. 159–160, no. 99. That later scholars tried to resolve the theological difficulty to which the ascription of hesitation to God gave rise is reflected for example in al-Ḥurr al-ʿĀmilī’s remark in Wasāʾil al-shīʿa, vol. 2, p. 428, that “hesitation is used here metaphorically and means postponing”; see also Biḥar al-anwār, vol. 5, pp. 284–285. The divine difficulty in bringing about the death of the believer was mentioned also in the previous chapter in the section (VII) that dealt with death myths (note 91); see in addition, W. M. Watt and I. Goldziher, “Adjal,” EI². 111. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, “Badāʾ,” EI³ and J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, vol. 1, pp. 315–316. 112. See al-Barqī, p. 234, no. 190, the other four are: the initial divine will (al-mashīʾa), the prostration (al-sujūd), the subordination to the divine (al-ʿubūdiyya) and the obedience (al-ṭāʿa).

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of its meaning. That the discussion about the two distinct categories of the divine knowledge in the tradition above recalls one of badāʾ may hint that al-Barqī was aware of this thematic affinity and the significant theological implications of the concept.113

IX. Conclusion The main goal of the present chapter has been to reconstruct the Shīʿī position on the questions of predestination, determinism and dualism as reflected in Kitāb al-maḥāsin. The picture that emerges from this analysis, whether reflecting the intellectual climate towards the end of the third/ninth century (al-Barqī’s lifetime) or the Shīʿī worldview at the time of the historical Imams (mainly that of the fifth to the eighth Imam), is far from coherent. As in the case of election, this reconstruction meant assembling and analyzing pieces of information that are scattered throughout the text. In accordance with the text’s eclectic character, these were derived from a variety of domains and were at times complementary and at other times contradictory. Despite this richness and diversity, one can clearly discern a deterministic attitude that goes hand in hand with the dualistic worldview propounded earlier. As has been evident throughout this chapter, there seems to be a correlation between the degree of determinism and dualism: while strict determinism often meant a binary division into two opposing poles, its moderate representations involved also some flexibility in respect of the dualistic worldview. The numerous contradictions in this general deterministic attitude derived mainly from the universal difficulty to accommodate an absolute sense of determinism with human reason. This difficulty was not peculiar to the Shīʿa in these formative years but characterized other theocentric religions. Indeed, a few generations after al-Barqī, due to the fusion of Imāmī and Muʿtazilī ideas Shīʿī theologians would gradually shift from this position to one advocating free will,114 thus turning the contradictions demonstrated in this chapter into the building blocks of a reshaped worldview. 113. Al-Kulaynī (d. 329/940), who lived a generation or two after al-Barqī, apparently had a clearer position on the issue as is evident from his placing the two traditions by al-Bāqir (referred to above) about the divine knowledge under the heading badāʾ, see his al-Kāfī, vol. 1, pp. 146–149. Similarly, in his Baṣāʾir al-darajāt, p. 129, no. 2, Ṣaffār al-Qummī, a contemporary of al-Barqī, ascribes to Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq the saying that “Badāʾ could occur only in God’s guarded knowledge.” Thus offering a more developed view of the subject. 114. See N. Haider, Shīʿī Islam, pp. 19–23.

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Another difficulty that came to the fore in the course of the present chapter was that of discerning the Shīʿī theological position in sayings on the authority of the Imams. In addition to the problematic historicity of the traditions analyzed, one is faced with the tension between the Imams’ roles as both spiritual guides and as theologians. Very often, it is hard to tell whether an Imāmī utterance should be seen as deriving from divinely inspired sources of knowledge or from reasoned theological considerations. This aspect is of course problematic not only in the context of determinism, but also in any attempt to trace theological positions in a collection of ḥadīth. Finally, the purest forms of determinism-dualism were manifest in the mythic traditions, in particular in those concerned with the different stages of creation and the eschatological era. In comparison, traditions describing this world expressed a mediated approach to the issues of determinism and dualism. Unlike the empirical reality that presents the strict deterministicdualistic worldview with unbridgeable obstacles, the distant imagined eras of pre-existence and the afterlife served as blank canvas on which the depiction this uncompromising view could be fully achieved.

Part III: The Literary Genre: Two Unique Sub-books of Kitāb al-maḥāsin

4. The Numerical Organization of ḥadīth — a Rule and its Exceptions Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin forms the opening section of the two printed editions of al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-maḥāsin.1 Since only eleven of the original ninety-odd sub-books of the work have come down to us, there are no means of verifying whether this particular sub-book was the first one in the original version.2 It is at any rate probable that Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin came first in the manuscripts used by the editors in Tehran and Najaf.3 The location of this sub-book at the beginning of the two printed editions is therefore of little significance. The peculiarity of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is such that the examination of its structure, genre and content independently increases the understanding of Shīʿī literature at its formative, pre-Buwayhid era. This sub-book’s title may be translated as ‘The Book of Parallels and Comparisons’,4 a title which reflects the content of much of the text. It consists of eleven chapters comprised of a total of fifty-one traditions: 1. The Chapter on Three (traditions 1–18) 2. The Chapter on Four (traditions 19–24) 3. The Chapter on Five (traditions 25–27) 4. The Chapter on Six (traditions 28–31) 5. The Chapter on Seven (traditions 32–34) 6. The Chapter on Eight (traditions 35–36) 7. The Chapter on Nine (tradition 37) 8. The Chapter on Ten (traditions 38–40) 1. See al-Barqī, pp. 1–18 and for details about the extant editions see above, chapter 1, note 2; an earlier version of the present chapter was published under the title: “A Concise Numerical Guide for the Perplexed Shiite: al-Barqī’s (d. 274/888 or 280/894) Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin,” Arabica 63, 1–2 (2016), pp. 64–88. 2. See, however, al-Najāshī, Rijāl, vol. 1, pp. 204–206, where Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is listed as the seventy-ninth sub-book of Kitāb al-maḥāsin. But there is no evidence to suggest that al-Najāshī’s list reflects the original structure of the work. 3. For details on the manuscripts, see F. Sezgin, GAS, vol. 1, p. 538 and see above, chapter 1, note 2. 4. Cf. A. J. Newman’s translation of this title as “Associated Affairs and Connections” which seems inaccurate. See The Formative Period, p. 53.

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9. The Chapter on the Benefit of Good Speech (traditions 41–45) 10. The Chapter of the Prophet’s Instructions (traditions 46–49) 11. The Chapter of Instructions given by the Family of the Prophet (50–51) It is worth noting that al-Barqī’s father, Muḥammad, appears here in only one chain of transmission, whereas in other parts of Kitāb al-maḥāsin he is one of the most frequently cited tradents.5 His virtual absence from this part of the Kitāb al-maḥāsin may shed some light on the ambiguity with regard to authorship mentioned by Pellat, since the possibility that it was compiled only by al-Barqī’s father can be ruled out.6 As is often the case in Shīʿī ḥadīth, most traditions — 35 out of 51 (about two thirds) — are ascribed to the sixth Imam, Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq. Second in frequency is the fifth Imam, Muḥammad al-Bāqir, to whom nine traditions are ascribed (a little more than one sixth). Interestingly, two traditions in this section are attributed to Salmān al-Fārisī, and observant readers may notice that Salmān actually cites ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. On first impression, it appears that Salmān is the author of these two traditions. Interesting as this impression may be, it does not contradict the Shīʿī perception of those entitled to utter traditions, but reflects Salmān’s unique status as a member of the family of the Prophet (ahl al-bayt) who possessed knowledge if not equal to, then at least similar to that of the Imams.7 5. See al-Barqī, p. 10, no. 31. Cited with minor variations in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 14, p. 217, no. 21 and vol. 81, pp. 61–62, no. 36, and verbatim in vol. 76, pp. 350–351, no. 15 and in vol. 96, pp. 298–299, no. 9. 6. See Ch. Pellat’s discussion of this issue in his entry “al-Barḳī,” EI² (supplement); see in addition chapter 1, note 9. 7. See al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 6, in which the chain of transmission ends with Salmān who declares: “He said,” without specifying who the speaker is. This is also quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 70, pp. 386–387, no. 50, vol. 22, p. 360, no. 2, vol. 73, p. 94, no. 73 (from Ibn Bābawayh’s alKhiṣāl which is discussed further below), vol. 71, p. 266, no. 9 (quoted from Rawḍat al-wāʿiẓīn by Muḥammad b. al-Fattāl al-Nīshābūrī who died in 508/1114) and vol. 78, pp. 453–454, no. 24 (quoted from the Kitāb al-ikhtiṣāṣ attributed to al-Mufīd who died in 413/1022). See also alBarqī, p. 11, no. 34, which is explicitly ascribed to Salmān and begins with the words “my friend ordered me”; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 77, p. 131, no. 35, and partially in vol. 93, p. 188, no. 18. Only a reader familiar with the special relationship between Salmān and ʿAlī would understand that Salmān refers to him in both cases. Cf. Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, p. 399, no. 90 (quoted from Rawḍat al-wāʿiẓīn), where it is stated that Salmān’s friend is the messenger of God. See in addition M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 207, note 478, where Salmān’s unique status as ʿAlī’s disciple and a prototype of an esoteric spirituality is discussed. See further G. Levi Della Vida, “Salmān al-Fārisī,” EI² (supplement). Salmān’s status as a muḥaddath, that is, “one who is spoken to” (normally by an angel), gave rise to various doctrinal difficulties which evolve around the tension between Salmān’s status vis-à-vis that of the Imams. This

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I. Structure and External Characteristics Before turning to the content of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, let us examine its structure, internal divisions, and external characteristics. What strikes the reader immediately is that the titles of the first eight chapters contain the numbers three to ten in ascending order, from the first chapter the title of which is ‘The Chapter on Three’ to the eighth which is entitled ‘The Chapter on Ten’. Following this numerical sequence, there are three additional chapters (9 to 11) which have titles that are not related to numbers. This difference makes one wonder, already at this preliminary stage of the discussion, whether the last three chapters originally belonged to Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin. This question will be returned to later, when the content of the text is discussed, but the treatment of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin will inevitably be affected by this observation. In an attempt to understand the organizing principle of the treatise, the first eight chapters will be discussed and then the last three. Even before reading the traditions in each of the first eight chapters, one can assume that the number mentioned in the titles is meaningful. In light of this assumption, two questions come to mind: First, why are there no chapters devoted to the numbers one and two? Did the author deliberately choose to start with the number three? Second, why is the chapter devoted to the number ten the last in this numerical sequence? If we take it that the numbers in this text are meaningful, how can we explain the absence of other significant numbers in the Shīʿī worldview: one, which refers to God’s unity; two, referring to Muḥammad and ʿAlī, or Ḥasan and Ḥusayn; or twelve, referring to the twelve Imams? It could of course be that the original version of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin did in fact refer to these numbers as well, and the part available to us does not represent the lost whole. Another important aspect that should be borne in mind is that al-Barqī died only a decade or two after the onset of the lesser occultation that began in 260/874. Neither of his surviving works — al-Maḥāsin and the biographical dictionary Rijāl al-Barqī — refers to the concept of occultation (ghayba) or to twelve Imams, and it is doubtful

subject is discussed in E. Kohlberg, “The Term Muḥaddath in Twelver Shīʿism,” pp. 42–44, where Kohlberg shows four ways in which Shīʿī theologians tried to resolve the problem: by asserting that Salmān was spoken to by the Prophet and ʿAlī rather than by an angel; that his status as muḥaddath is inferior compared to that of the Imams who may be contacted directly by God; that he is actually a muḥaddith (active participle) and thus devoid of any special position; and that the term muḥaddath does not refer exclusively to the Imams. See in addition, E. Kohlberg, “Imam and Community in the Pre-Ghayba Period,” pp. 34–35.

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whether he could have considered himself a Twelver as such.8 This would explain the absence of the number twelve in his numerical treatise, but it is of less relevance with regard to other numbers, especially one and two. Another interesting question is whether one can discern some sort of hierarchy among the different numbers discussed in the first eight chapters. This can be easily done by a simple quantitative survey, which reveals that the chapter on the number three includes the highest number of traditions (18), followed by the chapter on the number four (nine traditions); ‘The Chapter on Six’ that contains four traditions; the chapters on the numbers five, seven, and ten, each of which includes three traditions; ‘The Chapter on Eight’ which has two traditions; and, finally, ‘The Chapter on Nine’ that contains a single tradition. It is questionable whether the way these 43 traditions of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin are distributed is indicative of the importance of the different numbers in the Shīʿī worldview. Each of the first eight chapters has a number, from three to ten, in its title because it includes traditions that refer to that same number in discussing aspects of life, instructions, or advice that direct believers to the right path. In this sense, the work is similar to the genre of adab literature in which the didactic purpose is one of the most prominent characteristics.9 Given that Imams are the authorities to whom most traditions in Kitāb al-ashkāl wal-qarāʾin are ascribed, we can describe this treatise as a collection of ḥadīth with an ‘adab’ style and message. It is noteworthy that the number is the only criterion ordering the first eight chapters; thus, we find in ‘The Chapter on Three’ traditions that deal with the relationship between God and man next to others that are concerned with various personal qualities.10 8. See R. Vilozny, “Pre-Būyid Ḥadīth Literature,” p. 207; about the development of the term ithnā-ʿashariyya see E. Kohlberg, “From Imāmiyya to Ithnā-ʿashariyya,” pp. 521–534, repr. in his Belief and Law, article xiv. Of special relevance to our discussion is Kohlberg’s observation on p. 523 that al-Barqī does not provide any information regarding the concept of twelve Imams and the idea of occultation; see also E. Kohlberg, “Early Attestations of the Term ‘ithnā-ʿashariyya’,” JSAI 24 (2000), pp. 343–357, and A. Arjomand, “Imam Absconditus and the Beginning of a Theology of Occultation,” pp. 1–12. See also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, pp. 101–102, where references in early sources to the number of Imams and the occultation are discussed. 9. See F. Gabrieli, “Adab,” EI². 10. Cf. for example al-Barqī, p. 3, no. 1, in praise of prayer, thanksgiving, and trust in God, which represent three aspects of the relationship between God and man, with p. 4, no. 5, that highlights the benefits of verbal restraint, weeping over sin, and being content with one’s home, which are three personal virtues. No. 1 is quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 71, pp. 43–44, no. 43 and in vols 71, pp. 135–136, no. 16 and 93, p. 362, no. 1 (from Ibn Bābawayh’s al-Khiṣāl).

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Directing the believer to the correct kind of lifestyle, or the differentiation between good and evil is normally carried out through presentation of a number of aspects of life or personal qualities along with their implications in the form of a reward or a punishment. This may shed some light on the title of this treatise since, in many cases, the desired virtues, moral standards or other aspects of life are presented parallel to, and in comparison with their negative opposites. This can be demonstrated by a tradition that guarantees a future abode in God’s light to anyone who (1) adheres to the two shahādas; (2) when struck by a disaster says: “Indeed we belong to God and indeed we shall return to Him” [Q 2 : 156]; (3) on receiving good tidings says: “Praised be God, Lord of the worlds” [Q 1 : 2]; or (4) seeks forgiveness from God following a sin.11 Similarly, another tradition states that surrendering to one’s desire, miserly behaviour and arrogance all lead to death.12 In other cases, the believer is not directed to the right path by means of the threat of punishment and reward, but rather through a statement, ascribed to an Imam or to the Prophet, of one of life’s axiomatic truths. The authoritative, traditional figure may comment on these ‘objective’ observations or utter them with no further explanations. Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, for instance, is believed to have said that the following four pairs will never be satiated with each other: the earth with the rain, the eye with seeing, the female with the male, and the learner with knowledge.13 The comparative dimension is clearly embedded in this tradition. In another case, the Imam (apparently ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib)14 describes three things that make him weep: the death of those beloved by God, that is, Muḥammad and his party; the horror that accompanies mortal death; and facing the Lord of the universe on the Day of Judgment. He then compares these with another series of three that make him laugh: a person who neglects his duties but whose deeds do not go unnoticed by God; a person who pursues worldly pleasures even as death pursues 11. See al-Barqī, pp. 7–8, no. 19, quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, pp. 371–372, no. 14 (also from Ibn Bābawayh’s Khiṣāl and Thawāb al-aʿmāl), vol. 93, p. 213, no. 16 (from the Quran commentary of al-ʿAyyāshī who died it is presumed around 320/932) and p. 280, no. 17 (from Thawāb al-aʿmāl). 12. See al-Barqī, pp. 3–4, no. 3–4; no. 3 is quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 70, p. 7, no. 5; no. 4 is quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 70, p. 5 (also from al-Khiṣāl and with some variations quoted from Ibn Bābawayh’s Maʿānī al-akhbār in vol. 78, pp. 183–184, no. 9). 13. See al-Barqī, pp. 8–9, no. 24; quoted with minor variations in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 1, p. 221, no. 1 (also from Ibn Bābawayh’s al-Khiṣāl and ʿUyūn akhbār al-Riḍā) and vol. 103, p. 258, no. 7 (from Ibn Bābawayh’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ and ʿUyūn akhbār al-Riḍā). 14. The ambiguity regarding the identity of the first speaker in this tradition was discussed earlier, see note 7 above.

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him; and a person who laughs despite being unaware if his Lord is satisfied or angry with him.15 Despite the absence of the punishment-reward factor in this tradition, it seems likely that a believer who adopts the Imam’s view of the four pairs or of the two series of saddening and ridiculous things, will be better off than the one who fails to do so. Taken together, the lack of reference to the most important numbers in Shīʿī thought, the difficulty in locating a logic underlying the distribution of traditions among the first eight chapters and the fact that traditions are ordered only according to a numerical criterion, give the impression that the role of numbers in this treatise is stylistic rather than thematic. We will see that this conclusion goes hand in hand with the analysis of the content of the traditions in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, including those in the last three chapters, of which the titles do not share this numerical character.

II. The Literary Genre Whether or not the role of the numbers in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is stylistic, as I argue above, it is impossible to avoid the conclusion that they must have a purpose. There are no similar examples in contemporary or earlier Shīʿī sources. However, an important ḥadīth collection dating from a later period follows the same method of organizing traditions. This is the Kitāb al-khiṣāl by Ibn Bābawayh, al-Shaykh al-Ṣadūq (d. 381/991).16 In his short preface, Ibn Bābawayh explains that his purpose in compiling a book that deals with numbers and praiseworthy and blameworthy qualities (khiṣāl) came from his realization that this sort of work had not been written by scholars of previous generations. He thought that a book such as this would be of great value to those who seek knowledge and desire the good.17 Since Ibn Bābawayh does not provide a list of the written sources which he used for the Khiṣāl, it cannot be known with certainty whether Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin was 15. See al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 6 (and note 7 above). This tradition is discussed in detail in chapter 1, section III above, where it was analyzed as a representative example of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin’s content and style. 16. Ibn Bābawayh, Muḥammad b. ʿAlī, Kitāb al-khiṣāl (ed. ʿAlī Akbar al-Ghaffārī; Tehran 1389/1970, repr. Beirut 1410/1990); see also A. A. A. Fyzee, “Ibn Bābawayh(i),” EI². 17. See Ibn Bābawayh, Kitāb al-khiṣāl, p. 1, where the text reads as follows: fa-innī wajadtu mashāyikhī wa-aslāfī — raḥmatu-llāhi ʿalayhim — qad ṣannafū fi funūni al-ʿilmi kutuban wa-aghfalū ʿan taṣnīfi kitābin yashtamilu ʿalā-l-aʿdādi wa-l-khiṣāli al-madhmūmati wa-lmaḥmūdati wa-wajadtu fī taṣnīfihi nafʿan kathīran li-ṭālibi al-ʿilmi wa-l-rāghibi fī-l-khayri.

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among them. At times, the chain of transmission provided by Ibn Bābawayh includes al-Barqī and exactly the same tradents al-Barqī quotes.18 On other occasions, al-Barqī appears alongside different tradents than those quoted in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, or, more interestingly, in a chain of transmission that seems more complete than the one provided there: either there are fewer tradents between al-Barqī and the tradition’s author, or, alternately, the chain of transmission in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is simply missing.19 Other chains of transmission are entirely different and make no mention of al-Barqī.20 If we take Ibn Bābawayh’s remark in his preface at face value, he must have been unaware of the existence of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin and must therefore have collected identical traditions from other sources at his disposal that, apparently, lacked a numerical organization. These sources, or at least one of them, may have contained information from Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin that was not at the disposal of the text’s copyists in the eleventh/ seventeenth century. Furthermore, Ibn Bābawayh quotes some of the traditions included in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin in other works of his in addition to the Khiṣāl. Given the century that separates the two scholars, the possibility that al-Barqī’s traditions reached Ibn Bābawayh through channels other than Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin cannot be ruled out. It is quite certain that the works of both al-Barqī and Ibn Bābawayh belong to the same literary genre. Like Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, al-Khiṣāl, too, is divided into chapters that bear numerical titles and contain Imāmī traditions that deal with various aspects related to the relevant number. Yet Ibn Bābawayh’s work is much more substantial. It begins with a chapter devoted to the number one and ends in a chapter dealing with numbers over one thousand. Not surprisingly, the chapters in al-Khiṣāl on one, two, and twelve, which are absent in al-Barqī’s work, contain references to the important aspects of the faith mentioned earlier: God’s unity, Ḥasan and Ḥusayn, and the twelve Imams.21 The differences between the two works, particularly the lack 18. See for example, Ibn Bābawayh, Kitāb al-khiṣāl, p. 86, no. 17, p. 222, no. 49 and p. 223, no. 53. Cf. al-Barqī, no. 17, 19 and 23 respectively. Interestingly, in one case, Kitāb al-khiṣāl, p. 86, no. 15, we find the same tradents as in al-Barqī, no. 16, but al-Barqī is not mentioned. 19. See Ibn Bābawayh, Kitāb al-khiṣāl, p. 101, no. 56, and cf. al-Barqī, no. 1, and further alKhiṣāl, pp. 83–84, no. 10, where the only different link is Aḥmad’s father, who is not mentioned in al-Barqī, no. 4; see al-Khiṣāl, p. 98, no. 47. Cf. al-Barqī, no. 10 and 15, which lack an isnād. 20. See for example Ibn Bābawayh, Kitāb al-khiṣāl, p. 104, no. 63, pp. 124–125, no. 121 and cf. with al-Barqī, no. 12–13. 21. Ibn Bābawayh, Kitāb al-khiṣāl, p. 2, no. 1, opens the work with a discussion of God’s unity; pp. 77–78, no. 122–124 from ‘The Chapter on Two’ discuss the virtues of Ḥasan and Ḥusayn;

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of references to meaningful numbers in Shīʿī doctrine and the odd decision to start at three and end at ten, strengthen the impression that only a small part of al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin has survived. It is likely that had the original come down to us, it would have borne a greater similarity to al-Khiṣāl in terms of its size and reference to more numbers — with the possible exception of the number twelve for the reasons described above. Although there appear to be no other examples of such numerical organization in Shīʿī literature, it seems reasonable that al-Barqī, as well as Ibn Bābawayh, did not get this idea out of thin air. Considering the information we have up to this point about Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin — the numerical aspect and the didactic purpose of the text — one is reminded of one of the common literary genres of pre-Islamic Persian literature, namely, andarz. The term andarz can be translated as instruction, guidance, or advice. Appropriately, in the genre of andarz literature an authoritative personality gives instructions or advice on moral behaviour and lifestyle to an audience, normally drawn from the lower social layers. The instructions or advice can refer to any aspect of life, both religious and profane. Andarz works are comprised of short didactic sentences with little or no thematic common denominator. The advice or instruction may be contained in a framing story whose protagonist is a historical or mythic figure.22 Of particular importance is the fact that one of the common stylistic tools in andarz literature is the use of numbers. Sayings that describe human qualities, types of people, positive versus negative characteristics, etc., are grouped according to a numerical rubric. For example, one work, composed entirely according to such a numerical rationale, is ascribed to the legendary sage Oshnar who was asked by a disciple to provide him with instructions from the number one to a thousand.23 Leaving aside the framing story, the and pp. 466–480, no. 6–51 from ‘The Chapter on Twelve’ are concerned with the concept of twelve Imams. In his “From Imāmiyya to Ithnā-ʿashariyya” (see above, note 8), p. 523, Kohlberg notes the absence of a chapter devoted to the number twelve in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin and its existence in al-Khiṣāl. 22. See Sh. Shaked’s English translation and edition of Aturpāt-i Ēmētān, Wisdom of the Sasanian Sages (Denkard VI) (Boulder, 1979), pp. xv-xviii as well as Shaked’s entry on “Andarz,” EIR. 23. ibid. Another example of a numerically organized didactic work is the fifth chapter of Pirkei Avot (‘The Chapters of the Fathers’, the ninth tractate of the fourth order of the Mishna, Order of Damages, which is dated to the third century ce). This chapter is comprised of numerical sayings, both general, like ‘By ten divine sayings the world was created’ (Pirkei Avot 5:1), and others that resemble the adab or andarz instructions and advice. For example the

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resemblance to al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, and even more so to Ibn Bābawayh’s al-Khiṣāl is striking. Significant portions of andarz literature, whose origins may be traced back to the Avesta, were translated into Arabic during the first three centuries of Islam. Early adab writers made use of andarz works and occasionally quoted them either under the name ‘Persian Wisdom’ or without any explicit reference. According to Shaked, andarz literature also penetrated Islamic religious literature, including compilations of ḥadīth, but it is very difficult to identify this sort of infiltration.24 A rare example of an andarz work that was translated from Middle Persian into Arabic and came down to us is the Ayādgār ī Wuzurgmihr, that is, ‘The Memorial of Wuzurgmihr’. The Arabic text along with its Pahlavi counterpart were edited, translated and commented upon by Shaul Shaked in his 2013 article “The Sayings of Wuzurgmihr the Sage — A Piece of Sasanian Wisdom Transmitted into Arabic.”25 Similarly to Ibn Bābawayh’s remark in his preface to the Khiṣāl that “a book such as this would be of great value to those who seek knowledge and desire the good,” ‘The Memorial of Wuzurgmihr’ opens by the author’s statement that “(It is) an instructor for good, made by order of the King of Kings Khusraw, so that it may be possible to improve the education of those who were fashioned in a worthy and excellent manner to accept (the decree of ) the gods.”26 Like al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, this work includes instructions and advice in various domains, religious, moral and pragmatic. Remarkably, in the Arabic translation, the term khiṣāl, that is, ‘personal qualities’, ‘virtues’ or ‘dispositions’ replaces the Zoroastrian demons in which sayings that list the ‘ten generations from Adam to Noah’, ‘four qualities of the pupils’, and ‘seven characteristics of the Golem and seven of the learned’. On the relationship between Persian and Jewish Literatures, see Sh. Shaked, “Iranian Influence on Judaism: first century B.C.E. to second century C.E.,” in The Cambridge History of Judaism (eds W. D. Davies and L. Finkelstein; Cambridge, 1984), vol. 1, chapter 12. 24. See note 22 above. 25. Sh. Shaked, “The Sayings of Wuzurgmihr the Sage – A Piece of Sasanian Wisdom Transmitted into Arabic,” in Exchange and Transmission across Cultural Boundaries (Proceedings of an International Workshop Held in Memory of Professor Shlomo Pines at The Institute for Advanced Studies, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 28 February – 2 March, 2005) (eds H. Ben Shammai, Sh. Shaked and S. Stroumsa), Jerusalem, 2013, pp. 216–275; the Arabic text was included in the Jāwīdān xirad, ‘The Eternal Wisdom,’ a collection of wisdom compositions compiled by Miskawayhi (d. 1030), published in Cairo, 1952, by ʿAbdarraḥmān Badawī under the title al-Ḥikma al-khālida. 26. ibid., pp. 222–223.

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the powers of the Evil Spirit manifest themselves. However, Shaked notes that it is not always clear whether deviations from the Pahlavi original in the Arabic translation are the result of a conscious theological adaptation of Zoroastrian notions to the spirit of Islam or, alternatively, of errors and misunderstandings.27 In attempting to assess the possible affinity between al-Barqī’s Kitāb alashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin and andarz literature, it is worth noting that most Pahlavi Zoroastrian texts at our disposal, including the examples of the andarz genre, are the product of a process of collection, translation, and redaction carried out by Zoroastrian priests in the third/ninth century.28 The second half of the century was al-Barqī’s most productive period; although he obviously refrains from mentioning any Persian sources of inspiration, given their geographical proximity it is quite possible that he was aware of the intellectual activity of his Zoroastrian contemporaries. It is unclear if al-Barqī was responsible for the numerical arrangement of the traditions in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin or if he was relying on an earlier source. Thus, the question as to whether the idea to arrange Imāmī traditions (or ḥadīth in general) according to the method used in the Persian andarz genre was originally al-Barqī’s remains unanswered. Nonetheless, this text is a rare example, probably the earliest, of the possible introduction of Persian stylistic and thematic characteristics into Shīʿī ḥadīth literature.

III. The Content of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin A closer look at the content of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is now in order. As mentioned above, the general impression gained from examining the traditions in the first eight chapters is that they aim to guide the reader towards a certain mode of living. The ideal attitude and behaviour which the text depicts are multidimensional, encompassing tenets of faith, social usages, and daily practices. Most aspects of the the way of life which the treatise recommends can be divided into four categories: a. The relationship between God and man. This includes both the abstract level in which the believer perceives God and the concrete level of religious observance. The two are, of course, interrelated. 27. ibid., p. 226. 28. See E. Yarshater’s preface to Shaked’s edition of Aturpāt-i Ēmētān, Wisdom of the Sasanian Sages, pp. ix-x.

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b. Personal qualities. c. The social aspect. d. The Shīʿī dimension. We will see below that the ideas expressed in traditions that refer to the first three categories are universal and could be applied to other currents of thought in Islam or even other religions. The fourth category includes the few traditions that express a clear Shīʿī ethos.

a. The Relationship between God and Man 1. The perception of God: People must fear the Lord. This fear must be manifest both outwardly and inwardly, and one should behave as if God were visible even though this is not the case. One must remember that God is always watching one. Adhering to this conduct guarantees one the protection of God and salvation.29 Another aspect of this approach finds expression in al-Ṣādiq’s unequivocal statement that anything said without mentioning God is nonsense.30 Fearing God, which inevitably results in obedience to the divine, also guarantees that a person’s deeds will be weighed in his favour.31 Even the most ascetic behaviour is worthless if it does not entail the fear of God;32 those who fear God have no reason to be afraid of anything else.33 The dictate to fear God alone goes hand in

29. See al-Barqī, pp. 3–4, no. 2–4 (and note 12 above). 30. ibid., p. 5, no. 10, quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 71, p. 324, no. 15 and vol. 93, p. 332, no. 18, and with some minor alterations in vol. 71, p. 275, no. 2 (from Amālī al-Ṣadūq, Thawāb alaʿmāl, al-Khiṣāl and Maʿānī al-akhbār), vol. 77, p. 408, no. 37 (from Maʿānī al-akhbār). 31. See al-Barqī, p. 6, no. 13, in which fearing God is only one of three conditions that render one’s deeds valuable, the other two being sociability and moderation in behaviour. Quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 71, p. 422, no. 59 and p. 393, no. 55 (also from al-Khiṣāl), vol. 70, p. 305, no. 21 (also from al-Khiṣāl), vol. 77, pp. 44–45, no. 1 (also from al-Khiṣāl) and pp. 64–66, no. 4. 32. See al-Barqī, p. 5, no. 9; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, pp. 117–118, no. 19, and with some variations also on pp. 121–122, no. 38 (from Majālis al-Mufīd), p. 310, no. 75 (from alMufīd’s al-ikhtiṣāṣ), and vol. 72, p. 123, no. 20 (from al-Sarāʾir by Ibn Idrīs al-Ḥillī who died in 598/1202), vol. 73, p. 392, no. 4 (from al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī), and pp. 393–394, no. 9 (from the Amālī of al-Ṭūsī who died in 460/1067). 33. See al-Barqī, p. 9, no. 26, where this virtue is one of five that according to ʿAlī cannot be rivaled by any other virtues. A longer version is quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, p. 390, no. 64, and with some variations in vol. 78, p. 8, no. 62 and p. 75, no. 45.

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hand with the belief that proclaiming the words “there is no strength or power save in God” is a step towards Paradise.34 It is not surprising that one of the most important aspects of the fear of God is connected with the Day of Judgment. On this day, people will come face to face with God and all their secrets will be revealed; they will not know whether they are destined for Paradise or Hell. But the fear of God’s judgment must also accompany people during their lives. As we are told, one of the three most ridiculous scenes is that of a person who laughs without knowing whether God is satisfied of him or not.35 Two other facets of the relationship with God are reliance and gratitude. Those who trust in God will find that all their needs are provided for, as the Quran stipulates [Q 65 : 3], and those who are grateful to God will be given an additional share [Q 14 : 7].36 Three fundamental conditions govern the relationship between God and man and are essential for transforming one’s world-perception into a religion. These conditions concern revelation, divine perception, and politics: one must not deny even a single verse in God’s book; one must not adhere to a lie about God; and one must not obey those who disobey God.37 Al-Ṣādiq defines the complexity of the relationship between the divine and the human as having three basic aspects: predicament, judgment, and grace. It is implied that all forms of human experience can fit one of these three categories. The sixth Imam specifies how one should react in each case. In a predicament one must display fortitude; when judged, one must accept the verdict; and when granted grace, one must be grateful. Again, the absence of a punishment-reward schema does not mean that those who adopt this attitude will not be rewarded.38 2. Ritual obligations: Although Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is by no means a legal text, it refers to many obligations that originate in the realm of 34. See al-Barqī, p. 9, no. 27; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, p. 390–391, no. 65, and a shorter version in vol. 93, p. 188, no. 17. 35. See al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 6 and note 15 above. 36. See al-Barqī, p. 3, no. 1–2. 37. ibid., p. 5, no. 9 (and note 32 above); see also al-Barqī, p. 11, no. 33, where the one who adds to God’s book is counted among those cursed by God and his prophets. This tradition is quoted with some variations in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 5, p. 88, no. 5, vol. 72, pp. 204–205, no. 3, vol. 75, pp. 339–340, no. 17 and vol. 92, p. 109, no. 7 (all from al-Khiṣāl). 38. See al-Barqī, pp. 6–7, no. 17, quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 82, p. 129, no. 7, and vol. 71, p. 43, no. 41, p. 85, no. 30, pp. 141–142, no. 35 (all from al-Khiṣāl); cf. with al-Barqī, pp. 7–8, no. 19, which was mentioned above (see note 11) and expresses a similar idea about the ways in which people should react in various circumstances.

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religious law. However, the text’s references to the performance of ritual obligations seem to serve the purpose of guidance in moral conduct rather than in the specifics of legal rules. This impression is supported by the absence of any practical details concerning the various religious obligations mentioned. The emphasis is mostly on the mental state in which different religious obligations should be performed or on the believer’s general duty to perform them. a. Prayer: Praying day and night and carefully performing ablution can atone for one’s sins. Praying while others are asleep is particularly valuable.39 On the other hand, the condemnation of those who neglect prayer or enter mosques in a state of ritual impurity had been transmitted from God via the Prophet and the Imams to the believers.40 One of the traditions in ‘The Chapter on Eight’ lists eight types of people whose prayers are rejected by God. This tradition is an example of the negative means of directing believers to the right path. In this case, the reader can easily deduce that God accepts the prayer of the eight opposite types who are unmentioned but implied in this tradition. In other words, the text presents the parallels (al-ashkāl) and invites the reader to complete the comparisons (al-qarāʾin) on his own. In accordance with the text’s general message, this list mixes both religious and profane subjects. Thus, we find escaped slaves and rebellious wives next to those who neglect their ablution, and those who do not pay the poor due or are drunkards.41 A tradition from ‘The Chapter on Ten’ that lists ten places where prayer is not permissible is perhaps more explicitly legal in character.42 It seems that this tradition found its place in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-lqarāʾin not only due to its numerical aspect, but also because in a religious world, legal matters form an integral part of the ideal lifestyle. 39. See al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 4 and cf. p. 11, no. 32, where these two deeds are included in a list of seven conditions for the completion of the fundamental tenets of faith and the opening of Paradise’s doors. 40. ibid., p. 10, no. 31 (discussed above in note 5). Excluding the explicit reference to the Imams, the concepts expressed in this tradition are not peculiar to the Shīʿa and therefore do not belong in the section devoted to the Shīʿī dimension (see below). 41. ibid., p. 12, no. 36. Quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 80, p. 232, no. 5 (also from Maʿānī alakhbār), vol. 84, p. 317, no. 4 (from Ibn Bābawayh’s al-Khiṣāl, al-Hidāya and Maʿānī al-akhbār), vol. 88, pp. 128–129, no. 5 (also from Maʿānī al-akhbār). 42. See al-Barqī, p. 13, no. 39; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 83, p. 305, no. 1 (with minor variations also from al-Khiṣāl).

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b. Alms: Traditions concerned with alms do not include any references to the details of this fundamental religious obligation. They do not specify, for example, who is obliged to give alms, the amount to be given, nor how often the duty should be performed. The absence of such elementary details gives the impression that almsgiving in these traditions is perceived of more as a personal characteristic rather than as a quantifiable religious obligation. As such, the section devoted to alms could also be categorized as part of the group, discussed below, devoted to personal qualities. This remark can also be applied to the inclusion of the duty to set aside surplus wealth for alms in a list of four personal qualities that are necessary for a believer’s true conversion.43 In another tradition, along similar lines, giving alms without dreading poverty is listed as one of al-Ṣādiq’s four instructions that guarantee those who follow them four homes in Paradise.44 c. Jihād: Only a single tradition alludes to the duty of jihād, and it does so in a way that makes it unclear whether or not active jihād is intended. According to al-Ṣādiq, to whom this tradition is attributed, the ability to endure the blows of swords for the sake of God (al-ṣabr ʿalā-l-suyūf li-llāh) is one of three virtues that grant the believer the privilege of being married by God to as many women with beautiful eyes (al-ḥūr al-ʿīn) as he wishes. The other two virtues are the ability to restrain one’s rage and not to make use of illegally acquired property.45 Of the three, the ability to endure the blows of swords, a necessary component of war, is the only virtue related to martyrdom, for which the reward is marriage to beautiful maidens in Paradise. As in the case of alms, the juxtaposition of this and the other two moral virtues creates the impression that in addition to the religious obligation of holy war, fortitude in battle is one of the essential qualities of being human. 43. See al-Barqī, p. 8, no. 20; quoted with minor variations in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 67, pp. 297– 298, no. 22 (also from Majālis al-Mufīd and Amālī al-Ṭūsī), vol. 69, p. 379, no. 37 (from Amālī al-Ṭūsī). 44. See al-Barqī, p. 8, no. 22; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, p. 390, no. 61 and vol. 75, pp. 30–31, no. 23 (from al-Kāfī); the other three instructions are of a strictly social character and will be therefore dealt with below under the section devoted to the social aspect; see also al-Barqī, p. 9, tradition 27, where, among five qualities of piousness that guarantees entry to Paradise, one is instructed by al-Bāqir to give alms with the right hand while not letting his left hand know about it. Cf. Matthew, 6:3. 45. See al-Barqī, p. 6, no. 15; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 75, p. 115, no. 9 and p. 171, no. 5, vol. 100, p. 12, no. 26 and p. 10, no. 17, vol. 69, p. 388, no. 55, vol. 71, p. 417, no. 43 (all from al-Khiṣāl).

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To close the discussion of the way religious duties are reflected in al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, let us turn to a tradition from ‘The Chapter on Ten’ (that is, from the chapter which addresses the highest number of aspects). This tradition concisely summarizes the ten religious obligations that must be fulfilled in order to enter Paradise. Unlike most traditions in the treatise, it includes two fundamental Shīʿī duties (numbers 8 and 9 in the following list): 1. The first part of the Shahāda (there is no god but God) 2. The second part of the Shahāda (Muḥammad is the messenger of God) 3. Acknowledging Muḥammad’s revelation, i.e. the Quran 4. Prayer 5. Alms 6. Fasting 7. Pilgrimage 8. Walāya to the friends of God (loyalty to the Imams)46 9. Barāʾa of God’s enemies (rejecting the enemies of the Shīʿa)47 10. Refraining from consuming intoxicating beverages48

b. Personal qualities: 1. The correct way to perceive of this life (as opposed to the afterlife) revolves around one fundamental ideal: existence in this world is of no value unless it involves contemplation of the world to come.49 The negative parallel to this notion is expressed by the view, mentioned above, that a man pursuing pleasure in this world while death pursues him is ludicrous.50 Adopting this basic viewpoint with regard to life inevitably leads to further realizations and brings the believer closer to the right path. 2. A person must behave justly at all times, both when angry and when calm. Changes in mood or financial situation must not affect judgment and people are expected to behave properly whether rich or poor. These qualities are essential for salvation.51 The ability not to lose one’s balance, even in

46. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, “Notes on Imami Walāya,” in The Spirituality of Shiʿi Islam, pp. 231–275. 47. See E. Kohlberg, “Barāʾa in Shīʿī Doctrine,” pp. 139–175. 48. See al-Barqī, p. 13, no. 38. Quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 68, p. 377, no. 24 (also from Ibn Bābawayh’s Thawāb al-aʿmāl and al-Khiṣāl), vol. 27, p. 53, no. 5 (from al-Khiṣāl). 49. See al-Barqī, p. 5, no. 9 (and note 32 above). 50. ibid., p. 4, no. 6–7 (and note 15 above). 51. ibid., pp. 3–4, no. 3–4 (and note 12 above).

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anger, is a necessary condition for acquiring the complete set of qualities that characterize a believer.52 3. Fortitude must be shown in times of crisis. The fact that several traditions are concerned with this quality indicates the importance ascribed to it in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin.53 4. Restraint is to be exercised in three ways: restraining the tongue and refraining from unnecessary speech; avoiding disputes, even when convinced that one is right; and above all, controlling anger.54 5. The learned must not be afraid to admit what they do not know, and the ignorant must not be embarrassed to learn. According to ʿAlī, these are among the five best qualities.55 6. Three qualities are conceived of as leading to perdition: miserliness, succumbing to desire, and arrogance.56 7. Another series of eight negative types opens ‘The Chapter on Eight’: (1) Those who neglect dental hygiene; (2) those who sit cross-legged in narrow places; (3) those who interfere in things that do not concern them; (4) those who argue about things of which they know nothing; (5) those who are not sick yet pretend to be; (6) those who become distraught even without suffering disaster; (7) those who renege on agreements with friends; (8) those who are undeservedly vain on account of their ancestors’ achievements. It is noteworthy that al-Ṣādiq chose to exclude from human society those characterized by these qualities.57

52. ibid., p. 6, no. 12, where this twofold ability is mentioned alongside the quality of minding one’s own business. Cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 67, pp. 300–301, no. 28 (also from al-Kāfī and al-Khiṣāl), vol. 71, pp. 358–359, no. 4 (from al-Khiṣāl) and with minor variations in vol. 67, pp. 303–304, no. 34 (from Ibn Bābawayh’s Kitāb ṣifāt al-shīʿa) and p. 354, no. 55 (from al-Kāfī). 53. See al-Barqī, p. 5, no. 11. Cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 1, p. 213, no. 11, vol. 67, p. 300, no. 27; al-Barqī, p. 6, no. 14, cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 71, p. 89, no. 41, p. 311, no. 7 and p. 354, no. 15; al-Barqī, p. 9, no. 26 (see note 33 above). 54. See al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 5, p. 5, no. 10, p. 11, no. 32; p. 8, no. 22; p. 6, no. 15. 55. ibid., p. 9, no. 26 (and note 33 above). 56. ibid., pp. 3–4, no. 3–4 (and note 12 above). 57. ibid., pp. 11–12, no. 35. The exclusion of these eight types constiututes the first part of the Imam’s reply on the question whether all men belong to human society that reads as follows: alqi minhum [i.e. min al-nās], that is, “remove from among them the following [eight].” About the possible Zoroastrian inspiration behind the Islamic legal insistence on the use of a toothpick (siwāk or miswāq) see Sh. Shaked, “Hadith as Influenced by Iranian Ideas and Practices,” EIR.

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c. The social aspect: 1. Striving to make peace in the world is one of the four virtues that, according to al-Ṣādiq, assure one four homes in Paradise (a home for every virtue).58 2. People should give to others what they expect to receive from them,59 wish for others what they wish for themselves, and fear for others what they fear for themselves.60 3. Muslims should not blame each other for the defects that they themselves have.61 4. Providing food62 — it is not specified to whom, but one can assume that this is of particular relevance in the case of the needy — and, in general, caring for those who are socially inferiors rather than looking to please superiors.63 5. In an exceptional tradition — in the sense that it portrays oppression as a positive act — al-Ṣādiq quotes the Prophet’s instruction to believers to oppress three types of people who would otherwise oppress them: scoundrels, wives, and servants.64

58. See al-Barqī, p. 4, no. 4 and p. 8, no. 22 (and see note 44 above). 59. ibid., pp. 4–5, no. 8. Quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, p. 389, no. 60 and vol. 70, p. 243, no. 11. 60. See al-Barqī, pp. 9–10, no. 28. This tradition is not universal and refers specifically to Muslims. Quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, p. 89, no. 41 and vol. 74, p. 226, no. 17. 61. See al-Barqī, pp. 4–5, no. 8 (and see note 59 above). 62. ibid., p. 4, no. 4. 63. ibid., p. 11, no. 34 (discussed also in note 7 above). See in addition p. 8, no. 23, where a home in Paradise is promised to those who shelter orphans, pity the weak, are tender-hearted towards their parents and act gently with their slaves. Cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 74, p. 71, no. 51 (also from al-Khiṣāl and Thawāb al-aʿmāl), p. 140, no. 6 (from al-Khiṣāl and Thawāb al-aʿmāl), p. 391, no. 8 (from al-Khiṣāl), vol. 75, p. 4, no. 6 (also from al-Khiṣāl and Thawāb al-aʿmāl), p. 20, no. 15 (from Thawāb al-aʿmāl). 64. See al-Barqī, p. 6, no. 16. Cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 74, pp. 139–140, no. 2 (also from al-Khiṣāl), vol. 75, p. 300, no. 6 (from al-Khiṣāl). In Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 77, p. 152, no. 91 (from Tuḥaf al-ʿuqūl by Ibn Shuʿba) there is a version which, to a certain degree, softens the moral difficulty raised in al-Barqī’s version. Its message is that even if believers do not oppress these three types, the latter will oppress them nonetheless. In this reading, though, the three are still presented in a negative light. The difference in Arabic consists of one letter only: thalāth ʾin lam taẓlimhum ẓalamūka in al-Barqī versus thalāth waʾin lam taẓlimhum ẓalamūka in Ibn Shuʿba.

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d. The Shīʿī dimension: 1. Love for Muḥammad and his family is one of five virtues that lead to righteousness, which is itself an important step on the road to Paradise.65 It is interesting that this fundamental Shīʿī obligation — an aspect of the above-mentioned walāya66 — is listed alongside three other obligations binding on all Muslims (alms, respecting parents, and repeating the phrase ‘there is no strength or power save in God’) and a general moral virtue (hiding the effects of calamities). All four are presented as the necessary building blocks of righteousness; the implicit message seems to be that the four obligations shared by all Muslims are not sufficient. 2. Among the six qualities shared by those who will be rewarded with a place near God and by His right hand, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib counts the following four doctrinal principles: counseling one’s fellow Muslim to adopt walāya, acknowledging ʿAlī’s merits, following ʿAlī, and awaiting his ʿāqiba, which, according to al-Majlisī’s interpretation, may be understood as either resurrection, ʿAlī’s offspring (i.e. the Imams), or redemption after the reappearance of al-Qāʾim.67 3. Providing the family of the Prophet with sincere advice or, alternately, asking for their sincere advice,68 is one of the seven essential principles of faith. The doors of Paradise open to welcome those who fulfil all seven.69 65. See al-Barqī, p. 9, no. 27 (see note 34 above). 66. See note 46 above. 67. See al-Barqī, pp. 9–10, no. 28 (see note 60 above); the other two qualities — wishing and fearing for others what one wishes or fears for oneself — are social characteristics already discussed above. See al-Majlisī’s interpretation of the term ʿāqiba in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 27, pp. 89–90. 68. In Arabic this sentence reads: wa-ʾaddā al-naṣīḥata li-ahli bayti nabiyyihi. The translation of this phrase as “providing the family of the Prophet with sincere advice” is easier but poses a conceptual difficulty; after all, why would the family of the Prophet need one’s good advice? This can be resolved by taking ‘the family of the Prophet’ in this tradition to refer to the Shīʿī community in general rather than to the Imams. Alternatively, the sentence can be understood as meaning that matters in which sincere advice is required are brought before the family of the Prophet (i.e. to the Imams). The latter understanding is closer to “obedience” or “sincere [belief ],” which is the way the term naṣīḥa is interpreted in the context of a common prophetic tradition that reads: al-dīn naṣīḥatun. qīla li-man yā rasūla allāhi? qāla: li-llāhi wa-li-rasūlihi wa-li-kitābihi wa-li-l-aʾimmati fī-l-dīni wa-li-jamāʿati al-muslimīna (see e.g. Abū Jaʿfar al-Ṭūsī’s Amālī, Qumm 1993, p. 84, no. 125/34, and cf. Muslim b. al-Ḥajjāj al-Nīsābūrī, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim (ed. Muḥammad Fuʾād ʿAbd al-Bāqī; Cairo 1955), Kitāb al-īmān, Bāb (23) bayāni anna-l-dīna al-naṣīḥatu, vol. 1, p p. 74–75, no. 95 (55); see also the discussion in Lisān al-ʿarab, s.v. n.ṣ.ḥ). 69. See al-Barqī, p. 11, no. 32 (discussed in note 7 above).

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The other six principles are not peculiar to the Shīʿa and the remark made above concerning the subordination of general Islamic values to the adoption of the Shīʿī faith is applicable here as well. 4. Imam al-Ṣādiq quotes the Prophet as including among the seven types cursed by God and his prophets those who rule tyrannically in order to elevate those humiliated by God and humiliate those elevated by Him.70 This political and religious statement obviously alludes to the Shīʿī belief that power had been usurped from ʿAlī following the Prophet’s death, leading to the persecution of the Shīʿī minority. Finally, the following two fundamental Shīʿī obligations, part of the abovementioned list of ten religious obligations that guarantee entrance to Paradise, are noteworthy: 5. Walāya to God’s friends.71 6. Barāʾa of God’s enemies.72

IV. The Question of the Last Three Chapters Having discussed the first eight chapters of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin from different perspectives, let us now turn to an examination of the last three chapters of this sub-book. As argued above, the obvious reason for devoting a separate discussion to the last three chapters is their lack of the numerical dimension that characterizes the rest of the text. At first sight, these chapters seem misplaced and their inclusion in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin appears to be questionable. In an attempt to address this problem, the conclusion of the present chapter will be devoted to a short analysis of the style and content of each chapter.

a. Chapter 9 — ‘The Chapter on the Benefit of Good Speech’ The first three traditions of the five that make up this chapter contain short statements in praise of ‘good speech’ (i.e. speaking kindly to others). Two are attributed to Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, who quotes the Prophet and the Commander of the Faithful, that is, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib, once each. In the third 70. ibid., p. 11, no. 33 (see note 37 above). 71. See note 46 above. 72. See note 47 above.

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tradition, the attribution of the statement to the Prophet without the intermediary of an Imam is due to missing links in the chain of transmission.73 Despite the absence of the numerical organizing principle, the first three traditions in this chapter do not constitute a significant departure from what we have already encountered in the first eight chapters. Once again, Imāmī and prophetic traditions are deployed in order to highlight the worthiness of personal qualities and the reward awaiting those who possess them, as a means of directing believers to the right path. The other traditions included in this chapter are exceptional in two senses. First of all, despite their inclusion in a chapter on good speech, they do not explicitly refer to this subject. Secondly, the content (matn) of these traditions is attributed neither to an Imam nor to the Prophet Muḥammad, but rather to God. Since God’s words here are not part of the Quran, they may well be considered as instances of ḥadīth qudsī, a Heavenly message revealed through divine inspiration (ilhām) or a dream rather than by the angel Gabriel.74 In one tradition al-Ṣādiq quotes God directly,75 and in the other God’s words are presented as part of a divine reply to Moses.76 The message of both traditions is not essentially different from the one expressed in the first eight chapters. Again, they refer to the divinely sanctioned qualities and their reward. In the first tradition, God lists the qualities of those whose prayers He accepts, and in the second the characteristics of those who will be protected under His shade on a shade-less day (i.e. the Day of Judgment). In general, despite the absence of the numerical rubric, the ninth chapter appears to fit naturally in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin. Presenting qualities of different types together with their reward is a consistent theme throughout most parts of the text. Moreover, the last two traditions of this chapter are also organized along numerical lines: the eight qualities of those whose prayer is accepted by God and their eight rewards, and the six characteristics of the fortunate who will enjoy God’s shade on the Day of Judgment. In other words,

73. See al-Barqī, p. 15, no. 41–43. 74. See J. Robson, “Ḥadīth Ḳudsī,” EI². 75. See al-Barqī, pp. 15–16, no. 44; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, p. 391, no. 66, vol. 84, pp. 242–243, no. 28; when an Imam quotes God directly, the possibility that this is the result of his own divine inspiration cannot be ruled out, see E. Kohlberg, “The Term Muḥaddath in Twelver Shīʿism,” pp. 39–47, and especially p. 43 where the possibility that God communicated directly with ʿAlī is discussed. See also note 7 above. 76. See al-Barqī, p. 16, no. 45; quoted in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 13, p. 351, no. 42, vol. 69, p. 391, no. 67, vol. 84, pp. 16–17, no. 98.

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these traditions could be theoretically incorporated into the chapters on the numbers eight and six, respectively.

b. Chapter 10 — ‘The Chapter of the Prophet’s Instructions’ The four traditions in this chapter include a variety of instructions given by the Prophet regarding different aspects of life.77 The first tradition concerns an anonymous person who wished to learn from the Prophet. The other three place ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib as the main character next to the Prophet; this alone is a sufficient reason for differentiating this chapter from the rest of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, where the Shīʿī message is much less explicit. In two of these three traditions, the Prophet instructs ʿAlī on various aspects of life along lines similar to those discussed above. The Prophet’s guidance is couched in an interesting choice of words: the verb ʾūṣīka and the noun waṣiyya (‘I advise you’ and ‘instruction’).78 To readers acquainted with the Shīʿī narrative of the Prophet’s succession, the use of this particular terminology seems far from arbitrary. In the third tradition, Imam al-Ṣādiq explains how ʿAlī found a document in the Prophet’s scabbard that lists the three kinds of person that are the most rebellious against God.79 Overall, it seems that the added value of this chapter consists in presenting ʿAlī’s unique relationship with the Prophet, rather than in adducing the contents of the Prophet’s instructions. However, this does not explain the enigmatic inclusion of this chapter in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin.

c. Chapter 11 — ‘The Chapter of Instructions by the Family of the Prophet’ Though the title of this chapter refers to members of the Prophet’s family, the only one of them quoted is Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq.80 It may be that al-Ṣādiq represents the others, or that, in its original version, the chapter included traditions by additional Imams. The two traditions contained here are related as 77. See al-Barqī, pp. 16–18, no. 46–49. 78. ibid., pp. 16–17, no. 47; cited in Biḥār, vol. 77, p. 70, no. 7 and pp. 63–64, no. 4. See alBarqī, p. 17, no. 48; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 69, pp. 391–392, no. 68 and cf. with vol. 77, pp. 70–71, no. 8 (from al-Kāfī). 79. See al-Barqī, pp. 17–18, no. 49; cited in Biḥār, vol. 77, p. 132, no. 37. 80. See al-Barqī, p. 18, no. 50–51; no. 50 is cited with minor additions in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 78, p. 199, no. 25, vol. 85, p. 135, no. 15; no. 51 cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 75, p. 419, no. 75 and in vol. 88, p. 73, no. 24.

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direct instructions (delivered in the second person plural) given by al-Ṣādiq to his disciples. His instructions are varied and refer to religious, social, and moral topics. At first sight, they seem to fit easily int the general message of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin. However, a closer look at the second tradition — which happens to be the last of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin — reveals an additional layer. After al-Ṣādiq’s instruction to fear God and his obscure admonition not to carry people on one’s shoulders in order to avoid humiliation, he quotes a part of Quran 2 : 83: “and speak good words to people.” The word ‘people’ (nās) in Shīʿī discourse normally refers to those who are not Shīʿī believers; in most cases this means other Muslims, but sometimes also members of other religious communities. From al-Ṣādiq’s commentary on this part of the verse — that it entails an obligation to visit their sick, participate in their funerals, provide testimony in court in their favour or against them, and pray in their mosques — it is clear that “people” in this tradition refers to non-Shīʿī Muslims. This commentary also helps to explain what the Imam means by the phrase “not to carry people on one’s shoulders.” Apparently, the intention is to relieve disciples of the burden of having to confront non-Shīʿī Muslims on a daily basis. The Imam provides an explanation immediately following his commentary on the quoted section of the verse. As he says, there is nothing more difficult [for the Shīʿa] than the rejection by non-Shīʿī Muslims of the Shīʿī claim that they are guided by Imams who command them. The Shīʿīs spread their ḥadīth among their enemies who in turn come to the Imam and cite the ḥadīth that the Shīʿīs ascribed to him. The Imam, evidently, has to deny it and disavow the Shīʿīs who ascribed it to him. To avoid this unpleasant occurrence, the Imam instructs his disciples to respect their non-Shīʿī neighbours, at least outwardly, and to take part in their social life. In short, this tradition encourages the practice of taqiyya and reflects an important aspect of the Imāmī rationale and the considerations behind it.81 One could argue that in the last tradition of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin the reader is exposed to a genuine internal Shīʿī discourse. This is because in contrast to the rest of the text, the Imam’s instructions in this tradition seem to reflect his acknowledgement of his disciples’ real experience rather than an ethical ideal that would also fit — for the most part — the worldviews 81. On this obligation see E. Kohlberg, “Some Imāmi Shīʿī Views on Taqiyya,” JAOS 95 (1975), pp. 395–402, repr. in his Belief and Law, article iii. See also idem, “Taqiyya in Shīʿī Theology and Religion,” in Secrecy and Concealment: Studies in the History of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Religions (eds S. H. Kippenberg and G. G. Stroumsa; Leiden, 1995), pp. 345–380.

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of other currents of thought in Islam. Of all the traditions in the last three chapters, the inclusion of this particular one in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin is the most enigmatic and may also reflect the Shīʿī principle of the dispersal of knowledge (tabdīd al-ʿilm).82

V. Conclusion The overall impression gained from the analysis of Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-lqarāʾin is that this part of Kitāb al-maḥāsin was intended as a concise guide to the ideal life (or, is part of a comprehensive guide the greater part of which did not survive). The instructions and advice meant to lead the reader to this lifestyle are organized numerically and refer to practical concerns, religious obligations, morals, personality traits and the general worldview that believers should adopt. This style of numerical organization and the character of the wise figure who dispenses advice may have its origins in the Persian andarz literature. Most traditions in this treatise lack identifiable Shīʿī characteristics or concerns and could find their place in the literatures of other currents of thought in Islam or other religious communities without too much difficulty. Nevertheless, a careful reading of the text does bring to the surface some of the fundamental Shīʿī tenets: ʿAlī’s pivotal role as a close companion and legitimate heir of the Prophet, love for the Prophet’s family, loyalty to the Imams, and the rejection of all non-Shīʿīs. An examination of the last three chapters, which at first glance do not seem to fit naturally in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, reveals that despite some deviations from the content and style of the rest of the text, they are not significantly different. Whether or not the last tradition included in the treatise is original, it is significant because it reflects a shift in the Imāmī discourse from indoctrination to realism, and constitutes an exceptional conclusion to this guide to an ideal, albeit probably unachievable, way of life. The stylistic and thematic elements in Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin that may have their origin in the andarz literature should also be considered from another perspective. The role reserved in the pre-Islamic Iranian literary tradition for wise sages, such as Oshnar and Wuzurgmihr, is undertaken in the Shīʿī ḥadīth by the Imams and, though to a lesser extent, by the Prophet. In other words, the gradual replacement of the Sasanian sage by the figure of the Imam or the Prophet is carried out on the basis of social codes for the 82. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 108 and p. 229, note 679.

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transmission of knowledge and religious education that may have had their roots in the Iranian pre-Islamic tradition. By means of this two important goals are achieved simultaneously: first, the preservation of elements from the pre-Islamic Persian literary heritage in the Islamic-Arabicized era and, second, the conveyance of Islamic themes in general and Imāmī teachings in particular through well-established channels of learning and distribution of knowledge. In this context, it is worth mentioning that as part of his examination of the Shahrbānū narrative, Amir-Moezzi briefly describes the Iranian reaction to Islam during the first three centuries of its rule. In his description, he observes that in Iranian society at this time, three main types of approaches to Islam and the institutions that represented it can be discerned. The first was a violent rejection of the kind expressed in the Kaysānī uprising towards the end of the first/seventh century and the Khurramī revolts of the two following centuries (the Zoroastrian Sunbādh in Rayy around 138/756 and Bābak Khurramī in Azerbaijan 201–223/816–838). The second was one of unconditional commitment that resulted in a complete immersion in the new culture. Examples of this approach are to be seen in five of the six Sunni canonical ḥadīth collections which were compiled by non-Arabs and yet seem to be devoid of any Iranian traits. Alongside these two extreme approaches, there was a third, middle way. Namely, of ardent Muslims, mainly early Imāmī traditionists from the schools of Qumm and Rayy, who still had a strong sense of Iranian identity. This led them to filter elements belonging to ancient Iranian culture into the new religion, or, in Amir-Moezzi’s words: “to ‘Islamicise’ some traits of pre-Islamic Iranian civilization and religious sentiment.”83 It is impossible to determine whether in addition to his uncompromising commitment to the teachings of the Imams, al-Barqī consciously aimed to preserve elements of pre-Islamic culture as a result of a strong sense of Iranian identity. Nevertheless, his numerical treatise could be regarded as belonging — even if only indirectly — to this collective endeavour.

83. See M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Spirituality of Shīʿī Islam, ch. 2, “Shahrbānū, Lady of the Land of Iran and Mother of the Imams: Between Pre-Islamic Iran and Imami Shiʿism,” pp. 93–96.

5. Between Law and Doctrine — the ʿilal Genre Of the eleven sub-books of Kitāb al-maḥāsin that have come down to us, the sixth in the printed editions, Kitāb al-ʿilal, provides an opportunity to look at one of the earliest examples of the unique ʿilal literary genre. The word ʿilal, plural of ʿilla, could be translated in this context as ‘causes’, ‘reasons’, or ‘factors’ and hence the translation here of the title as ‘The book of causes’.1 While the content of most of the other sub-books (except Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin, discussed in the previous chapter) could be more easily classified as either broadly legal (sub-books 2–3, 7–11), or doctrinal (sub-books 4–5), the content of Kitāb al-ʿilal revolves around the blurred line between the two domains. In his answer to Jamīl b. Darrāj’s2 question regarding licit and illicit matters (ḥalāl and ḥarām), Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is said to have declared: “God has not done anything without a reason (innahu lam yajʿal shayʾan illā li-shayʾin).”3 Al-Ṣādiq’s brief and unequivocal statement offers his disciple, as well as the reader of Kitāb al-ʿilal, a worldview that stretches far beyond the legal domain. Indeed, as this chapter demonstrates, this overall attitude towards God’s creation finds its expression throughout Kitāb al-ʿilal and it might as well be seen as the catalyst to its composition. Since anything that God did — which in the believer’s eye encompasses evidently all that exists — was done for a reason or a cause, it is only natural that the human unceasing endeavor to understand the divine will also include an attempt to describe these reasons. Like other works belonging to the same genre, Kitāb al-ʿilal describes the 1. See for example, E. W. Lane, Arabic-English Lexicon, vol. 1, part 5, p. 2124, where the word ʿilla is translated as ‘cause [and particularly an efficient cause]’; for more specific meanings of the word in syntax, theology and philosophy see L. Gardet, “ʿIlla,” EI²; as mentioned in chapter 1 (note 41), an earlier study of this sub-book was published under the title “Réflexions sur le Kitāb al-ʿIlal d’Aḥmad b. Muḥammad al-Barqī (m. 274/888 ou 280/894),” in Le Shīʿisme imāmite – quarante ans après, pp. 417–35. 2. A jurist and a transmitter of ḥadīth, disciple of the sixth and seventh Imams, Jaʿfar alṢādiq and Mūsā al-Kāẓim, see al-Najāshī, Rijāl, vol. 1, pp. 310–311; H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, pp. 307–308. 3. See al-Barqī, p. 333, no. 100; cf. al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ (ed. Muḥammad Ṣādiq Baḥr al-ʿUlūm; Najaf, 1966), p. 8, no. 1.

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causes and reasons behind a variety of phenomena, covering diverse aspects of life.4 The following analysis of this sub-book may therefore cast additional light not only on its literary genre, but also on the early Shīʿī understanding and depiction of the divine rationale. It also offers a fascinating glimpse into the vibrant intellectual life of the Shīʿī community in the second half of the third/ninth century and probably even earlier. It should be noted, though, that the traditions gathered together in this sub-book, describe the divine rationale from a human perspective and they never contemplate God’s own reasons for shaping things in a certain manner. Kitāb al-ʿilal is comprised of 130 traditions ascribed to one of the Imams or to the Prophet of which the greater part was transmitted to al-Barqī by his father. Unlike the other sub-books in Kitāb al-maḥāsin, this one is not divided into chapters,5 but rather presents the 130 traditions in one sequence which is probably the main structural characteristic of this sub-book. A cursory reading of the treatise may create the impression that it includes a sporadic collection of traditions that have nothing in common with each other. This impression, however, invites the reader to search for the common denominator that justifies the inclusion of these 130 traditions under the category of ʿilal. The analysis that follows will be carried out on two levels: the stylistic and the thematic. Given the difficulty of tracing a thematic common denominator for all the traditions included in the treatise, we will start by an examination of their common stylistic characteristics and then move on to explore some representative themes. As will be seen further below, the stylistic common denominator cannot be applied to all the traditions and, not surprisingly, the traditions that fail to fit it are not only exceptions to the rule but also exceptionally interesting. Let us at any rate begin with the rule and only then look at the exceptions. From what we saw up to this point, it is likely that the main goal of Kitāb al-ʿilal was to offer the believer satisfying explanations for a large range of phenomena. To use the terminology of the title, this sub-book is meant to provide the believer with a description of the causes or reasons lying behind any possible thing. This, however, is still a vague description that does not 4. See E. Kohlberg, “Shīʿī Hadith,” pp. 302–303; for another Shīʿī work of the same genre see al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ; see also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, p. 21 where the author provides the following brief description of al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ: “A voluminous collection of traditions on the reasons and first causes of all things, from the time of the creation up to juridical details.” 5. See al-Ṭihrānī, al-Dharīʿa, vol. 20, p. 123.

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lead to a better understanding of Kitāb al-ʿilal’s essence.6 A way of achieving this better understanding is by posing the following two questions that refer to style and content respectively: 1. How or in what manner does Kitāb al-ʿilal provide its audience with the causes or reasons of things? 2. What are the things whose causes or reasons are discussed in the treatise?

I. Style The most common method in Kitāb al-ʿilal to provide an explanation for the existence of something or to describe the reason for its being is through the use of a question-answer scheme. In most cases, the last person in the chain of transmission poses a question to one of the Imams who then provides an answer (in 80 out of the 130 traditions it is Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq). The most widespread formula in this category is: “I asked Abū ʿAbdallāh [or another Imam] about this or that matter and he said…”7 In other cases, the last person in the chain of transmission may only testify that when he was present another individual asked the Imam about a certain subject.8 To this category we should add traditions in which a disciple tells the Imam a story, rather than asking him an explicit question. The Imam’s explanatory reaction to the story clearly indicates that it was equivalent to a question.9 On other occasions, the Imam poses a rhetorical question whose purpose is to prepare the ground for his own answer. Following the disciple’s ignorance or an erroneous answer, the Imam offers his response.10 Other traditions contain only the Imam’s description of 6. On the difficulty of defining the content of Kitāb al-ʿilal we can learn from al-Ṭihrānī’s short description of it as referring to the “causes of things” (fīhi ʿilal al-ashyāʾ), see al-Dharīʿa, vol. 20, p. 123. 7. See for example al-Barqī, p. 299, no. 1, where Jābir says: “I asked Abū Jaʿfar [Muḥammad alBāqir]: how did the companions of the Prophet disagree regarding the wiping of the sandals?” al-Bāqir’s answer appears following the words: “and he said.” 8. ibid., pp. 299–300, no. 4, where ʿAbd al-Aʿlā b. Aʿyan recounts that someone “asked Abū ʿAbdallāh about a certain subject at my presence and he answered him, etc.” 9. ibid., pp. 318–319, no. 39, in which Muʿāwiya b. Wahb tells Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq about a person from the Anṣār who died without paying a debt, with the result that the Prophet did not pray over him and ordered his followers to likewise desist. The Imam explains the Prophet’s behaviour, stating that he wished thereby to impress on the believers the importance of paying a debt. From the Imam’s words it transpires that he took it that Muʿāwiya was asking a question. 10. ibid., p. 301, no. 7, in which Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir asks the last person in the chain of transmission: “Do you know how the dowry was set at 4000?” and, following his interlocutor’s

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the causes behind a certain phenomenon. In most of these traditions, one can easily reconstruct the missing question and hence they too fit the questionanswer category.11 One can discern two kinds of answers given by the Imams: they either express their personal view on a subject or tell a story containing the answer. In cases of the first category, a logical explanation may follow the Imam’s personal opinion.12 If the Imam tells a story, it may refer to past figures (like the Prophet or previous Imams) and events or be of a mythic nature.13 The implication of this observation is that in order for something to count as a cause or reason it sufficed for al-Barqī that the Imam’s teaching, in the form of an answer, an expression of opinion or a story, should address the question “Why?”.

II. Content Most traditions in Kitāb al-ʿilal (92 out of 130) deal with legal matters, especially prayer, matrimonial law, alms, burial/funeral laws, purity, food, fasting and pilgrimage. Since the emphasis in the present discussion is not on legal issues, only traditions that have an added value, that is, ones that extend beyond the legal dimension, will be examined below. Other, non-legal traditions provide explanations for phenomena of various kinds. Of these, one group of traditions deals with toponyms, describing the reasons behind place names. There are finally nine traditions that do not fit any of the above-mentioned categories, and these will be discussed last.

negative reply, provides the explanation. 11. ibid., no. 9, in which Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq recounts how the Prophet walked in a funeral without an outer wrapping garment (ridāʾ) and explains the reason for his behaviour. The missing question is evidently “Why should one not wear a ridāʾ in funerals?” 12. ibid., p. 325, no. 68, in which Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq states that whoever forgets a prayer, but is unsure which of the five daily prayers it was, has to pray “three, four and two [rakʿa’s].” In this way, al-Ṣādiq, explains, this individual covers all possible options. 13. For an example of a story about historical figures, see al-Barqī, p. 311, no. 26, where Imam al-Bāqir bases his instruction not to engage in sexual intercourse on certain occasions, including nights of moon eclipse, on the Prophet’s explanation to one of his wives who did not understand why Muḥammad avoided her on such a night. For a mythic story, see ibid., pp. 301–302, no. 10, in which the eighth Imam, al-Riḍā, bases his legal ruling on a story about Solomon’s judgment of the wind that injured an elderly woman on its way to assist a sinking ship.

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a. Prayer Twenty-one of the 92 legal traditions deal with various aspects of prayer.14 Three of these do not lay any stress on the legal details of prayer but are of particular interest since they highlight some of its fundamental characteristics by recounting three fascinating stories. However, it is hard to see these accounts as forming three complementary parts of a larger story. As will become obvious from the following analysis, their juxtaposition with each other reveals the degree of incongruity that seems to characterize al-Barqī’s work. As in any aspect of Kitāb al-maḥāsin, here too, the reader has to put together the pieces in an attempt to arrive at an overall observation with regard to prayer and its depiction through the genre of ʿilal. 1. Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s version of the manner in which the number of daily prayers was set at five: When Adam descended from Paradise, a black stain appeared on the front of his body, stretching from his head to his feet, causing him sorrow and grief. Gabriel came to him and said: ‘Adam, get up and pray, it is time for the first prayer.’ Adam got up and prayed and the stain descended to his neck. Then, when it was time for the second prayer, Gabriel approached him and said to him: ‘Adam, get up and pray, it is the time of the second prayer.’ Adam got up and prayed and the stain descended to his navel. Gabriel came at the time of the third prayer and said: ‘Adam, get up and pray, it is time for the third prayer’. Adam got up and prayed and the stain went down until his knees. When it was time for the fourth prayer, he came again and said to him: ‘Adam, get up and pray, it is time for the fourth prayer.’ Adam got up and prayed and the stain descended to his feet. He came to him when it was time for the fifth prayer and told him: ‘Adam, get up and pray, it is time for the fifth prayer.’ He got up and prayed and the stain disappeared completely. Adam praised God and glorified Him and Gabriel told him: ‘Those of your descendants who perform the prayer five times a day will rid themselves of their sins [for that particular day] just as you rid yourself of the stain.’15 According to this story the reason for the obligatory five daily prayers is twofold. First, like many other religious duties, it is based on a sunna, that is, a practice 14. See al-Barqī, no. 29, 33–34, 45, 62–69, 71–75, 77–79, 95. 15. ibid., pp. 321–322, no. 62; cf. Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 11, p. 166, no. 11 (from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ) and vol. 82, pp. 265–266, no. 14 (also from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ); the same tradition is also included in al-Ṣadūq’s Man lā yaḥḍuruhu al-faqīh (ed. Muḥammad Jawād alFaqīh; Beirut, 1992), vol. 1, p. 236, in the chapter about ‘The cause (ʿilla) for the obligation of five prayers’.

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that was performed by the founding ancestors, in this case the father of mankind, Adam. Second, there is a practical reason for it: the performance of this specific number of daily prayers guarantees the erasing of one’s sins (apparently those committed during the day of prayer). Furthermore, the involvement of the angel Gabriel in the institution of the canonical prayer by the First Man endows the story with its mythic dimension, turning the Islamic concept of prayer into an indispensable element in God’s revelation to mankind from the dawn of human history. Like other elements of this eternal revelation, it was subject to alterations and had to be reestablished by later prophets, the last of whom being of course the Prophet Muḥammad 2. In the second tradition the Prophet is explicitly asked about the times of prayers and the ablution: “O Muḥammad, tell us why God imposed on your nation the prayer at five different times, during day and night?” The Prophet said: “When the sun is in the sky, past its zenith, it enters a circle. When it enters this circle, it disappears and then anything beneath the throne glorifies it. This is the hour in which prayers are offered to God and He therefore imposed on me and my nation the prayer at this time and said: ‘So perform the regular prayers in the period from the time the sun is past its zenith till the darkness of the night’ [Q 17 : 78]. This is the moment in which people will go to Hell on the Day of Resurrection, and there will be no believer who stands up, bows or prostrates [the three postures that compose a rakʿa] whom God shall not protect against the fire of Hell. The afternoon prayer (al-ʿaṣr) takes place at the hour in which Adam ate from the tree and God expelled him from Paradise. He imposed this prayer on his descendants until the Day of Resurrection and He chose it for my nation. This is God’s most beloved prayer and He ordered me to observe it of all prayers. As for the evening prayer (al-maghrib), it is in the hour in which God accepted Adam’s repentance. The time that elapsed from Adam’s eating of the tree and his repentance was three hundred years of this world, and a day of the other world equals thousand years, this [a third of the day] is the time between the afternoon prayer and the night prayer (ʿishāʾ). Adam prayed three rakʿas, one because of his sin, one because of Eve’s sin and one for his repentance, and God imposed these three on my nation. This is also the hour in which [God] accepts the personal prayer (duʿāʾ). My Lord promised me that he would grant the request of whoever addresses Him at this hour through a personal prayer. Here is the prayer that my Lord ordered me [to perform]: ‘So celebrate God’s glory in the evening, in the morning’ [Q 30 : 17]. As for the final night prayer (al-ʿishāʾ

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al-ākhira),16 the tomb is dark and so is the Day of Resurrection, God imposed this prayer on me and my nation to illuminate the tomb and the bridge to Paradise (al-ṣirāṭ). There is no foot that walked [to the mosque] for the night prayer whose owner will not be protected by God from the fire of Hell. This is the prayer that God chose for the messengers before me. As for the dawn prayer (al-fajr), when the sun rises, it does so with satanic horns, so God ordered me to pray at this time, before the sun rises and before the infidels prostrate themselves before it. My nation prostrates before God who likes its rapid performance. The angels of both night and day witness this prayer. And [people] said: “You have spoken the truth, O Muḥammad. Tell us why these four organs, which are the cleanest in the body, need to be washed?” The Prophet said: “When Satan whispered to Adam, Adam approached the tree and looked at it and the water of his face [apparently his sweat] drifted, he then went towards the tree and this is the first foot that took a step towards sin. Then he grasped with his hand [the fruit] that was on it and ate, the jewelry fell from his body and Adam put his hand on his head and cried. Then God accepted his repentance and imposed on him and his offspring the washing of these four organs: the face for looking at the tree, the hands up to the elbows for grabbing [the fruit], the head because he put [his hand] on it, and the feet since with them he stepped towards sin.”17 As in the previous tradition, we see that the institution of the times of prayer as well as the general guidelines for the ablution are based on a story involving mythic elements and practical reasons. The association of the ablution with the sin committed by Adam in the primordial past complements the previous tradition that depicted the five daily prayers as a means to atone for the same sin. 3. In the third tradition, one of his disciples confronts Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq with aṣḥāb al-dahr’s (see footnote 18 below) cynical question regarding the structure of the prayer. What they try to understand (or mock) is the fact 16. That is, the fifth prayer, which forms the second of the ṣalāt al-ʿishāʾayn, the name given to al-maghrib and al-ʿishāʾ together. 17. See al-Barqī, pp. 322–323, no. 63; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 9, pp. 295–297, no. 5 (from Amālī al-Ṣadūq as part of a long discussion including many questions which a Jew addressed to the Prophet) and vol. 11, pp. 160–161, no. 4 (from both al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ and Amālī, also in the framework of a discussion with the most knowledgeable among a group of Jews); see also al-Ṣadūq’s Man lā yaḥḍuruhu al-faqīh, vol. 1, pp. 235–236. Interestingly, the version in al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-ʿilal, the earliest source that al-Majlisī cites, does not refer to a Jew. This is particularly noteworthy since al-Barqī appears as one of the transmitters in both ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ and Amālī al-Ṣadūq.

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that prayer comprises one rakʿa (bow) and two sajdas (prostration) instead of two rakʿas and two sajdas.18 The following story constitutes the Imam’s answer: People [i.e. non-Shīʿīs] claim that the Apostle of God prayed his first prayer on earth, that Gabriel revealed it to him, but they lie. He prayed the first prayer in Heaven before God and in front of His throne. [God] inspired him to approach Ṣād and to perform the ablution and He said: “Perform your ablution well, prolong it and purify the parts with which you prostrate and pray to your Lord.” At this point, the disciple asked the Imam: “what is Ṣād?” and he answered: “It is a fountain under one of the throne’s pillars that was prepared for Muḥammad [for the purpose of ablution].” Then Abū ʿAbdallāh [Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq] recited, ‘Ṣād, by the Quran, containing the remembrance’ [Q 38 : 1] and said: “Muḥammad performed the ablution properly using its [water], then he approached the throne of the Merciful and stood. God inspired him to recite the nisbat al-rabb19 and he recited ‘Say, “He is God the One, God the eternal”’ [Q 112 : 1–2]. God then stopped talking to him and the Apostle of God recited spontaneously: “He is God the One, God the eternal, the one, the unique, the eternal.” God inspired him to recite “He begot no one nor was He begotten. No one is comparable to Him” [Q 112 : 3–4]. God then stopped again talking to him and he recited spontaneously: “This is how our God, our Lord is.”20 When he said that God inspired him to stand upright [or to bow]21 and perform the prayer. He stood straight before God. God then inspired him to prostrate himself before Him and he fell down prostrating. God then inspired him to sit and he did so. When he raised his head from the first prostration (sajda), God was revealed to him and he fell down 18. See al-Barqī, pp. 323–324, no. 64; cited in Bihār al-anwār, vol. 80, pp. 309–310, no. 22 (begins by the words: ‘The first prayer…’ without the framing story and vol. 82, p. 273, no. 20 (the complete version); aṣḥāb al-dahr is an appellation for those who believed in dahr, that is, that the world will exist for an extremely long period of time, perhaps for eternity. The most important implication of this belief is that there will be no resurrection or Hereafter. Occasionally this appellation is used to denote various apostate or heretic groups. It is in this light that their question should be understood. 19. An additional name of Quran 112 that was revealed to the Prophet following the infidels’ (or Jews’) asking him to describe God’s descent (unsub lanā rabbaka), see E. Kohlberg and M. A. Amir-Moezzi, Revelation and Falsification (Leiden and Boston, 2009), p. 288, no. 722. 20. The Arabic text reads kadhālika allāhu rabbunā. The Prophet’s spontaneous recitations gave rise to questions about whether or not they are an integral part of Quran 112. See E. Kohlberg and M. A. Amir-Moezzi, Revelation and Falsification, pp. 286–287, no. 717. 21. In the version in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 82, p. 273, no. 20, God’s order is to bow (irkaʿ li-rabbika).

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prostrating spontaneously, not due to an order from his Lord and this is how the grace of God and custom (sunna) of His Apostle became [the elements of prayer].22 Unlike the previous traditions, this one does not associate Prayer with the primordial sin and depicts the institutionalization of Prayer (including the concomitant ablution, the recitation of short Quranic texts and bodily gestures) as a combination of divine inspiration and the Prophet’s spontaneous reactions to the situation. Being the founder of Islam, the mythic story about his first prayer in Heaven is a sufficient reason for accepting the structure of Prayer, apparently a disputed issue at the time. The story’s focus on Muḥammad’s first prayer rather than on the reward for praying in the Hereafter may indicate that this tradition was indeed conceived (whether by Imam al-Ṣādiq or not) as a reaction to aṣḥāb al-dahr’s scepticism regarding the value of prayer.

b. Matrimonial Law Sixteen traditions in Kitāb al-ʿilal address different aspects of matrimonial law,23 attesting to the importance of this subject for the community. Of the variety of themes handled in these traditions (sexual relationship, adultery, the dower, and more) let us examine two representative examples. 1. Abū al-Ḥasan the second (the eighth Imam, ʿAlī al-Riḍā) is asked the following two very specific questions: a. How is it that the testimony of a man who falsely accuses his wife of adultery equals four testimonies (of the people who swear by God) whereas when a man who is not the husband falsely accuses her he is punished according to the ḥadd?24 b. Why does a divorced woman have to wait three menstrual cycles following the divorce whereas the widow has to wait four months and ten days?25 In his answer on the first question, the eighth Imam justifies the law in a logical way. According to him, the wife’s husband is the only person allowed to see her in the circumstances that permit adultery, that is, alone. No other man has the right to be alone with this woman and therefore 22. See al-Barqī, pp. 323–324, no. 64. 23. ibid., traditions no. 7, 11, 17, 19–24, 26, 30, 42, 50, 60, 102, 122. 24. ibid., pp. 302–303, no. 11; the first part of the tradition is cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 104, p. 177, no. 5 (from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ) and no. 6. The technical term ḥadd refers to punishment for acts that the Quran forbids, including false accusation of adultery, see B. Carra de Vaux [ J. Schacht], s.v. “Ḥadd,” EI². 25. See al-Barqī, pp. 302-303, no. 11; see in addition J. Schacht, “Ṭalāḳ,” EI².

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the testimony of someone other than her husband is not valid. This law is applicable only if the husband claims to have seen it [the act of adultery] with his own eyes.26 The Imam does not base his answer on mythic stories nor the conduct of past authoritative figures in similar circumstances. He explains the reason in a dry juristic language. In his answer to the second question, the Imam explains the law by both a biological argument and an analogy. According to him, a divorced woman has to wait three menstrual cycles in order for her to make sure that she is not pregnant. In contrast, the widow has to wait four months and ten days, just like a woman whose husband left her without a divorce (īlāʾ). The reason for that, the eighth Imam elaborates, is that God knew that a woman could not refrain from sexual intercourse for more than four months.27 2. In another tradition, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is said to have declared: ‘A man should not have sexual relations with his wife nor his servant/slave girl while there is a boy in the house, since this may lead to illicit intercourse (zinā).’28 The Imam does not cite any precedents; instead, the reason which he gives is based on an understanding of human nature.

c. Alms29 1. ʿUbayd b. Zurāra30 recounts that he asked Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq about a person who set aside one thousand dirhams of his property for alms but could not find a believer to whom he could give this sum. When he saw a slave for sale, he bought him with the thousand dirhams that he had set aside and released him. Ibn Zurāra asked whether this act was licit and the Imam answered in the affirmative. Up to this point, we encounter the question-answer scheme, but the Imam does not elaborate on the reason/s behind this legal ruling. In the second part of the tradition, Ibn Zurāra 26. See al-Barqī, pp. 302–303, no. 11. 27. ibid.; regarding the īlāʾ, the eighth Imam cites Quran 2: 226 ‘For those who swear that they will not approach their wives, there shall be a waiting period of four months’ which is the basis for this law. 28. ibid., pp. 317–318, no. 42. 29. The following 8 traditions are devoted to the subject: 13, 15, 48–49, 52, 59, 80. 30. A Kufan theologian and transmitter of ḥadīth (mainly from the sixth Imam), the son of Zurāra b. Aʿyan (d. 148–9/766), the most important scholar of his generation, see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, pp. 383–384; see also J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft, vol. 1, pp. 321–330.

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goes on to say that the manumitted slave became a wealthy merchant. When he died without a biological heir, the question was who should inherit him. To this Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq said: “The needy among the believers who are entitled to receive alms inherit him since he was bought with their money,”31 thus providing an explicit explanation for his legal decision. 2. In another tradition, Imam Mūsā al-Kāẓim explains the reason behind the duty to give alms: “Alms was imposed [on the believers] only to provide food and money for the poor.”32 3. A third example is Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s teaching not to give less than five dirhams in alms (which is indeed the sum Shīʿī scholars agree upon), since this is the bare minimum imposed by God.33

d. Burial34 1. When Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq was asked whether in a funeral one should walk in front of the dead, behind him, on his right or on his left, he said: “If he was an opponent [of the Shīʿa], don’t walk in front of him since the torturing angels are going to confront him in all kinds of torments.”35 Interestingly, the Imam did not rule out the possibility that a believer might participate in the funeral of an enemy of the Shīʿa. Such circumstances are of course possible due to the practice of precautionary dissimulation (taqiyya), but it is nevertheless remarkable that the Imam chose to focus on this option although the question was general. Theoretically, one can deduce from the Imam’s answer that in a funeral of a believer or a neutral non-Shīʿī, one could walk on any side of the dead, including in front of him.36 2. Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have asked one of his disciples: “Do you know how many prayers one has to say over the dead?” When the disciple 31. See al-Barqī, p. 305, no. 15; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 96, p. 67, no. 38 and vol. 104, p. 362, no. 12. 32. See al-Barqī, p. 319, no. 48; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 96, p. 18, no. 39 (from ʿIlal alsharāʾiʿ); in other versions of this tradition instead of li-amwālihim, that is, money for the poor (third person), we find li-amwālikum, that it, money for you, the alms givers (second person). On this, al-Māzandarānī comments in his Sharḥ uṣūl al-Kāfī, vol. 1, p. 194, that setting aside money for alms inevitably increases one’s property. 33. See al-Barqī, p. 319, no. 49; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 96, p. 79, no. 7. 34. Six tradition in Kitāb al-ʿilal concern burial laws: 9, 12, 31, 38–39, 46. 35. See al-Barqī, p. 317, no. 38; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 81, p. 274, no. 33 (also from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). 36. Al-Majlisī (vol. 81, pp. 274–275, no. 33) clarifies the point that, according to Shīʿī law, it is desirable to walk behind or to one side of the body.

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answered in the negative, the Imam declared: “Five recitations of Allāhu akbar, and do you know where these five recitations were taken from?” When the disciple said that he did not know, al-Ṣādiq explained: “They were taken from the five daily prayers, one Allāhu akbar from each prayer.”37 3. By recounting the events that followed the death of the Prophet’s son, Ibrāhīm, Imam Mūsā al-Kāẓim provides his audience with the reasons for the three following customs that were established by the Prophet: a. Solar and lunar eclipses have nothing to do with someone’s death as people erroneously believed. The fact that on the day of Ibrāhīm’s death there was a solar eclipse was merely a coincidence. The sun and the moon obey God and the eclipses are evidence for this obedience. When they occur, one should perform the appropriate prayer just as Muḥammad did upon his son’s death. b. One should recite the five Allāhu akbar only over people who have prayed during their lives. Since Ibrāhīm died in his infancy, the Prophet, following the divine injunction, did not pray over him. c. It is preferable, though not obligatory, not to bury one’s own child. In Ibrāhīm’s case, ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib did it and not the Prophet. The reason according to the Prophet is that burying one’s child may cause such grief to the parent as would deflect him from the requisite actions, thus affecting his reward in the Hereafter.38

e. Ritual Purity39 1. One of Imam Mūsā al-Kāẓim’s disciples recounted: “I was at Abū alḤasan Mūsā’s place and in my presence he recited the noon and afternoon prayers. I remained at his place until the evening prayer and then he requested water for the ablution and performed the ablution. He told me to perform the ablution as well and I told him that I was already in a state 37. See al-Barqī, p. 317, no. 39; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 81, p. 342 (from al-Ṣadūq’s al-Khiṣāl and ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). In Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 81, p. 344, no. 7 (from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ and ʿUyūn al-akhbār), we are introduced to a different explanation. According to this version, that the five recitations of Allāhu akbar are taken from the five daily prayers is only the exoteric (ẓāhir) explanation, the esoteric (bāṭin) being that it represents the Shīʿī acknowledgement of the five pillars: prayer, alms, fast, pilgrimage and loyalty to the Prophet and the Imams (walāya). 38. See al-Barqī, pp. 313–314, no. 31; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 22, pp. 155–156, no. 13 (also from al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī) and vol. 81, p. 380, no. 36 and vol. 91, p. 155, no. 12 (where only the first part of al-Barqī’s version is quoted). 39. This theme is handled in five traditions (27, 30, 41, 63, and 122).

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of ritual purity. He then said: ‘I too was in a state of ritual purity, but he who performs the ablution for the evening prayer atones thereby for the sins of that day, except for grave sins.’”40 2. That both men and women should wash all their bodies (ghusl) on Friday is explained by Imam Mūsā al-Kāẓim in the following way: “As God supplemented for every free person, male and female, the obligatory prayer with the supererogatory prayer, the ḥajj with the ʿumra, the obligatory fast of Ramadan with the supererogatory fast, alms (zakāt) with charity (ṣadaqa), He also supplemented the obligatory ablution (wuḍūʾ) with the washing of the whole body (ghusl) on Friday.”41 The reason, according to al-Kāẓim, is some sort of divine consistency in the relationship between obligatory duties and supererogatory acts.

f. Foods42 It seems that the overall logic behind various laws relating to licit and illicit foods is expressed in Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq’s answer to the question why God prohibited the consumption of wine, the meat of animals that were not slaughtered properly, blood and pork. According to al-Ṣādiq, God prohibited these foods since he knew that they are harmful to the human body. Following the same principle, God allowed other foods that He knew were beneficial. In other words, what guided God in these laws was man’s best interests. Interestingly, when the Imam elaborates regarding the prohibition on consuming pork, his explanation does not fit this medical/biological explanation. Since God’s punishments included the transformation of people into various animals such as pigs, bears and monkeys, He prohibited consuming their meat so that they would not be included among the beneficial animals and therefore His punishment of these people would not be underestimated.43 40. See al-Barqī, p. 312, no. 27; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 80, p. 231, no. 4 (from al-Ṣadūq’s Thawāb al-aʿmāl), where the framing story is lacking, and pp. 305–306, no. 14, where the tradition appears in its complete version. My translation “the sins of that day” is based on the two versions in Biḥār al-anwār. Al-Barqī’s text reads here “the sins of the night” (dhunūbihi fī laylihi) probably due to a copyist’s error. This assumption is based mainly on the fact that the versions in the Biḥār include another part, which refers to the ablution before the morning prayer as atoning for the sins of the night. 41. See al-Barqī, p. 313, no. 30; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 81, p. 123, no. 4 (with minor variations also from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). 42. Five traditions concern foods: 25, 40, 86, 104, 106. 43. See al-Barqī, pp. 334–335, no. 104; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 62, p. 82, no. 1 (from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ and al-Majālis), and vol. 65, pp. 134–135, no. 2 (from al-Kāfī),

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g. Fasting Three of the four44 traditions that address the duty to fast refer to the reasons for which certain days of the month or week were chosen as days of fasting. In the first tradition, the fifth Imam explains that the Prophet used to fast on three specific days of the month since previous nations had been punished on these days.45 A similar explanation is provided by Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq regarding the recommended custom to fast on a Wednesday in the middle of the month.46 According to the third tradition, also on the authority of al-Ṣādiq, Wednesday is a day of fasting since Hell was created on that day.47

h. Pilgrimage48 When Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir, or his son the sixth Imam (the text is ambiguous as it refers to “one of the two” as the source of this tradition), was asked about the costum of kissing the black stone in the Kaʿba, he said: “This stone was a white pearl in Paradise and Adam used to see it there. When God made it come down to earth, Adam approached it and started kissing it and God established this as a custom (sunna).”49 Again, the reason for a ritual is based on a mythic story involving the descent of the father of mankind from Heaven to earth, that is, the starting point of earthly history. pp. 163–164, no. 2 (from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ and al-Amālī, Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī and alMufīd’s al-Ikhtiṣāṣ). 44. See al-Barqī, p. 301, no. 8, p. 318, no. 43 and pp. 319–320, no. 53–54. 45. ibid., p. 301, no. 8; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 97, pp. 102–103, no. 34. 46. See al-Barqī, p. 320, no. 54; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 14, p. 464, no. 32 (from al-Kāfī) and vol. 97, p. 98, no. 19 (also from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). 47. See al-Barqī, pp. 319–320, no. 53; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, pp. 307–308, no. 70–71 (also from al-Ṣadūq’s al-Khiṣāl) and vol. 59, p. 27, no. 9 (from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ), pp. 44–45, no. 7 (from al-Ṣadūq’s al-Khiṣāl), p. 56, no. 13 (from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ), where it is stated that the reason (ʿilla) for fasting on a Wednesday and a Thursday is that it is on Thursdays that the deeds of men are lifted [to Heaven] whereas Hell was created on a Wednesday; see in addition Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 97, p. 95, no. 8 (from al-Ṣadūq’s al-Khiṣāl) and p. 101, no. 28 (from al-Ṣadūq’s Thawāb al-aʿmāl). 48. See traditions 93, 118–120. See also N. Haider, The Origins of the Shīʿa: Identity, Ritual, and Sacred Space in Eighth Century Kūfa, (New York, 2011), p. 243, where, within the framework of Haider’s examination of the development of a distinct Imāmī identity, he points out alBarqī’s preoccupation with an additional destination of pilgrimage, namely, the central mosque in Kūfa. The traditions concerned with this sort of pilgrimage in al-Maḥasin are, according to Haider, an early example for the emergence of Imāmi ritual peculiarities. 49. See al-Barqī, p. 337, no. 118; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 99, p. 225, no. 24.

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i. ʿIlal Traditions that Address non-Legal Matters This group covers a relatively wide range of themes.50 Let us examine some representative examples: 1. Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq instructs one of his disciples on how to perceive this world as opposed to the other: “Know thoroughly the affairs of the Hereafter just as the people of this world know the affairs of this world. This world was created only as a proof for the affairs of the Hereafter that are lacking in it. Therefore know the Hereafter through this world and do not look at it except in order to draw lessons [for the Hereafter].”51 Stylistically, this tradition does not deviate from what we have seen so far, as the Imam offers an answer to the implicit question, “Why was this world created?”. His answer, although directing the believer to a certain mode of thinking, could not be regarded as a legal instruction. 2. Several traditions in Kitāb al-ʿilal address the issue of conflicting legal rulings (ikhtilāf). In one account, Imam Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have explained this by saying that the Prophet’s companions did not agree over certain matters — such as wiping one’s sandals before praying — because some of them heard the Prophet’s initial instruction in this regard but were not present when he abrogated it.52 Elsewhere, Imam Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq explains why he may provide different answers to the same question by arguing that some issues are unambiguous and clear whereas others are complex and multifaceted.53 Along similar lines, Imam Muḥammad alBāqir explains to one of his most influential disciples, Jābir b. Yazīd al-Juʿfī (d. 128/745),54 why he might give different answers to questions regarding the meaning of the same Quranic verse: “The Quran has an interior meaning (baṭn) which in turn has another interior meaning and an exterior meaning (ẓahr) which in turn has another exterior meaning. O Jābir, there 50. See al-Barqī, traditions 1–5, 10, 35–37, 82–85, 87–88, 94, 103, 109–117, 121, 128, 130. 51. ibid., p. 299, no. 2; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 70, p. 314, no. 18. 52. See al-Barqī, p. 299, no. 1; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 243, no. 45 and vol. 80, p. 268, no. 22, in which wiping the sandals is mentioned as one of two matters regarding which one should not practice taqiyya (precautionary dissimulation), the second being the consumption of wine; on other circumstances that relieve the believer from this duty see E. Kohlberg, “Some Imāmī-Shīʿī Views on taqiyya,” JAOS 95, pp. 399–400, repr. in his Belief and Law, art. iii. 53. See al-Barqī, pp. 299–300, no. 4; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 243, no. 46. 54. For a detailed account of this prominent traditionist (mentioned also in chapter 2, note 28), see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, pp. 86–103; according to Modarressi (pp. 86– 87), Jābir “was considered one of the main sources of religious knowledge in his day.”

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is nothing more difficult for the human mind than the interpretation of the Quran: the beginning of a verse may concern one issue and its end another; these are things that are connected yet have different aspects.”55 3. On the eternal sojourn in Paradise and Hell Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq says: “The residents of Hell are destined to remain there for eternity since in this world, had they remained there for eternity, their intentions were to disobey God forever. The residents of Paradise are destined to remain there for eternity since in this world, had they remained there for eternity, their intentions were to obey God forever.”56 At first glance, al-Ṣādiq’s explanation of the reason for the eternal reward and punishment in the Hereafter seems to fully correspond to the deterministic-dualistic worldview described in the third chapter of the present book. However, since the emphasis in the Imam’s teaching is on the individual’s intention, it implies a certain degree of free will. 4. As mentioned above, Kitāb al-ʿilal includes a group of traditions that address the reasons behind the names of places (toponyms).57 Let us take a closer look at two examples: a. Muʿāwiya [b. ʿAmmār al-Duhnī]58 recounts: “I asked Abū ʿAbdallāh [ Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq] why [mount] ʿArafāt was given this name. He replied: ‘On the day of ʿArafa, Gabriel accompanied Abraham and when the sun crossed the zenith, Gabriel told him: ‘Abraham, confess (iʿtarif) your sin and know (iʿrif) your rituals!’”59 b. Muḥammad al-Bāqir is said to have recounted: “Sidrat al-muntahā [that is, the Lotus tree in the seventh Heaven, mentioned in Quran 53 : 14] was called thus since the guardian angels elevate the deeds of 55. See al-Barqī, p. 300, no. 5; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 92, p. 91, no. 37, p. 94, no. 45 (from Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī), p. 110, no. 10 (from Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī), p. 111, no. 14 (from Tafsīr alʿAyyāshī). In the traditions from Tafsīr al-ʿAyyāshī the Imam’s statement appears without the framing story. See also M. M. Bar-Asher, Scripture and Exegesis, p. 106. 56. See al-Barqī, pp. 330–331, no. 94; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 8, p. 347, no. 5 (also from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ) and vol. 70, p. 201, no. 5 (from al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī). 57. See traditions 103, 109–117, 128, 130. 58. A renowned Kufan traditionist and the author of various works, including Kitāb al-ḥajj; see H. Modarressi, Tradition and Survival, pp. 327–332. On p. 327 Modarressi points out that the tradition quoted above constituted a part of Muʿāwiya’s Kitāb al-ḥajj. Should this be the case, the inclusion of this tradition in al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-ʿilal could serve as an example for the preservation of earlier texts in Kitāb al-maḥāsin. The identification of Muʿāwiya is based on a parallel tradition in al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ (see Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 12, pp. 108–109, no. 27 and vol. 99, p. 253, no. 17). 59. All three terms derive from the same root, ʿ.r.f. See al-Barqī, pp. 335–336, no. 109; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 99, p. 253, no. 18.

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the residents of earth to the sidra’s place.” And in a slightly different formulation that casts a clearer light on the reason behind this name: “The guardian [angels], the noble and pure [an allusion to Quran 80 : 16] who are beneath the sidra, write the deeds of the residents of earth that are elevated by the angels and are brought (yantahūna bihā, word play on muntahā) to the sidra’s place.”60

III. Nine Irregular Traditions Up to this point, we have examined traditions that, to varying degrees, share the ʿilal common denominators discussed at the head of the present chapter. We shall now move on to present nine traditions that seem to constitute a deviation from the ʿilal genre with regard to both style and content.61 While their deviation from the stylistic characteristics may bear different forms, it is remarkable that their content seem to be much more homogeneous, focusing on some of the fundamental aspects of the Shīʿī faith. For the reader who comes across these traditions in the course of a continuous reading of Kitāb al-ʿilal, the feeling of entering a new terrain, alien to the bulk of this treatise, is inevitable. 1. Following the birth of Mūsā al-Kāẓim, his father Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq describes in great detail his miraculous conception and birth, which, according to al-Ṣādiq, were very similar to his own as well as to those of his ancestors, the previous Imams: “On the night on which Ḥamīda [al-Ṣādiq’s wife] conceived of my son who has just been born, someone came to me and made me drink as he had made them [my ancestors] and he ordered me as he ordered them. I got up with the divine knowledge, happy to know about [the son] that God was going to grant me, had sexual intercourse and she [Ḥamīda] conceived this newborn [Mūsā]. Be aware that he will be your leader after me. The seed of the Imam is from [the drink] I told you about, it rests four months in the womb and then [God] makes the soul grow in it and sends an angel called ‘Ḥayawān’ [i.e. ‘the Living One’] who writes on the [embryo’s] right arm: ‘The word of your Lord is complete in its truth and justice. No one can change His words’ [Q 6 : 116]. When 60. See al-Barqī, p. 334, no. 103; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 3, 316, no. 11 (within a longer tradition from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ) and vol. 18, p. 365, no. 70 (within a longer tradition from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ), vol. 58, p. 51, no. 1 (also from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). 61. See al-Barqī, traditions: 32, 55, 96–99, 101, 108, 126.

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the baby leaves his mother’s womb, he places his hands on the ground and raises his head towards the sky. When he places his hands on the ground, a caller from the Divine throne, from the Master of Might, from the Supreme Horizon calls him by his name and his father’s name: ‘O You, the son of so-and-so, know that I created you for something great, you are the chosen (anta ṣafwatī) from amongst My creation, the place where I deposit My secret, the repository of my knowledge, trustworthy to receive My inspiration, My representative (khalīfati) upon earth. To him who is loyal to you (man tawallāka),62 I will give my mercy and my gardens [of Paradise] and allow to be near me. I swear by My might that I shall torment your enemies with My worst torment, even if in this world I provide them generously from My sustenance.’ When the caller’s voice stops, he answers him while placing his hands on the ground and raising his head towards the sky: ‘God bears witness that there is no god but Him, as do the angels and those who have knowledge. He upholds justice. There is no god but Him, the Almighty, the All Wise’ [Q 3 : 18]. When he says that, God gives him the first and the last knowledge and he then merits the visit of the Spirit (al-rūḥ) on the Night of the Decree.’63 It is worth mentioning that Ḥamīda did not know how to interpret the newborn child’s behaviour which al-Ṣādiq explains to her is the distinctive sign of the Apostle of God and his designated heirs.64 The miraculous conception and birth of the Imams that are strongly related to the transmission of divine knowledge are intertwined in this tradition with the fundamental duty to be loyal to the Imams. 2. Imam al-Ṣādiq is said to have declared: “ʿAlī’s behaviour towards the people of Baṣra (i.e. his opponents in the Battle of the Camel) was the best thing possible for his Shīʿa. He knew that power would devolve upon these people for a time; had he taken them prisoner, his Shīʿa would be 62. See M. A. Amir Moezzi, “Notes on Imami Walāya,” pp. 231–275. 63. In the last part of this tradition whose translation was not included above, al-Ṣādiq rejects the association of ‘the Spirit (al-rūḥ)’ with Gabriel saying that it refers to “a spirit greater than the angels,” basing himself on Quran 97: 4 ‘On that night the angels and the Spirit descend again and again.’ 64. See al-Barqī, pp. 314–315, no. 32; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 15, pp. 297–298, no. 36 (with minor variations from al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī) and vol. 48, p. 3, no. 3; the possibility that knowledge will be transmitted to the Imam by “a creature greater than Gabriel and the angels” is familiar also from other traditions, see in this context E. Kohlberg, “The Term Muḥaddath in Twelver Shīʿism,” p. 42, note 15. On the conception and birth of the Imam, see also M. A. Amir-Moezzi, The Divine Guide, pp. 145–154.

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have been taken prisoner.” Upon hearing this, one of al-Ṣādiq’s disciples inquired whether al-Qāʾim (the awaited mahdī65) would follow in ʿAlī’s footsteps. “No,” the Imam replied, “ʿAlī treated them leniently since he knew that power would devolve upon them for a time, whereas al-Qāʾim would treat his opponents differently since no power would ever devolve upon them.”66 The eschatological return of al-Qāʾim, a fundamental element in the Shīʿī faith, is thus depicted as entailing a significantly different conduct towards the enemy than that of the first Imam. 3. In another tradition, an impressive looking Bedouin asks the Prophet, “What place does ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib hold in your heart?” In reaction, the Prophet started to cry, fell down to the ground and, when he was finally able to answer, said: “You asked me about the master of everything (lit. ‘the master of everything white and black’), the first who fasted, gave alms and charity, prayed in the two directions of prayer, gave two oaths of allegiance, participated in the two migrations (al-hijratayn), carried the two banners, won the [battles of ] Badr and Ḥunayn and did not disobey God even in the slightest thing.” When the Bedouin left, the Prophet explained to his companion that this Bedouin was the angel Gabriel who descended from Heaven to earth in order to make the pacts and covenants [of loyalty] of the Muslims with ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib.67 This mythic story brings to the fore the close relationship between the Prophet and ʿAlī and the latter’s merits and right to succeed Muḥammad, notions that stand at the very heart of the Shīʿī faith. 4. According to another account, one day the Apostle of God was sitting in front of his house with ʿAlī b. Abī Ṭālib. Suddenly an old man approached and greeted the Apostle of God. The Apostle of God asked ʿAlī whether he knew the man and when ʿAlī replied in the negative, the Prophet said: “this is Iblīs.” “Had I known that,” says ʿAlī, “I would have struck him with my sword and saved your nation from him.” Iblīs then addressed ʿAlī telling him: “You have treated me unjustly, Abū al-Ḥasan, did you not 65. As discussed in chapter 1, the term al-Qāʾim was in Shīʿī usage as early as the second/ eighth century. In al-Barqī’s time, this concept was not yet associated with the twelfth Imam. See W. Madelung, “Ḳāʾim Āl Muḥammad,” EI². 66. See al-Barqī, p. 320, no. 55; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 33, p. 442, no. 651 (from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ); this tradition corresponds the common Shīʿī explanation that ʿAlī’s lenient attitude towards the people of Baṣra derived from his fear for his supporters in areas under the rule of his enemies, see E. Kohlberg, “The Development of the Imāmī Shīʿī Doctrine of jihād,” ZDMG 126 (1976), repr. in his Belief and Law, art. xv, p. 75. 67. See al-Barqī, p. 331, no. 96; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 40, pp. 10–11, no. 24.

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hear God say: ‘Share their wealth and their children with them’ [Q 17 : 64]? I swear by God that I do not share [the children] with the mother of anyone who loved you.”68 As in the previous tradition, the main purpose of this account is to highlight ʿAlī’s special status as well as that of his adherents, that is, the Shīʿī believers. Those who hate ʿAlī, we can deduce, are born due to Iblīs’ participation in the process of their conception.69 5. A woman from among the demons came to the Apostle of God, believed in him and became a good Muslim. She came to see him every week but on one occasion disappeared for forty days. When she came again, the Apostle of God asked her: “What delayed you, oh demon?” and she said: “O Apostle of God, I went to the sea that surrounds this world for a certain thing I wanted and saw on the shore a green rock on which a person was sitting while raising his hands towards the sky and saying: ‘God, I ask you to forgive me in the name of Muḥammad, ʿAlī, Fāṭima, al-Ḥasan and al-Ḥusayn’.” When the demon asked him who he was, he told her that he was Iblīs. He went on to recount that he worshipped God on both earth and Heaven for many years and never saw a column in Heaven that was without the inscription ‘There is no god but God, Muḥammad is the Apostle of God, ʿAlī is the commander of the faithful (amīr al-muʾminīn), I support him [Muḥammad] through him [ʿAlī]’.70 That a female demon and Iblīs are prominent figures in an account whose evident aim is establishing the status of ʿAlī and his descendants through Fāṭima  — of the foundations of the faith — should not surprise us. After all, there are many accounts of demons who adopted Islam as well as others that portray Iblīs’ angelic past before he was deprived of God’s mercy.71 6. According to a tradition on the authority of Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq, ʿAlī entered a mosque in the company of his son, al-Ḥasan. One of those present posed to ʿAlī the following three questions: Where is the soul when one sleeps? Why is it that a newborn baby resembles his father? And how is it that remembering and forgetting exist? Instead of answering these questions himself, ʿAlī ordered al-Ḥasan to do so, which he did very ably and eloquently. 68. See al-Barqī, p. 332, no. 97; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 18, p. 88, no. 5, vol. 39, p. 166, no. 5 and vol. 63, pp. 215–216, no. 50. 69. This idea is expressed in additional traditions that interpret Q 17: 64, see al-Kulaynī’s al-Kāfī, vol. 5, pp. 502–503; see also al-ʿAyyāshī’s commentary of the verse in his Tafsīr, vol. 2, p. 323; see in addition E. Kohlberg, “The Position of the walad zinā in Imāmī Shīʿism,” p. 238. 70. See al-Barqī, p. 332, no. 98; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 39, pp. 166–167, no. 6 and vol. 63, p. 216, no. 51. 71. See H. Algar, “Eblīs,” EIR.

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The anonymous person who was deeply impressed by al-Hasan’s answers said to him: “I testify that there is no god but God, that He is alone, He has no associate, that Muḥammad is His servant and Apostle. I testify that your father is the Commander of the Faithful, the designated heir (waṣiyy) of Muḥammad, truly and rightly, and I will not cease saying that I testify that you are his [ʿAlī’s] designated heir and that al-Ḥusayn is your heir,” and he kept on naming the Imams until he reached the last of them. When al-Ṣādiq was asked regarding the identity of this anonymous person, he said that it was al-Khiḍr.72 Although the three questions on which al-Ḥasan was requested to reply (as well as their answers) fit the ʿilal genre, it seems that they only serve as a background to this tradition’s main message. Namely, that knowledge is one of the most important characteristics of the Imams whose identities and legitimate lineage are unequivocally affirmed by the legendary and enigmatic figure of al-Khiḍr. 7. Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq is said to have recounted that once, when he was in the company of members of the Prophet’s family (ahl al-bayt), someone asked them what made them superior to others. Since no one answered, al-Ṣādiq himself replied: “What makes us superior to others is that we do not want to be included among any other [community] but our own, whereas all people, to the exclusion of those who associate other gods with God, wish to be included among us.”73 Comparing non-Shīʿīs who do not wish to be part of the family of the Prophet (and more generally of the Shīʿa) to polytheists stresses again the Shīʿī self-image as God’s elect, a status that ideally should be envied by any true monotheist. 8. Jaʿfar al-Ṣādiq was quoted as declaring that “he who knows for sure that we say nothing but the truth should be satisfied with what we say, and if he hears from us the opposite of what he already knows [from us], it is due to our protection of him.”74 Stressing the Shīʿī principle of precautionary dissimulation (taqiyya) due to which Imams may teach a thing and its opposite in accordance with the changing circumstances is another central dimension of the Shīʿī doctrine.75 72. See al-Barqī, pp. 332–333, no. 99; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 61, pp. 36–38; for details about the figure of al-Khiḍr (or al-Khaḍir) see A. J. Wensinck, “al-Khaḍir,” EI². 73. See al-Barqī, p. 333, no. 101; cited in Biḥar al-anwār, vol. 26, p. 241, no. 4 (from ʿIlal alsharāʾiʿ) and vol. 47, p. 166, no. 8 (from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). 74. See al-Barqī, p. 335, no. 108; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 2, p. 244, no. 47 (also from alKulaynī’s al-Kāfī). 75. See E. Kohlberg, “Some Imāmī-Shīʿī Views on taqiyya,” pp. 395–402 and “Taqiyya in Shīʿī Theology and Religion,” pp. 345–380.

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9. Muḥammad al-Bāqir said: “If al-Qāʾim was here, he would apply the Quranic legal punishment (ḥadd) on al-Ḥumayrāʾ [that is, ʿĀʾisha] and thus take revenge for his mother, Fāṭima [the Prophet’s daughter, regarded as the mother of all Imams].” When al-Bāqir is asked why she will be punished, he says that it is because she falsely accused Ibrāhīm‘s [the Prophet’s son] mother [Māriya]. “Why did God delay [the arrival] of al-Qāʾim?” a disciple asks. “God sent Muḥammad as a mercy whereas al-Qāʾim [will be sent] to take revenge,” says al-Bāqir.76 This tradition brings to the fore two characteristic Shīʿī themes: the apocalyptic return of al-Qāʾim and the condemnation of the Prophet’s youngest wife, ʿĀʾisha.

IV. Conclusion The bulk of Kitāb al-ʿilal is a unique example of a literary genre that reflects the community’s attempt to understand the reasons and causes behind their experienced reality. This reality, as we have seen, is comprised mainly of phenomena from the realm of legal affairs (mainly religious duties), but it is far more complex. In fact, at the core of this genre stands the notion that one is entitled to understand why things are the way they are. This understanding was apparently meant to provide the believer with the tools necessary for a better performance of rituals as well as adherence to the faith. As was argued above, Kitāb al-ʿilal does not seem like the natural environment for the last nine traditions. More than their deviation from the stylistic characteristics, it seems that their dealing with some of the most important, at times even esoteric aspects of the Shīʿī faith, marks them as an exception to the rule. If the inclusion of these nine traditions in this part of Kitāb almaḥāsin is not due to an editor’s or copyist’s error, it is likely that we have here another demonstration of the Shīʿī principle of the dispersion of knowledge (tabdīd al-ʿilm) which was also alluded to at the end of the previous chapter.77

76. See al-Barqī, pp. 339–340, no. 126; cited in Biḥār al-anwār, vol. 22, pp. 242–243, no. 8 (also from al-Ṣadūq’s ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ) and vol. 52, pp. 314–315, no. 9 (also from ʿIlal al-sharāʾiʿ). Based on the story that ʿĀʾisha told the Prophet that his son, Ibrāhīm, was not by him but by an anonymous Copt. ʿAlī was able to show that this was a false accusation by proving that this alleged father was in fact sterile. On Māriya and her relationship with the Prophet that allegedly provoked jealousy among his other wives, see F. Buhl, “Māriya,” EI². 77. See above under “The numerical organization of ḥadīth,” note 82.

Final Thoughts Over the years, my study of al-Barqī’s Kitāb al-maḥāsin reminded me very often of the feeling that one gets while gazing at a three-dimensional painting. At the beginning, the observer is able to discern only shapeless two-dimensional images. Mostly, these images comprise numerous geometrical patterns that do not conglomerate to form one clear image. However, if you gaze long enough in such a painting and find the right distance and perspective, you suddenly realize that all these forms do come together and create a sharp three-dimensional image. Maintaining this image is not easy and it may disappear again after a short while. Reconstructing this image requires from the observer to relocate himself in the right position, stare again at the blurred image and hope for the desired perspective to be regained. But it is not always possible to recapture a clear view of it. Similarly, alongside the observations and realizations that constitute the present book, there were those that were glimpsed only for a moment to disappear immediately thereafter, while many others doubtless remained unnoticed throughout. The main challenge was to discern the foundations of a worldview where these are not explicitly stated (chapters 2–3). Despite the eclectic character of the text and the diversity of subjects it touches upon, three fundamental notions are evident throughout: election, determinism and dualism. The three may complement or contradict one another, but they are certainly interdependent and characterize all the extant sub-books of Kitāb al-maḥāsin. If we wish to summarize the text’s doctrinal message, nothing could express it better than this conceptual triangle. In addition to this important realization, I tried (mainly in the third part) to illuminate less familiar aspects of the Shīʿī ḥadīth literature towards the end of the third/ninth century, that is, prior to its crystallization following the onset of the greater occultation and the ascent of the Buwayhids. This attempt involved a close examination of the content, style and overall message of two unique subbooks in Kitāb al-maḥāsin (chapters 4–5). Pointing out both al-Barqī’s possible sources of inspiration as well as later Shīʿī scholars whom he inspired stresses the importance of a greater familiarity with his work. Located at this significant historical and geographical junction, the last decades of the historical Imams at the prominent center of Shīʿī scholarship in Qumm, al-Barqī’s contribution to the making of the early Shīʿī faith could hardly be overestimated.

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Index ablution 192, 198, 199 Abraham 44-46, 82, 127, 128, 132, 202 Abū Bakr 26 Abū Sahl Ismāʿīl al-Nawbakhtī 113 adab 27, 28, 166, 171 Adam 65, 69, 70, 127, 128, 139, 140, 191-193, 200 Adams, Charles 60 adultery 195 ahl al-bayt 38 ʿĀʾisha bint Abī Bakr 208 ajal 112, 155, 158 ʿālim 30, 138, 139 al-ism al-aʿẓam 140 alms 176, 177, 196, 197 āl Muḥammad 29 Amir-Moezzi, Mohammad Ali 14, 61, 86, 186 amr 142 anachronism 51 andarz 35, 170-172, 185 anger 178 animal 53 ʿāqiba 180 ʿāqil 86 ʿaql 30, 42, 86, 117, 140 ʿArafāt, Mount of 202 arrogance 178 asceticism 48 aṣḥāb al-dahr 193, 195 ashbāḥ 61 ʿaṣr, prayer of 192 Avesta 171 Ayādgār ī Wuzurgmihr 171 āyat al-kursī 148

Azerbaijan 186 aẓilla 61 Bābak Khurramī 186 badāʾ 157-159 Badr battle of 205 Banū Riyāḥ 96 barāʾa 177, 181 Barq Rūd or Barqat Qumm 22 barzakh 99 Baṣra 204 bāṭil 139 baṭn 201 bear 199 Biḥār al-anwār 15 birth 75 blood 199 burial 197 Buwayhid 13, 21, 24 Camel the battle of 204 camels 101 camping 47 Christianity 62, 117 circumambulation of the Kaʿba 86 circumcision 44-46 clay of creation 123 cosmogony 61, 62 cosmology 61 covenant 63, 69-72, 125, 126

220

Index

dahr 111, 112 dajjāl 38, 39 Dakake, Maria Massi 14 ḍaʿif 23 demons 171, 206 dharr 61, 69, 123, 125 dhurriyya 69 dīn Ibrāhīm 47 divine attributes 63 divorce 195, 196 dog 52, 53 duʿāʾ 192 ecumenism 88, 153 emanations 63 ethnicity 97 Euphrates 32 evil 43 exclusivity 42, 69 fajr, prayer of 193 fasting 48, 49, 177, 200 Fāṭima 65, 128, 206, 208 fazʿa 103 firāsa 63 fly 36 foods 199 foreseeing the future 47 fortitude 178 funeral 197 Gabriel 26, 52, 182, 191, 202, 205 generosity 48 ghayba 23, 165 ghurr muḥajjalūn n. 164 108 ghusl 199 Goldziher, Ignác 153 goodness 42 greater occultation 94 gumēzishn n. 45 73

ḥadd 195, 208 ḥadīth qudsī 182 Hagar 45, 46 ḥajj 124, 199 Ḥajjāj, Ibn Yūsuf al-Thaqafī 72 ḥalāl 139 Ḥamīda the sixth Imam’s wife 203, 204 ḥaqq 139 ḥarām 139 Ḥasan b. Mūsā al-Nawbakhtī 113 hatred, towards the Imams 38 Ḥayawān an angel 203 heart 136, 137 heir 72, 120, 140, 204, 207 hidden Imam 94 hierarchy 40, 66 hijratān (i.e. two hijras) 205 Hishām b. al-Ḥakam 158 history of religions 60 ḥubb 29 hubris 118 ḥujja 139 Ḥunayn battle of 205 ḥūr ʿīn 176 Iblīs 83, 205, 206 Ibrāhīm the Prophet’s son 198, 208 Ibrāhīm b. Muḥammad al-Bayhaqī 26 idhn 155 idol 52 ightibāṭ 89 ignorance 42, 44, 53, 118, 119, 141 ikhtilāf 201 īlāʾ 196 ilhām 182 illicit intercourse 196 the offspring of 77, 78, 130 ʿilliyūn 66



ʿilm 139, 156 ʿilm maḥtūm 158 ʿilm makhzūn 158 impeccable descent (see nasab) 78 impurity 52 intelligence 42, 44, 53, 117-121, 141 intercession 105, 147, 148, 151 irāda 155 Iranian 186 Isaac 45 ʿiṣāba 83 Isaiah book of 117 ʿishāʾ, prayer of 192 Ishmael 45, 46 Islamic studies 60 ʿiṣma 53 istikhāra 32, 50-52 istishāra 32 istiṭāʿa 154 Jābir b. Yazīd al-Juʿfī 67, 149, 201 jabr 113 jāhil 86 Jāḥiẓ 26 jahl 42, 118 Jamīl b. Darrāj 187 jawhar 80, 127 Jews 32, 38, 39, 57 n. 17 193 n. 19 194 jihād 92-95, 176 jizya 38 Jonah 91 Judah Halevi 57 Judaism 62, 117 jund Allāh 81 junub 52 kabāʾir 132 kalām 113

Index  221 Karbala 93 Kaysānī (uprising) 186 Kaʿba 200 Khālid b. Saʿīd al-ʿĀṣ 26 Khārijī 151 khayru al-firaq 82 Khiḍr 207 khilāf 84 khiṣāl 168, 171 Khusraw 171 Kitāb al-ashkāl wa-l-qarāʾin 29 Kitāb al-khiṣāl 168 Kitāb al-manāfiʿ 32 Kitāb al-marāfiq 32 Kitāb al-māʾ 32 Kitāb al-maʾākil 31 Kitāb al-rijāl by al-Barqī 25 Kitāb al-safar 31 Kitāb al-ṣafwa wa-l-nūr wa-l-raḥma 30, 57 Kitāb al-ʿilal 31 Kitāb maṣābīḥ al-ẓulam 30 Kitāb thawāb al-aʿmāl 29 Kitāb ʿiqāb al-aʿmāl 29 knowledge 47, 50, 53 Kołakowski Leszek n. 14 120 Krinis, Ehud 57 Kūfa 22 Kuzari, the book of 57 laḥn al-qawl 70 Lalani, Arzina R. 14 lamb 48 lawḥ al-maḥw wa-l-ithbāt 157 lawḥ maḥfūẓ 157 lesser occultation 165 light 42, 57, 61, 63-65 love for the family of the Prophet 58, 77, 130, 180 love for the Imams 36, 38, 72, 82 loving ʽAlī 129

222

Index

maghrib, prayer of 192 mahdī 205 Majlisī, Muḥammad Bāqir 15, 28 manuscripts, of Kitāb al-maḥāsin 21 martyr 91, 100, 101 martyrdom 101 mashīʾa 155 materials 62, 65 mawadda 29 mawālī 28, 129 mawlid 77 medicine 50 menstrual cycle 195, 196 milla 127 miracle 50 miserliness 178 mīthāq 125, 126 mix of waters for creation 124 mix of creation materials 73, 75, 123, 124 monkey 199 Montgomery Watt 111 Moses 115, 182 Mufīd, Shaykh 113 muhājir 26 Muḥammad b. Ismāʿīl al-Bukhārī 28 mujbira 112 muruwwa 48 Muslim b. al-Ḥajjāj al-Nisābūrī 28 Muʿallā b. Khunays 90 Muʿāwiya b. ʿAmmār al-Duhnī 202 Muʿtazila 113, 138, 144 mysticism 37 myth 59-61 nahy 142 Najāshī, Aḥmad b. ʽAlī 22, 23 nās 184 nasab 77 nāṣibī 152 Nawbakht family 113

Newman, Andrew 13 Nietzsche n. 75 143 nisbat al-rabb 194 nūr 61, 63 Oshnar 170, 185 Pahlavi 171, 172 particles 61 (dharr) 123 peace 179 Pellat, Charles 14, 164 people of the Left 123, 124 people of the Right 124 Persian literature 172, 186 pig 199 pilgrimage 86, 177, 200 Pines, Shlomo 57 polarity 44, 120, 122 pork 199 prayer 175, 177, 191-195 pre-existence 61 qadar 112, 154 qadariyya 112 qaḍāʾ wa-qadar 154, 155 Qāḍī Nūr Allāh al-Tustarī 13 qalb 138 Qāʾim 93, 94, 205, 208 quietism 95 Qumm 22, 186 school of 22 Quraysh 26 Qurayẓa 26 qurrat aʿyun 108 qurʿa 32 quʿūd 95 raḥma 63 rakʿa 50, 192, 194 Ramaḍān 49

 Prayer 191-195 Rayy 186 restraint 178 Ṣād 194 ṣadaqa 124, 199 Ṣadūq, Shaykh 113, 168 ṣafwa 57, 58, 74, 204 ṣaḥāba 25 Ṣaḥīḥān 28 sajda 194 ṣalāt 124 Salmān, al-Fārisī 34, 35, 164 salty water the creation of 123 Sander, Paul 13 Sarah 45, 46 Sasanian 185 Satan 193 satisfaction with little 48 sawīq 49 ṣawm 124 saʿāda 121 segula 57 Seth son of Adam 139 sexual relationship 195, 196 Sezgin, Fuat 15 shadows 61 shafāʿa 105, 147 shahāda 38, 91, 92, 94, 95, 124, 177 shahīd 91-94, 101 Shahrbānū 186 Shaked, Shaul 171 shaqāʾ 121 she-camels 101 sidrat al-muntahā 202 silhouettes 61 ṣirāṭ 193 slave 196, 197 slave girl 196 sleeping 206

Index  223 in relarion to death 97 solar and lunar eclipses 198 solidarity 41, 49 spiritual creatures 42 statue 52 Sunbādh 186 sunna 45, 191, 195, 200 superiority 41 sweet water the creation of 123 tabdīd al-ʿilm 185, 208 taqiyya 30, 92, 152, 184, 197, 207 taṭhīr al-muʾmin 100 tazkiya 82 tears 36 thiqa 23 throne 42 Ṭihrānī, Agha Bozorg 15 ṭīna 65, 68 ṭīna makhzūna 126 toponyms 190, 202 Torah 115, 116 travelling 47 Ṭūsī, Muḥammad b. al-Ḥasan, Abū Jaʽfar 22, 23 Twelver was al-Barqī a Twelver? 166 U ʿUbayd b. Zurāra 196 Umayyad 112 umma 106 ʿumra 72, 124, 199 ʿUqba b. Khālid 90 ʿusr 84 vision of God 71, 102 wadi 47 wajh 84 walad zinā 77, 79

224

Index

walāya 29, 63, 67, 84, 177, 180, 181 walī 72 waṣiyy 120, 207 waṣiyya 183 water 49, 50, 53 widow 195, 196 wine 199 wiping of the sandals 201 wuḍūʾ 199 Wuzurgmihr 171, 185 yusr 84 Yūsuf b. ʿUmar al-Thaqafī 22

ẓahr 201 zakāt 124, 199 zamān 111 Zamzam 32 Zayd b. ʿAlī rebellion of 22 zinā 196 Zoroaster Birth of 76 Zoroastrianism 117 Zoroastrian notions and literature 171, 172 Zoroastrian revolt 186